Witch Risen: A Paranormal Adventure (Bad Tom Series Book 2) (15 page)

I nod. "I know it's hard to believe, but Robert…yes, he'll deed it back to you after we pick the box up. He's already signed the transfer papers and put them into his safety deposit box at the bank in case anything happens to him before that time arrives. And you have my word for all of us, too. This room stays a secret."

I remove the precious box from my bag and set it down on the reading table that sits next to the viewing chair. "There," I say. "That's what we need to protect."

Simmons eyeballs the box for a moment. "Egyptian. Quite old. Not my era, mind you. But an interesting piece. Fired clay? It should be fine in the vault. It was built for only one item, but it's temperature and moisture regulated."

"And warded as of early this morning," Natalie adds.

"Yes, and warded, whatever that means. I assume it has something to do with the mysterious city choir I've always done my best not to know too much about." He motions toward the door to shepherd us out. "If you absolutely need to access it, you can contact me at home or at the shop. But I won't have all of you going in and out all the time. Do you hear? I won't have it."

He glances anxiously at the painting, being a good mother hen to his illicit chick. His mini-Dali mustache trembles at the corners. I'm sure he anticipates a flock of visitors day and night now that we know what's down here, but the last thing anyone wants is Eunice noticing that any member of our little gang has suddenly developed an unusual interest in art.

I do my best to reassure him, working to control my voice as my fingers throb. "You've got nothing to worry about. We'll be back one time, and when we come for it, there have to be at least two of us on the phone call—and Robert is included in the group. Same thing for when we arrive to pick it up. If only one of us calls or shows, or anyone else is with us, you don't know what the hell he or she is talking about. And never, I mean never, mention it to Cassie. Or anybody else for that matter. And me? You don't even know me, man."

His mustache stops quivering as he nods his head. That's good. Because he can't be walking around anxious. Eunice always had a way of sniffing out when someone was hiding something. I'll bet that spider sense followed Eunice right into Cassie's body instead of dying with her.

"Just one more thing. We need a couple of pictures of the box before we go." I pull the phone Gillian insists I carry out of my back-pocket with my good hand, but it will take both of them to manage a photo. I fumble with buttons for a while, my blistered fingers shooting streams of agony up my arm as I try to figure out how to turn the camera on, but it's a blasted mystery. I'll never get why modern folks need to carry an entire Sears electronics department around with them. I curse the device out firmly but softly under my breath.

Natalie pulls her own camera-phone out of her bag. "For crying out loud, Tom. Stop being such an old fuddy and join the 21st century." She has the pictures sorted out quickly, photographing it from all sides. When she's done, she taps at it for a few more minutes and announces, "There. Off to everyone's email."

We don't open the box. The last thing we need is to set off a curse we aren't prepared for.

We follow Dash back up the stairwell. We're unusually silent as we tramp upwards. Nat and Gillian aren't quibbling, and despite being right behind me, Nat isn't even commenting on the fit of my jeans. No reason for celebration yet, I guess. We have the box, but we have no idea exactly
what
we have.

With its fitted hatch and attached oriental carpet back in place, Dash makes the entry to the hidden vault disappear as tidily as any witch's spell could have done.

Outside, I finally show Gillian my burns and ask her if she can do something for them. She gasps, then asks, "What happened?"

"Later. I need to shift to stop the pain. I can't bear it much longer. I'll head through the woods to give Cat a little reward for good behavior during his part in this caper. Look for me at your place in an hour or so."

I leave my clothes on the ground in the narrow yard beside the gallery and she bags them before she carries them to her car. I'd exchanged the smaller pain of Cat's sore foot for the pain of the burns, but Cat's not even favoring his other legs anymore. Compared to what I'm escaping, it's nothing.

As I dart down the street and off to the woods, I know the box is safer than anything else in this town. Dash is the last guy Eunice would suspect of hiding anything, and Robert is expert with wards. Yes, that box is much safer than any one of us if that body-stealing demon figures out what we've done.

I watch Gillian soaking strips of gauze in a brown mixture from my perch outside the kitchen window. I know it's wrong to observe her this way, but I like to see her like this—content, active, exactly as I pictured she would be when we were old together. Except I screwed that up big time. I didn't get old, and I didn't stay loyal to Gillian.

Soon enough, I give a hearty yowl to get her attention and she walks through the mud room and opens the back door for me. Cat struts in, stretching as he goes, and rubs against her leg through the Indian fabric of her long skirt. He's in a good mood after a quick but successful hunt.

"Knock it off! You'll cover me with cat hair. Your clothes are in the guest room. Come back down to the kitchen when you're dressed."

Cat makes one more long, insistent sweep of his head against her leg. "Go on now, scat!" Have I said Cat often has a mind of his own?

When I return, holding my hand out in front of me so that it doesn't brush against anything that might send the pain shooting up my arm again, she sits me down at the kitchen table and inspects my wounds. "These burns are deep. How did it happen?"

"There was a second box that reacted when I tried to grab it. That's why I left it behind."

"And you kept it to yourself because you've suddenly grown fond of pain?"

"Because I didn't want to distract you. This is about Cassie, not about me."

She winds wide strips of gauze around each of my burned fingers in turn, being careful not to hurt me more than she has to. Healing is one of the first things most witches want to learn when they find out about magic. Not me. I never did. I was too busy figuring out how to use magic for pleasure. Gillian always thought of others first.

For my part, I suck it up. I've already experienced Cat's painful death six times. Blistered burns? They're nothin'. But I'm kind of glad she isn't trying to have a conversation while she works, because I'm pretty sure my voice would waver and break if I tried to use it. Because, oh man, blistered burns? Intense.

When she's done, she bends down and kisses the back of my hand gently, in a motherly way, on one of the few spots that isn't bandaged. "There, that's the bit that actually makes it all better. The herbal soak is just for show." She looks up at me, smiling. "Tom, I really am glad you and Cassie found each other. You could have run. Hell, if it was me forty years ago, you would have run."

I cut her off. "You can't believe that. Do you really believe I didn't love you enough to fight for you?"

"No. I know you loved me. But back then that would never have stopped you from running away, just like you ran to Eunice when you got scared about settling down and starting a family."

And I know she's right. I ran, I cheated, I lied. I kept my feelings bottled up so tight that I might as well not have had any. I was a perfect servant for Eunice: I'm a much better cat than I am a man. I pretend to inspect her handiwork, directing my attention to my bandages.

"What I mean to say, Tom, is…you've changed. It's too bad you didn't get to where you are half a lifetime earlier, but I've told you before—I got my Marty out of that deal, and I wouldn't have given him up for anything. Looks like we both earned our second chances. So…let's get over to Robert's and see what he's found out about that box, so we can see about getting Cassie her second chance, too."

Robert moves faster than usual as he leads us toward the study, appearing not to notice the arthritis that slows him down most days. Natalie is already there waiting. Gillian's eyes narrow, but Nat just gives her a happy smile. There's something odd going on between those two, but I don't need to get myself in the middle of some senior spat.

Robert's face is more animated than it's been since Kevin was killed.

"You're not going to believe this. The writing on the box basically says 'this is the place of Anat.' Yes, the goddess Anat. Believed to be the consort of the god Ba'al. Loved the battlefield. Dangerous."

"So we're dealing with a goddess, just like Cassie said?" Gillian's head bobs rhythmically for a few beats as she takes in the information. "That makes sense. We call on the Goddess for our magic and healing. And now we've got one on our doorstep. Just not the one we were expecting."

My hands clench as I listen to her talk. Great. Not just some horny old witch come back to life, but a goddess of unknown power. I can't deal with this. I unclench my fists when I realize I'm in pain, and the angry red marks where my fingernails cut into my palms slowly ease.

Robert blats on about goddesses this and demon that, but the stuff floating around in the sunbeam behind him is lots more interesting than most of what he's saying. It must be fascinating stuff for a guy who's spent so much of his life with his nose in dusty books researching magical history, and the ladies are hanging on his every word. But me? I need something to do.

Still…I don't want to stop him when he's acting like himself again. I sit tight while he continues, working to keep my eyes on his face.

"Perhaps that's why Ba'al had two consorts: their sister Ashtarte was the gentler of the two."

I say, "I'd rather she'd turned out to be a garden-variety demon. At least there are passages in your books that deal with demonic possession."

"Maybe it's not such a problem," Robert says.

He really needs to speed it up. I've got my eye on that sunbeam again, and there's a couple specks of dust in there that need to be knocked senseless. I prod, "And why isn't it a problem?"

"Doug also said that the entire god and goddess scene, angels and demons, they're the same thing. He believes that those beings were an ancient race. Maybe even aliens."

Okay, that's it. Done listening. "Really, man? That old chestnut? Let's just cover our heads with tinfoil hats to get rid of her."

Gillian gives me a schoolmarmy look. "Let him talk, Tom. I want to hear this."

Robert nods a thanks, but there's no reprimand in it for me. "Doug makes a compelling argument. Personally, I've never believed in a goddess, preferring to think of her as an embodiment of the power of nature." His eyes travel to Natalie, and Gillian watches his face closely as they do. "Nat and I have always agreed on this point, although we've seldom agreed on much else. But I have no problem with those who think of the goddess anthropomorphically. It's just a way of visualizing where a witch or warlock finds power."

He shifts in his chair and crosses his leg, then puts it back on the floor with a wince. Looks like the adrenalin has worn off and his arthritis is making itself known again.

"If you think about it, it makes sense. Many of those ancient gods were real bastards. Ba'al was presented as just one of many competing gods to the god of the Hebrews. Even the old testament never denied he was a god. Later theologians did, calling him Ba'al Zeebub to demonize him, which became Beelzebub in Christian mythology. Gods, goddesses, angels, and demons. They're all the same thing. Just a long-lived, ancient race that has a closer connection to magic than we do.

Gillian stirs her tea absently. Then she says, "So, she may be a goddess, but we can approach her like she's a demon."

I smile. "I have zero problem with that. Let's get going and exorcise the wench. Robert, did your historian friend have any ideas around what the box is for?"

"The symbols are for life, death, and rebirth, as you've told us. And, of course, there are hieroglyphs which represent Anat herself. Nothing unusual there. They're typical symbols that could be found on sarcophagi, apparently. He didn't have much else to add, although he did send some links to other potential research sources."

Gillian had been tapping away on her laptop while I talked to Robert. Now, she turns the laptop so that the small TV screen faces him. "Take a look at this and tell me what it looks like to you. This is one of the sources he sent."

I lean in for a look. "This box has the same symbols." He points to them in turn. "Life, death, and rebirth." He looks up at Gillian. "I wonder if these boxes are more common than we thought and we're chasing a dead end?"

Gillian shakes her head. "No, I don't think so. This one is in a museum in Egypt. It was discovered in the 1890s. When the archeologist opened it, it contained a human heart. The expedition leader who was with him destroyed the heart because he insisted it was beating. Obviously, everyone thought he was a bit mad after that."

"Interesting. Anything on the other symbols?"

"No, not much here. I can email the museum to see if they've ever interpreted all of the symbols on the box."