by Jane Kindred
Despite the fact that it broke protocol, Ione threw a dark glance at Dev, but he looked down at his folded hands. “I was not.”
“Another dead animal was found at the door of the temple, with another note demanding your expulsion.”
Clémence gave her a firm but compassionate look. “Understand, Dione, that the Covent will not accede to the demands of such a person. Any action we take as a result of these proceedings will be done in accordance with Covent doctrine and bylaws.”
“I understand. Thank you.”
“Nevertheless,” said Théo, “it is troubling that you’ve withheld information about your potential conflict with the tenets of the Covent.”
“My conflict, Elder Guerry?”
“The allegations that have been brought against you that you have an undesirable relative who was once expelled from our ranks.”
Ione clasped her hands behind her back and met his gaze. “I assume you’re referring to an incident that allegedly occurred sometime during the fifteenth century. We have no idea what evidence, if any, was presented to support those allegations. And even if it could be proved, surely there are many laws from the fifteenth century we would all be ashamed to stand by today.”
Clémence frowned sternly. “That is not for you to decide. It is your responsibility to inform this body when such information is brought to your attention. Had you done so, perhaps all of this unpleasantness could have been avoided.”
“All of it?” Ione bristled. “If you mean to include the actions of Carter Hamilton in that ‘all,’ you’re mistaken. I only learned of his obsession with my supposed ancestor when he was in the act of draining the blood from my coven member, Rafael Diamante, and attempting to murder my sister.”
“The events of that evening remain to be verified by Assayer Gideon’s investigation. What we are here to determine is whether you willfully withheld information you believed to be detrimental to your eligibility to serve as high priestess of this coven—which I believe you have just confirmed—and what the consequences of this breach of faith with the Covent shall be.”
“You mean to say the consequences of my blood lineage.”
The spark in Clémence’s previously dull blue eyes said Ione had gone too far. “I mean to say exactly what I did say, Mademoiselle Carlisle. As for your blood, you are quite correct in your assessment of the differences in beliefs between the Covent of the present day and the Covent of 1462. Modern witches do not believe in demons, only in the practice of dark magic through the cultivation of malevolent energy within oneself—with the exception of the practice of necromancy, of course, which involves the manipulation of purely human spirits that are not one’s own.”
Ione might have applauded such a statement a few months ago. But regardless of her doubts about the fact of her own demon blood—doubts that were, in truth, mostly wishful thinking—she had met a demon in the flesh. She couldn’t resist a quick glance at Dev, but his neutral expression revealed nothing.
“Hypothetically speaking, what would the Covent’s policy be about demon ancestry if such beings were real? I mean, I’m sorry to sound doubtful of what you’re saying, Elder Dupre, but I can’t quite understand why the Global Conclave would have assembled here in my insignificant little town simply because I neglected to report that someone had suggested I had the blood of an imaginary creature in my veins. If my ancestry has nothing to do with my eligibility to serve as high priestess, how exactly am I in breach of faith with the Covent?”
Théo answered. “No one has said your ancestry has nothing to do with your eligibility. Demon blood notwithstanding, there is a reason your ancestress was expelled from the Covent. The Covent’s recordkeeping has always been quite exhaustive, and it seems we do, in fact, have an idea of the evidence presented against one Madeleine Marchant in Briançon in what was then the province of Dauphiné, France, in 1462—the woman we have determined to be a common ancestor of both your mother and your father, confirming the claims of this ‘Nemesis.’ Madame Marchant was found guilty of exploiting her supposed demonic ancestry by using it to instill fear in the other members of her coven and in local villagers.
“Her actions drew attention to the Covent, which in France in the fifteenth century, as I’m sure you can imagine, was a very dangerous prospect. Though the Covent would not be formally established for another seventy years, then, as now, the name was used in secret among its members, and there were those in positions of power who knew of it. The Covent was forced to disavow affiliation with Madeleine. She was later tortured and burned at the stake due to accusations among the locals that she was a witch.”
Ione shuddered involuntarily. Every witch knew the history of the Burning Times, but it had never seemed so immediate and personal to her before.
Clémence inclined her head. “As you see, Mademoiselle Carlisle, the Covent does not take a favorable view of those who claim to ally themselves with demonic powers in order to intimidate other Covent members.”
So they were back to that: her “intimidation” of Carter Hamilton. “Even if those members happen to be serial killers, rapists and necromancers?”
“That is quite enough, mademoiselle. We will adjourn for the morning and let you know if we need further testimony from you before making our decision. I suggest you keep your mobile phone to hand, as we may wish to call you at our convenience.” Before Ione could demur, the older woman added, “We have the number.”
Chapter 12
Per tradition, she waited with bowed head for the Conclave members to step down and proceed toward the exit. Even without looking, however, she felt Dev’s approach.
“I thought you didn’t have a mobile phone.”
Ione glanced up, annoyed that he looked fantastic in a tailored suit. “I have one. I just don’t give the number out.”
“I see. It would have made it so much easier to reach you yesterday.”
“And I live to make your life easier. Tell me, is that your excuse for not bothering to inform me of the attack on the temple last night? Because I do have email and I provided you with the address on Saturday.”
Dev frowned. “No. I just didn’t see the point in upsetting you with more harassment from this person that you couldn’t do anything about.”
“At least until later today, I am still the high priestess of this coven, Mr. Gideon—”
“Please don’t do that. I know you find the way I’ve handled this unforgivable, and you’d just as soon forget any intimate connection between us, but please don’t call me Mr. Gideon. It makes me feel like some crusty old wizard.” Dev sighed when Ione pressed her lips together tightly. “I wasn’t going behind your back in reporting the incident last night. I was thinking that you had enough on your mind without those images in your head. As with nearly every decision I’ve made since I’ve arrived, I see it was the wrong one, but I did it to spare you, not to undermine you.”
Ione shifted her weight and crossed her arms to keep from giving away her discomfort. “What images?”
“I documented the scene before I cleaned it up once I realized ringing the authorities was impractical given the proximity glamour.”
“Let me see.”
“You don’t want to—”
“Do not tell me what I want. This is my coven and this person was attacking me. Show me the pictures right now.”
With a controlled breath, Dev removed his phone from his coat pocket, thumbing the pictures into view. Ione took the phone from him and expanded the first thumbnail. She had to fight not to shove the phone back at him in revulsion. She’d asked for this.
“As with the cat, this is clearly an animal that had lain on the side of the road for some days before Nemesis brought it here.” Dev took the phone back from her before it fell out of her hand. “I only mention it to ease your mind in case you were worried that someone i
s sacrificing these animals as part of this campaign against you. I think it’s safe to say that isn’t the case here. Not that it’s much comfort but this tells us ‘Nemesis’ is most likely not someone who would easily kill a human, either.”
Ione wasn’t so certain. “Every budding psychopath has to start somewhere. I ought to know. I’ve dated one.” From the startled look on his face, she realized he might be assuming she meant him—not that what they’d been doing could be called dating. “Carter Hamilton,” she clarified. “Maybe I should get Phoebe on this. Have her look further into this Lorelei Carlisle person. If she isn’t Nemesis, she may be Carter’s go-between, getting information to someone else who’s doing his bidding.”
“You said Phoebe just started apprenticing. Are you sure we shouldn’t call in a professional?”
“I’ve learned not to underestimate my sister.” Ione picked up her purse from the bench where she’d set it and took the cell phone out of the little pocket where it was tucked inside. Might as well start using the thing. “Besides, Phoebe has an advantage most investigators don’t.”
Dev eyed her phone with a lifted eyebrow. “And what would that be?”
Ione turned on the phone and dialed Phoebe’s number. “She’s an evocator.” She wasn’t sure Dev would know the term. It wasn’t one she’d been familiar with before Carter. But the stunned look on his face told her he was well acquainted with the concept.
Phoebe’s voice mail picked up before Dev had a chance to speak.
“Hi, Phoebe. It’s Di. I don’t know if you have this number—it’s my cell—but give me a call back as soon as you get this. I need your help.” She recited the number before hanging up.
Dev observed her. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just text her?”
Ione gave him a withering look. “Why does everyone find it so difficult to just listen to a message? It takes thirty seconds.”
Dev seemed amused. “And a text takes five.”
“Maybe for you it does.” Her face warmed slightly as she realized that might have come off as an unintended innuendo but Dev seemed too preoccupied with Phoebe’s talent to notice.
“So your sister conjures spirits?”
“Not conjuring per se. Not usually. She communicates with the shades as a temporary host. She’s been doing it since she was a kid. Apparently they just ‘come’ to her.” Ione sighed. “And don’t think I haven’t tried to warn her of the dangers. We’ve had words over it, believe me.”
“Is that why Carter Hamilton...” Dev paused, looking uncomfortable.
“Chose to seduce me?” Ione filled in. “Yes, it is. That and our demon blood. He believed it was necessary to wake the quetzal within Rafe.”
“You mean the way—”
Ione gave him a warning look. “We don’t have to go there.” She put the phone away and slung her purse over her shoulder. “If we’re done here, I have some errands to run.”
Dev called after her as she turned to go, the rich tones of his voice echoing against the temple walls. “I don’t suppose I could have that mobile number now. For strictly official purposes of course.”
Ione paused and turned back to observe him. “Strictly official,” she warned before giving him the number.
As she walked out to her car, the phone buzzed in her purse. Ione fished it out, thinking it was Phoebe getting back to her, but a text message displayed on the screen from an unrecognized number. Thought you should also have mine. Strictly officially.
Ione turned off the phone. If the Conclave couldn’t reach her when they were ready to cast judgment on her, they’d just have to add her failure to obey their request to the list of her sins.
* * *
When she arrived at the house after stopping at the grocery store on the way home, Ione was surprised to find Phoebe’s little blue Jeep in the driveway. Including these two recent visits, that made possibly three times Phoebe had ever even been out here since Ione had bought the place. Phoebe hopped out of the Jeep as Ione parked on the street, hitching a messy ponytail up high behind her head.
“Phoebe?” Ione rolled down the window. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? You leave me this weird cryptic message saying you’re calling from your cell phone—and, hey, news to me that you even have one—and you need help, and then I call back and get a generic recording saying the person I’m trying to reach is unavailable? I thought someone had abducted you and you were trying to send me a coded message. What the hell was that about? Whose number was that?”
“Like I said, it’s my cell phone number. I’ve had it for a while. I just don’t like using it.” Ione got out of the car. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm you. I turned off the phone because Dev persuaded me to give him the number and then immediately started texting me.”
“And that’s a bad thing because?”
“Because he turned me in to the College of Elders and I’ve just come from facing the Inquisition before a Global Conclave.” Ione unlocked the front door and Phoebe followed her in.
“A Global Conclave?” Phoebe made herself at home on the sofa. “What do you mean he turned you in? I thought they’d sent him to investigate you. Did he find you guilty of something?”
“Of having demon blood.” Ione tossed her purse down and flopped into a chair.
“Uh, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black? Isn’t his dragon pal a demon?”
“Yes, but technically, he doesn’t have demon blood. He just transforms into one because they share the same corporeal form.”
Phoebe rolled her eyes. “Right. How stupid of me. That makes it all better. I assume you turned him in right back.”
“No.”
“No?”
“It’s complicated, Phoebe. Anyway, that’s not why I called. I was hoping I could enlist you to do a little digging on our mystery woman, Lorelei Carlisle.”
Phoebe’s look was suspicious. “You want me to investigate her? You didn’t trust my skills as a lawyer after I’d spent three years in law school and another year in practice, and now you’re going to trust me to do PI work after a few weeks?”
“That’s not fair. I never said I didn’t think you were a good lawyer. In fact, I recall telling you just a couple of days ago that I thought you were a very good lawyer. That’s why I’m a little dismayed that you’ve given it up.” Ione held up her hand as Phoebe started to object. “I’m not criticizing you. I’m just surprised. But I respect your choice. And as long as we have a PI in the family I thought I’d take advantage of it.” She tried to grin but she was losing her ability to make light of things. “I also figured since there’s a Lorelei Carlisle among the recent dead...your evocation skills might come in handy.”
Phoebe crossed her arms and leaned back against the cushions. “Uh-huh. Now you’re starting to seem more like you.”
“Look, if you don’t want to do it—”
“No, don’t worry. I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it. I just think giving you a little bit of crap is fair play after all the crap you’ve given me.” Phoebe managed a much more effective impudent grin.
“Thanks. I think.” Ione opened her purse and took out the note from Nemesis she’d received at Holy Cross. “I don’t know if this will help, but here’s a sample of Nemesis’s normal handwriting. Maybe if you find this Lorelei woman, you can compare it with hers.”
Phoebe took the note and opened it, scanning over it. “When did you get this?”
“Last night at Taizé. Where, thanks to Nemesis, I’m no longer welcome. She gave the note to someone in the congregation to give to me and claimed to belong to my coven.”
“Ouch. Outed at church.” Phoebe glanced up. “Did you get a look at who dropped off the note?”
“No, I never saw her, but my judgmental ‘friend’ said she was young and had short dark hair in
a pageboy cut.”
Phoebe tucked the note into her pocket. “Not much to go on, but I’ll see what I can rustle up.” She gave Ione a sidelong look. “So, do you want to tell me more about this Dev guy?” Her eyebrows waggled. “Maybe compare stories about turning guys into dragons with our magic pussies?”
Ione, having long since learned not to show any reaction to Phoebe’s provocative speech, didn’t even crack a smile. “No.”
“Okeydoke.” Phoebe rose. “Guess I’ll get on this, then.” Ione went with her to the front door and Phoebe turned back when she reached the driveway. “Oh, and I’m going to call your cell from now on so I suggest you turn it back on if you want to know what I find out.”
“Nice. Brat.”
Phoebe grinned as she climbed into the Jeep. “Well, as you’re so fond of saying...you raised me.”
“Which you’re only willing to acknowledge when I’m pointing out a fault.”
“I refer you to Article 2 in the previous sentence.” Phoebe started the engine and pulled out into the road as Ione closed the door.
Though the Conclave hadn’t left any messages, predictably there were more texts from Dev when she turned the phone back on, continuing periodically throughout the day. The general theme was apologizing for choosing to tell her about the Conclave when he had—though he was careful not to say anything specific about when that had been as though expecting the messages to be monitored. And each message ended with a promise that, henceforth, his use of her number would be strictly official.
Ione finally figured out how to leave the ringer on with text notifications set to silent. The little bluish illumination of light of the periodic notifications was oddly comforting as Ione fell asleep that night with the phone on the nightstand. She wasn’t forgiving him, and his persistence was somewhat annoying, but she couldn’t help feeling secretly pleased that he was trying anyway.
* * *
The phone woke her in the morning, and Ione fumbled for the landline only to get a dial tone when she picked it up. Slightly more awake, she answered the cell phone, her heart pounding as she braced for Clémence’s soft accent.
