Mark of the Witch

by Maggie Shayne

  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.

  The bathroom was through a door to the right, and it was huge, luxurious and apparently all mine.

  I wanted to unpack but figured those steaks must be just about done by now, and my stomach was growling noisily, which was often the case with me. I took only enough time to discard my leather jacket, put on a fresh T-shirt and grab a big woolly sweater from my bag. As I headed back down the stairs, I heard the men talking in low tones, so I softened my steps and moved closer.

  They were still on the deck. Tomas held a huge salad bowl in his hands, and he’d apparently left the glass doors open when he’d carried it outside. But it was Father Dom doing the talking as he repeatedly tapped the page of an open book.

  “…we must destroy the amulet the instant she manages to get her hands on it. No matter what it takes, Tomas.”

  I frowned. What amulet? What’s he talking about? One more step brought me into Father Dom’s sight, and I pretended not to notice when he slammed his book closed. But I’d had a glimpse at the handwriting and drawings on the parchmentlike pages. It was one of those ancient leather-bound journals that were a staple in movies about possession and the Devil and the end of the world.

  He removed it from the table, tucking it somewhere underneath. “There she is now, the woman of the hour. And just in time, too. These steaks are done to perfection.” He stood and moved to the grill, stabbing the meat with a long fork and dropping the steaks onto large stoneware plates.

  Tomas turned my way, and his eyes looked worried.

  Probably wondering how much I just overheard. Not that any of it made sense to me. But what I wouldn’t give to get a look inside that journal.

  “You made us a salad,” I said, because I didn’t know what the hell else to say. Should I demand answers, or play it cool and pretend I hadn’t heard a thing? “That looks delicious. Are we eating out here on the deck?”

  “If you think you’ll be warm enough,” Tomas replied.

  “I grabbed a sweater just in case. Can I get anything?”

  “Dressing for the salad, glasses for the wine.”

  “Done.” I pulled on my sweater and returned to the kitchen. While I stood in front of the open fridge, I saw Dom pass from the deck to the living room, the journal in his hands. Moments later I heard him going up the stairs. When I headed back outside, I saw that his bags were gone.

  * * *

  So we sat like a trio of old friends on the beautiful deck, overlooking the beautiful lake beneath the beautiful twilight sky, eating delicious steaks and gigantic salads. But the cheerful small talk ended abruptly when Father Dom, laughing over something I’d said that hadn’t been all that funny, suddenly went dead serious, his eyes holding mine.

  “How much, exactly, have you remembered about your past lives, Indira?”

  I blinked at him, gaping like a fish sucking air, then giving up as no words seemed to suffice.

  “She hasn’t remembered anything,” Tomas said. “A few bad dreams, but—”

  “So you agree with Tomas?” I asked the old priest, holding his gaze without a single flinch. It felt vaguely disapproving, that look. “That this is a past life thing? I mean, that’s what Lady Rayne said, but I—”

  “Lady Rayne?”

  “A friend of mine. A high priestess,” I said. I glanced nervously at Tomas, wondering if I’d spilled something I wasn’t supposed to.

  Father Dom shot a surprised look Tomas’s way.

  Tomas shook his head—a bit too quickly, I thought. “She’s not involved in this.”

  She is so. She’s the one who tipped you off about me, you liar. And why is it, I wonder, that you’re lying to your beloved mentor, anyway?

  Father Dom nodded, but I sensed his displeasu
re. Not that I cared.

  “Well, in this case,” Dom said, “the high priestess—”

  Was that sarcasm I heard in his tone? Was he mocking her status and title?

  “—was correct. In 1501 BC and assuming you are the witch we’ve been searching for, you, along with two others, were practicing witchcraft, and for that you were executed.”

  “Yeah, that I get.” I was on my third glass of wine and feeling it way more than I should. “But I don’t see how that got us involved in this—this demon stuff.”

  “Well, you were witches, after all,” Dom said. “Communing with demons is part of the tradition.”

  My jaw fell open. I looked at him, then at Tomas, and then at him again. The old bastard was still rambling on as if he hadn’t just insulted my entire religion. Former religion.

  “—and while it’s not a part of the traditional interpretation, it is my belief that you and the other two can only save yourselves, and redeem your souls, by helping us to thwart this demon’s efforts and keep him in the Underworld where he belongs.”

  Redeem my soul? If I’d had hackles, they would surely have risen in fury. I tipped back my glass, downing the last of my wine, then set it on the table with a quiet clink. “You think I’m damned, don’t you? Both of you?”

  They looked at me oddly, neither speaking. I stood up and told myself it was just anger. My feelings were not hurt. I don’t know why it felt as if they were, but they most definitely were not. I didn’t give two shits what this pair of priests thought of me, my religion—former religion—or the state of my soul.

  “You do, don’t you? You think God will send me to hell for something I did in a previous lifetime. And how does that work, anyway? I thought you guys were all about heaven and hell and sometimes purgatory in between? Not reincarnation. What do you do, just pick whichever doctrine fits your needs at the moment?”

  Tomas looked wounded as he got up, too, and held up a hand as he came around the table toward me—you know, like you would do if you were walking up to a spooked animal. “I never said that, Indira.”

  “Then say it now. Tell the truth, Tomas. Do you think I’m going to hell because I’m a witch?” For some reason the words didn’t come out quite as smoothly as I’d intended them to.

  He held my gaze for a long moment and seemed to be choosing his words, but Father Dom spoke first. “Anyone who practices witchcraft will burn in hell. You know that as well as I do, Indira. But we’re not here to try to convert you. We’re here because we need your help. Your eternal soul and what you choose to do with it are your own business.”

  Tomas closed his eyes, lowered his head and shook it slowly. “Dom…”

  “You know what I just realized, Father Dom?” I asked. My tongue felt strangely thick.

  “What?” he asked, brows arching.

  “You’re a real asshole.” I threw my napkin on the table and spun around, intending to make a dramatic exit and stomp all the way to my room. And it worked fine until I was inside. But my head started swimming at the foot of the stairs, and I had to stop and grip the railing to keep from toppling like a spindly sapling.

  “Indy?” Tomas was at my side so fast I thought he must’ve teleported there. He held my elbow with one hand, his other hand at the small of my back.

  I feel his hands on my back.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Damned ’f I know.”

  “Probably the wine,” Father Dom said. He was slower arriving but was also looking at me with concern on his face. “I’m sorry if I insulted you. I’m far more dogmatic and old-fashioned than Tomas. I didn’t mean to step on toes.”

  “You insinuate my religion—my former religion, I mean—is so dis’aseful…distaseful…” I was irritated at the way my tongue got stuck on the t. “…abhorrent to God that He would sennence me to eternal hellfire for it, and all you can say is you’re not trying to sep on my toes?” I frowned hard, my head swimming. I definitely sounded drunk. But I’d only had three glasses of wine.

  “Let me help you upstairs, Indy.” Tomas was close to me, holding me, and I liked it. “You’ve had a few rough nights. It’s not surprising the wine hit you so hard.”

  “I c’d drink you unner the table, Priest.” Then I blinked. “Hey, you guys din’t…spike it, did-ja?”

  “Of course not,” Tomas said. “Come on, let me help you.” He draped my arm around his big, solid shoulders. Then he anchored his own arm around my waist, his broad strong hand resting on my hip, and started up the stairs.

  I leaned into him and felt a force—like one of us was a magnet and the other one was steel—pinning me to him, pulling me closer, even though I couldn’t get any closer. The feeling was intense, body to body like that. It buzzed in my nerve endings, filled every empty space inside me. It felt good. And right. And oddly…familiar.

  I took two steps at his urging before my knees seemed to liquefy and colors swirled in my head. Looking down at me, his expression troubled, Tomas picked me up and carried me the rest of the way. My entire body was enfolded in his strong arms, my side pressed to his chest, my head bouncing softly against his shoulder as he trotted easily up the stairs with me. I tried to link my arms around his neck, but my hands couldn’t seem to grip each other and ended up dangling limply at my sides.

  In my room, he managed to yank back the covers, and then he lowered me onto the bed.

  I tried to smile up at him, but it felt crooked and slightly goofy, instead of provocative and flirty as I’d intended. “This is kinda sexy, you know. Carrying me up those stairs like…like Rhett Butler. You gonna kiss me now?”

  “No, Indy. I’m not going to kiss you now.”

  “Maybe later?”

  “We’ll see.” He looked to me as if he was battling a smile, even though there was worry in his eyes. “You get some sleep now, and we’ll talk more in the morning.”

  “I’m scared to go to sleep, Tomas. What’f I have ’nother dream? I could walk right off that cliff outside.”

  “I already thought of that.”

  “You did?”

  “Of course. You nearly sleepwalked off your own roof. I wasn’t going to bring you to a cliffside cottage without taking some precautions. I have motion sensors outside. Anything bigger than a coyote walks by them, an alarm will sound in the house. And just in case, the cottage doors will all be locked. Okay?”

  “Why does a priest have motion sensors?” Was I drunk, or was the growing feeling that maybe I was some sort of a prisoner here at all valid? My eyes kept drooping closed, then popping open as he spoke.

  “I’ve had them for years. I had a problem with deer getting into the garden. Haven’t turned them on in ages, but I’ll make sure they’re working before I go to bed tonight. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said. “I guess.”

  “I’ll keep you safe, Indy.”

  I searched his eyes. There was so much sincerity in them, so much honesty. “I believe you.” And with those words my eyes fell heavily one final time and I was dead to the world.

  7

  Tomas had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he stared down at the beautiful woman who was already asleep. She shouldn’t be drunk. Not this drunk, anyway. Not on three glasses of wine. Sighing, he moved to the foot of the bed to take off her cowgirl boots. Three-inch heels. He didn’t know how the hell she stayed upright, much less wore them all day. It took a lot of tugging, but he managed to get them off, and then he peeled off the white ankle socks she wore underneath. Her feet were pale and cool, and he instinctively rubbed them back to life before he pulled the covers over her. He wasn’t sure how comfortable she would be in her clothes, but there was no fixing that. At least she’d taken off her jacket.

  “Careful, Tomas. She’s not on our side, you need to remember that.”

  Tomas turned, unsurprised to find Dom standing in the bedroom doorway. “She’s not on anyone’s side, Dom. She’s only just learning what’s going on here.” He swallowed what felt like
sand in his throat and forced himself to ask the question that needed asking. “Did you drug her?”

  “Of course. We need to inspect her body for signs of the demon’s presence. The markings that will prove once and for all whether she is the one.” As he spoke, Father Dom moved close to the bed and took hold of the covers to pull them back.

  Tomas grabbed his wrist—not forcefully, but firmly. “There’s no need.” The words on his lips were over my dead body, but he managed to hold them in. He had never seen this side of Dom before, and it was freaking him out. He even wondered if the old man had something wrong with him. A tumor, or maybe a ministroke, affecting his brain.

  “We already know she’s the one. And besides that, I’ve already seen the marks on her body.”

  Dom’s brows, bushy and white, rose in dual arches. “Have you, now?”

  “I did. First the lashes of the whip across her back, from her torture long ago. A tattoo that looks like cuneiform on her lower back that appears and fades away. And then, just this morning, phantom writing cut into her arms. I tried to get a photo before it vanished.”

  “Show me.”

  “I… It’s on her cell phone. My own was…out of reach.”

  Tomas looked around the room for Indira’s handbag. It was on the floor, along with her still-packed duffel. Father Dom spotted it at the same time and started forward, but Tomas held out a hand. “I really think we ought to wait until she’s awake and not go through her things while she’s—”

  “Did I make a grave mistake in choosing you for this mission?” Father Dom asked. “Are you going soft on the demon’s whore?”

  “She’s not a demon’s anything, not in this lifetime. And I’m only suggesting we respect her privacy while she—”

  “Her privacy could get us both killed and unleash the devil’s right hand on the world. Is that what you want?” Father Dom shoved Tomas aside with a surprisingly strong arm, and grabbed Indira’s handbag. It was unzipped.