Blood of the Sorceress (15 page)

“Morning, D-man,” Gus said. “Been getting to know your lady friend.”

“Good morning, boss,” Sid said. “We just asked Ingrid to bring out more coffee.”

“There might still be a cup left.” Lilia tipped the silver pot to a cup, which she filled almost to the top. “Ah, just enough. Coffee is one of the most wonderful things I’ve discovered so far,” she said softly. “But I’ve heard tales of it being addictive, so I limit myself to two cups.”

“People keep saying that,” Demetrius said. “I don’t really see the grand appeal.” He took a sip. “It’s hot and wet.”

She lowered her eyes. “You’ll get it one of these days.”

“Oh, don’t look sad, Lilia. I don’t think I’m missing much.”

“You can’t even begin to imagine how much,” she whispered.

A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he turned to gaze out at the bathing beauties who were usually beginning to gather around the pool by this late in the morning. But no one was there.

He sent Gus a questioning glance.

“Uh, yeah, I um...I put a note on the front gate telling them to chill for a while. I’m not, uh...” He raised a hand to his mouth and faked a cough. “I’m not feeling all that great today.”

“You’re not.” It wasn’t a question.

“Think it might be a cold. Maybe even the flu.”

“Should we get a doctor over here to have a look at you?”

“Nah. I just need a few days’ rest.”

Sid grinned across the table at Gus. “It must be tough, keeping up with all those young, gorgeous women.”

“Be easier if D-man would help out.” Gus shot a startled look at Lilia and bit his lip. “Sorry. That wasn’t very sensitive of me.”

But she wasn’t looking at Gus. She was looking at Demetrius, and something between relief and joy was sparkling in her eyes. He could have lived without her knowing that he felt no interest in the bevy of females Gus insisted on having here all the time. Suddenly she reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. “Come out with me today, Demetrius.”

His eyebrows rose, and he hoped the panic in his belly didn’t show. “I haven’t even eaten yet.”

“Well, eat, then.” She grabbed a plate and started filling it with melon wedges, pastries and berries, then set it in front him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a place this beautiful, and I want to go exploring.” She gazed out at the desert, rock formations everywhere she looked. “I want to go to Bell Rock. I passed it on the way here, and there were people climbing all over it. I want to climb it, too. Can we?”

“Lilia, I really don’t think—”

“It doesn’t matter what you think. If I go, you’ll go. And I’m going. So I’ll go get my things while you eat. Will you hurry? You haven’t taken a bite yet.”

“You haven’t given me a chance.”

She smiled at him, a vibrant smile that made his stomach knot up. And then she got up, and he grabbed her hand before she could race into the house and discover the old priest who was so determined to remain hidden from her. “I’ll go with you to Bell Rock. Just sit still and let me enjoy my breakfast first, all right?”

She blinked, first at his hand closed around hers, and then into his eyes. Wonderful, hers were starting to shimmer. “You will?”

“Yes. I will. If you’ll sit down and relax until I’m ready.”

Her smile was quick and even brighter than the last one, and it hit him hard, knocking the wind out of him in some odd way. She was so happy she practically glowed with it. All because he’d said he would take her hiking up a large red rock.

“Okay,” she said, and she sank into her chair again and watched him eat.

He took his time in order to give the priest time to get himself a meal and get out of sight. She watched as he bit into a piece of melon, and then a strawberry, followed by a gooey cheese Danish, and her eyes seemed to grow sadder and sadder.

He washed the food down with a sip of coffee and met her eyes. “What’s the matter?”

A slight lift of one shoulder. “You’re not enjoying that, are you?”

It wasn’t really a question, he thought. “It’s fine. Good, even.”

Pressing her lips tight, she huffed, leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms over her chest and frowned in thought.

“What?” She’d been all but giddy only seconds ago. Now she looked as if she wanted to cry.

Sid pushed away from the table and got to his feet, and Gus flinched, then got up, too. Sid must have kicked him under the table.

“Sir, if you need a ride to Bell Rock...” Sid offered.

“I’ll take the Jeep,” he said, his eyes still on Lilia. She’d stopped frowning now and had tipped her head to one side, looking as if she’d solved whatever problem she’d been puzzling over.

He probably should have taken Sid up on the offer. The less time he spent alone with the witch, the better, he thought, watching her lapis-blue eyes take on a knowing eagerness.

Too late. Gus and Sid were already heading back inside, and she was leaning forward in her seat. “I can’t lie, you know,” she said.

“No, I didn’t know that.” Then he smiled and surprised himself by teasing her. “And I still don’t. Because if you
could
lie, you might be lying about that.”

She grinned back, picking up on his humor. “Seriously, I can’t. And I cannot give you back the remaining piece of your soul unless you ask for it, truly and wholeheartedly. Not so much with your words, but with your innermost being, your longing to be whole again.”

“And mortal. And vulnerable.”

“Yes, yes, all that.” She waved a hand as if “all that” was nothing. “But you can briefly connect with that missing part of your soul, you know, through me. See what it would feel like if you ever do decide to take it back.”

He saw then, why she was so eager to convince him that she could not lie. This could be a trick.

“It’s not,” she said.

He scowled at her. “Sorry. I wasn’t eavesdropping. Sometimes you let things leak, that’s all. When people are thinking
at
me, I often hear them. And as I told you, when it’s your soul’s yearning, I can hear that because I have a piece of it inside me. Anyway, this is a really good idea, Demetrius. After all, how can you make an informed decision between taking back the rest of your soul or abandoning it forever if you don’t know what you’re missing?”

“Interesting point.”

“Hold my hand and I’ll channel it just a little. I promise it will only last a minute.”

He narrowed his eyes on her. Such a sweet face, such beautiful, innocent eyes. She was the epitome of an angel, at least the way most of mankind envisioned angels. The kind they put on the tops of their Christmas trees. All white and gold and sparkling. All goodness and purity and light. How could she be a witch? A murderous one, at that, out to kill him and take his powers? It made no sense.

He wanted to trust her. More than that, he wanted to know what she would show him. Hesitantly, he offered his hand.

She took it, closed her eyes.

Immediately he felt something like warm honey flowing from her palm into his, spreading up his arm, into his chest and through his body. As if he were being infused with thick, liquid sunshine. There was a heaviness to it, a sadness, a heartache, that knotted in his chest and made his throat go tight. Hot tears burned behind his eyes, and he didn’t even know why.

“Now, take a bite of that strawberry,” she whispered.

“What is this?” he asked. “Why do I feel so...?”

With her free hand she snatched up a fat red berry, and almost before he could acknowledge the vividness of its color, popped it into his mouth.

Flavor exploded, and his eyes widened. He chewed slowly, savoring the sweetness and tang as one, letting the flavor coat his tongue, hating to swallow, because that would end this experience. But eventually he did. And yet the flavor remained.

She opened her eyes, took her hand away. And the flavor was gone. Just like that.

“What was that?” he whispered, searching her serene face.

“That,” she whispered, “is one of the reasons humanity exists. To allow spirit to experience the sensual pleasures of physical being.” She covered his hand with hers again, just a touch this time. “It’s the meaning of life on earth, Demetrius. To experience all of life’s pleasures through the senses we possess only when we’re human.”

The desire to experience life’s pleasures in human form had been one of the main driving forces behind his desperation to escape the Underworld. He remembered that much. He’d wanted to inhabit a physical body. He’d been willing to do anything.

He had done many things. Horrible things. All those clerics who’d died in the bomb blast at Cornell University last fall, at the hand of a weak-minded human he’d managed to possess, to command. He’d robbed those priests and holy men of their chance to experience life.

Guilt welled up in his chest. Guilt he’d been incapable of truly feeling before she’d opened the connection between them. Waves of it rolled over him. He lowered his head. If this was what being human brought—sadness, guilt, remorse—then he was more certain than ever that he wanted no part of it.

And yet the taste of that strawberry lingered in his mind, and his body yearned for more. What would the melon taste like? The Danish? The coffee everyone was always raving about? And what about Lilia?

Her lips, he wondered, his eyes suddenly fixed on them. Pink and full. What would those lips taste like if he were to kiss them while that connection was open and working?

8

S
he changed into a short white split skirt, a white tank top, a pair of ankle socks and hot pink running shoes. She put a jaunty cap on her head, a chauffeur’s cap like the one she’d seen Sid wearing that first day, only white, with a peace sign made out of blue glitter. She’d found it on the back of an easy chair in one of the party rooms, probably left behind by one of Gus’s guests. She figured it was fair game. They’d borrowed her soul mate, or tried to. She would borrow their hat. Fair was fair.

Her sunglasses were white, too, oversize, with rhinestones on the outer edges.

Demetrius was wearing khaki cargo shorts with numerous pockets and a white T-shirt that fit too loosely for her taste. She’d always loved his body, especially his chest and shoulders. And his back. So broad and strong. And his belly, rippling with muscle and tempting her to run her fingers over it. She thought, if she had her preference, the man would never wear any shirt at all.

He had a small backpack, but she didn’t know what was inside until they were halfway up the trail and he said, “Stop.”

She did. She’d been stopping at intervals all along to admire the blossoming desert spreading out on either side of the well-marked, well-groomed walking path. It had been almost flat at the beginning, but it began to climb as they reached the actual red rock formation and started up it. All along the way there were cacti with purple blooms, spindly yellow pinwheels on strawlike stalks, and sprays of tiny white-and-yellow flowers the size of hatpin heads in dense clusters close to the ground. The redness of the earth, of the rocks, was beyond her ability to describe. So vivid. Like clay pottery, but even deeper toned, and in some places striated with lighter and darker layers.

The trail so far hadn’t been difficult, and it was only slow going because every so often she just
had
to stop and stare.

“I wish you could see this the way I do,” she said. “Do you want to try again?” She held out a hand as she asked the question, hoping he would. That few seconds when she’d managed to let him discover what a strawberry really tasted like had hit him hard. She’d seen it, felt it. But he’d been a little more distant and wary of her ever since.

He looked at her hand and shook his head. “No, but I would like you to put on some sunblock. Your lily-white skin is getting as red as the rocks.” He took off his light pack and brought out a spray can. “Come here.”

“But, Demetrius, if I get a sunburn I’ll heal overnight.”

“You’ll suffer in the meantime. I know, I’ve made that mistake. Even for me, it was unpleasant in the extreme. Come here.”

She did, holding her arms out to the side. Demetrius sprayed her liberally, and she sucked air through her teeth when the cold mist hit her sun- and exertion-warmed skin. He crouched to get her legs, then rose again and sprayed himself.

“What else is in that pack?” she asked, standing on tiptoe to try to peer inside as he put the sun block away.

“Water. A cell phone. A camera.”

“You brought a camera?”

“I guessed you’d want one. I see all this every day, but it seems special to you.” He took the camera out and handed it to her. “I would have taken it out sooner, but I would like to get to the top before it gets much hotter.”

“Good idea. I can photograph anything we’ve already passed on the way back down.” She took it from him, looping the strap around her neck, then looked it over and saw that it was going to be simple to operate. Then she accepted the water he offered and took a long drink.

She felt his eyes on her, then lowered the bottle and met his intense stare. It was intimate, a look she remembered very well, though it had been centuries. A woman didn’t forget that expression in her man’s eyes. He wanted her.

He turned away, though, slinging the pack over his shoulders once more.

They continued their journey, speaking very little. She suspected he was silent because talking to her felt dangerous to him. A threat to his determination to remain the unnatural, unfeeling, not-quite-human being that he was. And she was silent because she felt as if she were inside a church, in a place too sacred to speak.

They were going up now, up and up and up, following a trail marked by hollow wire pillars filled with red stones. They’d left behind the groomed part of the path, and aside from the occasional trail marker the way was wild, but still easy.

She climbed from boulder to boulder over a particularly steep patch, going ahead of him at his insistence, and then found herself on a wide, very flat spot in the side of Bell Rock. She walked nearly to the center before pausing and turning slowly.

The vista spread out before her like something in a painting or a dream, too beautiful to be real. She could see forever, it seemed, and everywhere there were towering red rock formations. Wide ones, narrow ones...all of them looking as if the Gods themselves had decided to make some sculptures out of rusty-red clay, and the sun had baked them. Giants, megaliths, everywhere she looked, and far, far away, beyond the giants, shaded by the veil of distance, still more formations fading into invisibility.

The sight took her breath away and literally brought tears to her eyes. “Oh, my Goddess,” she whispered. Pressing a hand to her chest, she said it again. “Oh, my Goddess.”

Demetrius came up to stand beside her, and she realized that she’d lost track of him—him, the man she couldn’t stop noticing or feeling or wanting. She’d actually forgotten all about him for a moment. That was the power of the natural beauty around her. No matter which way she turned, they were there, ancient guardians, distant rock formations, massive and barren and beautiful. She felt as if they were alive.

They are alive,
her heart whispered.
Alive and aware and as old as time.

“Lilia?” Demetrius asked, looking not at the vista but at her face. “You’re crying. What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“Don’t you see? It’s so beautiful.”

He looked, too. She managed to tear her eyes from the scenery long enough to look at him as he scanned the view. But what she saw there was only emptiness and a powerful longing. He wanted to see it as she did. He
wanted
to. Not enough to accept his soul back, perhaps. Not yet. But enough that his hand crept around hers as if of its own volition. He tightened his hold, and she closed her eyes in pleasure at his touch.

She wasn’t even sure if he was aware of what he was doing, what his fractured human soul was silently asking for. But she didn’t wait for permission. She willed his missing soul-piece to touch its host as it had at breakfast, felt it flow through her and felt him stiffen as he sensed what was happening. He shot her a look, surprise, maybe a little anger, but she only shook her head in silence and lifted her free hand to point.

Tearing his eyes from her as if by force, he turned his head and looked out at the vista once again.

A change came over him, a powerful wonder filled his eyes. They softened, and his features relaxed. His tight jaw eased, his mouth opening slightly as the breath rushed out of him.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered.

Whispered, just as she’d been doing. He felt it now, the holiness of this place. “What, my love?” she asked softly. “What don’t you understand?”

He was still drinking in the view, holding her hand and turning slowly to take it all in. “I’ve seen this before. A hundred times. Not from this vantage point, but surely it’s not all that different. I’ve seen it before. And it’s just the same. Red rock formations, that’s all it is.”

“Yes, that’s all it is.”

“Then why does it feel so much...
more
this time?”

“Because you’re seeing it through the eyes of your soul, Demetrius. And your soul is an extension of the energy that created all this. You’re seeing a painting through the eyes of its artist. Understand?”

“I think perhaps I’m seeing it through your eyes,” he said softly.

There were tears in his eyes. They didn’t spill over, because he kept blinking them back, but she saw them there, and it made her own well up all over again.

He kept holding her hand as he walked forward, closer to the edge, and gazed down. And then he gasped sharply, and there was a sudden horror in his expression. His hand clasped hers more tightly, almost to the point of pain.

In a brief flash she saw what he was seeing instead of the other way around. She saw herself standing on the edge of a darker cliff, her sisters alongside her, their arms bound behind them, their backs welted and bleeding from the lashes of Sindar’s whip. She saw it all from his point of view, felt his pain, his anguish, his fury at being unable to save them. Even then, beaten near to death, bound and guarded, he struggled to get free, argued, cursed, pleaded for mercy. And then she saw the hands that pushed her over, and suddenly her vision was no longer his but her own as she plummeted down, down, down, her sisters beside her. She heard her beloved Demetrius’s agonized scream as he was forced to watch her die.

He yanked his hand from hers, and the vision, the memory, blinked out.

It took her a moment to get her bearings, to remind herself that she was here now, in the Sonoran Desert in Arizona, not the Syrian Desert in what had once been Babylonia. She turned slowly away from the cliff at her feet, astounded at the memory, at the knowledge that it had been real. It had happened. And yet here she was, thousands of years later. Alive and well.

She looked for Demetrius and found him sitting on the ground with his knees up and his back against the rocks that rose behind him. His head was down, almost hidden by his hands, and she felt a sudden certainty that his scream had been real, here in the present, not a part of the vision from the past.

Lilia crossed the expanse between them, wishing her feet were bare. It felt wrong, wearing shoes in this sacred place. She knelt in front of him, her hands on his bent knees. “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry, Demetrius. I didn’t know that would happen. I only wanted to share this beauty with you.”

He lifted his eyes to hers. “I tried to save you,” he said. “I tried—”

“I know you did, my love.”

“I don’t want to remember this. I don’t want it!”

She bit her lip. “I don’t blame you. It’s a horrible memory. But that’s all it is. A memory. It’s over. I’m here. And so are you. We survived it, both of us. All of us.”

“You died,” he whispered, and it felt like an accusation.

“But I came back. I’m right here with you now.”

He clenched his fists in his hair, and his breathing was ragged.

“Demetrius, listen to me,” she said. “That tragedy you don’t want to remember and I will never be able to forget is not the end of our story. The ending can be whatever we choose to make it. But you have to let me restore your soul for that to happen.”

“And that memory with it? And the pain of it all the time, not just in a brief flash? No. No, I can’t let it in. You don’t know how painful it is.”

She slowly stood upright, propping her hands on her hips, her patience with him wearing thin. “I don’t know how painful it is? I’m the one who got thrown off that cliff, you know. For the love of the Goddess, Demetrius, if I can deal with the memory, surely you can.” Then a phrase she’d heard Indira utter sprang from her lips without permission. “Dumb-ass.”

He looked up at her, blinking, apparently stunned by her words.

“You’re...” She clenched her fists and made a sound like a frustrated growl. “Maddening!” Then she turned away from him and continued her climb, trying to vent some of her frustration by clambering over wild and unmarked terrain that would have given a mountain goat pause.

* * *

All right, he thought, it had been a stupid thing to say. Of course she knew the pain of it. She’d lived it. But she’d been living with it for more than three-thousand years. For him it was fresh. For him the horrifying event had flown through his mind as if it had happened only seconds ago. As if it were happening right now.

Anguish, heartache, loss, horror...he couldn’t shake them. He’d just seen someone he’d loved more than his own life being tortured and murdered, torn from him by a man who was supposed to be in touch with the Gods. A man who was supposed to be holy and wise.

And powerful. That, Sindar had truly been. Not physically, but he’d had...abilities. Demetrius knew that now, having seen the hated face that had been burned into his mind so long ago. Sindar had a cupid’s bow mouth, small pouting lips always stained red, and round cheeks like a toddler that were always as rosy as his lips. He’d never been seen without his eyes darkly lined in black, their lids coated in gold powder. He’d kept his long black hair pulled tightly back or braided, and his body had been plump and weak. Flabby, no doubt due to the number of slaves and servants who attended to his every need. He wore only the finest garments in the brightest colors, and he was always laden with golden baubles, like the symbol of the God, Marduk, on a chain around his neck and the matching bands on his arms.

Demetrius remembered his hatred of that high priest, along with the unbearable pain of watching Lilia and her sisters die. And then nothing. Numbness. A dark void, where the emotion attached to the memories had vanished like a droplet of moisture in the desert sun. But the memory of the memories remained. He knew the pain of that moment even though he no longer felt it. And he did not want to feel it again.

The powerful love for her, though? That, too, had been real, vivid, overwhelming in its intensity. Surely that wasn’t what most people felt when they loved another. Was it? Could it be common, that emotional firestorm? And since she was here, not lying dead at the bottom of some cliff—a thought that sent a finger of ice up his spine—he presumed that that, at least, could be a good feeling to experience again.

Unless, of course, he lost her once more. In which case...

No, that was a risk too big to take. He was better off in his current state. Powerful, immortal, rich, comfortable if not precisely happy. It was good. Why risk agony in pursuit of ecstasy?

Decision made.