Mark of the Witch (9 page)

He would hurt her if she did not comply.

As for the priest, he would hurt him either way. He hated
priests of every ilk and would wipe them all from existence if he were able.

And as with most of his overpowering emotions, he did not know
why he felt that way, only that he did. He did not question his feelings. He
simply felt them, acted on them. There was no thought in between. Only raw
hate.

So he would kill the priest outright and the witch in due
time.

But first he had to find them.

He could not pass through the Portal until the time was
perfect. Midnight on the Eve of Samhain. And he could not pass through without
the key the witch possessed. Even then, he would remain in spirit form, not
physical. Getting a body would be the second goal. Just getting through the
Portal was the first.

But even from this dark place, he could influence beings in the
land of the living. The simplest minds would give way to his control most
easily. The innocent. So the young, the stupid and, of course, the animals.

They would be his eyes and his ears, since he had no body of
his own. They would locate his quarry for him and, if necessary, destroy them on
his behalf.

He would deploy his own little army. And now that the priest
had drawn near the Portal, it was time to begin amassing his troops.

6

T
he cottage was cozy enough. There was
nothing about it that ought to frighten me. Overstuffed furniture and plants
everywhere. Wildlife prints on the walls, huge sliding glass doors that opened
onto a rear deck that faced out toward the mirror lake below.

I stood on that deck with the wind riffling my hair, looking
out over the railing, just taking it all in. It was a far different view from
what I was used to. I didn’t think I’d ever seen anything like it. I was a city
girl, had been all my life.

Tomas joined me there after a few minutes, a steaming mug in
each hand. “What do you think of my place?” he asked as I took one of them from
him, felt its warmth, caught the scent of chocolate.

“I can see why you love it here. It’s beautiful.” I closed my
eyes and pulled the cup closer to my face, sniffing. “Mmm. Cocoa.”

“Aha. I thought I detected the soul of a chocoholic about
you.”

“There’s nothing chocolate can’t fix,” I informed him. “I
wouldn’t be surprised if it could make this alleged demon so happy he grows a
halo.” I turned to continue gazing out over the water. “You know, this enforced
vacation might not be so bad, after all. This is a gorgeous cottage, there’s a
beautiful lake, what’s left of the foliage is breathtaking, and I’m here with
one of the best-looking men I’ve ever met, who happens to indulge me in a smoke
now and then. Even if he is a priest.”

He blinked. “I… Thanks, I guess.”

“So have you got one now?”

“One…”

I held up my fingers in a backward peace sign in front of my
lips. He caught my meaning. “Nope. Fresh out.”

“Just used them to lure me here, didn’t you?” I accused.

“Is that what you think?”

I shrugged and relaxed, my elbows on the railing, cocoa in
hand. “Pretty interesting that you picked this place before you knew this Portal
thing was nearby.”

“Yeah. I fell in love with the area when I was at Cornell and
just never wanted to leave. I was drawn to this place from my first visit here.”
Then he frowned a little. “Of course, who’s to say the Portal wasn’t the reason
for that? Guarding it is my calling, one into which I was born, according to
Dom, so…maybe I sensed it even then.”

“You ever think he might be wrong?”

“Dom?”

“Yeah. I mean, he’s not the Pope. Humans are fallible, and this
legend of yours is thousands of years old. You lose a lot over centuries of
interpretation and reinterpretation. Just look at the Bible.”

He didn’t answer me, so I sipped and pretended not to notice.
“Well, at least it’s pretty here.”

He moved to a little round table on the left-hand side of the
deck, pulled out a chair and sat down, then waited for me to join him, but I
didn’t. Just stayed where I was, staring out at the peaceful lake.

“It began three thousand, five hundred years ago, give or take.
In Babylon. This demon—”

“I’m not ready to hear this yet.” I was tempted to cover my
ears and start singing
la-la-la
but figured just
telling him was more mature. “Can’t we just enjoy the afternoon, maybe toss a
couple of steaks on that gas grill over there and—”

“You can’t avoid this forever.”

“Can I avoid it for now?” I asked.

“Of course you can!” called a booming voice from behind us,
beyond the still-open patio doors, inside the house.

I jumped, spun around with my hand to my chest and gasped so
hard it hurt. But I relaxed when I saw the man coming out through the glass
doors. He wore a priestly collar, like Tomas, but was different in every other
respect. He was a tall man, slightly stooped and slender, with salt-and-pepper
hair in a slicked-back cut. His smile was wide, and his face reminded me of a
very old bloodhound as he came straight to me, one hand extended, his pale blue
eyes sparkling. “You must be Indira.”

“And you have to be Father Dominick,” I said.

“Guilty as charged.” He closed his hand around mine, big, but
frail and soft, as I looked from him to Tomas and back again.

“I didn’t know you were coming, Father Dom,” Tomas said.

“You probably think I’m overstepping, right? But I have good
reason for being here, Tomas. There’s an interfaith conference at the Statler
this weekend. One I’ve been planning to attend. So I thought I might as well
stay here with you, in case I can be of any help. And,” he added, holding up a
grocery bag, “I brought steaks.” He shook the bag a little, grinning at me.
“Like a bona fide mind reader, eh?”

I couldn’t help but smile back. His jovial mood was infectious,
and it broke the tension around here, which had been way needed. “Like a mind
reader. You’re not one, are you?”

“Not at all,” he said. “There are few people who wouldn’t love
a good steak.” Then he shot a look at Tomas again and shook his head. “This one,
all work, no play. Then again, I guess I’ve got to take the blame for that. I’m
the one who trained him. It’s my old job he’s doing now.” He set the bag on the
table, pulling out two magnums of wine. “Tomas, get us a bucket of ice, eh? I’ll
fire up the grill.”

Tomas didn’t move right away. Finally, picking up on it, Dom
looked at him and sighed. “I know you’re up to this job, son. I wouldn’t have
chosen you if I didn’t. But, Tomas, it’s been my life’s work, too, you know.
Training for this time, preparing for it. I just couldn’t stay away now that
it’s finally about to play out, you know? I had to be here. I had to see it
through. Tell me you understand.”

Tomas drew a deep breath and nodded as he released it all at
once. I had the feeling he was going to argue but changed his mind. “I do. I get
it.” And he seemed to relax as he approached Father Dom and embraced him. It
seemed genuine, complete with multiple back slaps on both sides.

As they stepped apart, Father Dom seemed relieved. “All right,
now how about that ice?”

“I’ll put the wine on ice,” I said quickly. “I haven’t had a
chance to explore the place yet, or unpack, or anything. It’ll give you guys
time to catch up.” I picked up the bottles and nodded at the men as I walked
back inside. Frankly, I wanted some alone time, and good old Father Dom had
provided a perfect distraction for the hunk. I’d have to thank him sometime.

* * *

Tomas waited until she was out of sight, then slid the
glass doors closed and turned. “Why are you really here, Dom?”

“Just like I said. It’s my life’s work. I’m not gonna sit on
the sidelines while it goes down.”

But Tomas knew the old man too well. “I’m not buying it any
more than I’m buying your friendliness toward Indira. You
hate
witches. So what’s going on?”

Dom’s jovial expression evaporated. His face turned hard,
stern. “You need me, is what’s going on.” He nodded toward the doors. “And now
that I’ve seen the witch, I’m thinking it’s a damn good thing I am here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“
What’s that supposed to mean?
Are
you telling me you haven’t noticed what she looks like?”

Tomas crouched low in front of the grill, twisting the gas
valve open and avoiding his elder’s eyes. “I’m human. I noticed.”

“I thought so. Believe me, she’ll use it. Her looks, her body,
she’ll use it all. She’s in league with a demon, Tomas. You can’t forget
that.”

Rising, Tomas lifted the lid of the grill, turned on the center
burner and pushed the ignition button. It snapped three times, then caught with
a soft whoosh. “She’s not, actually.”

“What’s this now?” Dom came closer, stood shoulder to shoulder
with him, looking his way, but Tomas wasn’t looking back. He pretended great
interest in the grill as he turned on the other two burners, watching the blue
flames light in synchronized order. “She’s not what?” Father Dom asked.

“Not in league with a demon.” He made his voice sound falsely
scary as he said the words and waggled his fingers menacingly in the air. “Or
with anyone, Dom. She’s just a nice girl who’s being plagued by nightmares and
phantom injuries, and has no idea why.”

“Phantom injuries, you say?”

“Yes. It’s happened twice now. At least that I know of. The
lashes of a whip across her back, and then a blade cutting her chest and arms.
Both times the marks faded within minutes.”

Dom was nodding. “It’s one of the other two witches, or perhaps
the demon himself, trying to stir her memory. And it’ll work, too. You mark my
words, Tomas, she’ll remember, and as soon as she does, she’ll return to her
true calling. To help her demon overlord escape the Underworld. If she has to
kill you to do it, she will. She’s a witch, Tomas.”

“You say that as if it’s synonymous with ‘evil.’”

“That’s because it is.” Dom reached up and closed the grill’s
lid. “Now let’s just let that heat up good before I toss on the steaks. What
have you got on hand for sides?”

* * *

I stuck the wine in the fridge rather than searching the
place for an ice bucket. The kitchen was compact and functional, done in stained
wood like the rest of the cottage. Very rustic, with old-fashioned-looking white
cupboards and appliances, and a white marble countertop with cream and gold
swirls. I was eager to explore the rest of the place, but more eager to do
something else. As soon as my hands were free, I pulled out my cell phone,
relieved to see two bars appear top left, and called Rayne.

It went straight to voice mail, though. Again. Maybe she was at
work and not taking calls. “Rayne, it’s Indy. I’m sorry I yelled in that earlier
voice mail. I can only assume I pissed you off so much you’re refusing to call
me back, and I know you were only trying to help. So get over it now, okay,
because I need you. I’m in a cottage in Ithaca with that priest you sicced on
me, so I hope he’s as okay as you said. He seems all right so far, but now
another one has shown up, and even though he seems like a cheerful old fart, I’m
starting to feel outnumbered. Call me, okay?”

I disconnected and hoped for the best. Stupid of me not to have
let someone—anyone—know where I was going and with whom. I was way too old to
make those kinds of mistakes. But at least Rayne would know now. It was on the
record. If anything should happen…

“Think positive much, there, Indy?” I asked myself aloud.

Shaking my head, I walked out of the kitchen and back into the
large open, main room, which combined living and dining areas beneath a tall
cathedral ceiling crisscrossed by huge barn beams. Two bags sat by the door. One
gaped open, and I could see books inside. The other was a small suitcase.
Apparently Father Dom planned to stay for a while.

I found that very disappointing.

There was a den, separated from the rest by a closed door, off
to the right, staircase to the left. The entire place smelled of wood. It was a
soothing scent. There were a couple of other closed doors opposite the kitchen,
but I was more interested in the stairway, so I took it. Tomas had taken my
duffel up there and probably tossed it into my room for me, so I would soon know
which one was mine. The stairs were made of halved logs covered in gleaming
layers of shellac. A tiny oval of green carpet had been affixed to each one—to
prevent slipping, I supposed. The railing resembled a twisting, knotty, sapling
trunk and was like nothing I’d ever seen before. The bedroom doors were lined up
along one side of the upstairs hallway and the other side was open, so I could
look down into the living room below, with a continuation of that same railing
preventing someone from sleepwalking over the edge.

Upstairs was much like down, wood everywhere. A tall fountain
stood in the corner near the top of the stairs, slightly dusty and not working
at the moment. Tomas must shut it off when he left, and I guessed he hadn’t
gotten around to turning it back on yet. But it was a beautiful piece, with a
flat stone as tall as my head standing upright in a water-filled basin that
resembled a stone pond, and cobbles stacked up around it. Crouching down, I
inspected the area just behind the fountain, located a power cord with a switch
and turned it on.

The thing whirred softly, gurgled and chugged, and then the
water began flowing down the face of the flat rock. It could use some more.
Still, it worked. I rose and stood back to admire it. “Beautiful.” In fact, this
entire place was beautiful.

So why did I still find it scary?

I headed down the hall, stopping to open each door I came to
along the way. There were four of them, two on the right side and one on each
end. The first two I inspected were smallish guest rooms, each done in a
different woodland theme. The beds were all knotty pine four-posters, the
dressers matched. But each one had a different creature stenciled along the tops
of the wooden walls, and on the bedspreads, curtains, framed prints on the
walls, and even the bedside lamp. The first was black bears. The second
white-tail deer. Neither of them seemed to be occupied.

So I switched my attention to the far end of the hallway, and
its single door. I glanced toward the stairs, wondering if there was time to
snoop just a little more. I wanted to see what Tomas’s room was like. The man
fascinated me, and I was itching to know more about him. But no, this wasn’t the
time. I took a quick look inside the room at the end of the hall and knew it had
to be his. Like everything in this place, it was mostly wood, but with a bed
made out of an entire white birch tree. The four posts were made from lengths of
its trunk, and the headboard was woven in a twisted pattern from its twigs. It
was a stunning bed, really. His bedspread was hunter-green plaid, and the art on
the walls was all wildlife—but they were photos. In one a doe was curled around
her spotted newborn fawn, licking its head, in the shelter of a fallen pine. In
another, a huge hawk was feeding something icky to its squawking, wide-beaked
chicks.

I heard voices below and quickly backed out of the bedroom into
the hall, closing the door quietly and tiptoeing—why, I couldn’t have said—on to
the final room, the one at the end of the hall near the stairs. It was
butterscotch and cream, a far softer look than his. The bed was identical, but
everything else was different. The soft chair by the window looked so inviting,
I wished I had a good book with me to curl up and read. There were photos in
this room, too. Shots of the lake and the surrounding hills taken at various
times of year. My bag was on the bed, so I knew this was where I would be
staying, and I was glad.