Song of the Ancients (Ancient Magic Book 1) (35 page)

This was harder. "Fifteen minutes to as long as a few hours."

"Very good. Antidote?"

Uh-oh. I hadn't catalogued antidotes. I looked at the asterisk I'd put on the card beside the poison symbol. I had meant to go back and make additional notes on the poisons.

"I don't know," I said. I had some trouble getting the words out. My mouth was numb and my lips felt swollen. I lifted my wine glass and looked at it. Still nearly full. I set the glass down, sloshing most of its contents onto the table.

"Then I believe we will both learn something tonight." He leaned in to peer at me, his nose only inches from mine.

I was beyond caring what he did. My face was now completely numb and a tingling sensation had taken over both of my arms, as if tiny insects crawled on them. My skin was cold and clammy and my pulse beat irregular and
very
slow. I wondered for a brief moment if it would stutter to a halt.

But my mind remained perfectly clear.

He looked again at his watch. Put his fingers under my chin and looked into my pupils. "How are you feeling?"

I wanted to answer him, but my mouth would not form the words.

"It would appear the reaction time for ingested aconite is closer to the fifteen minutes you quoted."

I wanted to scream for help. All I could do was look at him with wild eyes.

"A one to fifty drop ratio of aconite is sufficient. When taken orally, as you did, it first stimulates and later paralyzes the nerves. The initial tingling gives way to long term anesthetic action. Your tongue and then your face become numb."

He shifted slightly in his chair and lifted my arm, pressing his thumb to the pulse point on my wrist. "Aconite acts on the circulation, the respiration, and the nervous system. The pulse slows, possibly as low as forty beats per second. Blood pressure falls and breathing slows as the respiratory system is paralyzed. Death is usually due to asphyxia. Interestingly, as in strychnine poisoning, the victim is conscious and clear-minded to the last."

He let go of my wrist. It flopped, useless, onto the sofa. "But you know all of that, don't you?" His tone was pure ice. "Were you afraid I wouldn't try this bottle you left on my doorstep, so you brought a second one just in case?"

He put his lips to my ear. "I want to know why you are trying to poison me. I want to know what Nuin and his cronies are planning. And I especially want to know your part in his little scheme." He enunciated each word with deliberate slowness, but his matter-of-fact voice told me everything I needed to know.

I was going to die.

Tears rolled down my cheeks, but I couldn't lift a hand to wipe them. What can I do now to make him believe me, to believe I was not Nuin's ally, but his? Maybe even his own family? Too late, I thought sadly.
He will never know.

Nicholas looked at his watch a third time. "If I don't give you the antidote in the next ninety seconds, it will be too late. Please don't make me kill you."

I felt Nicholas take the folded napkin from my lap to blot my tears. I watched him, willing him with all my remaining faculties, to read the scribbled names on the damp cloth.

Nicholas looked down at the writing in his hand. His head snapped up, his face contorted with pain and surprise. He blinked once. My terrified mind watched comprehension come to him in slow motion. Eyelids down. Pause. Think. Open. "Oh, God, no. No!" He jumped to his feet, as the room around me faded slowly to black.

* * * * *

A sharp pinch on my arm brought me to consciousness.

Nicholas emptied the contents of the hypodermic needle into my vein. Felt for a pulse at my neck, whispering, "Please, please, please, please, please."

Finally he moved his hand to my cheek. I took a shallow breath, then a deeper one that lifted my chest. It felt heavenly.

"As for those pesky antidotes, which you failed to research," he said wearily, "the first is atropine, which I just gave you."

I rolled my eyes at him, still unable to speak. When I could, by God, I would call the police and have him arrested.

"Yes, well, I see you're not yet ready to chat. Here—take this." He held a dropper of green liquid to my lips. I eyed it suspiciously.

"It's an emetic, to make you vomit and clear the remaining poison from your stomach. I'd advise you to let me help you to the bathroom."

I puked up every bit of liquid in my stomach, with Nicholas supporting me with one hand, holding my hair back with the other. I feebly rinsed out my mouth, and against my mumbled protests, Nicholas carried me up the stairs to bed. I didn't want to stay with him a moment longer, but was too weak to flee. He put blankets over me as I shivered, my body evidently still working through the last effects of the poison. Then he remained beside me, absently stroking my arm, stopping occasionally to feel my pulse.

"You underestimated me, Samantha, bringing poisoned wine to a potions master. That is why I switched bottles. And why you let your guard down, a dangerous mistake, by the way. I warned you to trust no one. If
I
had trusted
you
, you could not have saved me, even if you changed your mind."

He patted my hand. "You are not very good at this murder business. Dosing the same wine both times?" He shook his head. "I'm offended by your lack of creativity."

With my free hand, I tried to wrench his fingers from my captive wrist, but his other hand caught mine easily and held it fast. I was too weak to struggle, so I simply caught his eyes with mine. What he saw there caused him to flinch and drop his eyes.

"The anagram, however, was quite creative," he said, his voice low and exhausted. "Enough to save your life, in fact." He let my hands free and stood up. "You can explain its meaning when you're feeling stronger. For now, try and rest."

"You are an absolute fiend," I whispered, my eyes closed. I could think of no words to describe the way I felt about him now.

He answered me as I drifted off in exhaustion. "Guilty as charged." He tucked the covers around me. "Call me what you will, Samantha. I've already called myself much worse."

* * * * *

What seemed like only moments later, a firm weight settled on the bed next to me. I opened heavy eyes and murmured a protest.

Nicholas was wrapped in a dark robe. His black hair hung in lank strands against his face. He looked as haggard as I felt, with dark circles under his eyes as though he hadn't slept. He put an arm around my shoulders and helped me sit up. The steaming bowl of liquid in his hand smelled wonderful.

"Here. It has been a whole day. You have to eat. Tell me if you're too weak to hold it up. I will spoon-feed you if I absolutely must."

I picked up the spoon, eyed the soup with suspicion, and put the spoon back down.

He made a disgusted growl in the back of his throat. Picking up the spoon, he ate several full bites before handing it back to me.

As I began to eat, he dropped the phone on the bed. "To make your phone call. You were going to call the police."

I kept my eyes fixed on him. "Sit down."

He sat on the edge of the bed, both feet on the ground, a pro-tective stance, I guessed.

"Why do you think I was trying to poison you?"

Nicholas stared out the window. He seemed to be seeing something beyond the scene outside. His voice was flat and expressionless. "I would think you'd be more interested in why I gave you the antidote."

I gave him a level look. "Someone poisoned your wine, but it wasn't me."

He raised both hands in exasperation. "You brought a second one, the same label."

"The bottle was a gift. Someone left it on my doorstep Christmas Eve." As I looked at his suspicious face, I felt a hard knot inside me come loose. The dam broke and all washed out: The rage, the jealousy, the horror and fear of the last night, all of it left me, evaporating like rain on the parched desert earth after a violent summer monsoon.

"I want to show you something." I took his hand, turning it palm upwards. He seemed unprepared for the contact. I rubbed my fingers across his palm and he shuddered slightly. Taking a pen from the nightstand next to me, I wrote O-R-E-N-D-A in block letters. Then I crossed out the D and put it below, crossing out letters one by one from his name as I spelled the medicine woman, Ondear.

"See, it's not just us. It's bigger than you and me."

Nicholas closed his fingers around the letters, clenching his fist so hard the knuckles went white. His eyes closed. A single tear left a glistening streak down his stubbled cheek.

"I know it goes against your nature to trust, or to depend on anyone else," I said quietly. "And I'm taking a huge risk working with you still." I took a deep breath put my hand over his clenched fist. "But we both know what's coming, and I don't want to face it alone. We're stronger together. I'm simply going to have to trust you. If I can do it, you damn well can too."

He opened his eyes and stared at out joined hands for several silent heartbeats, his dark head bowed.

"Get some rest," he said finally. "Come down when you feel fit for dinner."

* * * * *

Nicholas sat alone in the kitchen, listening to the clock tick and staring at the abandoned tarot spread.

How patiently it had sat there waiting for him to notice. Frag-mented and vague when dealt, it was now clear to him. How could he have missed so much, misjudged her so?
Not heeding messages in the past
, the Page of Cups chided him.
Things are not as they seem
, the five swords reiterated.

His eyes went to the last two cards he and Samantha had dealt. The Lovers. His hopes, and fears, wrapped up so eloquently in one simple card. He put his lips to his palm, caressing the names written there. It was not too late, thanks to Samantha. She could have just as easily turned away from him. I choose unity, Nicholas thought with amazement. She decided,
I choose unity.

He closed his eyes and felt Samantha's loving strength flow into him, lighting the corners of his soul and overpowering the darkness he had thought would live there forever. His mouth curved in a wry half-smile.
Atta girl. You saved me. You gave me back my heart. And so, the disciple surpasses the master.

Chapter 51: Wendigo

The kitchen smelled of steak and potatoes when I joined Nicholas. I had showered and confiscated one of his shirts, having been sick on mine the previous night. He eyed my clothes but said nothing, adding some butter and wine to the mushrooms he had sautéing on the stove.

"Who do you think gave us the wine?" I asked, leaning on the counter beside the stove. "Mine came with Standing Bear's gallery invitation, but maybe the killer combined them on the porch so I wouldn't suspect."

"I have my suspicions but no proof yet." Nicholas glanced up at me. "Whoever it is, he's after both of us."

The memory of my attack came back in full brutal force, making my knees weak. I sat down at the table. "You think it's Nuin."

Nicholas took the mushrooms off the burner and pulled the steaks out of the oven before he turned to me.

"He's why I'm here," he said. "I tracked him to Sedona."

"Tracked him?"

"It's what I do."

"You track people. Are you with the FBI?"

"I work on my own," he said flatly. "Technically, several of us, all from the Traditional families, are given protection assignments. It has been going on for generations. The Orenda men are all trackers, but we try to spread the responsibilities among several lines so no one family will be singled out for attack."

He filled our plates and put them on the table, along with an unopened bottle of wine and two glasses.

A wave of nausea caused my stomach to clench, and my hand flew to my mouth. "No! Check every bottle in your stock."

"Really?" He put the wine back into the cabinet. "I warded the house, so he had to leave my bottle outside." He paused, thinking. "But the screen was cut beforehand."

"Exactly. I told you I found an athame." I shuddered. "I didn't really put things together until Nuin showed up at a last ritual with a new one." I crossed my hands across my chest. "When I touched his old athame, Nicholas, I had the most awful vision. A kind of dark ritual, with a naked woman. Nuin was kissing her…uhm…kissing her between the legs."

Nicholas went completely still.

"What's wrong?"

He looked away. "There's our first piece of evidence. I'm glad you picked it up. We'll swing by your house in the morning so I can take a look. After we eat, I'll check the rest of the wine."

I was horrified, but Nicholas went on unfazed. "Why is it so many magickal people favor poison as the preferred method of dispatch?" He cut into his steak, holding up a piece. "It's the main reason I learned to cook. Safer, you see."

I moved the mushrooms around on my plate, wondering how many species of fungi were poisonous.

Seeing the expression on my face, Nicholas paused. "Anyway, I should teach you how to detect a poison," he continued in a more subdued tone. "And get you a supply of the most common antidotes." He forked a mushroom. "Just to be on the safe side."

I put my silverware down and picked up my water, thought better of it and put the glass down also. "How can you live like this?"

"At first you're frightened all the time," he said. "But you get used to it. You've already learned to function when you're frightened, haven't you?"

He was right. I was scared, very scared. But I would feel better if I knew more about my enemy. "How do you know Nuin is after me? Is he working for someone?"

"He may be the leader, I'm not sure. There's a small group, at least two others besides Nuin."

"Do you know who they are, why they're interested in me?"

He shook his head. "Not exactly. Lilith has been feeding me information about Nuin. That's how I know they're after you."

"Lilith. Helping you. How convenient." I gave him a cold stare, once again uncertain whether I should tell him everything I knew. He was a difficult man to trust.

"I went to a mass. A Satanic Mass. I think you saw part of it in your vision with Nuin's athame. They were talking about adding a new witch to their group. They referred to you by name." He turned to face me. "It sounded like you were aligned with them. While it doesn't excuse my behavior perhaps it at least helps explain my motivation."