by J. D. Robb
“You’re right. I guess that’s why Frank didn’t bother with a warrant.” Eve rose slowly, spoke softly. “You knew he was onto you, but did you suspect he might get in here, inside? You didn’t see that in your magic ball, did you?” Eve said when Selina’s breath shortened and thickened. “What would you think if I told you he was in your house, and he documented what he saw, and what he found.”
“You have nothing. Nothing.” Selina sprang to her feet. “He was an aging man with slow wits and bad reflexes. I made him for a cop the first time he tried to tail me. He was never in my home. He told you nothing when he was alive, and he can’t tell you anything now.”
“No? Don’t you believe in talking to the dead, Ms. Cross? I make my living at it.”
“And do you think I don’t recognize smoke and mirrors, Lieutenant?” Her spectacular breasts strained against the material of her dress as she struggled to even her breathing. “Alice was a foolish girl who believed she could flirt with dark forces, then run back to her pathetic white magic and tidy little family. She paid the price for her ignorance and her cowardice. But not at my hand. I have nothing more to say to you.”
“That’ll do for now. Peabody?” She started toward the archway. “Your fire’s going out, Ms. Cross,” she said mildly. “Pretty soon you’re going to have nothing but a mess of ashes.”
Selina stood where she was, shaking with rage. When the door closed and security engaged, she balled her hands into fists and screamed with temper.
A panel on the wall slid open. The man who stepped out was tall and golden. His chest gleamed and rippled with muscle. The tattoo over his heart was of a horned goat. He wore only an open black robe carelessly belted at the waist with silver cord.
“Alban.” Selina ran to him, threw her arms around him.
“There, my love.” His voice was deep, soothing. On the hand that stroked her hair was a large silver ring carved with an inverted pentagram. “You mustn’t unbalance your chakras.”
“Fuck my chakras.” She was weeping now, wildly, pounding on him like a child in a blind tantrum. “I hate her. I hate her. She has to be punished.”
With a sigh, he let her go to storm the room, cursing, smashing crockery. He knew the temper would pass more quickly if he stood back and let it purge.
“I want her dead, Alban. Dead. I want her to suffer agonies, to scream for mercy, to bleed and writhe and bleed. She insulted me. She challenged me. She all but laughed in my face.”
“She doesn’t believe, Selina. She has no vision.”
Exhausted as always after a fit of temper, she collapsed on the settee. “Cops. I’ve hated them all my life.”
“I know.” He picked up a tall, slim bottle, poured her some thick, cloudy liquid. “We’ll have to be careful with her. She’s very high-profile.” He passed her a chalice. “But we’ll think of something, won’t we?”
“Of course we will.” She smiled again, sipped slowly at the brew. “Something very special. The master would want something…inventive in her case.” Now she laughed, full-throated, head thrown back. The police had been the bane of her existence—until she’d discovered a higher power. “We’ll make a believer out of her, won’t we, Alban?”
“She’ll believe.”
She drank deeply now, felt the lovely haze coat her tangled emotions. And let the chalice drop. “Come here, and take me.” Eyes glittering, she slid down. “Force me.”
And when he covered her body with his, she turned her head, bared her teeth, and dug them into his shoulder to draw blood.
“Hurt me,” she demanded.
“With pleasure.” he replied.
And when they lay apart, their violent passion sated, he lay quiet beside her. She would revive now, he knew. She would cool and she would calm, and she would think.
“We should preform a ceremony tonight. Call together the entire coven for a Black Mass. We need power, Alban. She isn’t weak, and she wants to destroy us.”
“She won’t.” With affection now, he stroked her cheek. “She can’t. After all, she’s only a cop with no past and a limited future. But you’re right, of course, we’ll call the coven. We’ll perform the rite. And, I think, we’ll provide Lieutenant Dallas with a distraction—or two. She won’t have the time or inclination to worry overmuch about little Alice for long.”
Fresh arousal rippled through her, a dark wave that flooded into her eyes. “Who dies?”
“My love.” He lifted her, speared her, sighed when her muscles clamped viciously around him. “You have only to choose.”
“You really pissed her off.” Peabody struggled to ignore the light sweat of fear that dried on her skin as Eve drove away from the building.
“That was the idea. Now that I know control isn’t her strong point, I’ll be sure to piss her off again. She’s all ego,” Eve decided. “Imagine, thinking we’d fall for a second-rate trick like the fire.”
“Yeah.” Peabody managed a sickly smile. “Imagine.”
Eve tucked her tongue in her cheek and decided against ragging on her aide. “Since we’re into witches, let’s swing by and check out this Isis at Spirit Quest.” She slid her eyes right. Well, maybe she’d rag just a little. “You can probably buy a talisman or some herbs,” she said solemnly. “You know, to ward off evil.”
Peabody shifted in her seat. Feeling foolish wasn’t nearly as bad as worrying about being cursed. “Don’t think I won’t.”
“After we deal with Isis, we can grab a pizza sub—with plenty of garlic.”
“Garlic’s for vampires.”
“Oh. We can have Roarke get us a couple of his antique guns. With silver bullets.”
“Werewolves, Dallas.” Amused at both of them now, Peabody rolled her eyes. “A lot of good you’re going to do if we have to defend ourselves against witchcraft.”
“What does it to witches, then?”
“I don’t know,” Peabody admitted. “But I’m damn sure going to find out.”
chapter six
Shopping wasn’t something Eve considered one of the small pleasures in life. She wasn’t a browser, a window shopper, or a electronic catalogue surfer. She avoided, whenever possible, the shops and boutiques in, above, and below Manhattan. She shuddered at the very thought of a trip to one of the sky malls.
She imagined her outward resistance to the consumption of merchandise was the primary reason Isis pegged her as a cop the minute she stepped into Spirit Quest.
As stores went, Eve considered it tolerable. She wasn’t interested in the crystals and cards, the statues and candles, even though they were attractively displayed. The background music was soft, more of a murmur than a tune, and the light was allowed to play over the edges of raw crystals and polished stones in pretty rainbows.
The place smelled, she thought, not offensively of forest.
If witches were what she was dealing with, Eve decided, Isis and Selina couldn’t have been more dramatically opposed in appearance. Selina had been pale and slim and feline. Isis was an exotic amazon of a female with gypsy curls of flaming red, round black eyes, and cheekbones that could have carved wood. Her skin was the soft gold of a mixed-race heritage, her features bold and broad. Eve measured her at just over six feet and a well-packed and curvy one-seventy.
She wore a loose, flowing robe of blinding white with a belt studded with rough stones. Her right arm was wound with gold coils from elbow to shoulder, and her large hands winked and flashed with as many as a dozen rings.
“Welcome.” The voice suited her, oddly accented and throaty. Her lips curved, but it was a smile of grieving rather than pleasure. “Alice’s cop.”
Eve lifted a brow as she took out her shield. She figured she looked like a cop. And, since Roarke, her face had been in the media relentlessly. “Dallas. You’d be Isis, then?”
“I would. You’ll wish to talk. Excuse me.” She walked to the door. Graceful, Eve observed, the way an athlete is graceful. She turned an old-fashioned hand-lettered sign to Close
d, pulled the shade over the glass of the door, and flicked a thumb latch.
When she turned back, her eyes were intense, her mouth grim. “You bring dark shadows into my light. She clings—such a stench.” At Eve’s narrowed look, she inclined her head. “Selina. One moment.”
She went to a wide shelf and began to light candles and cones of incense. “To purify and shield, to protect and defend. You have shadows of your own, Dallas.” She smiled briefly at Peabody. “And not just your aide.”
“I’m here to talk about Alice.”
“Yes, I know. And you’re impatient with what you see as my foolish window dressing. I don’t mind. Every religion should be open to questions and change. Will you sit?”
She gestured to a corner where two chairs flanked a round table etched with symbols. Again, she smiled at Peabody. “I can get another chair from the back for you.”
“No problem. I’ll stand.” She couldn’t help it; her gaze traveled the room, lingering now and then wistfully on some pretty bauble.
“Please feel free to browse.”
“We’re not here to shop.” Eve took a seat, shot Peabody a withering glance. “When did you last see or speak with Alice?”
“On the night she died.”
“At what time?”
“I believe it was about two A.M. She was already dead,” Isis added, folding her large, beautiful hands.
“You saw her after she was dead.”
“Her spirit came to me. You find this foolish; I understand. But I can only tell you what is, and was. I was asleep, and I awoke. She was there, beside the bed. I knew we’d lost her. She feels she’s failed. Herself, her family, me. Her spirit is restless and full of grief.”
“Her body’s dead, Isis. That’s my concern.”
“Yes.” Isis picked up a smooth, rose-colored stone from the table, worried it in her hand. “Even for me, with my beliefs, it’s difficult to accept her death. So young, so bright.” The huge, dark eyes swam. “I loved her very much, as you would a younger sister. But it wasn’t meant for me to save her in this life. Her spirit will return, be reborn. I know we’ll meet again.”
“Fine. Let’s concentrate on this life. And this death.”
Isis blinked back the tears and managed a quick, genuine smile. “How tedious you must find all of this. You have such a logical mind. I want to help you, Dallas, for Alice. For myself, perhaps for yourself as well. I recognize you.”
“I gathered that.”
“No, from another time. Another place. Another plane.” She spread her hands. “I last saw Alice alive on the day of her grandfather’s memorial service. She blamed herself, was determined to make an atonement. She’d strayed for a time, been misled, but she had a strong and bright heart. Her family was dear to her. And she was afraid, desperately afraid of what Selina would do to her—body and soul.”
“You know Selina Cross?”
“Yes. We’ve met.”
“In this life?” Eve asked dryly, and made Isis smile again.
“In this life, and others. She’s no threat to me, but she is dangerous. She seduces the weak, the confused, and those who prefer her way.”
“Her claims to be a witch—”
“She is no witch.” Isis drew her shoulders back, lifted her head. “We who embrace the craft do so in the light and live by an unbreakable code. And it harm none. She used what pitiful power she has to call on the dark, to exploit its violence, its ugliness. We know what evil is, Dallas. We’ve both seen it. Whatever form it takes doesn’t change its basic nature.”
“We can agree on that. Why would she harm Alice?”
“Because she could. Because she would enjoy it. There’s no question that she’s responsible for this death. You won’t find it easy to prove it. You won’t give up.” Isis kept her eyes on Eve’s, looking long, looking deep. “Selina will be surprised and infuriated by your tenacity, your strength. Death offends you, and the death of the young cuts small slices from your heart. You remember too well, but not all. You weren’t born Eve Dallas, but you’ve become her, and she you. When you stand by the dead, stand for the dead, nothing moves you aside. His death was necessary for your life.”
“Stop,” Eve ordered.
“Why should it haunt you?” Isis’s breathing was slow and thick, her eyes dark and clear. “The choice was made correctly. Innocence was lost, but strength took its place. For some, it must be so. You’ll need all before this cycle passes. A wolf, a boar, and a silver blade. Fire, smoke, and death. Trust the wolf, slay the boar, and live.”
Abruptly, she blinked. Her eyes clouded as she lifted a hand to press fingers to her temple. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend—” She let out a quiet moan, squeezed her eyes shut. “Headache. Vicious. Excuse me one minute.” She got shakily to her feet and hurried into the back.
“Jesus, Dallas, this is getting way too weird. Do you know what she was talking about?”
“His death was necessary for your life.” Her father, Eve thought, fighting off a shudder. A cold room, a dark night, and blood on the knife clutched in a desperate child’s hand.
“No, it’s just jibberish.” Her palms were damp, infuriating her. “These people figure they have to pull out some magic tricks to keep us interested.”
“I studied at the Kijinsky Institute in Prague,” Isis said as she stepped back into the room. “And was studied.” She set a small cup aside, managed a smile as the headache eased. “My psychic abilities are documented—for those who need documentation. But I apologize, Dallas. I didn’t intend to drift in that manner. It’s very rare for it to happen without my consciously controlling it.”
She came back to sit as she spoke, spread the skirts of her robe gracefully. “It would be sheer hell to be privy to thoughts and memories without some power to control and block. I don’t like to pry into personal thoughts. And it hurts,” she added, gently rubbing her temple again. “I want to help you do what Alice wanted, so she can rest. I want, for personal and selfish reasons, to see Selina pay the proper price for what she’s responsible for. I’ll do whatever I can, whatever you’ll allow me to do, to help you.”
Trust didn’t come easily for Eve, and she would check very thoroughly into Isis’s background. But for now, she’d use her. “Tell me what you know about Selina Cross.”
“I know she’s a woman without conscience or morals. I would think your term would be sociopath, but I find that too simple and too clean for what she is. I prefer the more direct term of evil. She’s a clever woman with a skill for reading weaknesses. As for her power, what she can read or see or do, I can’t say.”
“What about Alban?”
“About him I know next to nothing. She keeps him close. I assume he’s her lover and she finds him useful or she would have—dispatched him by now.”
“This club of hers?”
Isis smiled thinly. “I don’t frequent such…establishments.”
“But you know of it?”
“One hears rumors, gossip.” She lifted her broad shoulders. “Dark ceremonies, Black Masses, the drinking of blood, human sacrifice. Rape, murder, infanticide, the calling up of demons.” Then she sighed. “But then, you might hear such talk about Wiccans from those who have no understanding of the craft and who see black draped crones and eye of newt when they think of witches.”
“Alice claimed to have seen a child murdered.”
“Yes, and I believe she did. She couldn’t have invented such a thing. She was in shock and ill when she came to me.” Isis pressed her lips together, shuddered out a breath. “I did what I could for her.”
“Such as encouraging her to report the incident to the police?”
“That was for her to decide.” Isis lifted her chin again, met the iced anger in Eve’s eyes. “I was more concerned with her emotional and spiritual survival. The child was already lost; I had hoped to save Alice from the same fate.” Her eyes dropped now, and dampened. “And I regret, bitterly, that I didn’t act differently. And that, in the
end, I failed her. Perhaps it was pride.” She looked at Eve again. “You’d understand the power and the deception of personal pride. I thought I could handle it, that I was wise enough, strong enough. I was wrong. So, Dallas, to atone, I’ll do anything you ask, avail you of all knowledge and any power the goddess grants me.”
“Information will do.” Eve angled her head. “Selina treated us to a little demonstration of what she’d call power. It impressed Peabody.”
“It caught me off guard,” Peabody muttered, studying Isis warily. She didn’t think she was up for another demonstration. To Peabody’s surprise, and Eve’s, Isis threw back her magnificent head and laughed. It was like hearing silver buoys clang in pearly fog.
“Should I call up the wind?” With one hand pressed to her breast, she chuckled. “Summon the dead, strike the cold fire? Really, Dallas, you believe in none of that, so it would be a waste of my time and energy. But perhaps you’d be interested in observing one of our gatherings. We have one at the end of next week. I can arrange it.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You smirk,” Isis said lightly, “yet the pledge you wear on your finger carries the ancient symbol of protection.”
“What?”
“Your wedding ring, Dallas.” With that quiet smile, Isis lifted Eve’s left hand. “It’s carved with an old Celtic design for protection.”
Baffled, Eve studied the pretty etching in the slim gold ring. “It’s just a design.”
“It’s a very specific and powerful one, to give the wearer protection from harm.” Amused, she raised her brows. “I see you didn’t know. Is it so surprising, really? Your husband has the blood of the Celts, and you lead a very precarious life. Roarke loves you very much, and you wear the symbol of it.”
“I prefer facts to superstitions,” Eve said and rose.
“As you should,” Isis agreed. “But you will be welcome at the next gathering, should you choose to attend. Roarke will also be welcome.” She smiled at Peabody. “And your aide. Will you accept a gift?”
“It’s against the rules.”