Song of the Ancients (Ancient Magic Book 1) (34 page)

He paused to be sure all eyes were on him. "Thomas Aquinas and Aristotle said a witch's powers reside in the blood, and we know it's true."

Sounds of agreement rippled through the crowd.

"In a few short days we will be welcoming a new witch into our fold. She holds the key to our success." He unstopped a small vial of red liquid and poured it into the altar wine. "Tonight, let us bind her to us by invoking Nukpana with lewd acts and lust!" Nuin kissed the altar woman on her genitals and lit the white candle between her legs. "When we meet next we will dine on her flesh!"

Music began to play from the organ at full volume, discordant and chaotic.

Nuin shouted over the music: "Oh Master, angel of the bottomless pit, see thy faithful servants? Deliver them from virtue and goodness. In thee we pray, amen."

"Hail our Dark Lord," replied the people around Nicholas in the pews.

"With our next sacrifice, this corporal flesh will be strong enough to house the demon!"

"Seal the coming sacrifice!" the congregation screamed.

The altar boy passed little plastic cups of drink down the rows of pews. Lilith accepted two cups and handed one to Nicholas.

Nicholas was consumed with sudden thirst. His lips were cracked. When he tried to move his tongue around in his mouth for moisture, it stuck to the back of his throat. Strangling, he accepted a cup and drank.

Instantly, he felt a strange bewildering excitement. Images of Samantha, lying naked on the altar, sprang unbidden to his mind. He felt as if he were floating beside her, enveloped in a dense, sensual vapor, shrouded from the view of the other worshipers. The noxious incense billowed about him in great wafts, the chapel filled almost to the point of suffocation. He held his hand outstretched in front of his eyes and could barely see his fingers.

Everyone swayed and danced in a circle around the pews, their responses more excited now.

"Cursed are our eternal enemies. May they die in misery!" The Priest bellowed.

"Let them die in misery."

"By the dark power of Nukpana, I curse them!"

"Destroy them!" screamed the chorus.

The participants in the rite began to wail, and Nicholas could just make out their ghostly forms, jerking in spasmodic moves to the pounding rhythm of the blaring organ. The entire room filled with violent energy and unearthly laughter, cackles and shrieks.

He had to get outside, into the fresh air. Away from the pull of Samantha's blood. If he could just stand up, walk to the door. Open it.

Beside him, Lilith had the fingers of one hand tangled in his hair, the other rubbing his crotch, screaming over and over, almost hoarse now; one more voice in the demonic wall of sound pounding upon him.

"Samantha, how could you do this? How could you choose
him
? How could you desert me?" he moaned.

With a violent shudder, Nicholas gave himself up to the moment. Closing his eyes, he lay back on the wooden pew. Feeling the light in his soul flicker and dim, he became one with the summoned energy in the room, and let the deep, pulsating darkness consume him.

The wailing developed a chanting cadence now. He was dimly aware of his thirst, and someone dribbling another swallow of the blood wine into his mouth. His body was moving also, as Lilith had mounted him and was thrusting him into herself in time to the chants filling the room.

He visualized the spot where their bodies met as the central point of a raging black star. The darkness of his inner self became one with the energy of the crowd, uncontrolled and building chaos, as his desire built to its erupting point. He felt the bile rise in his throat, and turned his head to retch onto the floor just as his body emptied into hers.

Chapter 50: Wicked Wine

I spent Christmas Eve alone.

Rumor was staying with me for the holidays, but she had a date. So she left Gypsy Rose with me for the night.

My foot was too sore to walk, so I'd been here for the last two days, paying bills and searching websites for new inventory, as the sales would begin in January.

During the day I stared at the expanse of bushes and the desert willow tree at the end of a small flagstone courtyard, and fed a family of nearly tame ground squirrels who visited the patio for daily treats. But at night there was only blackness.

I worked past midnight Christmas morning but it didn't matter. I had no reason to get up early and didn't feel like going to bed. So I turned out the lights and sat in the dark with just the Christmas tree sparkling behind me.

Suddenly, a man passed across the courtyard. It all happened so quickly I scarcely had time to see him.

I half rose to my feet, thinking someone was searching outside, trying to find the back door. I looked down at my nightgown and robe. Could he see me in the dim light? I dropped to my knees and crawled over to the tree, yanking the light plug out of the wall, and cautiously checked the back door to be sure it was locked.

There'd been no sound of a car. I sat on the floor for a moment to gather my thoughts, and then scooted back across the room to the kitchen counter, feeling around in the dark for my phone. My skin crawled. Someone was watching the house.

Gypsy growled and gave one sharp bark as she trotted into the room, her claws clicking on the tile floor. She headed straight for the kitchen window, where she hunkered down and began to whine, her ears flattened against her head. This was unusual. She was a remarkably brave dog, with strength to back up her bravery, and would normally stand her ground against anything, human or animal, which she believed might endanger her extended pack family.

I was dialing 9-1-1 when a car door slammed in front of the house. Gypsy didn't run to greet them as usual, but kept her post at the window.

Duncan was kissing Rumor goodnight when I yanked the front door open. "I think someone's in the back yard," I whispered. Duncan and Gypsy were out the back door by the time the operator answered.

"We are sending an officer to your house," the emergency operator said.

"Tell them it's Samantha Danroe. I filed an assault report two days ago, so they should know the name."
At this rate, I'm going to be too well known. I'm sure the police love calls in the wee hours of Christmas morning.

Duncan stuck his head in the door and reported the back patio was clear. He circled the house to check the front and meet the patrol car.

"Can you give us a description of the man?" the officer asked.

I couldn't, of course. "My roommate and her boyfriend are home now. I'm sorry to call you out on Christmas morning with so little information."

He nodded, looking weary. "We'll do a drive through the neighborhood anyway. Let us know if you have any more problems."

"He's probably long gone, but we're spending the night anyway, just to be sure," Duncan said. He gave Rumor a shy smile. She put her arm through his and led him upstairs.

And to all a good night.
I checked the locks one last time.

* * * * *

I dreamed I was flying, a dark form speeding on broad black wings over the red hills. I looked down on my house and gave a wild croak of excitement.

Then I forgot home and my new corvid brain took over. The wind flattened my feathers and I circled in a smooth glide, enjoying the stretch of my shoulders attached to the long wings.

I felt the invisible magnetic ley lines of the earth extending in all directions. Picking the track heading toward the mountains to the northeast, I beat my wings harder to gain altitude.

How long I flew I couldn't say. The land below me now was no longer red stones, but more mountainous and covered in dense pine.

A familiar scent caught my attention, and I banked downward toward the spire of an old church, landing with a ruffle of feathers on the crumbled tile roof. A delicious scent that attracted me to the river of red blood flowing in a vast circle around the building. I dropped down from the roof and hopped to the edge of the liquid, cocking my head to watch the flow from one eye. It rippled and bubbled, edging its way between my clawed feet. I raised one foot and shook it, splattering sticky blobs of blood on my breast feathers.

The people in the building were chanting. One voice stood out against the rest, insidious and taunting. It spoke directly to me. "You're alone now. Soon you'll have a new family. I'm going to see to it. It's what I've come here to do."

I flapped my wings and pulled myself out of the red river and up toward the unholy red moon hanging overhead in the dark sky. "Caw caw," I answered.
Not true.
"Caw, caw caw!"
Ravens mate for life.

* * * * *

Rumor greeted me Christmas morning in red flannel pajamas and a Santa hat. She carried a cup of hot coffee and a homemade cinnamon roll, which she waved under my nose and then devoured, before jumping onto the bed and sticking her cold feet against mine under the covers.

"Brrr, get 'em off!" I squealed, pushing her feet away.

Hearing my cries, Gypsy bounded onto the bed to join us, jumping in excited circles, knocking the covers onto the floor.

I reached for the blanket but Rumor was faster. She snatched it off the floor, threw it in the corner, and handed me my robe instead. "There's one roll left in the oven. Merry Christmas!"

Rumor grew up in a large family with a military dad. She knew how to get a person out of bed.

When I shuffled into the kitchen, Rumor and Duncan had set the kitchen table with red plates and cups, and put a wrapped gift at each seat. I was suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for such friends. I'd been feeling alienated and more than a tad sorry for myself after last night's dream.

"Oh, you have an extra gift!" Rumor exclaimed, putting a card and a bottle of wine at my spot. "I found it on the front porch this morning when I took Gypsy out for the newspaper."

I opened the card. "It's an invitation," I told them. "Rod Standing Bear is having a gallery show of his paintings." I handed the card to Rumor.

"Nice place too," she commented. "It's New Year's Eve." She picked up the envelope. "It's addressed to you
and
guest. Call Nicholas, wish him a Merry Christmas."

I made a face at her.

"No one can be mad on Christmas," she reasoned. "Call him. Wish him Merry Christmas and invite him out for New Year's."

* * * * *

"I don't celebrate Christmas," Nicholas told me when I called.

I was undeterred. "I'd like to see you. I never gave you your Yule gift." I hesitated. "We really never had a chance to talk at the party, and I think we should. I have a lot to tell you."
More than you could possibly imagine.
I couldn't wait to show him the anagram napkin tucked into the pocket of my purse. "Or we could resume my lessons." It seemed less taxing than the discussion I had planned. "I have my herbal studies finished."

"Splendid." He sounded more resigned than pleased.

I was determined to remain cheerful. "I'll bring the wine."

* * * * *

I was surprised when I saw Nicholas. He looked exhausted. The few days I had not seen him had drawn lines on his skin and his eyes had an air of defeat and emptiness.

"Happy holidays." I gave him a chaste peck on the cheek and handed him the wine.

"And to you." He studied the bottle label and frowned, then rubbed his temples.

"I thought you liked cabernet."

"I do. I'm just surprised by the coincidence," he said. "I have this same vintage. We'll save yours and open mine."

I walked to the fireplace and the cracked mirror above it. Tiny shards of glass were scattered on the mantle and the hearth. They crunched under my boot. Memories flooded me and I winced.

"What happened to your mirror?"

Nicholas had his back to me, opening a cabinet concealed in the wall. He pulled out two crystal goblets and a bottle of wine from the top shelf.

"I slipped. No one is working for the holidays, so I haven't gotten it replaced."

I watched his long fingers curl around the bottle. His movements were practiced, but his hand trembled slightly. He uncorked the bottle and poured the rich red liquid into two glasses, offering one to me.

"To fate." He toasted with a tight smile.

I brought the glass to my lips and let the wine settle in my mouth. It tasted of raspberry, chocolate, and oak, as well as something slightly bitter.

Nicholas looked ill. He sat his glass down without tasting it.

"Nicholas, there are several really important things I need to discuss with you," I pulled the scribbled napkin and the gallery show invitation out of my backpack. "But first, you said you'd like to meet Standing Bear."

He read the card and looked at me. "Is this a peace offering?"

"Of sorts."

"I accept."

Our last few encounters had been horrible. Perhaps tonight we would be friends. I fingered the anagram napkin, wondering how to broach the subject with him. We could be related. Would he be pleased? Pissed? Disbelieving, I was sure.

I took another sip of wine and tried to relax. The alcohol had hit me hard and already my face felt slightly numb. "Nicholas, there's something really important I need to discuss with you."

I laid the napkin on my knees.

"But first, very briefly, show me your Materia Magicka. You said you have it completed." He seemed distracted.

I nodded. "I got it done while I was housesitting. I have them alphabetized."

"Then let's hear just the As. Then you can tell me your big news."

I took a sip of wine and pulled out the first card. "Acacia. You can use the flowers or burn the wood to stimulate psychic centers or for money spells."

Nicholas nodded. "It can be used for protection as well. A sprig of the tree over your bed wards off evil."

I made a note of his comment and continued. "Aconite. It's a poison, also known by the common names of Monkshood and Wolf's Bane. The entire plant is poisonous, especially the leaves and roots."

"If ingested?" he asked.

"Yes, or from contact," I added.

Nicholas held up his arm and glanced briefly at his watch. "Reaction time?"