Mark of the Witch. Maggie Shayne

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СКАЧАТЬ lifted her head, met my eyes. I saw rapt interest in hers.

      “It’s always the same,” I said. “We all have black hair, dark eyes, the kind of naturally tanned skin that suggests we’re Mediterranean or Middle Eastern or something. I’m pretty sure it’s some kind of a ritual sacrifice. And there’s always another man, a soldier, being held nearby. He’s been badly beaten, and he’s being forced to watch.”

      Rayne blinked. “Any names floating around in your head? Any of the words spoken by the high priest, maybe?”

      I nodded hard. “The high priest’s name is Sindar. He serves a Sun God, Marduk. I keep getting the feeling I was caught practicing magic and that it was forbidden.”

      She was nodding. “Any clues in your clothing or the geography?”

      “My clothes look like they were lifted from the wardrobe room for Aladdin. From the cliff, we’re looking out over a vast desert. I can see the shadowy outline of what I think of as my city in the distance.”

      “Anything else?” she asked, as if fascinated by the story.

      “Why? Is this ringing any bells for you?”

      “Just tell me the rest.”

      It was. I could see that it was. “I woke up referring to the city as Bumfuck, Egypt, and I heard a voice in my head say Babylon.”

      Her eyes flared a little. “And that’s all?”

      “No. There’s this.” I held up my hands, pushed back the draping sleeves of my paisley smock top and revealed the rope burns on my wrists.

      “Holy shit.” Rayne grabbed my hands, turned them over.

      “Yeah, that was my reaction, too.”

      Her gaze remained riveted on my reddened wrists until I lowered them to my lap and let my sleeves fall back in place.

      “So? What do you think?”

      Rayne shook her head as if trying to clear it. “Are you absolutely sure you didn’t get those marks some other way? Some ordinary way?”

      “Kinky sex with a bondage freak, you mean?”

      “Indy …”

      “There were no marks when I went to bed. They were there when I got up. There’s not a rope in my entire apartment. No one broke in, drugged me, bound me, raped me, untied me and left again, unless they managed to get into a locked apartment and lock it again on the way out, chain and all. I’m telling you, this is … it’s something else. It’s something … not natural.”

      “Supernatural.”

      “Yes. That.” Which means I was wrong to stop believing, doesn’t it?

      Rayne nodded. “All right.”

      “All right? What do you mean, all right? You look like there’s more. Do you know what this is about?”

      She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I’m going to do some research, and I’ll get in touch, okay?”

      She knew something. I could see she did. But she wanted to make sure. Fine. “I can’t wait long.”

      “I wouldn’t ask you to. Meanwhile, maybe we should try a protection spell. Would you be willing to let me do that for you?”

      By “we” I was sure she meant the full coven. I would have to look all those witches in the eyes knowing that they knew I had turned my back on their faith. On my faith. On the Goddess.

      And yet, I needed something. I needed Rayne’s cooperation, if nothing else, and sure as shit I would offend and wound her if I didn’t agree. Besides, I’d asked for her help. I couldn’t very well refuse it when she offered, could I?

      Was there some little part of me that had missed this kind of hocus-pocus bull, too? Yeah, probably, way down deep.

      “When?”

      “Tonight,” she said. “The sooner the better.”

      I nodded. I wasn’t sure if I felt better for having my insane experience validated, or whether that just made it more frightening. “Where? In the park where you usually hold your open circles?”

      “No. No, this needs to be private. There’s an occult shop in the Village. They have a tiny backyard.” She dug in her handbag, pulled out a pen and a business card, flipped the card over and wrote on the back. “I’ll get the coven together. Not all of them, just the Seconds and Thirds. If this is what I think it is, it’s serious stuff.” She slid the card across the table so I could see the address she’d written. “Be there by 10:00 p.m., okay?”

      Blinking, feeling a ridiculous burning sensation behind my eyes, I nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”

      “I’m a high priestess. This is part of my job.” She twisted her wrist to look at her watch. “My other job, that is, besides the one I’m late getting back to. But before I do, I need your permission to share what you’ve told me with one other person. Someone I trust more than anyone else in the world. You can trust him, too. And he might have information we need. All right?”

      “Is he a shrink?” I asked, and when she frowned at me, I said, “Yeah, permission granted. Go for it. Just try not to make me sound too warped.”

      She was already on her feet, using a napkin to pick up the remaining half of her donut, hoisting her bag, which, I’d just noticed, matched the shoes—same black leather, same silver zipper—higher onto her shoulder. “I’ve gotta run, Indy. Take care of yourself, okay? And trust me, we’ll figure this out.”

      I tried to smile. “Okay.”

      And then she was gone, clicking away in her fabulous shoes at high speed. She’d left a half cup of caffeine-laden brew at her seat. Reflexively, I started to reach for it, felt eyes on me, heard a throat clear, and saw a waitress looking at me.

      Sighing, I lowered my hand to my own cup of putrid tea. At least I had my donut.

       2

      “Father Dominick. You asked for me?”

      “In the office,” Dom called.

      Tomas entered and closed the front door behind him. The old priest’s entire house smelled like a combination of mothballs and muscle rub that always made Tomas’s stomach clench and his nose wrinkle. He forced himself not to allow the latter as he walked through the cluttered living room into what had probably been a den or a library when the old Victorian was built and now served as Dom’s office. Crucifix on the wall, books everywhere. Not just on the shelves—and there were lots of those—but in stacks and standing upright along the floor between every piece of furniture that could serve as a bookend. Old books, their bindings and pages overwhelming the smells in the rest of the house, much to Tomas’s relief. The smell of books was soothing. It was the smell of knowledge, preserved and passed on.

      Father Dom was sitting at his desk, facing his СКАЧАТЬ