by Jane Kindred
“You mean to label me a warlock.”
“I must repeat that no determination has been made.”
“But two of you came to a consensus. May I inquire as to which way the vote was leaning?”
Clémence sighed. “I’m afraid, mademoiselle, that would serve no use. Because we have new information to consider, there is no guarantee that our final findings will ‘lean,’ as you put it, in the same direction.”
“I see.” Ione knew bullshit when she heard it. “And by new information, you mean Mr. Gideon’s report? Or is there something else?”
Florien leaned in to confer with Clémence before he turned to address Ione himself. “We are given to understand that you have made some progress in identifying the person calling herself Nemesis. Is that not so?”
Ione couldn’t help whipping about to stare at Dev in disbelief. Was she really this stupid? Had he gone behind her back and reported on her again? Dev’s face was unreadable.
Florien cleared his throat. “Mademoiselle Carlisle.”
Ione turned back to the dais. “Not precisely, no. My sister Phoebe has done some checking and managed to track down Carter Hamilton’s frequent visitor in prison. It seems likely this person may be acting on Carter’s behalf to exact revenge, but so far we have no proof to substantiate our suspicions.”
Clémence folded her hands on the table and leaned forward. “Mademoiselle, we are quite aware that this ‘person’ of which you speak is also a sister of yours. We are also aware that you visited the prison yesterday to confer with the necromancer. That is the new information, mademoiselle. That we believe, given this unexpected complication, it is possible you yourself are involved in this vandalism.”
Ione couldn’t comprehend what she was hearing. “Are you...? You’re accusing me of...of what? Of faking these attacks from Nemesis?”
“No one is accusing you of anything, my dear. Not yet. As I said, we will await Monsieur Gideon’s report before making our final determination. That is our decision for today.”
“But you can’t just—”
“Good day, mademoiselle.” Clemence’s voice was firm. The three stood as one and made their way down the steps without glancing in Ione’s direction before marching down the aisle and out the door.
Ione couldn’t stop staring after them with a parted mouth.
Dev approached her carefully. “Ione, I swear to you—”
“You swear?” Ione whirled on him. “What is it you’re about to swear this time? That it’s your duty to report every move I make to the Conclave and this isn’t personal? Because I have had it up to here with you screwing me blind and then—then—screwing me blind!”
Dev raised a finger in the air. “No, no. Just a minute—”
“If you say ‘no, no’ to me one more goddamn time, I will flatten you. I know krav maga.”
Dev swallowed, his eyes widening. “Sorry. Please, just give me a moment to respond before you resort to violence.”
Ione folded her arms.
Dev placed his hand over his heart. “Upon my honor, I did not make any reports to the Conclave or the Council or anyone else. Not about your activities or your sisters’ activities or my own. Except for the interviews I’ve been conducting with your coven members, I’ve had no communication with anyone in the Covent since the Conclave last convened. The only thing I ever reported was the incident with the cat’s corpse. And the dog’s. I didn’t even tell them about...” Dev paused, looking guilty.
Ione advanced on him. “Goddammit, Dev.”
“No, n—” Dev swallowed the second no before it was fully formed, his cheeks burnished with color.
“What have you not told me? What are you keeping from me?”
“It’s not that I was keeping it from you. I’d just forgotten to mention it. I have this tendency to forget my own name when I’m standing in front of you. Did you know you smell like—?” Dev shut his mouth as if realizing he’d said something he hadn’t meant to.
Ione’s hands went to her hips. “What do I smell like, Dev?”
“You’ll think I’m completely mental. Never mind. I was just trying to say you have this effect on me—”
“What do I smell like?”
This time Dev crossed his arms defensively across his chest. “All right, then. You smell like toasted marshmallows.”
“I... What?”
“I told you it was mental. Forget it.”
Ione stared him down, trying to determine if he was messing with her. “Did you just make that up to get me to forget that you’re keeping something from me? Because I haven’t forgotten.”
“I most certainly did not. It’s not my fault you smell delicious. I expect it’s some essence of vanilla extract. Perhaps it’s in one of your toiletries.”
“Then you would smell like toasted marshmallows, because you just used everything I used.”
“O—kay then, I’ll give myself a smell later.”
“Dev. What did you forget to tell me?”
Dev sighed and drew himself up. “After I interviewed your friend Margot Kelley, Nemesis struck again. Or at least I assume it was Nemesis. Someone had graffitied my rental. It looked like women’s nail lacquer. Specifically, it looked like Margot Kelley’s nail lacquer.”
“What?” She shook her head as if to clear water from her ears because she couldn’t have heard him correctly. “Now you think Margot is Nemesis?”
“No, no, I—” Dev reddened, apparently realizing he couldn’t stop saying “no, no.”
“I’m not saying that at all. It’s just an observation. I don’t know whether there’s any significance to it or whether it’s simply a peculiar coincidence.”
“Well, what did it say? Maybe she was just playing a little joke or something.” Though it didn’t seem like Margot to damage someone else’s property for a joke.
“‘The impure shall be cast out, and all those who consort with the impure.’”
“Oh. Mother of God.”
Chapter 18
It seemed Dev hadn’t been the only one who’d failed to disclose that something significant had taken place.
He studied Ione as she chewed at her bottom lip, trying not to fixate on the arousing nature of the unconscious gesture. “Does that have some significance beyond Nemesis’s previous threats?”
Ione pulled the elastic band out of her hair and twisted the still-damp sheaf of hair in her hands. “Nemesis—or Carter—launched a four-prong attack the night before last. That’s why I went to the prison to confront him. My sisters and I were each attacked in our sleep, though I had an amulet that seems to have rendered the attack on me little more than bad dreams. Theia had horrifying visions, Phoebe was plagued with a poltergeist and Rhea’s arm was tattooed—with those same words.”
Dev gaped at her. “Tattooed?”
“She woke up to find the words being written into her flesh as if with a tattoo machine but without ink. The marks are still raw on her arm.”
“My God.”
“Carter alluded to it during my visit. I suppose you were there when he asked how my sisters were sleeping.”
Dev nodded. “I did wonder what you meant when you asked how he’d done it.”
Ione shuddered. “And he said he was using the dead.”
“But if he’s practicing necromancy again from inside the prison...that means he’s gotten his hands on a corpse somehow. Or bones at the very least.”
“Or he has access to someone who has.” Ione met his eyes. “Someone like Laurel Carpenter.”
“I know Phoebe and Rafe already tried to feel her out—Phoebe mentioned it to me when I called looking for you yesterday—but I think it may be time for you and I to have a word with Ms. Carpenter ourselves.”
“Oh, God.” Ione’s
hand flew to her mouth.
“What? What’s the matter?”
“I forgot to call Phoebe. I never charged up my phone. She’s got to be worried sick.”
Dev gave her a sheepish smile. “I suppose I did rather manage to distract you.” He took his phone from his pocket. “Here. You can use mine.”
While Ione called her sister, Dev wandered through the temple to give her privacy, studying the uniquely pagan stories depicted in the images in the stained glass. There was one in particular, however, that seemed to be straight out of the Bible—the story of Eve being tempted in the Garden of Eden. Dev studied it, the ruby red of the apple in Eve’s hand standing out among the vivid greens of the grass and trees and the brilliant azure of the sky. There was also the poison-green serpent, coiling out of the branches of the tree—the color reminded him of Kur’s scales.
As he studied the image, however, a deviation from the standard narrative of the biblical story became obvious. Images of Eve generally showed a nude young woman, either looking innocent and pure in her nudity in the moments before taking the forbidden fruit, or covering her breasts and genitals in shame after having eaten of it. But the woman in this depiction was no innocent, nor did she seem ashamed of her nakedness, judging by the satisfied and secretive smile. And the snake was coiling about her limbs and trunk as it slithered from the tree. This wasn’t Eve. It was Lilith.
Peculiar that the Covent would castigate one of its members for bearing the blood of this same lady in her veins and yet celebrate Lilith as one of the icons of the goddess decorating its own temple.
Ione approached him to return his phone. “Well, I’ll never hear the end of that.”
“Oh?”
“She said she wasn’t bothered that I hadn’t called because as soon as she told you where I was, she figured I’d be too busy ‘making the beast with two backs,’ as she put it, to remember common decency.”
With his hands in his pockets, Dev rocked back on his heels with a grin. “Well...she’s not wrong. The lap of these pants still smells like—”
“That’s quite enough of that.” Ione glared at him, but she couldn’t hide the flush of pleasure in her cheeks and the brightness in her eyes at the reminder.
“I was just going to say ‘toasted marshmallow.’” Dev grinned but made a little skip backward as she moved toward him as if to slug him. That mention of krav maga had him both wary and aroused.
Ione chose instead to head past him toward the door. Dev tried to keep up mentally as well as physically as he trotted after her. Was she cross with him again?
He touched her arm as she reached the atrium. “You’re not leaving?”
Ione glanced at him. “Aren’t you?”
“Well I...” Dev fumbled, at a loss for words, which he seemed to be more often than not around Ione. At least when she was clothed.
“You said you wanted to talk to Laurel, didn’t you? So let’s do it.”
* * *
Ione smiled to herself as Dev opened the wrong car door for her after unlocking his rental in the parking lot. She couldn’t help but be amused by his awkwardness around her. There was something extremely satisfying about being the cause of it. And it made his confident, take-charge attitude in the bedroom all the hotter.
She glanced over at him as he maneuvered the car onto the freeway. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather I drive? It has to be a bit disorienting to drive on the opposite side from what you’re used to. I don’t think I could do it if I were in England.”
Dev didn’t take his eyes off the road as he spoke. “I’ve become accustomed to it. Besides, I thought you needed to review Phoebe’s notes.” Phoebe had sent all the information she had on Laurel to Dev’s phone when Ione told her she and Dev were planning to take the drive.
“There isn’t that much to review. Just a few notes about Phoebe’s impressions of Laurel’s responses to her leading questions.” Ione didn’t add that she found reading on a little screen nauseating. “The important thing is that she’s given us Laurel’s place of work and her schedule, along with her home address. She’s scheduled to work today, and she should be at work when we arrive, so it should be easy enough to catch her there. The drive takes less than an hour.”
“Have you mapped it?”
“Mapped?”
“Phoebe gave you the address of the place, didn’t she?”
“Of course. I figured we’d get directions at the gas station when we get into town.”
“All you have to do is plug the address into the mapping application and it will give you the route.” Dev glanced at her briefly. “Do you want me to do it?”
Ione sighed and started poking around on the screen. “I’ll figure it out.”
It took her most of the drive to do it, but Ione wasn’t about to let on. She pretended to be engrossed in reading until at last she’d gotten the app to show her the text version of the directions from the highway.
“You’ll want Exit 341,” she said as if she’d had it all along.
* * *
When they arrived at Flagstaff Animal Control, Ione decided to be direct and ask for Laurel at the front desk.
“Don’t you think we ought to be a little more discreet?” Dev murmured as one of the employees led them through the pound.
“I’m tired of being discreet. I intend to get answers.”
When they were ushered into a separate area beyond the rows of cages, Ione was taken aback by the sight of the waifish young thing in a drab, baggy uniform hosing out an unpleasant-smelling room.
“Laurel.” Their guide raised his voice over the barking echoing from the interior and the spray of the hose. “These people are here to see you.”
The waifish girl shut off the water and turned her head—and went so pale that Ione made a swift move toward her, afraid she would faint. Laurel dropped the hose and scrambled back, causing her to slip on the slick concrete. Though Ione grabbed for her, Dev was faster.
“Ms. Carpenter!” He steadied her with his hands on both arms. “Are you all right?” Dev was in his most proper British mode. Laurel gaped at him wordlessly, shrinking under his grip, and Dev let go and stepped back. “Forgive me. You looked quite ill for a moment.”
Laurel swallowed and attempted a smile. “Can...can I help you with something?”
Ione folded her arms. “Yes, you can. You can tell me why you’ve been terrorizing my family.”
The color came back into Laurel’s face with a vengeance. “I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Perhaps you didn’t know what your victims looked like. I’m Ione Carlisle. The one with the impure blood you’re so fired up about.”
Laurel looked helplessly to the door. Ione was blocking her only route of escape.
“Ms. Carpenter.” Dev threw Ione a look that said he disapproved of her methods. “My colleague and I represent the Sedona Coventry. Perhaps you’re familiar with it. I believe you may be acquainted with a former member of our society, Mr. Carter Hamilton.”
Laurel stiffened. “I’m afraid I don’t know what either of you are talking about. I’ve never heard of this ‘Coventry’ and I don’t know any Carter Hamilton.”
“Funny,” said Ione. “This picture of you visiting him in prison says you do.” She held up Dev’s phone displaying the security camera photo from the prison that Phoebe had managed to obtain. “Are you going to pretend that isn’t you? That you aren’t ‘Lorelei Carlisle,’ the name you’ve appropriated to hide your identity?”
Laurel looked to Dev as if to gauge whether he might be the more reasonable of the two, before glancing to the door once more and apparently deciding there was figuratively and literally no way out. “All right. That’s me. So? Since when is it a crime to visit the less fortunate and offer them comfort and companionship?”
“Is that what you offer him?” Ione couldn’t help the sarcastic tone. “In that case, I’d say you’re the one who’s less fortunate. Carter is using you.”
Laurel had lost the deer-in-headlights look, her blue eyes—with a grayish tinge like Phoebe’s, just as Carter had said—bright with anger. “I may not be a high priestess in some ancient secret society, but I’m not stupid.”
Ione folded her arms. “So you do know who I am.”
“I know you’re the fraud who framed Carter for those murders and used witchcraft and possession to force him to give a fake confession.” She cast a disparaging look at Dev. “And I’m well aware of who your demon familiar here is.”
“What did you call him?” Ione felt a sudden rush of protective anger.
Dev put a hand on her arm. “Ione, let it go.”
“Your familiar spirit.” Laurel practically spat the words. “No wonder the Covent is falling apart if you’re the sort of people they promote to positions of authority. A demon mongrel and an unclean carrier of the blood of the Whore of Babylon.”
Ione was speechless with rage for a moment before she centered herself and took a few deep breaths. Laurel was smarter than she looked, and she’d gone for both of their weaknesses. Carter had taught her well.
“Why don’t you tell me what you expect to gain by playing your little tricks on me? What’s in it for you in playing Carter Hamilton’s pawn?”
“I’m not anyone’s pawn. I’m his friend. After what you did to him, he had no one. You’ve turned everyone against him, poisoning the minds of every member of your precious Covent with your contaminated blood and your lies. There’s a reason your ancestress was expelled from the Covent—the same reason your earliest ancestress was thrown out of Eden. You’re a mistake. And I’m going to do what I can to help rectify it.”
Ione gaped at her, unable to comprehend how this demented, deluded girl could be her own sister. She wondered if the other two—Rosemary and Rowan—were as messed up as this one was. It also made her wonder what their mother must have been like. With a pang of guilt, she recalled what Theia had said about them growing up in foster care. Their father had still been alive at the time—and he hadn’t bothered to claim them. She couldn’t imagine what that must have been like.
