Mark of the Witch. Maggie Shayne

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      Rayne’s coven (snigger) was a very traditional one in a lot of ways, with secret oathbound rites and all that. Rayne was its leader, a Third Degree High Priestess with a Pagan lineage as long as her arm, and therefore entitled to be addressed as Lady Rayne. But Rayne had never bought into the lofty title thing, either. None of her witches called her “Lady” anything.

      Still, she was a big deal, Wicca-wise. And not a small deal mundane-wise, either—a partner in a Manhattan law firm and a class-A beauty. Green eyes, red hair, killer figure.

      Almost as soon as I visualized her in my mind’s eye, Rayne came in, waved hello and sent me her stunning smile, then stopped at the counter on the way over, not continuing until she had a cup of high-test in her hand. She wore a sassy little designer suit, black tailored jacket with a short skirt, teal shell underneath, and a tiny, tasteful silver chain around her neck, with matching studs in her earlobes. No giant pentacle pendant. No dangling crystal stars or moons at her earlobes. She was a practical witch. Didn’t feel the need to announce her faith on a sandwich board while walking to work. Don’t laugh. Have you been to Salem?

      “Trick or treat,” she said, as she slid onto the bench. “How have you been, Indy?”

      “Good.” I lowered my head, feeling awkward as hell.

      “Uncomfortable, are you?”

      I looked up to see her smiling at me. She reached across the table, short French-manicured nails gleaming as she covered my hand with hers. “No need to be. I know we’ve barely talked since you left the Craft, but—”

      “What do you mean? I leave comments on your blog every few days—”

      “I mean talked. Facetime. Not online. It’s been eight months since I’ve even seen you. Do you really think I care what your faith is, sweetie?” She rolled her eyes. “Core Craft tenet, ‘to each her own.’”

      “You made that up,” I said, but I was smiling, relaxing. She didn’t hate me for walking away. For not believing anymore. I was glad. Guilt wasn’t an emotion I allowed very often, but faith of any kind had been new to me, and leaving it unheard of. Some witches still practiced shunning of those who walked away. Or so I’d heard.

      “I made up the wording, for simplification purposes, but not the notion. If I didn’t follow it, there would be war in my own family. Your truth is as sacred as mine, Indira.”

      “Even if my truth is that there is no truth?” I asked, watching her green eyes.

      “Even if.” She patted my hand three times. “Now what’s going on?”

      “I’ve missed the shit outta you,” I told her.

      “Yeah, I’m sure that’s all it is.” Sarcasm dripped. She flagged down a passing waitress, who had her arms full and looked harried as hell. “Bring us each a big fat gooey glazed donut, would you? But only when you get a minute.”

      The waitress would undoubtedly have barked at anyone else, with a “this isn’t my table” or an “I’ll get to you as soon as I can,” sort of put off. But she smiled at Rayne. Everyone smiled at Rayne. She had the kind of personality that made people love her, no matter what she said or did.

      Or maybe it was some of her magic leaking out.

      Except I didn’t believe in that anymore. I lowered my head and caught sight of Rayne’s feet. Three-inch stilettos, black leather, ankle-covering uppers that zipped, and open toes. “Oh, my God, I love your shoes.”

      “Thank you. But I assume my shoes are not the reason you emailed me. And since I’m on my lunch break, and hence my time is limited, it might be best to skip straight to your problem.”

      Nodding rapidly, I pulled my head back into the game. I was way too easily distracted. And this was important. But, damn, I had to remember to find out where Rayne had bought those shoes.

      Stay on topic, Indy.

      I sat up straighter, focused. “I’m sorry I waited for a problem to force me to call. That’s pretty rotten of me. I just felt—”

      “I know. It’s okay.”

      “And I appreciate you giving up your lunch hour to help me out. And I’m buying, by the way.”

      “Damn right you are.” Rayne winked, and sipped, and the waitress came back with the biggest glazed donuts I’d ever seen.

      I took a small bite, followed by a sip of my herbal tea, secretly longing for the caffeine in the cup across the table. Maybe I should give up one vice at a time. Tea and a donut just wasn’t the same. Then I swallowed and looked my friend in the eye. “I’ve been having a recurring dream. Nightmare, really.”

      “Ahh. All right. Well, I’m pretty good at dream interpretation.” She shifted in her seat, crossing one gorgeous leg over the other, settling in to listen. “It’s not surprising. I mean, you know the veil between the worlds is thin this time of year.”

      “Yeah, I know.” Samhain, the actual holiday on which Halloween was based, was still a week away. Meaning my problem could only get worse.

      “Go ahead, tell me about it.”

      I nodded and tried to believe that it could get better, too. “I don’t think it’s actually a dream at all.”

      “No?”

      “No.”

      “What, then?”

      “I was hoping you could tell me.”

      Rayne tilted her head, taking that in, her eyes going serious and contemplative. The effect was ruined when she took a giant bite of the huge donut right after her sincere, “Go on.”

      “Okay. In the dream, or whatever, I’m standing on the edge of a rocky cliff, wearing clothes from some other era, but not many of them. There’s a man that I know is a high priest—not a Wiccan one, mind you—speaking some language that I’ve never heard before. Two other women stand on either side of me, dressed pretty much the same way I am. We’re very close. We love each other—”

      “Love each other? Is this dream heading for a lesbian three-way?”

      I stared at her blankly.

      “Sorry. Trying to make you smile. I’m not used to seeing you so freaking intense, Indy.”

      “This is intense. Whatever it is, it’s … Just let me finish, okay?”

      She made a zipper motion over her lips.

      “We have some kind of a plan, but I don’t know what it is. I mean, in the dream I do, but I don’t remember when I wake up. Our hands are tied behind our backs. Three men stand right behind us. I feel one of them—his hands are on my back, and it kind of turns me on, which is really fucked up, since I think he’s about to shove me off the freaking cliff.”

      Rayne had resumed eating her donut, but she stopped in midbite, her eyes going wider as I went on.

      “The СКАЧАТЬ