Mark of the Witch

by Maggie Shayne

  Quietly, he approached from behind. She was standing still, her short hair riffled by the wind, her skin pebbling with goose bumps in the cold. She had to be freezing. It was the second of November, for crying out loud. As he crept slowly nearer, she leaned forward, arching her back. No more time. Tomas lunged, snapping his arms around her just above hip level, which was as high as he could reach. The momentum of her body tried to pull him over with her, but he braced one foot against the brick wall and jerked her backward, hard. He landed on his back on the rooftop with her butt on his chest and her lower back against his face. No sooner had he begun to release his pent-up breath in a sigh of relief than she was scrambling off him and onto her feet, turning to look down at him, stark accusation in her huge black eyes.

  “Atta balṭata u anāku mūt amât!” she shouted.

  Then her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed straight down, as if her legs had dissolved beneath her.

  Tomas got onto his feet. She’d bled on his clothes. On his face. Her back was cut to ribbons. Bending, he gathered her carefully into his arms, then turned to carry her back down to her apartment.

  * * *

  “Owwwww.”

  I was facedown on my bed and hurting like hell, and when I tried to roll over, a strong male hand on my shoulder kept me lying where I was.

  Who the hell is that, and what is he doing in my apartment?

  I twisted my head to see. It was him. Of course it was him. Hunky Father Tomas was sitting on the edge of my bed. His face was twisted with what looked like worry, and his hands held gauze and a bottle of something aromatic.

  “Father Tomas? What happened? Why are you here? And why the hell am I hurting so bad?” I craned my neck a little farther and got a nice clear view of my own bare ass. “I’m naked!” I tried to roll over again, but his hand held me still.

  “It’s all right, I’m a priest.” He wasn’t trying to be funny. He tugged the bedsheet up a little to cover my cheeks. “Lie very still or it’ll hurt even more. If you’ll stop trying to roll, I’ll show you what’s hurting in the mirror.” The bed moved as he got up and walked to my dresser. I tried to remember whether I’d left anything embarrassing on it. Tampons, undies. I wasn’t exactly an immaculate housekeeper. He was back in seconds, holding my silver hand mirror at an angle that allowed me to see my back. And when I did, my stomach heaved and I closed my eyes. My back was covered with deep, long cuts. Stripes. Like a whip would leave behind if—

  A whip.

  “Shit.”

  The nightmare or memory or hallucination or whatever the hell it was came back to me so hard and fast I had to jam my face into the pillow to muffle the sob that lurched inside my chest. I was pretty sure he heard it anyway.

  “What happened last night?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” I turned far enough so my words could emerge unmuffled. “I was…I was trying to work a spell. You must have seen the living room.”

  “I saw the circle. The candles. Figured that much out.”

  Frowning, I twisted my head a little farther. “The circle. The candles…that’s all?” He hadn’t mentioned the shattered window, broken glass, toppled lamp, tangled curtains.

  “Furniture piled in the kitchen?”

  I blinked. “There was a storm. It smashed the window to hell and gone.”

  He was staring at me, silent.

  “Didn’t it?”

  He shook his head slowly. “It must have been part of another nightmare,” he said. “I spotted you on the roof. You damn near went over the side, but…”

  “But you saved me.” I no longer cared if he saw my tears. He’d seen my bare ass and my living nightmare. What were a few tears?

  “I was across the street in my car. I saw you up there and— They’re going away.”

  “What?” I was confused by the sudden change of subject.

  “The wounds, they’re…they’re going away.” He held up the mirror again.

  I ignored it. Pushing past him and his mirror to get to my feet, dragging the sheet with me and holding it in front of my body, I turned my back toward the large mirror on my dresser and looked over my shoulder at my reflection.

  The stripes across my back were closing up, forming small pink lines, like battle scars, but then they started fading, too. There was a tattoo, as well, on my lower back, and I knew damn well I’d never had a tattoo in my life. Odd little symbols in neat rows. But they, too, were fading fast. Ten seconds, I stood there. Tomas came and stood right beside me, staring into that mirror. I didn’t even care that my ass was exposed again. Ten seconds, and at the end of them nothing remained of those ghastly wounds except for a few smears of blood Tomas must have missed in his ministrations.

  I looked at the floor, belatedly pulling the sheet the rest of the way around me.

  “This thing—it could have killed you tonight, Indira.”

  It was true. I shivered with the knowledge that it was absolutely true.

  “Next time I might not get to you in time.”

  “What can you possibly do about it?”

  “Take you with me to Ithaca. I’ll help you solve this thing. I’ll make it go away, I swear I will, if you will just help me keep the demon where he belongs in return. Please, Indy. Before he can hurt you any more.”

  “Why Ithaca?”

  “It’s where we need to be. I’ll explain more on the way. All right?”

  I hated to admit that I was losing my skepticism. I hated to even think about believing any of this. But it was real. I’d seen it, right there in my own mirror. I’d seen it. I was still shaking, and it pissed me off. But I ignored that and nodded, a quick, jerky motion that was anything but graceful.

  “All right,” I said. “You win.”

  * * *

  Tomas had told me to take the day to get ready, and to phone if I needed him. I didn’t. I made arrangements at work—I had five days’ vacation time coming, and if that wasn’t enough, I could tack on a few sick days. I didn’t need to tell them I was actually talking about my mental health. I packed up my things, enough to last a week, got some cash out of the bank and tried to call Rayne. She didn’t answer, so I had to settle for leaving her a snotty voice mail message asking if she’d lost her mind, sharing my most intimate confessions with a demon-fighting priest.

  That night, I took an antihistamine along with cold medicine, and for once, I didn’t dream. Slept like a rock, in fact. And damn but I needed it.

  Next morning I showered, dressed and met him out front as planned, even while wondering if I’d lost my freaking mind to be buying into any of this.

  Of course, the bloodstains on my sheets said I wasn’t crazy at all. What was happening to me was completely insane, but I wasn’t imagining it or dreaming it or hallucinating it—it was real. And who the hell else was going to help me figure it out? Who else would even believe me?

  Rayne, maybe. But I’d gone to Rayne. And she had basically handed me off to this priest. As angry as I was at her for that, I trusted her. She wouldn’t set some lunatic on my trail. She must believe he could help.

  He pulled up right on time to take me off to Neverland in his sagging chariot.

  Father Tomas’s car was an aging, once-white Volvo station wagon that looked as if it had been through a series of natural disasters. Its color had yellowed to a sort of dull cream that was flaking off in places. He stowed my gear in the back, like he was a gentleman and I was a helpless little female. I stood on the curb just staring at the car, sort of in awe that anything that ancient could still run.

  He caught my expression and smiled. “It’s a classic. A 1967 Amazon.”

  “Looks like you found it in the Amazon.”

  His smile didn’t falter. “I’m restoring it myself. It’s a…hobby, I guess.”

  “Heaven help me. My savior is not only a priest but a motor head.”

  He opened a door that looked as if it weighed a ton and held it for me. “Trust me, she runs like a dream.”
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br />   “She looks like a nightmare.” Still, I got in and dutifully buckled up, surprised that the inside looked pretty nice. Definitely a lot better than I’d expected.

  In seconds he was behind the wheel, turning the key, smiling at the sound of the engine. “Hear that?”

  “Sounds like a car, all right. So it only looks like it’s going to fall apart on the road, then?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Mechanics first, comfort second, cosmetics last of all. It’s the unwritten motor head code.”

  It was comfortable, I had to give him that. There was enough room in the back to transport a small sofa. Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but it was big. Despite the super-soft leather and the ultracozy seat, though, I still felt like shit, no matter how I sat.

  “Your back?” he asked.

  I sent him an almost irritated look, though I was secretly impressed and a little surprised by how much attention the guy was paying to me. “It doesn’t really hurt. It’s like a phantom pain, every time I remember—” I stopped there, because giving voice to anything more would only conjure it again. The brutal lashes of the whip. Oh, shit, too late. “You don’t miss much, do you?”

  “You’re my calling, Indira. I’m not likely to miss a thing now that I’ve found you.”

  “Hell, Tomas, if you weren’t wearing that collar, I’d think you were about to propose.”

  He looked at me briefly, then pulled away from the curb. I could have sworn a hint of panic appeared on his face, but maybe I’d imagined it. And that was another reason I wasn’t worried about going off with the guy. He was a priest, and he hadn’t done a single thing out of line. I was the one having impure thoughts, not him.

  I figured I’d give him a break and change the subject all the same. “So tell me about your demon fighting thing. You do it often?”

  He smiled a little. “Never. And it’s just the one demon.”

  “Does he have a name?”

  “I’ve only heard him called ‘He Whose Name Must Not Be Spoken.’”

  “Are you shitting me? He doesn’t even have a name?” I looked at him, waiting for the punch line. But he only smiled and shook his head.

  “I know. I know how crazy it sounds. And to tell you the truth, I was pretty skeptical myself until I saw those marks on your back.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I gotta say they made an impression on me, too.” I didn’t want to talk about that, though. My world had taken a turn for the macabre, and I was trying to focus on the parts that went down a little easier. Those phantom lashes from that phantom whip had left real wounds, and that flat-out scared me too much to dwell on just yet. I’d get to it. But right now, I thought, let’s stick to the easy stuff. Stuff about him and this so-called demon of his.

  “So how many priests are there on your…um…anti-demon squad?”

  “Two,” he said. “Me and the man who trained me, Father Dom. You see, one priest from our sect—”

  “The Leaders of the Pack.” That’s right, keep it light.

  “The Keepers of the Pact,” he corrected. He gave me an odd look, like he was amused but trying to figure me out at the same time. I liked the way his eyes felt when they moved over my face, probably because I got the feeling he liked what he saw.

  Priest, Indy. Priest. Priest. Priest.

  “One of us is chosen from each generation as the Guardian of the Portal. Dom chose me. Just as he was chosen by his predecessor.”

  “And what was his name?” I asked. “Father Dom’s predecessor?”

  Tomas frowned. “You know, he never told me.”

  “I bet it rhymed. Tom. Dom. Rom, maybe?”

  The look he sent me this time was a searching frown, like he was seeing through my plot. Yeah, I was using humor to keep this light, to try to pretend nothing all that serious was happening. But I was also scared half to death. And I was pretty sure it showed. I got the feeling there wasn’t much I could hide from those perceptive brown eyes of his.

  “When the current Guardian begins to age, he chooses and trains his replacement. That tradition has continued since the time of ancient Babylon.”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” I said, holding up a hand to stop him. “Even I know ancient Babylon is BC, as in Before Christ.”

  “Fifteen hundred and one BC, to be precise.”

  “Pre-Christian, either way. Can’t have a Gnostic sect, no matter how rare, prior to Christianity, can you?”

  He smiled widely, nodding his head not in agreement but in approval. “You’re smart. I like that.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m freakin’ Einstein. But you didn’t answer my question. Nice dodge, though.”

  “It was a compliment, not a dodge. And it was sincere.”

  I gave him a thank-you nod and tried not to warm at the praise. He hadn’t said I was a knockout, driving him mad with carnal lust. He’d said I was smart. That’s all. Down, girl. I tried to focus on the city as he maneuvered the relic through it, instead of on the intense awareness that there was only a foot of space between us. That space, though, wasn’t empty. It was crackling and snapping.

  “Priests of numerous religions have been entrusted with the mission. From the Cult of Marduk to the Egyptian followers of Ra to the earliest Jews. The calling doesn’t end, it just converts. It’s only recently that Dom realized the way the stars are lining up on Samhain this year makes it a propitious time for the demon to come through. He probably should have seen it sooner, but he’s getting a little…unfocused.”

  He means senile, I thought. I nodded as if that made perfect sense when it actually made none. “You talk about him a lot. Dom.”

  I spotted the crease between his brows when I said that. Worry? Something. I wanted to smooth it away with my finger, whatever it was.

  “Dom took me in when I was a kid.”

  “Took you in—”

  “I was an orphan.”

  “You were an orphan?” Wait a minute, did my voice just sound like a cheerleader spotting a puppy?

  “That’s really not on topic at all, though. You were asking why we need to go to Ithaca.”

  He was changing the subject. And just when I’d decided I was far more interested in his sad childhood than I was in some moldy old Babylonian legend. Even if I was somehow intrinsically involved in its fulfillment.

  “The Portal is somewhere in Ithaca, at least according to Dom’s calculations. By going there, we can not only prevent the demon from coming through this time but destroy him utterly.”

  “Huh,” I said.

  “What?” He looked at me, brows raised.

  “Well, it’s just that—” I shrugged. “I mean, just playing demon’s advocate here, but…the dude’s been in this underworld slammer for three thousand five hundred years now. It seems a little harsh. A lot harsh when you add ‘destroy him utterly’ to the equation. What did he do, anyway?”

  Tomas tipped his head to one side. “I don’t know.”

  “You never asked?”

  He shrugged. “It seemed enough that he’s a demon.”

  “Isn’t that what they said about witches during the hysteria? I mean, can he even help being a demon?”

  “You’re confusing the issue.”

  “I don’t know that I am. Couldn’t he be a good demon? Couldn’t he have been rehabilitated by now? Open your mind, Padre. Think outside the box.”

  He looked at me as if I’d just sprouted horns and a forked tail.

  “There’s no such thing as a good demon.”

  “That’s what the witch-hunters said about us.”

  “What he did isn’t as important as what he will do, given the chance.”

  “And what’s that? What’s this big bad demon’s dastardly goal? No, wait, wait, I remember.” I leaned forward, hands on my hips in a superhero pose. “He wants to take over the world.”

  “I can’t believe you’re making jokes about this, Indira. Especially given what’s been happening to you.”

  I only shrugged and looked away.

>   He pulled into the long line of traffic heading onto the bridge, and took the opportunity to turn and stare intently into my eyes. “The goal of every demon is the same. Destruction of all that’s good. Perversion of the sacred. Power over the world of man. He could become the anti-Christ, Indy.”

  I just sat there staring at him, trying to determine whether he actually believed his own words. I mean, he suddenly sounded like a fire-and-brimstone pulpit thumper in a revival tent. I wondered if that was him talking or if he was channeling his precious Dom, and I decided on the latter. “Uh-huh. So we’re going to Ithaca to face and annihilate the anti-Christ.”

  He sighed, lowered his head. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  “Not so much, no.”

  Traffic was at a standstill. His hands gripped the wheel, bumping each other right on top, and I could tell he was squeezing hard.

  “And none of it really seems to tie in with what’s been happening to me. The dreams. The marks.” I touched his shoulder, and he picked his head up fast. “Can you tie it together for me? ’Cause I’m kinda lost.”

  He nodded. “You and your two sisters lived during the time when he was cast into the Underworld. And you’re the only ones with the power to destroy him.”

  “So it’s past life stuff. Destiny stuff. That kind of thing.”

  He nodded.

  I drew a deep breath, blew it out again. “This is scary as hell, you know that?”

  “I know.” He turned and looked me in the eyes, reaching out to clasp my hands in his. I sucked in a breath and stared down at them. I knew he was only trying to comfort me a little, but it felt like way more. And he felt something, too, I knew he did. The way my hands fit inside his, the warmth of them, and their size and shape and strength. The strangest feeling washed over me as we sat there, facing each other in the comfy front seat of the old Volvo, our eyes locked onto our joined hands as we both began to tremble. It was vivid. Surreal. Dizzying. Like déjà vu.

  “Tomas?” My voice emerged soft and raspy, and it didn’t help matters. He looked up, into my eyes, and I knew he was as shaken as I was. What was this?

  Behind us, an idiot laid on his horn, and we jerked apart. Traffic had moved on without us. I blinked and sat back in my seat, looking anywhere but at Tomas. He pulled the car back into motion, but it bucked and stalled. So he was as flustered as I was. Then he quickly started it again and got moving.