Ceremony in Death

  Small white tables and chairs were arranged at a nice distance from the display counter where bowls and plates of colorful food were presented behind sparkling glass. Two customers sat together over bowls of clear soup. Both of them sported flowing white robes, jeweled sandals, and shaved heads.

  Behind the counter was a man with silver rings on every finger. He wore a wide-sleeved shirt in quiet blue. His blonde hair was neatly braided and twined with silver cord. He smiled in welcome.

  “Blessed be. Do you wish food for the body or for the soul?”

  “I thought you were supposed to know.” Eve grinned at him. “How about a reading?”

  “Palm, Tarot, runes, or aura?”

  “Palm.” Enjoying herself, Eve stuck her hand out.

  “Cassandra is our palmist. If you’d take a comfortable seat, she’ll be happy to help you. Sister,” he added as she started to turn, “your auras are very strong, vibrant. You are well-matched.” With this, he picked up a wooden stick with a rounded edge and ran it gently over the rim of a white frosted bowl.

  Even as the vibration sang, a woman stepped through the beaded curtain separating a back room. She wore a silver tunic with a silver bracelet coiled above her elbow. Eve noted that she was very young, barely twenty, and like the man, her hair was blonde and coiled into a braid.

  “Welcome.” Her voice held a hint of Ireland. “Please be comfortable. Would you both like a reading?”

  “No, just me.” Eve took a seat at a far table. “What’s it run?”

  “The reading is free. We request a donation, only.” She sat gracefully, smiled at Roarke. “Your generosity will be appreciated. Madam, the hand you were born with.”

  “I came with both of them.”

  “The left, please.” She cupped her fingers under Eve’s offered hand, barely touching at first. “Strength and courage. Your fate was not set. A trauma, a break in the lifeline. Very young. You were only a child. Such pain, such sadness.” She lifted her gaze, clear gray. “You were, and are, without blame.”

  She tightened her grip when Eve instinctively drew back. “It’s not necessary to remember all, until you’re ready. Sorrow and self-doubt, passions blocked. A solitary woman who chose to focus on one goal. A great need for justice. Disciplined, self-motivated…troubled. Your heart was broken, more than broken. Mauled. So you guarded what was left. It’s a capable hand. One to trust.”

  She took Eve’s right hand firmly, but barely looked at it. Those clear gray eyes stayed on Eve’s face. “You carry much of what was inside you. It will not be quiet, it will not rest. But you’ve found your place. Authority suits you, as does the responsibility that marches with it. You’re stubborn, often single-focused, but your heart is greatly healed. You love.”

  She flicked a glance at Roarke again, and her mouth softened when she looked back at Eve. “It surprises you, the depth of this. It unnerves you, and you are not easily unnerved.” Her thumb skimmed over the top of Eve’s palm. “Your heart runs deep. It is…choosy. It is careful, but when it’s given, it’s complete. You carry identification. A badge.” She smiled slowly. “Yes, you made the right choice. Perhaps the only one you could have made. You’ve killed. More than once. There was no alternative for you, yet this weighs heavy on your mind and heart. In this, you find it difficult to separate the intellect from the emotion. You’ll kill again.”

  The gray eyes went glassy, and the light grip tightened. “It’s dark. The forces are dark here. Evil. Lives already lost, and others yet to lose. Pain and fear. Body and soul. You must protect yourself and those you love.”

  She turned to Roarke, snagging his hand and speaking rapidly in Gaelic. Her face had gone very white, and her breath hitched.

  “That’s enough.” Shaken, Eve snatched her hand back. “Hell of a show.” Irritated that her palm tingled, she rubbed it hard against the knee of her slacks. “You’ve got a good eye, Cassandra, is it? And an impressive spiel.” She dug into her pocket, took out fifty in credits and laid them on the table.

  “Wait.” Cassandra opened a small, embroidered pouch at her waist, plucked out a smooth stone in pale green. “A gift. A token.” She pushed it into Eve’s hand. “Carry it with you.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not? Please come again. Blessed be.”

  Eve caught one last glance at her pale face before Cassandra hurried into the back room with a musical jingle of beads.

  “Well, so much for ‘You’re taking a long ocean voyage,’” Eve muttered as she headed for the door. “What did she say to you?”

  “Her dialect was a bit thick. I’d say she’s from the west counties.” He stepped outside, oddly relieved to draw in the night air. “The gist was that if I loved you as much as she believed, I would stay close. That you’re in danger of losing your life, perhaps your soul, and you need me to survive it.”

  “What a crock.” She glanced down at the stone in her hand.

  “Keep it.” Roarke closed her fingers over it. “Couldn’t hurt.”

  With a shrug, Eve pushed it into her pocket. “I think I’m going to steer clear of psychics.”

  “An excellent idea,” Roarke said with feeling as he walked with her across the street and into the Aquarian Club.

  chapter three

  It was quite a place, Eve mused, and certainly quieter than any club she’d been in before. Both conversation and music were muted, and both had an elegant little lilt. Tables were packed together as was the norm, but they were arranged to provide circular traffic patterns that reminded Eve of the symbol at the base of Alice’s note.

  Ringing the walls were mirrors fashioned into the shapes of stars and moons. Each held a burning candle, a white pillar, that reflected light and flame. Between each mirror were plaques of symbols and figures she didn’t recognize. The small dance floor was circular as well, as was the bar where patrons sat on stools that depicted signs of the zodiac. It took her a moment to place the woman seated on the twin-faced of Gemini.

  “Jesus, that’s Peabody.”

  Roarke shifted his gaze, focused on the woman in a long, sweeping dress in swirling hues of blue and green. Three long strands of beads sparkled to her waist, and earrings of varicolored metals jingled beneath the fringes of her straight, cropped hair.

  “Well, well,” he said and smiled slowly, “our sturdy Peabody makes quite a picture.”

  “She sure…blends,” Eve decided. “I have to meet with Alice alone. Why don’t you go over and talk to Peabody?”

  “A pleasure. Lieutenant…” He took a long look at her worn jeans, battered leather jacket, and unadorned ears. “You don’t blend.”

  “Is that a dig?”

  “No.” He flicked a finger over the dent in her chin. “An observation.” He strolled over, slid onto the stool beside Peabody. “Now, let’s see, what would be the standard line? What’s a nice witch like you doing in a place like this?”

  Peabody slid him a sidelong look, grimaced. “I feel like an idiot in this getup.”

  “You look lovely.”

  She snorted. “Not exactly my style.”

  “You know the fascinating thing about women, Peabody?” He reached out, tapped a finger against her dangling earrings to send them dancing. “You have so many styles. What are you drinking?”

  Ridiculously flattered, she struggled not to flush. “A Saggitarius. That’s my sign. The drink’s supposed to be metabolically and spiritually designed for my personality.” She sipped from the clear chalice. “Actually, it’s not bad. What’s your, you know, birth sign?”

  “I have no idea. I believe I was born the first week of October.”

  Believe, Peabody mused. How odd not to know. “Well, that would make you Libran.”

  “Well then, let’s be metabolically and spiritually correct.” He turned to order drinks, watched Eve sitting at a table. “What sign would you attribute to your lieutenant?”

  “She’s a tough one to pin down.”

  “Indeed she is,” Roarke mu
rmured.

  From her table on the outer circle, Eve watched everything. There was no band or holographic image of one. Instead, the music seem to come from nowhere and everywhere. Windy flutes and plucked strings, a soothing female voice that sang with impossible sweetness in a language Eve didn’t recognize.

  She saw couples in earnest conversations, others laughing quietly. No one flicked an eyelash when a woman in a sheer white sheath rose to dance alone. Eve ordered water and was amused when it was served in a goblet of simulated silver.

  She tuned in to the conversation at the table behind her and was further amused to hear the group’s sober discussion on their experiences with astral projection.

  At a table in the next ring, two women talked about their former lives as temple dancers in Atlantis. She wondered why former lives were always more exotic than the one being lived. The only shot a person had, in her opinion.

  Harmless weirdos, Eve thought, but caught herself rubbing her still tingling palm on her jeans.

  She saw Alice the minute the girl walked in. Agitated, Eve thought. Nervous hands, tensed shoulders, jittery eyes. She waited until Alice scanned the room, spotted her, then she inclined her head in acknowledgment. With a last backward glance at the door, Alice hurried over.

  “You came. I was afraid you wouldn’t.” Quickly, she dipped into her pocket and drew out a smooth black stone on a silver chain. “Put this on. Please,” she insisted when Eve only studied it. “It’s obsidian. It’s been consecrated. It’ll block evil.”

  “I’m all for that.” Eve slipped the chain around her neck. “Better?”

  “This is the safest place I know. The cleanest.” Still darting glances around the room, Alice sat. “I used to come here all the time.” She gripped the amulet she wore in both hands as a server glided to the table. “A Golden Sun, please.” She took a deep breath as she looked back at Eve. “I need courage. I’ve tried to meditate all day, but I’m blocked. I’m afraid.”

  “What are you afraid of, Alice?”

  “That those who killed my grandfather will kill me next.”

  “Who killed your grandfather?”

  “Evil killed him. Killing is what evil does best. You won’t believe what I tell you. You’re too grounded in what can be seen only with the eyes.” She accepted the drink from the server, closed her eyes a moment as if in prayer, then slowly lifted the cup to her lips. “But you won’t ignore it, either. You’re too much a cop. I don’t want to die,” Alice said and set her cup down.

  That, Eve thought, was the first sensible statement she’d heard. The fear was genuine enough, she decided, and unmasked tonight. At the viewing, Alice had been careful to slick on a layer of composure and calm.

  For her family, Eve realized.

  “Who are you afraid of, and why?”

  “I have to explain. All of it. I have to purge before I can atone. My grandfather respected you, so I come to you in his memory. I wasn’t born a witch.”

  “Weren’t you?” Eve said dryly.

  “Some are, and some, like me, are simply drawn to the craft. I became interested in Wicca through my studies, and the more I learned, the more I felt a need to belong. I was drawn to the rituals, the search for balance, the joy, and the positive ethics. I didn’t share my interest with my family. They wouldn’t have understood.”

  She dipped her head and her hair flowed down like a curtain. “I enjoyed the secrecy of that and was still young enough to find the experience of going skyclad at an outdoor celebration slightly wicked. My family…” She lifted her head again. “They’re conservative, and a part of me simply wanted to do something daring.”

  “A small rebellion?”

  “Yes, that’s true. If I had left it at that,” Alice murmured, “if I had truly accepted my initiation into the craft, and what it meant, everything would be different now. I was weak, and my intellect too ambitious.” She picked up her drink again, wet her dry throat. “I wanted to know. To compare and analyze, rather like a thesis, the contrasts of white and black magic. How could I fully appreciate the one without fully understanding its antithesis? That was my rationale.”

  “Sounds logical.”

  “False logic,” Alice insisted. “I was deluding myself. The ego and the intellect were so arrogant. I would study the black arts on a purely scholarly level. I’d talk to those who had chosen the other path and discover what had turned them away from the light. It would be exciting.” She smiled tremulously. “I thought it would be exciting, and for a short time, it was.”

  A child, Eve thought, in the body of a stunning woman. Bright and curious, but a child, nonetheless. It was pitifully easy to tug information from the young. “Is that how you met Selina Cross?”

  Paling, Alice made a quick forking gesture with her forefinger and pinky. “How do you know of her?”

  “I did some research. I didn’t walk in here blind, Alice. As a cop’s granddaughter, you shouldn’t have expected me to.”

  “Be afraid of her.” Alice compressed her lips. “Be afraid of her.”

  “She’s a second-rate grifter and chemi-dealer.”

  “No, she’s much more.” Alice gripped her amulet again. “Believe that, Lieutenant. I’ve seen. I know. She’ll want you. You’ll challenge her.”

  “Do you believe she had something to do with Frank’s death?”

  “I know she did.” Tears swam into her eyes, deepening the soft blue. One huge and lovely drop spilled over and slid down her white cheek. “Because of me.”

  Eve leaned closer to comfort, and to block the tearful face from any onlookers. “Tell me about it, about her.”

  “I met her nearly a year ago. On the sabbat of Samhain. All Hallow’s Eve. More research, I told myself. I didn’t realize how deeply I’d already been drawn in, how utterly seduced I was by the power, the pure selfish greed of the other side. I hadn’t performed any of the rituals, not then. I was still observing. Then I met her, and the one they call Alban.”

  “Alban?”

  “He serves her.” Alice lifted a hand, laid her fingers against her mouth. “That night still isn’t clear in my mind. I realize now they cast a spell over me. I let them lead me into the circle, strip off my robes. I heard the bells ring, and the chant to the dark prince. I watched the sacrifice of the goat. And I shared in the blood.”

  Her head drooped again as shame whirled inside her. “I shared in it, drank of it, and enjoyed. I was the altar that night. I was tied to the stone. I don’t know how or by whom, but I wasn’t afraid. I was aroused.”

  Her voice dropped to a whisper. The music changed, slid from strings to drums and bells, cheerfully sexual. Alice never lifted her gaze.

  “Each member of the coven touched me, rubbed oils and blood over me. The chanting was inside me, and the fire was so hot. Then Selina laid over me. She…did things. I’d never had any sexual experience. Then while she slid up my body, Alban straddled me. She watched me. His hands were on her breasts and he was inside me. And she watched my face. I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop looking into her eyes. It was like she was the one—the one inside me.”

  Her tears plopped on the table now. Even though Eve had shifted to sheild her from most of the room, and Alice’s voice was barely more than a whisper, several heads were turning curiously.

  “You were drugged, Alice. And exploited. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Her eyes lifted briefly and threatened to break Eve’s heart. “Then why am I so ashamed? I was a virgin, and there was pain, but even that was arousing. Unbearably. And the pleasure that came with it was huge, monstrous. They used me, and I begged to be used again. And was, by the entire coven. By sunrise I was lost, enslaved. I woke in bed, between them. Alban and Selina. I’d already become their apprentice. And their toy.”

  Tears were running down her cheeks as she drank again. “Sexually, there was nothing I would not allow them, or one of their choosing, to do to me. I embraced the dark. And I
became careless in my arrogance. Someone told my grandfather. He would never give me a name, but I know it was a Wiccan. He confronted me, and I laughed at him. I warned him to stay out of my affairs. I thought he had.”

  Saying nothing, Eve slid her water across the table. Gratefully, Alice picked it up, drained it. “A few months ago, I discovered Selina and Alban were performing private rituals. I’d come down from college a day early. I went to their house, and I heard the ceremonial chant. I opened the door of the ritual room. They were there, together, performing a sacrifice.” Her hands shook. “Not a goat this time, but a child. A young boy.”

  Eve’s hand closed tight over Alice’s wrist. “You saw them murder a child?”

  “Murder is too tame a word for what they did.” The tears dried up in horror. “Don’t ask me to tell you. Don’t ask me that.”

  She would have to, Eve knew, but it could wait. “Tell me what you can.”

  “I saw…Selina, the ritual knife. The blood, the screams. I swear you could see the screams like black smears on the air. It was too late to stop it.”

  She looked at Eve again, those swimming eyes begging to be believed in this one thing. “I was too late to do anything for the boy, even if I’d had the power or the courage to try.”

  “You were alone, shocked,” Eve said carefully. “The woman was armed, the boy was dead. You couldn’t have helped him.”

  For one long moment, Alice stared at her, then covered her face with her hands. “I try to believe that. Try so hard. Living with it is destroying me. I ran away. I just ran.”

  “You can’t change it.” Eve kept her hand on Alice’s wrist, but her grip gentled. She had once seen a child mutilated, had been too late. Seconds too late. She hadn’t run, she had killed. But the child was just as dead, either way. “You can’t go back and change it. You have to live with what is.”

  “I know. Isis tells me that.” Alice took a shuddering breath, lowered her hands. “They were engrossed in their work and never saw me. Or I pray they never saw me. I didn’t go to my grandfather or the police. I was terrified, sick. I don’t know how much time went by, but I went to Isis, the high priestess who had initiated me into Wicca. She took me in; even after all I’d done, she took me in.”