office.
I didn‘t have the time to wait, so delivery it was. By the time we were finished at the shop I
was stone-cold sober and Creede agreed to take me back to my car. Before he left he insisted
on putting a protective spell on me, strong enough to protect me from bullets. He swore it
would last through the day—long enough to get me back to the protective confines of
Birchwoods.
When I walked in the front door of my office at around three, the reception area was clean,
quiet, and smelled of lemon furniture polish. Thank God. Well, actually, thank Dottie. Maybe
both. Whatever, I was grateful. I snagged a large stack of messages from my slot on the front
desk before pounding up the stairs.
One call from Dawna. Three from reporters who wanted my take on the statement
Cassandra Meadows had made to the press after the Will reading. Since I didn‘t know what
she‘d said, I couldn‘t comment. But I wouldn‘t anyway. In a mudslinging contest, everybody
gets dirty.
I unlocked my office door, tossed my purse and keys onto the desk, and sat. No messages
from Ivan. I debated calling the embassy. He‘d made it sound so urgent, but I‘d managed to
see a piece of the continuous news feed shown on the television in La Cocina‘s bar and
nothing big appeared to be going on in Rusland. The king was attending a financial conference
in Greece, and since Ivan was his head of security, he was probably there as well.
My attorney had called. Seeing the message reminded me forcibly of the hearing I‘d been
trying very hard not to think about. Roberto didn‘t expect the trial to last more than a couple of
hours. By this time tomorrow afternoon I‘d know whether I‘d be spending the rest of my life in
a cage. My stomach did a little flip-flop from nerves and I tried to tell myself that it was going
to be fine.
I didn‘t believe me.
―The hearing will end in your favor.‖ Dottie stood in my doorway, leaning heavily on her
walker. How she‘d made it up all of those stairs I had no clue. Grown men have been known to
quail at the sight of them. They‘re steep and the treads are narrow, having been made in a time
when people had smaller feet. ―I . . . peeked. ‖ She moved slowly across the threshold, a small
package rattling on the tray she‘d attached to the front of her walker.
―Dottie. You should‘ve called. I‘d have come down.‖
She sighed and lowered herself halfway into one of the pair of wing-backed visitor‘s chairs
across the desk from me, then fell the last few inches onto the seat. ―Next time I‘ll do that. But
I wanted a little privacy to talk with you and Ron is a terrible snoop.‖
She‘d figured him out quicker than most. Then again, Dottie‘s bright. It‘s one of the many
things I like about her.
―What do you want to talk about?‖
She reached over to retrieve the little jewelry box from the tray. Opening it, I saw that Isaac
had delivered the Wadjeti stone. Damn, that was quick. I walked over to take it from her. I
rolled it over, on my palm, examining it closely. When I‘d seen the stone in the Levys‘ shop, it
had been red, and it still was. But now the shade seemed both richer and more faded and there
were little scratches and scuffs on the finish that made it look . . . ancient.
―Wow. Go, Isaac.‖
―I take it this isn‘t the original stone?‖
―Nope. But it sure looks like it.‖ I turned it over in my hand. It was perfect. How the hell
had he managed that? And so fast? Trade secret from a misspent youth?
Dottie paused, licking her lips nervously. ―Celia, would you indulge me in something?
Please?‖ She wasn‘t quite wringing her hands, but she was getting close and she was pale and
a little bit shaky.
―Why don‘t I get you a glass of water?‖
―No, thank you, I‘m fine. But would you let me do a reading for you? I don‘t have my bowl,
but now that you have a full set I can use the Wadjeti, I‘m sure of it.‖
―Is that a good idea?‖ I didn‘t say she looked like hell. But she did.
―Please, Celia. I have to try. I have to.‖ She was shaking in earnest now.
―Sure. I suppose . . . but . . . do you know how?‖
―I told you, I read the instructions,‖ she said without heat. ―I‘m pretty sure I remember
enough. And . . .‖ She paused, licking her lips again. ―I need to do this. I‘ve only had a
compulsion like this a few times, but it‘s always been important. Please?‖
I turned around and went through the rigamarole of opening the safe. By the time it was
finished she was practically jumping out of her skin. ―You‘re sure you want to do this?‖
She nodded. ―Positive.‖
Okay, I could get that. Vicki had once told me about something similar happening to her.
She‘d also called it a compulsion. I might not understand, but I could accept it. That
compulsion had caused her to have Bruno make the knives that had probably saved my life.
I pulled the box from the safe and started to hand it to Dottie, but she shook her head. ―You
need to take all of the stones and drop them one at a time into the cup. I can‘t touch them. I
only touch the cup.‖
―All right.‖ It sounded a little odd, but magic is one of those things that frequently defy
explanation. The rules may not make logical sense, but they‘re the rules . . . and if you don‘t
follow them, the magic doesn‘t work.
I took the cup from the box and set the box on the desk. The cup was small and, compared to
the box, quite simple. It was made of beaten gold set alternately with lapis and moonstone. I
set it on the desktop and began dropping the scarabs in, starting with the one Isaac had aged for
me. Each stone landed with a soft click. With each, I could feel the power build, drop by drop,
until the air actually felt thick with it. I felt heat radiating upward and when the last stone fell
into the cup shafts of brilliant white light beamed out through the moonstones, practically
blinding me with their brilliance.
―Hand me the cup.‖
I picked it up. It was warm to the touch and surprisingly heavy. I passed it to Dottie
carefully and she used both hands to take it from me. ―We need to do three throws to get
guidance for each of the three levels of your present existence: the first is for the physical; the
second, the intellectual; and the third, finally, for the spiritual and emotional.‖
―If you say so.‖
She gave me a sad little smile. ―I do.‖ She shook the cup and scattered the stones across the
top of my desk. They glowed, each stone shining with its own light. They scurried like the
beetles they resembled to form two precise groupings.
Dottie gave a soft gasp. I didn‘t blame her. It was one hell of a show: both startling and
surprisingly beautiful.
She began pointing to the arrangements. ―The group over there represents your past. There
was danger, suffering, and death, but it served to make you stronger.‖
I couldn‘t argue with that and I didn‘t want to break her concentration. Her voice had taken
on a singsong quality that I recognized as indicating the beginning of a trance. If I interrupted
her now she‘d lose her train of thought and the reading would be ruined.
―The right grouping is your present. You notice the dea
th stone in the center halfway
between the two groups? It has a double meaning. First, the death of your old self and your
rebirth with new powers and abilities.‖
That didn‘t sound so bad. I‘d been afraid it meant something more . . . well, sniper bullet–
ish.
―But it also represents real danger. You must be very careful. There are traps and betrayals
ahead, people plotting your death.‖
Sniper. Bullet. That pretty well says it all.
―Your survival may depend on your acceptance of your changed existence.‖
She looked up at me; her expression was serene and her eyes were shining, but Dottie, the
Dottie I knew, wasn‘t ―home.‖ I wondered if she‘d even remember the things she was saying
to me when this was done. Probably not.
―Fill the cup.‖
I did, again feeling the power build, and she repeated the throw. This time, though, the
beams of light shone through the lapis, the shafts of intense blue looking like nothing so much
as Luke‘s lightsaber slicing across the room.
This time the scarabs formed a single picture, again with the death stone in the center.
―You are clever. But so is your enemy. Life and death balance on a knife‘s edge with
deception determining the winner. You must be brave, but more, you must be intelligent if you
are to save yourself and those under your protection. You cannot let emotions cloud your
judgment. You must remain clearheaded.‖ She gestured imperiously at the cup. ―Once more.‖
I dropped the scarabs into the cup with increasing dread. I‘d had enough experience with
clairvoyants that I had never before been bothered all that much by the process. But while I
might not admit it out loud, this frightened me. There was so much power to it. So deep, so
elemental, that I felt as if we were channeling the energy of an earthquake, the tides, or the sun
itself. My mouth was dry as I picked up the last stone, the death stone. It felt warm, almost
alive in my hand, and the mark of my curse began to burn where it touched. Hissing with pain,
I threw it away, into the cup. It hit with an explosion of light and a roar of sound that left me
deaf and blind for a full minute. My eyes were watering so hard I was practically weeping and
I groped through my tears for the box of tissues I kept on the corner of my desk. I wiped my
eyes and handed Dottie the cup.
She spilled the scarabs onto the desk. Several scurried across my hand, sharp pinpricks like
tiny claws on my skin. Shuddering, I pulled back, and they moved to form a picture.
Dottie waited until I‘d recovered before continuing, her voice both sad and thoughtful.
―There is deception here and a deep, crippling loss. Endings and beginnings, if you are willing
to be open to them. Lies and pain. But hope. You must be strong and not lose faith in yourself.
Do not let the inevitable betrayals keep you from trusting those worthy of trust, but beware the
smile that hides the viper‘s fangs.‖
She fell silent, her head drooping onto her chest. I rushed around the desk to check her. Her
pulse was fine, her breathing steady, but her skin had taken on a grayish tinge. I turned to call
for help and saw Ron and Bubba standing awestruck in the doorway. Apparently they‘d seen
the light show and wanted to know what was going on. Following their gaze, I watched as the
scarabs scurried back into the carved wooden box. Well, that was more than a little disturbing.
Bubba took Dottie to the ER to be checked out. I couldn‘t go. Hospitals are a bad place for
people who crave blood. So far, lunch was holding, but I couldn‘t guarantee it beyond a few
hours. She was awake and acerbic, swearing she was fine, just tired, but we all wanted to make
sure she was all right. I made Bubba promise they‘d call me to let me know what the doctors
said.
Dottie‘s vision had given me a lot to think about and the light and bug show made me want
to lock the Wadjeti back in the safe and never take it out again. Definitely creepy.
Still, a promise is a promise and El Jefe had gone to a lot of trouble to get the expert from
UCLA. So I slathered on more sunscreen, pulled on my new jacket and black straw fedora,
armed myself to the teeth, and drove off to meet some of the world‘s leading experts on the
preternatural. Here‘s hoping they didn‘t give me more bad news.
8
―You should be dead. It is that simple. Based on what I‘m looking at, this mark has been here
since you were a very small child. There is no possible way you could have survived through
puberty.‖ Dr. Sloan was a dessicated little man with freckled brown skin. What hair he had
stuck out in a wiry white ring around his age-spotted scalp and his heavy graying brows
bristled over the top of Coke-bottle glasses that made his watery eyes seem too large for his
face. He was holding my hand, palm up, staring at it with absolute absorption through a
jeweler‘s loupe. The rest of us might as well not have even been in the room—assuming, of
course, I left my palm behind.
The three of us were crowded into Warren‘s office. Despite his status within the university
and the field, El Jefe had a very small and ordinary office space. Warren had chosen the L-
shaped workstation with a round table and four chairs in the far corner from the university‘s
catalog. He‘d added bookshelves along two walls, filled partially with research books but
heavens) didn‘t resemble anyone I knew. Hanging above his desk were framed original movie
posters of The Birds, Raiders of the Lost Ark, and The Curse of the Werewolf. The ugly
eggplant-colored industrial-grade carpet had been covered by a Persian rug thick enough to
sink into. It picked up the colors of the stained-glass window hanging from a pair of chains in
front of the ordinary window. The decorating scheme was certainly eclectic, but somehow it
worked. And it was very definitely Warren.
El Jefe is one of my favorite people in the world. He‘s got that rare combination of brains,
common sense, and a terrific sense of humor. The package is nicely rounded out with better-
than-average looks. All of which he‘d passed on to Kevin and Emma.
―It makes no sense. ‖ Sloan‘s words brought my attention back to the matter at hand. He ran
his finger lightly over the mark and I felt a warm, tingling sensation. ―This mark was made by
a semidivine creature. Leaving aside the fact that there simply aren‘t that many of those, the
divine just don‘t do curses like this, certainly not on a child. That‘s more the style of the
nefarious. There‘s a trace of demon signature, but it appears to be the remnants of a covering
illusion. But the curse itself? A demon might do it, if it thought delaying a death would cause
more damage, or even if it just found it amusing.‖ I felt a little surge of magic as he tested the
mark. ―No. Definitely divine.‖ He shook his head as if to clear it, then looked up at me, the
liquid brown eyes behind the thick glasses wistful. ―I don‘t suppose you‘d let me—‖
―Study it further?‖ I ended the sentence for him. It wasn‘t hard. He was an academic, and to
him my curse was the opportunity of a lifetime. He might have sympathy for me but only in
the abstract. What was real for him, right
now, was the thrill of discovery and the potential for
publishable papers. ―Publish or perish,‖ as the saying goes. Sure, he was being insensitive, but
social skills aren‘t the forte of a lot of professors. I knew it wasn‘t personal, but that didn‘t
make me feel all that much better. ―Not today. Maybe sometime in the future.‖
He gave me a pointed look that somehow managed to contain both wheedling greed and,
finally, a little real sympathy. ―You may not have a future. This is a very potent piece of
magic.‖
―And yet I‘m here. You just said that it was put on me in childhood.‖
―I know.‖ He sounded exasperated. ―It obviously was. I can tell by the way it‘s affected
your life line.‖ He turned my palm so that I could see it and started pointing at places where
the mark intersected the lines palmistry buffs use to analyze your life. ―And it has completely
altered your career path.‖ He frowned, his eyebrows wiggling like caterpillars above the
glasses. ―Did your family ever take you to the Vatican? Get you blessed by the Pope?‖
―No. Why?‖
―Well, a major blessing could mitigate the curse.‖
―My gran‘s a true believer,‖ I suggested.
He made a harrumphing noise. ―Shouldn‘t be enough. I really need more time—‖
―What kind of creature are we talking about?‖ Warren interrupted. I noticed that he‘d
opened the laptop on his desk and was discreetly taking notes.
Sloan didn‘t look up from my palm. ―Well, there are angels, of course, and demigods from
some of the more ancient religions.‖
―Egyptian?‖ I made it a question.
―Why do you ask?‖ Sloan‘s voice was sharp and he met my eyes.
―The mark was invisible until I touched the Wadjeti this morning.‖
He mulled that over for a moment, then shook his head no. ―I suppose it‘s possible, the
Egyptians were known for their curses, but I don‘t think so. Wadjet was an Egyptian deity, the
patron of lower Egypt—there‘s some debate as to whether she precedes Isis or is simply
another incarnation. But this really isn‘t her type of thing. What do you think, Warren?‖
―I think it would be beneficial to look into what creatures are capable of this type of curse.
Then perhaps we can find a way to break it.‖