Bewitching the Dragon

by Jane Kindred

  The group of half a dozen men and a couple of extremely young-looking women greeted her without bothering to introduce themselves, though several of the men gave her appraising looks that made her feel like she was naked.

  “Have a seat.” Paul indicated the spot he’d vacated on the U-shaped cushions surrounding the large table in the booth, and Ione slid in reluctantly, immediately hemmed in by him as he sat beside her. “We were just talking about the big Halloween party a couple of the guys are throwing.” He waved over a waitress. “What can I get you?”

  Her need for a drink had evaporated. The creep factor at this little gathering was sending wholly unpleasant tingles up her spine. Someone at this table was definitely practicing dark magic.

  “Just a Coke. I can’t stay long, and I’m riding.”

  “Nah, you gotta stay. We’re just getting started.” He leaned past her to add a “rum and” in front of her Coke order. Looked like the sobriety elixir was going to come in handy tonight. “So this little shindig is going to be the place to be Friday night. You have to come.”

  “Do I have to wear a costume?”

  One of the guys, who looked like another cop, laughed as he set down his drink. “You can wear whatever you want to, sweetheart. As long as it doesn’t stay on long.”

  “Hey, come on, now.” Paul laughed good-naturedly. “We don’t want to scare her off.”

  The rum and Coke arrived, and Ione picked it up. “I don’t scare easily.” She took a sizable sip.

  One of the girls eyed her across the table as if sizing up a rival. “Maybe you should.” She snuggled under the arm of the cop, who grinned at her as if they were sharing a private joke.

  “Don’t mind them,” said Paul. “They’re just trying to keep the fun to themselves. But everybody gets to have fun at the party. We might even have some magic tricks. You like magic?”

  Ione shrugged. “I’ve never seen much that impressed me.”

  “This will impress you,” the other cop assured her. “Bonnie, here, can go into a trance and channel the spirit of a dead warlock.”

  “What’s the use of that?”

  “He’s a warlock,” said Bonnie, as if that answered it.

  Her friend elaborated. “The warlock has power over the spirits of the dead who haven’t moved on. He can conjure up any sort of spirit you like...and he can put it into anyone at the party he chooses.” It was as good as an admission of the nonconsensual magical sex trade as she was likely to get.

  Ione suppressed a shudder of disgust. “You mean like my friend Barbie told me about? The ride-alongs?”

  Paul cut in before the girl could answer. “That’s kind of privileged information that Barbie shouldn’t really have been giving out.” He smiled as if making light of the idea. “But you should come to the party and see.”

  “So what’s in it for me?” She smiled at Paul. “Besides a little fun, I mean.”

  “How would you like to make a thousand dollars?” The cop next to Bonnie wasn’t playing around.

  Ione downed the rest of her drink. “For a thousand dollars, I’ll do the dead guy myself.”

  She managed to extricate herself from Paul’s clutches after a couple of drinks on the pretext of having work in the morning. “Being a receptionist is the most boring job ever,” she complained as she picked up her helmet off the floor behind her feet. “I am so over being friendly to jerks for shit pay. If I’m going to be friendly to some rando, I’d like to get paid for my real skills.” She winked at Paul and made her escape, the address of the party saved on her phone.

  * * *

  After she’d ridden home and shaken off the glamour, Ione’s skin was still crawling, as though the unpleasant vibes that had emanated from someone at that table had followed her home like necromantic feelers being sent out in her direction. She needed to beef up the wards around the house, but she also needed to start using some real protection. A handgun wasn’t going to cut it against necromancy. And if Carter meant to come at her through this Nemesis, whether it turned out to be her own half sister or not, Ione needed to be ready for him.

  She gathered the supplies for the first protection spell she’d ever learned: the Amulet of Isis. Her altar room, originally designed as an under-the-stairs storage closet, allowed just enough room to stand before the altar fashioned from an old vanity she’d picked up at a flea market. The mirror was still intact and could be tilted forward and back on a hinge. She’d scraped off the old paint and left it “distressed” to complement the crackled appearance of the aging glass.

  From her apothecary cabinet she gathered the ingredients: dried lavender and laurel, pine and ash, and oils of agrimony and eucalyptus—along with a lump of dragon’s blood. The name of the red, powdery resin couldn’t help but bring Dev to mind, but Ione pushed the thought away. She burned the herbs and resins in the broad shell bowl that served as her cauldron, placing a drop of essential oil on the tips of each index finger as she recited the incantation.

  “Isis, Giver of Life, lend me your protection from those who would seek to do me harm. I draw your shield around me like the cloak of night over which you preside.” As she spoke the words, Ione concentrated on the droplets of oil and willed them to rise. It was her signature, the trick she’d thought only that, but she felt the power in her blood now as the droplets hovered and circled in the air over the bowl. “East, west, north, south, from every direction, the goddess’s protection.” The droplets moved through the air above the altar in a figure eight with the motions of her finger.

  As the still-burning ashes in the bowl took on a red glow, she released the droplets over them, sending the pungent fragrance hissing and puffing into the air. When the ashes had cooled, she wrapped the remnants in a small rectangle of red cloth cut from a silk scarf she rarely wore and tied it off with another strip to hang down like arms while the knotted ends of the original piece formed the “legs” of the amulet—the Isis Knot.

  Ione repeated the ritual three more times to create amulets for Phoebe and the twins before going up to bed. She briefly the entertained the idea of driving Phoebe’s amulet over to her tonight. Nemesis hadn’t left Phoebe or Rafe any more unpleasant surprises since the first one, but there was no telling what Carter might still have up his sleeve. She glanced at the clock on her nightstand. After eleven. Phoebe was probably all tucked into bed for the night and wouldn’t appreciate the late-night intrusion into whatever she was doing in it. And they’d had enough awkward conversations lately.

  Chapter 15

  Odd dreams assailed her throughout a night of fitful sleep. She couldn’t remember them in the morning, but the sun had barely risen when her phone started ringing.

  Theia’s frantic voice carried upstairs from the answering machine for the landline as Ione scrambled for the phone in the semidarkness.

  “Theia? What’s the matter?”

  “It’s Rhe. I mean, this is Theia. But it’s Rhe. Well, it’s me, too—”

  “Theia! Calm down. Tell me what happened.”

  “I had a vision, or a bunch of visions, really. Of terrible things happening to you and Phoebe and Rhe. All night long. Every time I closed my eyes.” Theia paused for breath. “Nothing happened to you? You’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. What happened to Rhea?”

  “I called to check on her and she said she woke up in the middle of the night with her left arm feeling like it was on fire. She thought she’d broken out in a rash, but when she turned on the light, it was like someone had tattooed her in her sleep but without ink. Perfectly smooth, flat, red lines, like freshly healing flesh, showing the words ‘The impure shall be cast out, and all those who consort with the impure.’ And then she watched as it spelled out ‘abomination’ below it, a little bit at a time, exactly the way the design would have appeared with a tattoo machine.”

 
A shiver rose up Ione’s spine. “She saw the word being tattooed into her arm?” Before Theia could answer, Ione’s cell phone rang. “Hang on, that’s Phoebe.”

  “You have another phone?”

  Ione didn’t bother to give her the obvious answer. “I’ll put her on speaker.” It took her a moment, but she managed to figure it out. “Phoebes, I’ve got Theia on the landline. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, just a little spooked. I had this shade flinging things around my house like a poltergeist all night. It didn’t try to step in, but it was hopping mad or crazy or something. I’ve never experienced a presence that could affect the material world like that without the help of a host. And of course it had to be the one night Rafe sleeps at his place. Otherwise, he’d have been able to see who it was and try to talk some sense into the damn thing.”

  “Well you aren’t the only one who had a visitor last night.” Theia repeated what she’d told Ione about the visions and the attack on Rhea.

  Phoebe whistled. “I think maybe somebody wasn’t happy about the fact that we found Little Miss Laurel. Do you think Rhea’s up to driving back up here this morning, Thei?”

  “She’s already on her way up to stay with me, but I’ll call her and tell her to head to your place. I can be down there in an hour.”

  * * *

  Ione was the first to arrive at Phoebe’s place. Not even Rafe had arrived yet. She and Phoebe were closest in age, but Ione never felt quite as comfortable around Phoebe by herself as she did around the twins.

  Phoebe must have felt the same, because she busied herself in the kitchen making scones. “So what about you?” she asked as she rolled out the dough. “Did anything creepy happen at your place?”

  Ione stroked the cat as he made himself at home in her lap. “I had some weird dreams, but nothing more than that. I think the protective amulet I made for myself yesterday may have had something to do with it.” She opened her purse and took out the ones she’d brought with her. “I made some for you three. Wish I’d done these a day sooner and brought them over yesterday.”

  Phoebe looked up, her expression surprised. “You made me an amulet?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “I don’t know. I just...thank you, Ione. That’s really nice of you.”

  Theia’s arrival, followed by Rafe’s a few minutes later, saved Ione from any more awkwardness. By the time Phoebe’s scones had come out of the oven and tea was steeping, Rhea had arrived, as well.

  “It looks worse than it feels,” Rhea insisted as she held out the arm for Ione and Phoebe’s inspection after Theia had looked her over. The marks had scabbed over, but the words were still perfectly clear.

  “This has to be Carter’s doing.” Theia followed Phoebe to the kitchen as the timer went off. “What did you find out about Laurel?”

  Phoebe brought out the tea and let Theia bring the scones. “Rafe and I went to see her while she was at work, pretending to be looking for our lost dog. I gave her a fake name and she didn’t let on that she recognized me. But there was something really odd about her.”

  “Odd how?” Ione set the cat aside, to his vocal objection, and Rafe answered.

  “She smelled like death. I don’t mean physically,” he clarified when Ione blanched. “Not something that anyone else could smell. But it’s a scent I’ve come to recognize since the quetzal’s awakening. I’ve often smelled it when the dead were near, preceding the appearance of a shade or spirit.”

  Phoebe nodded. “I’ve smelled that too before a step-in. It’s like...something oddly sweet. An almost cloying, flowery perfume.”

  Rafe nodded. “And there were no shades around. But somehow death was clinging to her. It seems she’s somehow touched by it in a way that doesn’t make sense for a living person.”

  “Necromancy,” said Rhea and Theia together.

  Ione shuddered, wondering whether she had ever carried the scent. “Did you question her about Carter?”

  “I couldn’t just come out and ask her if she was visiting him without giving myself away.” Phoebe snagged a bite from Rafe’s scone. “But Rafe and I tried to steer the conversation around to the murders and Carter’s notoriety. She was wearing a pentacle, so I used that as my opening to turn the conversation toward paganism and the goings-on in Sedona over the past few months. Unfortunately, I think I tipped my hand and she clammed up.”

  Ione sighed. “Which means you’re probably right about this attack on the three of you last night. Maybe Carter found out you’d talked to her and he found some way to magically strike back.” And if he had, Ione was through sitting around and waiting for him to attempt something worse. It was time she had words with Carter Hamilton.

  While the others continued to speculate about Laurel, Ione followed Phoebe into the kitchen to help with cleanup after breakfast. “Phoebes, I need a favor,” she said quietly as she loaded the dishwasher.

  Phoebe gave her a wry look. “I was wondering why you were being so helpful.”

  “I need to get in to see Carter.”

  Phoebe nearly dropped the plate she was rinsing. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “I’m through being manipulated by him. I’m going to get some damn answers.”

  “And exactly how do you intend to accomplish that? You need to apply for prison visitation two months in advance.”

  Ione took the plate from her and set it in the rack. “His legal counsel doesn’t.”

  Phoebe leaned back against the sink. “You want me to try to get you in as part of my team somehow?”

  “Not exactly.” Ione glanced over the breakfast bar to make sure no one was listening. “I want to get in as you. I want to borrow your ID.”

  Phoebe let out a short laugh of surprise. “I hate to break it to you but you don’t really look that much like me. Switching identities is more of a twin thing. I’m pretty sure the prison personnel would be onto you in a second.”

  Ione lowered her voice even further. “Not if I used a glamour.”

  Phoebe blinked at her. “You’re going to glamour yourself...as me.”

  “Only with your permission. A specific glamour is a little more difficult than the one I usually use. I’ll need something of yours to wear. And some DNA.”

  Phoebe nearly choked. “DNA?”

  “Just a small lock of hair would do it.”

  “You’re serious.”

  “Deadly.”

  Phoebe glanced at the others, still absorbed in their own conversation. “And I suppose if I say no, you’ll just pull some of my hair out and steal a blouse.”

  Ione crossed her arms and leaned against the counter with a smile. “You know me so well.”

  * * *

  With a shirt from Phoebe, a clipping of her hair and Phoebe’s driver’s license in her bag, Ione drove back to the house to change—literally. It was unsettling to look into the mirror and see Phoebe’s heart-shaped face and blue-gray eyes instead of her own thinner oval and muddy green, with Phoebe’s signature bangs framing her forehead. Ione brushed the dark hair back into Phoebe’s usual ponytail, pulling it up high so that it swung a bit when she turned her head.

  It was a little annoying that Phoebe looked better than she did in her biking leathers. Taking the bike for the trip to the Arizona State Prison Complex in Florence made her feel more in control. She wasn’t just Ione Carlisle, high priestess, going to confront the necromancer who’d deceived her and her coven, she was Badass Ione Carlisle—even if she looked more like Badass Phoebe Carlisle—ready to deliver a verbal smackdown to the piece of crap who’d threatened her sisters.

  There was a brief delay when Ione arrived at the prison since she’d come without scheduling it. But after making a fuss about being concerned for her client’s welfare and threatening to file a complaint about being denied lawful access�
�something she wasn’t even sure was valid—she was ushered into the noncontact visitation kiosk. She couldn’t help but be relieved about the noncontact part.

  Carter somehow managed to look cool and collected as he entered the room on the other side of the glass, as if he were wearing one of his four-thousand-dollar suits instead of an orange jumper. He eyed Ione with something like mild amusement as he sat, making her wait a moment before picking up the telephone receiver on his side.

  “That’s an interesting look for you. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Ms. Carlisle?” He was just as smooth and sure of himself as ever. “I can’t imagine you’ve done anything helpful like move up my sentencing hearing or arrange for a better plea deal.” His blue eyes twinkled almost merrily in his still unnaturally tanned face. Maybe Little Miss Nemesis had been smuggling in bronzer.

  “I want to know why you’re messing with my sisters. If you have a problem with me, you deal with me.”

  Carter’s pale eyebrows flicked upward with shrewd interest. “Ione, my dear. Your skills never cease to impress me. The leather should have clued me in. You rode your bike down.”

  “My method of transportation is irrelevant.”

  “Not to me. Not when it means you’re playing that little game you like to play where you throw off the confines of your prim—dare I say, prissy—persona to play dress-up. Is it titillating for you to pretend to be your sister, as well? Is this something you’ve done a lot?” Carter’s smile was vicious. “Do you sneak into Rafael’s bed and f—”

  “You shut your mouth.” Ione moved her hand forward on the counter in front of her as if to form a silencing hex. “Or I may just shut it for you.”

  Carter gave her an exaggerated shiver. “Ooh. Come to play rough, have you? Why were you never this much fun in bed?” He gave her a rude up-and-down glance. “Do you play Phoebe for that glorified metaphysical auditor... Dev, is it? Does naughty Phoebe like a bit of slap and tickle?”

  “Enough!” Ione clenched her fist to keep from accidentally throwing a hex in his direction that would do more than silence his tongue. Not that she was really versed in such things.