Twenty in all, by her count, ranging in age from eighteen to eighty with a mixture of race and gender. There seemed no specific type. Coolers were stacked nearby, which, she supposed, explained why several members were sipping drinks. Conversation was muted, punctuated by the occasional laugh.
Chas turned from a folding table as they approached. He wore a simple blue unisuit and soft shoes in the same tone. He smiled, noting Eve’s suspicious scan of the table.
“Witch’s tools,” he told her.
Red cords, a white-handled knife. An athame, she thought. She saw more candles, a small brass gong, a whip, a gleaming silver sword, colored bottles, bowls, and cups.
“Interesting.”
“It’s an old ritual, requiring old tools. But you’re hurt.” He took a step toward her, his hand lifting, then pausing when she aimed a cool, warning look. “I beg your pardon. It looks painful.”
“Chas is a healer.” Isis curved her lips in challenge. “Consider this a demonstration. After all, you did come to observe, didn’t you? And your mate wears protection.”
And so, Eve thought, feeling the comfortable weight of her weapon, did she.
“Okay, demonstrate.” She tilted her head, inviting Chas to examine the scratches.
His fingers were surprisingly cool, surprisingly soothing as they played over her abraded skin. She kept her eyes on his, watched them focus, then flicker. “You’re fortunate,” he murmured. “The result didn’t equal the intent. Will you relax your mind?”
His gaze lifted from his hand, met hers. “The mind and body are one,” he said quietly in that lovely voice. “One guides the other, one heals the other. Let me ease this.”
She thought she felt warmth move through her, from the point where his fingers lay, into her head, down through her body, until a drowsiness seeped through. She jerked herself alert, saw him smile quietly. “I won’t hurt you.”
He turned, picked up an amber bottle, uncorked the stopper and dabbed clear, floral-scented liquid on his hands.
“This is a balm, an old recipe with modern additions.” He spread it gently, his fingers following the path Selina’s nails had raked. “It will heal clean, and there will be no more discomfort.”
“You know your chemicals, don’t you?”
“This is an herbal base.” He took a cloth from his pocket, wiped his fingers. “But yes, I do.”
“I’d like to talk to you about that.” She waited a beat, her eyes keen. “And about your father.”
She saw the demand hit home in the way his pupils dilated, then contracted. Then Isis was stepping between them, fury glorious on her face.
“You’ve been invited here; this place is sacred. You have no right—”
“Isis.” Chas touched her arm. “She has a mission. We all do.” He looked at Eve, seemed to gather himself. “Yes, I’ll speak with you, when you wish. But this isn’t the place to bring despair. The ceremony’s about to begin.”
“We won’t stop you.”
“Will tomorrow, nine o’clock, at Spirit Quest, be suitable?”
“That’s fine.”
“Excuse me.”
“Do you always repay kindness with pain?” Isis demanded in a furious undertone as Chas stepped away. Then she shook her head, aimed her gaze deliberately at Roarke. “You are welcome to observe, and we hope you and your companions will show the proper respect for our rite tonight. You aren’t permitted within the magic circle.”
As she swept away, Eve slipped her hands into her pockets. “Well, now I’ve got two witches pissed off at me.” She looked over as Peabody hurried to her side.
“It’s an initiation,” Peabody whispered. “I got it from the big gorgeous witch in the Italian suit.” She smiled across the clearing at a man with burnished bronze hair and a million-watt smile. “Jesus, makes a woman consider converting.”
“Get a grip on yourself, Peabody.” Eve nodded at Feeney.
“My sainted mother would be saying half a dozen rosaries tonight if she knew where I was.” He pushed on a grin to cover nerves. “Damn spooky place. Nothing out here but a lot of nothing.”
Roarke sighed, slipped an arm around Eve’s waist. “Cut from the same cloth,” he murmured and turned as the rite began.
The young woman Isis had called Mirium stood outside the circle of candles and was bound and blindfolded by two men. Everyone, but for the observers, was now naked. Skin glowed, white and dark and gold in the streaming moonlight. Deeper in the woods night birds called liltingly.
Itchy, Eve slid a hand inside her jacket, felt the weight of her weapon.
The red cords were used for the binding of the initiate, leaving a kind of tether. As the ankle cord was attached, Chas spoke.
“Feet neither bound nor free.”
And there was unmistakable joy and reverence in his voice.
Curious, Eve watched the casting of the circle, the opening ritual. The mood was, she had to admit, happy. Overhead, the moon swam, sprinkling light, silvering the trees. Owls hooted—an odd sound that rippled through her blood. Nudity seemed to be ignored. There was none of the surreptitious groping or sly glances she knew she’d have seen at any city sex club.
Chas took up the athame, making Eve’s hand close on her weapon as he held it to the postulant’s heart. He spoke, his words rising and falling on the smoky breeze.
“I have two passwords,” Mirium answered. “Perfect love and perfect trust.”
He smiled. “All who have such are doubly welcome. I give you a third to pass you through this dread door.”
He handed the knife to the man beside him, then kissed Mirium. As a father might kiss a child, Eve thought, frowning. Chas walked around the postulant, embraced her, then gently nudged her forward into the circle. Behind them, the second man traced the tip of the athame over the empty space, as if to close them in.
There was chanting now as Chas led Mirium around the circle, as she was turned by hands after hands in a playful child’s game of dizziness and disorientation. A bell rang three times.
It was Chas who knelt, speaking, then kissing the postulant’s feet, her knees, her belly just above the pubis, her breasts, then her lips.
She’d thought it would be sexual, Eve mused. But it had been more…loving than that.
“Impressions?” She murmured to Roarke.
“Charming and powerful. Religious.” He slid his hand up and covered the one that still curled around her weapon, gently tugging it away. “And harmless. Sexual, certainly, but in a very balanced and respectful sense. And yes, I see one or two people I recognize.”
“I’ll want names.”
As the rite continued, she reached up absently to rub her throat. She found the skin smooth, unbroken, and free of pain.
As she dropped her hand, Chas looked at her, met her eyes. And smiled again.
chapter sixteen
Spirit Quest wasn’t open for business when Eve arrived with Peabody. But Chas was there, waiting on the sidewalk, sipping something that steamed out of a recycle cup.
“Good morning.” The air was just chilled enough to have slapped color into his cheek. “I wonder if we could talk upstairs, in our apartment, rather than in the shop.”
“Cops bad for business?” Eve asked.
“Well, we could say that the early customers might be disconcerted. And we do open in half an hour. I assume you don’t need Isis.”
“Not at the moment.”
“I appreciate it. If you could, ah, give me just a moment.” He shot her a sheepish look. “Isis prefers not to have caffeine in the house. I’m weak,” he said, taking another sip. “She knows I sneak off every morning to feed my addiction and pretends not to. It’s foolish, but it makes us happy.”
“Take your time. You get that across the street?”
“That would be a little too close to home. And to be honest, the coffee’s filthy there. They make a decent cup down at the corner deli.” He sipped again with obvious pleasure. “I gave up cigarettes years
ago, even herbals, but I can’t quite do without a cup of coffee. Did you enjoy the ceremony last night?”
“It was interesting.” Since the morning air was sharp, she tucked her ungloved hands in her pockets. Traffic, both street and air, was beginning to thin a little with the first commuter rush passing. “Getting a little brisk to run around naked in the woods, isn’t it?”
“Yes. We probably won’t hold any more outdoor ceremonies this year. Certainly not skyclad. But Mirium had her heart set on being initiated to first-degree witch before Samhain.”
“Samhain.”
“Halloween,” he and Peabody said together. She shuffled her feet as he smiled at her. “Free-Ager,” she muttered.
“Ah, there are some basic similarities.” He finished off his coffee, stepped over to a recycling bin, and neatly slipped the cup in the slot. “You have a cold, Officer.”
“Yes, sir.” Peabody sniffled, determinedly blocked a sneeze.
“I have something that should ease that. One of our members recognized you, Lieutenant. She said she’d given you a reading lately. On the night, actually, that Alice died.”
“That’s right.”
“Cassandra is very skilled and very sweet-natured,” Chas began as he started up the steps. “She feels she should have been able to see more clearly, to tell you that Alice was in danger. She believes you are.” He paused, looked back. “She hoped that you’re still carrying the stone she gave you.”
“It’s around somewhere.”
He let out a sound that might have been a sigh. “How’s your neck?”
“Good as new.”
“I see it’s healed cleanly.”
“Yeah, and quickly. What was in that stuff you put on it?”
Humor flickered in his eyes, surprising her. “Oh, just some tongue of bat, a little eye of newt.” He opened the door to a musical chime of bells. “Please be comfortable. I’ll get you some tea to warm you up since I kept you standing.”
“You don’t have to bother.”
“It’s no bother at all. Just be a moment.”
He slipped through a doorway, and Eve took the time to study his living quarters.
She wouldn’t call them simple. Obviously, a lot of the stock from the shelves downstairs made its way up here. Large, many-speared hunks of crystals decorated an oval table and circled a copper urn filled with fall flowers. An intricate tapestry hung on the wall over a curved, blue sofa. Men and women, suns and moons, a castle with flame spewing from the arrow slits.
“The major arcana,” Peabody told her as Eve stepped up for a closer look. She sneezed once, violently, and dug out a tissue. “The Tarot. It looks old, hand-worked.”
“Expensive,” Eve decided. Art such as this didn’t come cheaply.
There were statues in pewter and carved from smooth stone. Wizards and dragons, two-headed dogs, sinuous women with delicate wings. Another wall was covered with odd, attractive symbols in splashes of color.
“From the Book of Kells.” Peabody lifted her shoulders at Eve’s curious glance. “My mother likes to embroider the symbols, like on pillows and samplers. They look nice. It’s a nice place.” And it didn’t give her the willies like the Cross apartment. “Eccentric, but nice.”
“Business must be good for them to be able to afford the antiques, the metalwork, the art.”
“The business does well enough,” Chas said as he came back with a tray laden with a flower patterned ceramic pot and cups. “And I had some resources of my own before we opened.”
“Inheritance?”
“No.” He set the tray down on a circular coffee table. “Savings, investments. Chemical engineers are well paid.”
“But you gave it all up to work retail.”
“I gave it up,” he said simply. “I was unhappy in my work. I was unhappy in my life.”
“Therapy didn’t help.”
He met her eyes again, though it seemed to cost him. “It didn’t hurt. Please sit down. I’ll answer your questions.”
“She can’t make you go through this, Chas.” Isis slipped into the room like smoke. Her gown was gray today, the color of storm clouds, and swirled around her ankles as she moved to him. “You’re entitled to your privacy, under any law.”
“I can insist that he answer my questions,” Eve corrected. “I’m investigating murder here. He is, of course, entitled to counsel.”
“It isn’t a lawyer he needs, but peace.” Isis whirled, her eyes alive with emotion, and Chas took her hands, lifted them to his lips, pressed his face to them.
“I have peace,” he said quietly. “I have you. Don’t worry so. You have to go down and open, and I have to do this.”
“Let me stay.”
He shook his head, and the look they exchanged had Eve staring in surprise. It was baffling enough to speculate on their physical relationship, but what she saw pass between them wasn’t sex. It was love. It was devotion.
It should have been laughable, the way Isis had to lean down, bend that goddess body to reach his lips with hers. Instead, it was poignant.
“You have only to call,” she told him. “Only to wish for me.”
“I know.” He gave her hand a quick, intimate pat to send her off. She shot Eve one last look of barely controlled rage and swept out.
“I doubt I would have survived without her,” Chas said as he stared at the door. “You’re a strong woman, Lieutenant. It would be difficult for you to understand that kind of need, that kind of dependence.”
Once she would have agreed. Now she wasn’t so sure. “I’d like to record this conversation, Mr. Forte.”
“Yes, of course.” He sat, and as Peabody engaged her recorder, mechanically poured the tea. He listened without glancing up as Eve recited the traditional caution.
“Do you understand your rights and obligations?”
“Yes. Would you care for sweetener?”
She looked down at her tea with some impatience. It smelled suspiciously like what Mira insisted on serving her. “No.”
“I’ve added a bit of honey to yours, Officer.” He sent Peabody a sweet smile. “And a bit of…something else. I think you’ll find it soothing.”
“Smells pretty good.” Cautious, Peabody sipped, tasted home, and smiled back. “Thanks.”
“When’s the last time you saw your father?”
Caught off guard by the abruptness of Eve’s question, Chas looked up quickly. The hand holding his cup shook once, violently. “The day he was sentenced. I went to the hearing and I watched them take him away. They kept him in full restraints and they closed and locked the door on his life.”
“And how did you feel about that?”
“Ashamed. Relieved. Desperately unhappy. Or perhaps just desperate. He was my father.” Chas took a deep gulp of tea, as some men might take a gulp of whiskey. “I hated him with all of my heart, all of my soul.”
“Because he killed?”
“Because he was my father. I hurt my mother deeply by insisting on attending his trial. But she was too battered emotionally to stop me from doing as I chose. She could never stop him, either. Though she did leave him eventually. She took me and left him, which was, I think, a surprise to all of us.”
He stared down into his cup, as if contemplating the pattern of the leaves skimming the bottom. “I hated her, too, for a very, very long time. Hate can define a person, can’t it, Lieutenant? It can twist them into an ugly shape.”
“Is that what happened to you?”
“Nearly. Ours was not a happy home. You wouldn’t expect that it could be with a man like my father dominating it. You suspect I could be like him.” Chas’s sensual voice remained calm. But his eyes were swirling with emotions.
It was the eyes you watched during interview, Eve thought. The words often meant nothing. “Are you?”
“‘Blood will tell.’ Is that Shakespeare?” He shook his head a little. “I’m not quite sure. But isn’t that what all children live with, and fear no matter what
their parents, that blood will tell?”
She lived with it, she feared it, but she couldn’t allow herself to be swayed by it. “How strong an influence was he on your life?”
“There couldn’t have been a stronger one. You’re an efficient investigator, Lieutenant. I’m sure you’ve studied the records by now, run the discs, watched them. You would have seen a charismatic man, terrifyingly so. A man who considered himself above the law—any and all laws. That kind of steely arrogance is in itself compelling.”
“Evil can be compelling to some.”
“Yes.” His lips curved without humor. “You’d know that, in your line of work. He wasn’t a man you could…fight, on a physical or emotional level. He’s strong. Very strong.”
Chas closed his eyes a moment, reliving what he was constantly struggling to put to death. “I was afraid I could be like him, considered giving back the most precious gift I’d been given. Life.”
“You attempted self-termination?”
“I never got as far as the attempt, just the plan. The first time, I was ten.” He sipped tea again, determined to soothe himself. “Can you imagine a child of ten pondering suicide?”
Yes, she could, all too well. She’d been younger yet when she had pondered it. “He abused you?”
“Abuse is such a weak term, don’t you think? He beat me. He never seemed to be in a rage when he did. He just struck out at unexpected moments, snapping a bone, raising a fist, with the absent calm another man might display while flicking away a fly.”
His fist was clenched on his knee. Deliberately, Chas opened his hand, spread his fingers. “He struck like a shark, fast and in utter silence. There was never a warning, never a gauge. My life, my pain, was totally dependent on his whim. I’ve had my time in Hell,” he said softly, almost as a prayer.
“No one helped you?” Eve asked. “Attempted to intervene?”
“We never stayed in one place very long, and were allowed to form no attachments or friendships. He claimed he needed to spread the word. And he would snap a bone, raise a fist, then take me into a treatment center himself. A concerned father.”