Mark of the Witch

by Maggie Shayne

  Canada geese, a whole flock of them, were marching toward us in single file, all of them staring at us as they drew closer.

  A growl drew my head around, and I saw three dogs—two pugs and a poodle—straining their leads to watch us, growling, their eyes like marbles, their little bodies quivering as their owners tugged and commanded them to come along.

  And then, remarkably, Tomas slid an arm around my waist and pulled me up beside him. “They’re only watching. They won’t attack.”

  “How can you be so sure?” I asked softly. As I looked around, I wasn’t entirely convinced that some of the passers-by were not also acting as the demon’s eyes. A couple of them seemed to be in possession of the same vacant-eyed stare as the animals.

  “Because he wants us to find the incantation that will enable you to call forth the amulet. He needs you to get it so you can return it to him. Without it, he can’t hope to succeed. He won’t try to stop us from getting it.”

  “He won’t try to stop me,” I reminded him. “But what about you, Tomas? You intend to destroy the thing once I get it. The demon—or whatever he is—has every reason to want to take you out.”

  He seemed to get stuck in my eyes. “Destroying the amulet is the only way we can prevent this from ever happening again. If we succeed, Indy, we end this forever. No one will ever have to fight this battle again. And you’ll finally be free to move on when the time comes, either into the afterlife or another incarnation if that’s what you believe in, without all this baggage from the past holding you like an anchor.”

  I swallowed hard, seeing again the pain-filled eyes on the other side of the Portal. Eyes that had seemed to be begging for my help. It would be like kicking a puppy to squelch the hope in those eyes. They couldn’t have seemed less demonic to me.

  At the same time, I saw the genuine caring in Tomas’s eyes and knew he was not lying. He honestly thought destroying the amulet would be the best thing for me, as well as for mankind.

  I swallowed my fears and tugged myself away from Tomas’s side. “Wait here,” I said, and I walked off the sidewalk into the grass, toward one of the snarling pugs. It stared at me, teeth bared as I approached.

  The owner, an impossibly thin waif with flat-ironed blond hair to her waist, said, “I swear, I’ve never seen him act this way. He’s usually so friendly, I—”

  I flicked my hand up, palm out, in the universal sign for Stop, and she went instantly silent. Then I crouched near the dog and stared into his eyes, and I whispered to him.

  “Are you seeing me? Are you seeing me through this innocent creature’s eyes? Hearing me through its ears? Then listen up. I haven’t decided yet if I’m going to help you or not. But I promise you, if you hurt Tomas, I will destroy the amulet myself. Do not put me to the test, Demon—or whatever you are. I love that man. I’ll kill you with my bare hands before I’ll let anything happen to him. Are you hearing me? Are you?”

  The dog blinked, whimpered and sat. His tongue came out as he started panting happily, and his little head tipped from one side to the other as if he were puzzled, trying to decipher words he’d never heard before.

  Smiling in relief, I scratched his head, and he gave me a completely nondemonic doggy smile. Then I rose and walked away as the skinny girl scooped up her pug and hurried in the other direction.

  Father Dom was saying something to Tomas, leaning close and speaking behind his hand. I had no doubt he was telling him how I was obviously in league with the Demon and must not be trusted.

  Frankly, I wasn’t so sure he was wrong. The Demon seemed to hear me and obey me. I was a witch who could command a demon. I was a walking stereotype of the worst possible sort.

  And yet I didn’t feel as much fear of this so-called demon as I had before. It was a priest who’d ordered my execution all those centuries ago, after all. Not a demon. A priest who’d stood behind me at the top of the cliff, his hands on the bare skin of my back as he prepared to push me over. A priest.

  My priest.

  The man I loved.

  A siren’s wail dragged my attention away from my thoughts as a police car came to a screaming halt right in front of the building we’d been planning to enter—the building where Jon Yates’s office was.

  All four of us ran toward the door as the officers emerged from the car. A weeping woman came running down the steps toward them. She gripped the first cop by his upper arm. “He’s still there. God, he’s still there. I wanted to cut him down, but I—”

  “All right, ma’am, all right, calm down. Your nine-one-one call was impossible to understand. You need to tell us what’s going on.”

  “It’s Professor Yates!” she sobbed. “Jonathon Yates. I found him in his office. He’s…he’s hanged himself!”

  14

  Tomas stood there, shock washing over him as he saw one of the cops walk the hysterical woman back into the building. The other one took up a position at the doors and spoke into his radio.

  Tomas lunged up the steps, intending to follow the first cop and the woman inside, but the cop at the door stopped him, a hand to his chest. “Sorry, Father. You’ll need to wait out here. This is an active investigation.”

  “He’s a friend. I need to know what happened.”

  “So do we. But if you want to help… Do you have any idea what’s been going on with the professor?”

  Yeah, Tomas thought. He was helping me interpret messages from a demon. And now he’s dead. And I don’t for one minute believe it was a suicide.

  But if he said any of that, he would wind up detained for questioning or, worse, a psychiatric evaluation. And there was no time for any of that.

  “No. I’m just…I’m shocked. I want to know what happened.”

  “I’m very sorry for your loss, Father. But I can’t let anyone in. And I have to question anyone coming out, so you’re going to have to wait.”

  “How long?”

  The cop swallowed. “It’ll be a while.”

  A heavy hand clapped down on Tomas’s shoulder, and he turned to see that Father Dom had joined him at the top of the steps. “Come on, son. We have to let the officer do his job.”

  Turning, shell-shocked and almost dizzy with it, Tomas walked back down the steps to where Rayne and Indy waited, wide-eyed, as stunned as he was and probably scared, too.

  As they approached the women, but before they got too close, Dom leaned nearer. “Things are getting very dangerous, Tomas. And it’s clear to me that the witch has no intention of cooperating with us,” Father Dom said. “Did you see the way she spoke to that dog?”

  Tomas nodded, but he didn’t want to hear it. Jon was dead. His friend was dead.

  “And not just the dog, either,” Dom went on. “They all went back to normal. The squirrel. The birds. Even the students. She’s a far more powerful witch than either of us knew, Tomas. She not only communes with demons but commands them.”

  “This isn’t the time, Dom.”

  “This is the only time. How do you know she didn’t orchestrate this herself? Jon was translating something—maybe she’s remembered the incantation on her own and didn’t want us to know. Maybe—”

  “Enough!” Tomas snapped loudly, angrily, and Father Dom fell silent, maybe in shock. But silent all the same.

  Tomas continued toward the women, who both hugged him hard when he got close enough. Their arms, their warmth, were a comfort at a time when not much could be.

  “There’s no way Jonathon hanged himself,” he muttered.

  “So says every friend or relative of every suicide that has ever been,” Father Dom said, standing back from the group hug.

  Rayne stepped away, but Indy pressed closer, hugged longer. “What if the demon did it?”

  “Dom says he can’t do anything physical—not directly, anyway. He has to influence humans or animals to—”

  “He managed to influence someone to plant that bomb.” Her face was pressed to his chest. The movement of her lips, the vibration of her words, th
e heat of her breath, seeped through his shirt, and his arms tightened convulsively around her.

  “I know,” he said.

  “We need to end this, Tomas. Too many people are dying.”

  “I agree with you.”

  Finally she backed away from him, blinking away tears and then, quite suddenly, frowning at something behind him.

  He turned to see what had caught her attention, but he didn’t see anything other than a nearby boulder. It had a bronze plaque on its face, apparently bearing an inscription. It was only a few yards away, but the way Indy was staring at it seemed to indicate it meant something to her. Without a word, she began walking toward it. Frowning, Rayne went with her.

  Tomas started to go, too, but Dom gripped his arm, stopping him.

  Father Dom preventing me from going to Rayne and Indy. It’s a literal representation of what’s happening to me on all levels. A living parable.

  “Tomas, I am rethinking our plan of action. To have her retrieve the amulet and then allow us to destroy it for all time seemed the best possible idea, and in many ways it still would be. But if she intends to turn it over to him instead, we will have failed utterly. Maybe it’s better if we simply prevent her from acquiring the amulet at all.”

  “And let this thing keep going on, lifetime after lifetime? She’s trapped in this cycle, Dom, don’t you see that? It’s like a curse. No, we have to end it. We have to break it now.”

  Dom lowered his head. “Thirteen clerics have died. And now your old friend. The world is at stake, and your chief concern is still with the witch?”

  “Yeah,” he said softly. “I guess it is.”

  “I pity you, Tomas. I pity you for the torment you’re inviting into your life by your lack of faith.”

  Tomas tugged free of Father Dom’s restraining hand, and hurried toward Rayne and Indy. Dom followed. Looking at the rock, then at Indy, Tomas said, “What is it?”

  “That’s the one I saw in my dream,” Indy said. “It was sort of…glowing.”

  “Are you sure it was the same one?”

  She shrugged her bag from her shoulder and pulled out the journal—the one he had bought for her. Then, quickly, she flipped the pages and turned the book face-out to show him the drawing.

  She had sketched a boulder exactly like the one before them. It even had the square plaque on its face, with tiny lines to indicate writing, and a silhouette of a male face a lot like the one actually engraved there.

  “It means something. It has to.”

  Rayne nodded in agreement. “Indy, maybe you should look around for the other things you saw in your dreams.”

  “Yes, the other things you drew,” Tomas agreed excitedly.

  Indy nodded hard. “I sketched everything. I mean, I’m no artist, but—” As she spoke, she riffled pages. “Let’s see… There’s the tree that looks just like an old man, bent and stretching out one partly broken branch, like it’s pointing a finger at something.”

  “Like that tree?” Rayne asked, pointing herself.

  All eyes turned that way, and Tomas heard Indy gasp. A moment later she had found the page with the sketch of the tree in question. It was a perfect image of one in the distance, across a sloping green lawn. Men were already gathering around it with chain saws and a pickup truck to remove the broken branch. But until they did, everything about it, even the larger knots in the tree’s trunk, was identical to her sketch. There was even a small bird’s nest on the broken limb, accurately depicted.

  “This has to mean something,” Tomas said.

  “I…I have to follow the signs, Tomas. I know you’ve lost a friend and you need to stay here, but…”

  Tomas shook his head. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Me, too,” Rayne put in. “You might need me.”

  Father Dom opened his mouth, but Tomas spoke before he could. “I need you to stay here, Dom. I need you to find out what happened to Jonathon. And what he did with the translation, if you can.”

  “But suppose you need me?”

  “It’ll be too hard for you to keep up.” He met the old man’s eyes, looking at him steadily and deeply. “You chose me for this, Dom. You were guided by God to do that. Maybe it’s time for you to trust that God knew what He was doing when He made you pick me.” And as he said it, he thought it made more sense than anything else ever had. Maybe there really was a reason why he’d been chosen for this mission. Maybe it was because Dom had things too twisted up in his mind, with his preconceived notions and prejudices clouding his vision.

  Dom closed his eyes for a moment, then looked up. “Maybe I can convince the officer to let me deliver the professor’s Last Rites before they move the body.”

  “Good idea. See if you can get a look at his notes, especially the translation. Slide the pages under your shirt if you can.”

  The old man nodded. “I’ll meet you back here by this rock whenever you’ve finished. Agreed?”

  “Yes, good,” Tomas said. “If anything else happens, call me.” He patted his cell phone, which was attached to his belt.

  “I will.” Then, turning, Father Dom started slowly toward the building.

  Tomas noticed that his old friend was limping. Very clever, he thought.

  Together with Rayne and Indy, he headed for the broken tree. They followed its pointing “finger” while Indy flipped pages in her journal. Suddenly she stopped, looked up and blinked in what looked like amazement.

  “I…I thought it was a castle,” she whispered.

  And no wonder, given its huge rough-cut stones, its gothic arched windows, its elaborate, pillar-flanked entrance. The clock tower beside it could easily be mistaken for a castle spire.

  But it wasn’t a castle. It was Uris Library.

  They stood outside the building, staring at the beautiful entrance, as students with backpacks strode purposefully in and out.

  “Now what?” Tomas asked, looking down at Indy and noticing again how beautiful she was. How stunningly beautiful. Almost otherworldly.

  “Now,” she said, meeting his eyes, and nodding as if feeling completely sure of herself and rather proud of it, “we go inside.”

  * * *

  I couldn’t believe the confidence that was surging in me. I mean, it seemed really inappropriate at a time like this, you know? With Tomas’s old friend apparently hanging dead in his own office.

  There was something off about that. I didn’t know what, but I was letting it ferment a little, way down deep in my subconscious, because something wasn’t right. The timing. It was too coincidental. It had to be connected to what we were doing here. And while I knew you couldn’t tell much about a person by meeting them once, I hadn’t picked up any depressed vibes from the late Professor Yates. Hell, he’d seemed happy. Vibrant, even.

  But despite the tragedy of that, and the oddness surrounding it, there was still this feeling bubbling up inside me. A feeling of…of power, really. Ever since Rayne had offered me the honor of initiation at her own hand, the feeling had been growing. And then, when she challenged me to do a simple parking-space spell and it had worked instantly, the feeling had grown even more.

  Why was I even surprised by that? I’d always had fairly decent success with minor magics. Finding lost items, snaking my way through traffic jams. Making unpleasant customers suddenly remember somewhere else they had to be. It was the big stuff I’d never been able to do.

  The big stuff. Like the one spell I had cared so much about: the one to bring my soul mate to me.

  But now it was all coming back to me, all my studying and practicing, all my casting and conjuring. As I looked at the image given to me in my own dreams, sketched out by my own hand and accurate to the tiniest detail in the objects now revealing themselves on campus, I was almost high on my own power. Every time I saw proof that it was real, it became more real. I was feeling ten feet tall and bulletproof by the time we entered the hallowed halls of the Uris Library, standing in the shadow of McGraw Tower. My drawing’s cas
tle spire.

  “Now what?” Tomas asked.

  Rayne looked at me expectantly. I just shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  We walked through the library for a while, exploring it while I waited to feel…something. Eventually we wound up in the elaborate and breathtaking A. D. White Reading Room. I blinked like a doe in headlights as I took it in.

  “Students call this the Harry Potter Room,” Tomas whispered. It seemed natural to whisper in a place like this. Like in a church.

  There was ornate bronze-colored metalwork everywhere, levels of books rising on two sides, deep red carpet on the floors, and gleaming antique hardwood desks and stands. It was like something ancient and sacred. Mystical and powerful, this place.

  I was looking for something, anything, else to match my sketches. There were only a couple left. A decorative design I thought was a medallion on a floor. A dark doorway beneath a statue—a bust, really—and a very old treasure chest, which didn’t count, because it was my own. It was home in my closet with all my magical supplies.

  My confidence was waning.

  “Don’t give up yet, Indy,” Rayne said. “We haven’t been here that long. Why don’t we climb up to the higher levels, browse the stacks, see if we hit on inspiration?”

  She was staring upward as she spoke. From the level we were on, you could look up and see the stacks on either side of us rising two more levels. Catwalks with railings in that same bronze-colored metal with its twisting swirling scrollwork stretched along two sides of the room overhead. More of those ornate metal railings protected the aisles in front of the elevated stacks, creating safe areas to walk, all carpeted in red just like the main floor. This design left the center open all the way to the vaulted, cathedral-like ceiling. Between the stacks, huge arched windows let the sun pour through. The place was a work of art in itself.

  I nodded, and we headed up a metal staircase. No one questioned us or stopped us as we scanned the stacks and made use of one of the catwalks to cross to the other side. I was determined to see every inch of this place, all the while straining my senses to find some clue. Rayne took one side, Tomas and I the other, as we moved up to the third and final level.