Mark of the Witch (11 page)

“This morning?” I buried my anger that he’d gone into my bag
and taken my phone, and glanced toward the bedroom window, saw the sun streaming
in through the sheer, gold-tinted curtains. “Wow, I was out all night?”

I looked at him again. He looked away and nodded.

“All right, Tomas. I’ll come right down. Just give me a minute
to…wash my face.”

“Take your time,” he said, still not looking me in the eye.
“And it’s
Father
Tomas.” Turning, he walked out of
the bedroom as if the devil was on his heels.

Maybe in his mind she was.

* * *

I was leaning over the computer, looking at a grossly
enlarged image of my own upper body, and feeling damned uncomfortable. It wasn’t
entirely due to the gashes on my arms and back that had been there and then
faded to the pink welts covering me in the photos before vanishing like
raindrops in the desert. It was also because Tomas was looking at them, too.
Father Dom, too, but mostly Tomas. And yes, he’d been there when it happened,
but back then he hadn’t been staring intently at my magnified pores and
lily-white skin. And what the hell was up with that mole on the back of my
shoulder? It looked huge! And was that a hair sprouting from it?
A hair? Really?

I was reaching behind me, absently feeling for the tiny
offender, when Tomas said, “It’s not much use. The marks were fading too fast to
get anything readable. But I’m sure it was some sort of writing. As was the
tattoo. Babylonian or Assyrian, perhaps. I just didn’t have time to read
it.”

I blinked at him. “You can read Babylonian and Assyrian?”

“Somewhat, but not Akkadian or Sumerian.”

I hadn’t realized the true depth of his intellect and was still
digesting that when the sound of a motor brought my head around.
God,
I thought,
don’t let this be
another priest.
“The tattoo on my lower back said, ‘daughter of
Ishtar,’” I told him.

“How do you know that?” he asked, staring at me as if
stunned.

I shrugged. “I don’t have the foggiest. But that’s what it
said.”

The engine shut off, and I moved to the window to look outside,
then felt the weight of the world rise from my shoulders as if it had just
sprouted wings. Rayne was getting out of her Mercedes and heading for the front
door. My smile was so big it hurt, and I was yanking the big door open before
she even lifted her hand to knock. “God, I’m so glad to see you,” I blurted, and
I hugged her. Me. The most unfriendly, non-huggy person I know. I hugged her.
“What are you doing here? And how the hell did you find us?”

She hugged back. “I thought you could use a friend,” she said,
coming inside. Her eyes shot past me. “Hello again, Tomas.”

“Good to see you, Rayne. You look fantastic, as always.”

“Of course I do. I’m a witch.”

He smiled at her, and there was something…familiar in it.
Something intimate. Like a secret the rest of us weren’t in on. Father Dom saw
it, too. I could tell by his troubled frown and the intense way he was watching
the two of them. An odd little cauldron full of something green started bubbling
in my belly, even though I told it not to. He was a
priest,
for crying out loud. She was a
witch.
Nothing could possibly be going on between them.

Are you listening to yourself, Indy? Are
you getting how ridiculous your own urge to rip off his clothes and jump his
bones is yet?

That’s different. That’s me. We have a
connection.

Uh-huh. Looks like he and Rayne have a
connection, too. Maybe he’s just kinky. Into forbidden fruit or
whatever.

Fuck off, voice of reason. I hate
you.

I hate you back.

Tomas and Rayne quickly broke eye contact, and he did the
polite-introduction thing. “Father Dom, this is Lady Rayne Blackwood. She’s the
Wiccan high priestess who first contacted me about Indira.”

“I see.” Father Dom gave her a nod but ignored her extended
hand. “Charmed, I’m sure,” he said, loading on so much sarcasm I was surprised
the words didn’t buckle under the weight. Guess the friendly facade couldn’t
withstand the weight of two witches. “And you
two
know each other how?”

It sounded like an accusation. And though I wanted to spit on
the man for his attitude—and why wasn’t he at his conference, anyway?—I was
dying to hear the answer.

Rayne and Tomas locked eyes again, and that intimate something
was right back in evidence. Tomas shrugged and said, “Rayne is my baby
sister.”

Sister? I thought he didn’t have any
family?
I would have to deal with that later. Right now, the weight I
thought had lifted from my shoulders dropped from on high and landed there
again. The impact nearly floored me this time.

One more member of the enemy team, I thought. This one posing
as a friend. As a witch. As a high priestess. My Yoda had lowered her hood to
reveal Darth Vader underneath. What the hell? I couldn’t seem to catch a
break.

Father Dom made some lame excuse to get Tomas alone, probably
so he could lecture him. I was pretty stunned myself, and about to do the same
thing to Rayne. “You’re his sister? And you didn’t think that was something I
had a right to know?” I asked, as soon as the two holy men had left us
alone.

She shrugged and nodded toward the glass doors. “Let’s walk
outside, shall we? It’s a gorgeous morning. Have you eaten?”

Cool, calm, confident. She was everything I wasn’t and never
would be. Sleek red curls, cute and dignified at the same time. She was the most
conservative-looking Wiccan I’d ever seen. No tattoos. Dressy pants with a
knife-sharp crease and wide legs. Short-sleeved burnt-orange pullover. Big amber
beads around her neck and matching ones at her ears. She looked put together
right down to the tan, sensible two-inch pumps. She looked professional.

I gave her a nod and followed her out onto the deck where we’d
all enjoyed those steaks the night before, and I winced a little as I recalled
Father Dom’s obvious dislike of witches. The man was a bigot. If I’d been Tomas,
I would never have admitted to having one of us as a sibling.

And apparently he never had. Until now.

We crossed the deck and walked down the steps to the grassy
lawn, then followed the path that skirted the edge of the cliff. Mist rose,
newborn clouds taking their first flight, from Cayuga Lake far below us. You
could barely see the water through its foggy breath.

“So you’re angry with me,” she said at last.

“When you arrived, I thought you were the cavalry. That you’d
be on my side. But it turns out you’re the enemy’s sister. Yeah, I guess you
could say I’m pretty good and pissed.”

“Tomas is not the enemy, love.” She sighed, walking along the
path that ran close enough to the edge to give us a beautiful view. “He’s a good
man.”

“He’s a
priest!
His ancestors
burned ours, or have you forgotten that?”

“His ancestors and mine are the same people, Indy. We’re
family.”

“Spiritual ancestors, I meant.”

“Well, blood’s thicker than water and all that.”

“Is it thicker than the rack, though? The thumbscrews? The
stake?”

She shrugged. “He’s not like that.”

“They’re all like that.”

“You’re as bigoted as Father Dom.”

That shut me up.

Rayne pursed her lips in thought. I was silent, trying to feel
the breeze on my face and not the throbbing in my head. “Look,” she said at
length, “I used to think his beliefs were way out there, even farther than my
own.” She took slow steps, gazing out at the natural beauty all around us. “But
then, when those things started happening to you, the dreams, the flashbacks,
suddenly knowing how to hurl telekinetic energy like a pro and how to speak
whatever the hell language you were speaking—I mean the marks alone—”

I held up a hand to stop her. “I know.” Because even I couldn’t
deny the marks in my skin. Everything else could be…hallucination, insanity,
delusion. But not those marks. Because I wasn’t the only one who’d seen them.
And there were pictures, for crying out loud.

“You needed help, Indy. And I knew in my gut that Tomas was the
only one who could give it to you.”

I nodded. “You still could’ve told me.”

She met my eyes and shrugged. “But I came. Isn’t that worth
something?”

I held her gaze and felt myself soften. “Your big-shot law firm
give you a sick day?”

“I took my vacation time. A full two weeks of it. By then
Samhain will be a distant memory and this will be over, one way or the
other.”

“You won’t need the full two weeks.”

“I figured I might want some time to recover. Goddess knows
what a wild ride we’re in for.”

“Mmm-hmm, I’ve been getting that feeling myself.” I drew a deep
breath, and then got lost in the taste of it. Fresh clean air, flavored with the
scent of decaying leaves and lake water and morning mist. It was good here—at
the moment.

“I’m on your side, even though he is my brother. I’m still a
witch, a high priestess. I take my oath to the Goddess and to my sister witches
very seriously, Indy.”

I wanted to believe her and decided to put it to the test.
“Okay, then, do something for me.”

“Anything.”

I nodded toward the den where the two men had disappeared.
“Tell them I wasn’t feeling well and decided to take a long hot shower. And
don’t let them up those stairs.”

She frowned at me, tipping her head to one side. “What are
you—”

“No questions. You want me to trust you and your brother, how
about trusting me in return?”

Slowly she nodded. “All right, I’ll do it.”

“Promise?” I asked.

She made a backward peace sign and pressed her fingertips to
either side of her nose. “Witch’s honor.”

I smiled. It was genuine, and it felt good. “Thanks.”

Then I turned and ran up the stairs to the deck and hurried
inside.

Quickly, I darted into “my” room, through it to the bathroom,
cranked on the shower taps and closed the shower stall door. I went back into
the bedroom, shutting the bathroom door behind me. I grabbed my BlackBerry from
my bag, and then, pausing in the doorway, I looked up and down the hallway, and
checked the stairs. No one in sight.

I was shaking a little, which was stupid. What would they do if
they caught me? Baptize me to death? I darted down the hall. The door to the
guest room closest to mine was open, and I could see it was empty. The other
guest room’s door stood closed. That must be where Father Dom was staying.

My hand was trembling as I twisted the knob, praying he hadn’t
slipped upstairs in the seconds I’d been in my own room. Bracing myself,
mentally rehearsing one lame explanation after another, I pushed it open. No one
there. His bags weren’t in sight. But the journal was. Right there on the
nightstand.

The man had underestimated me. Of course, the minute he
realized I’d slipped upstairs alone, he would probably become painfully aware of
his mistake.

Quickly I flipped the journal open, whipping out my BlackBerry
like a gunfighter drawing his six-shooter. I scrolled to the photo app and began
snapping pics. Snap, snap, flip the page. And again, then flip, and again and
again.

I tried to resist the urge to look behind me, because that
would take more time than I had. Five pages done. Then ten. And then—

A text message came in. Nothing but an exclamation point, but
since it was from Rayne, I knew what it meant.

I closed the book, pocketed the phone and was back into the
hallway in two lunges. It nearly killed me to pull the door closed slowly, so it
wouldn’t bang, but I did it. Two more long strides and I was ducking into my own
room, even as someone was coming up the stairs. I peeked out the door as Father
Dom’s head came into view. I closed my door, dove for the bathroom, closed that
door and locked it.

And then I stood there for a long minute, holding my phone to
my chest while my heart pounded.

Damn,
I thought.
You’re pretty good at this.
I pulled the photos up and
sat down to take a look. But they were too small for me to make out the words,
much less the diagrams and other drawings. I needed to get them onto a computer.
Okay, good. Later.

I quickly went to the settings for my phone and set up password
protection. I’d have to keep it with me at all times until it was safe to delete
the photos. And I needed a damned computer and an hour of privacy.

But right now I needed to take that long hot shower or I’d give
myself away. Not that I needed the excuse. A hot shower would go a long way
toward soothing my headache. At least I hoped it would.

* * *

I took my time about it, and forty minutes later, give
or take, I was feeling greatly refreshed. I was decked out in brown leggings, a
long green sweater dress and a wide brown belt. My hair was dry and, since I’d
moussed and scrunched it, excessively curly. I chose a pair of tall, sexy suede
boots and poured all my stuff into the bag that matched them. I did my makeup to
perfection, looked as good as I ever had, and turned to give myself one final
glance in the mirror.

She
was there, standing right
behind me, and I instinctively spun, raising my arms defensively.

Nothing. No one. Still, I kept my arms crossed in front of me
as I glanced warily at the mirror again.

She was there. But I wasn’t.

She was my reflection and, I realized, not Lilia, the same
dark-haired, dark-eyed woman who’d hacked me to bits in the IHOP restroom. Nor
was she the other woman who’d stood beside me on the cliff, Magdalena. So that
meant she had to be…

I lifted my hand and watched the mirror image lift hers.

I leaned closer, and she did, too. I stared into her eyes, and
she stared back into mine. She had taken over my reflection, this raven-haired,
copper-skinned beauty. She was even wearing my clothes.