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Authors: MAGGIE SHAYNE
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sheet with me and holding it in front of my body, I turned my
back toward the large mirror on my dresser and looked over my shoulder at my
reflection.
The stripes across my back were closing up, forming small pink
lines, like battle scars, but then they started fading, too. There was a tattoo,
as well, on my lower back, and I knew damn well I’d never had a tattoo in my
life. Odd little symbols in neat rows. But they, too, were fading fast. Ten
seconds, I stood there. Tomas came and stood right beside me, staring into that
mirror. I didn’t even care that my ass was exposed again. Ten seconds, and at
the end of them nothing remained of those ghastly wounds except for a few smears
of blood Tomas must have missed in his ministrations.
I looked at the floor, belatedly pulling the sheet the rest of
the way around me.
“This thing—it could have killed you tonight, Indira.”
It was true. I shivered with the knowledge that it was
absolutely true.
“Next time I might not get to you in time.”
“What can you possibly do about it?”
“Take you with me to Ithaca. I’ll help you solve this thing.
I’ll make it go away, I swear I will, if you will just help me keep the demon
where he belongs in return. Please, Indy. Before he can hurt you any more.”
“Why Ithaca?”
“It’s where we need to be. I’ll explain more on the way. All
right?”
I hated to admit that I was losing my skepticism. I hated to
even think about believing any of this. But it was
real. I’d seen it, right there in my own mirror. I’d seen it. I was still
shaking, and it pissed me off. But I ignored that and nodded, a quick, jerky
motion that was anything but graceful.
“All right,” I said. “You win.”
* * *
Tomas had told me to take the day to get ready, and to
phone if I needed him. I didn’t. I made arrangements at work—I had five days’
vacation time coming, and if that wasn’t enough, I could tack on a few sick
days. I didn’t need to tell them I was actually talking about my mental health.
I packed up my things, enough to last a week, got some cash out of the bank and
tried to call Rayne. She didn’t answer, so I had to settle for leaving her a
snotty voice mail message asking if she’d lost her mind, sharing my most
intimate confessions with a demon-fighting priest.
That night, I took an antihistamine along with cold medicine,
and for once, I didn’t dream. Slept like a rock, in fact. And damn but I needed
it.
Next morning I showered, dressed and met him out front as
planned, even while wondering if I’d lost my freaking mind to be buying into any
of this.
Of course, the bloodstains on my sheets said I wasn’t crazy at
all. What was happening to me was completely insane, but I wasn’t imagining it
or dreaming it or hallucinating it—it was real. And who the hell else was going
to help me figure it out? Who else would even believe me?
Rayne, maybe. But I’d gone to Rayne. And she had basically
handed me off to this priest. As angry as I was at her for that, I trusted her.
She wouldn’t set some lunatic on my trail. She must believe he could help.
He pulled up right on time to take me off to Neverland in his
sagging chariot.
Father Tomas’s car was an aging, once-white Volvo station wagon
that looked as if it had been through a series of natural disasters. Its color
had yellowed to a sort of dull cream that was flaking off in places. He stowed
my gear in the back, like he was a gentleman and I was a helpless little female.
I stood on the curb just staring at the car, sort of in awe that anything that
ancient could still run.
He caught my expression and smiled. “It’s a classic. A 1967
Amazon.”
“Looks like you found it in the
Amazon.”
His smile didn’t falter. “I’m restoring it myself. It’s
a…hobby, I guess.”
“Heaven help me. My savior is not only a priest but a motor
head.”
He opened a door that looked as if it weighed a ton and held it
for me. “Trust me, she runs like a
back toward the large mirror on my dresser and looked over my shoulder at my
reflection.
The stripes across my back were closing up, forming small pink
lines, like battle scars, but then they started fading, too. There was a tattoo,
as well, on my lower back, and I knew damn well I’d never had a tattoo in my
life. Odd little symbols in neat rows. But they, too, were fading fast. Ten
seconds, I stood there. Tomas came and stood right beside me, staring into that
mirror. I didn’t even care that my ass was exposed again. Ten seconds, and at
the end of them nothing remained of those ghastly wounds except for a few smears
of blood Tomas must have missed in his ministrations.
I looked at the floor, belatedly pulling the sheet the rest of
the way around me.
“This thing—it could have killed you tonight, Indira.”
It was true. I shivered with the knowledge that it was
absolutely true.
“Next time I might not get to you in time.”
“What can you possibly do about it?”
“Take you with me to Ithaca. I’ll help you solve this thing.
I’ll make it go away, I swear I will, if you will just help me keep the demon
where he belongs in return. Please, Indy. Before he can hurt you any more.”
“Why Ithaca?”
“It’s where we need to be. I’ll explain more on the way. All
right?”
I hated to admit that I was losing my skepticism. I hated to
even think about believing any of this. But it was
real. I’d seen it, right there in my own mirror. I’d seen it. I was still
shaking, and it pissed me off. But I ignored that and nodded, a quick, jerky
motion that was anything but graceful.
“All right,” I said. “You win.”
* * *
Tomas had told me to take the day to get ready, and to
phone if I needed him. I didn’t. I made arrangements at work—I had five days’
vacation time coming, and if that wasn’t enough, I could tack on a few sick
days. I didn’t need to tell them I was actually talking about my mental health.
I packed up my things, enough to last a week, got some cash out of the bank and
tried to call Rayne. She didn’t answer, so I had to settle for leaving her a
snotty voice mail message asking if she’d lost her mind, sharing my most
intimate confessions with a demon-fighting priest.
That night, I took an antihistamine along with cold medicine,
and for once, I didn’t dream. Slept like a rock, in fact. And damn but I needed
it.
Next morning I showered, dressed and met him out front as
planned, even while wondering if I’d lost my freaking mind to be buying into any
of this.
Of course, the bloodstains on my sheets said I wasn’t crazy at
all. What was happening to me was completely insane, but I wasn’t imagining it
or dreaming it or hallucinating it—it was real. And who the hell else was going
to help me figure it out? Who else would even believe me?
Rayne, maybe. But I’d gone to Rayne. And she had basically
handed me off to this priest. As angry as I was at her for that, I trusted her.
She wouldn’t set some lunatic on my trail. She must believe he could help.
He pulled up right on time to take me off to Neverland in his
sagging chariot.
Father Tomas’s car was an aging, once-white Volvo station wagon
that looked as if it had been through a series of natural disasters. Its color
had yellowed to a sort of dull cream that was flaking off in places. He stowed
my gear in the back, like he was a gentleman and I was a helpless little female.
I stood on the curb just staring at the car, sort of in awe that anything that
ancient could still run.
He caught my expression and smiled. “It’s a classic. A 1967
Amazon.”
“Looks like you found it in the
Amazon.”
His smile didn’t falter. “I’m restoring it myself. It’s
a…hobby, I guess.”
“Heaven help me. My savior is not only a priest but a motor
head.”
He opened a door that looked as if it weighed a ton and held it
for me. “Trust me, she runs like a
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