Читать книгу Bewitching The Dragon - Jane Kindred - Страница 12

Chapter 5

The disquieting flicker of energy that emanated from Dev Gideon’s skin hadn’t dissipated until Ione was beyond the temple. There was something odd about a witch who seemed to project a magical aura even when he was simply sitting still. Maybe he was glamoured. It would account for how unfairly attractive he was. But even Carter hadn’t emanated such ceaseless power. Dev was like a live wire emitting a warning hum.

The light was blinking on her answering machine when she arrived upstairs, and her insides gave a stupid little jump of anticipation, as if the message might be from Dev. Why on earth would she care if he called her? If he did, it would only be to tell her she was being removed from her position. Or worse.

She played the message as she undressed. It was from Phoebe. Funny. Phoebe hadn’t even been speaking to her for months—maybe years, if one wanted to get technical—before this mess had thrown them together. Ione had been the one leaving unanswered messages.

“Ione, I know you don’t want to be bothered right now, but something’s happened.”

She paused in pulling on her yoga pants.

“I don’t like talking on a machine. Could you please call me? This is serious. I’m kind of freaking out over here.”

Images of Theia and Rhea lying mangled on the freeway like the bodies of their parents eleven years ago seized her, and Ione sucked in her breath as if someone had punched her in the gut. No. No, please. Don’t let it be one of the twins.

She grabbed the phone and hit Phoebe’s number on speed dial. Her sister picked up immediately.

“Phoebe, it’s me. What is it? What’s happened? Are they okay?”

“They?”

“The twins. You said something happened.”

“Oh, God, no. Nothing like that. They’re fine. I mean, as far as I know. I haven’t talked to them. I wanted to talk to you first.”

The pressure squeezing her heart and lungs eased. “What, then? You said it was serious.”

“I’ve been over at Rafe’s for a few days. We brought Puddleglum with us. Thank goodness.”

Ione rolled her eyes. Phoebe treated that cat like it was her baby.

“When I got home this afternoon, there was—someone left—something...on my porch.”

Ione’s stomach clenched. “A dead cat.”

“Damn. You, too?”

“At the temple this morning. There was a note.”

“Yeah, I got a note, too. ‘Righteousness will not dwell in an unclean temple.’ I don’t even know what that means.”

“Was it signed ‘Nemesis’?”

“Maybe. The handwriting was so stylized. I think it’s written in blood. I thought it said Genesis.” A rustling sound followed before Phoebe spoke again. “Yeah, I think that’s it, after all. Nemesis. Who’s Nemesis?”

Ione sighed. “I don’t know, but the note I got was a little more detailed. Nemesis laid out a disputation in ten theses explaining why my impure blood was polluting the Covent, promising to purify the temple.”

“Oh, hell. I’m sorry.”

“Whoever he or she is, I think Nemesis is working with Carter.”

Phoebe made a sharp noise of disapproval. “Goddamn him. I thought we were done with his sorry ass.”

“Whose sorry ass?” Rafe’s deep, baritone voice came from the background.

Phoebe snorted. “One guess, babe. I’m putting you on speaker, Di.” Only her sisters got to call her that. Anyone else would find themselves on the receiving end of a palm-heel strike to the sternum.

Rafe’s voice became clearer. “You think this is Hamilton’s doing?”

Ione shrugged at the phone. “Nemesis brought up the ‘Lilith gene.’ Who else knows about it besides us? You haven’t told anyone else, have you, Phoebe?”

“Oh, shoot. You know, I did take out that full-page, coming-out ad in the Sedona Demon Times. Should I not have done that?”

Ione was used to pretending her little sister hadn’t spoken. “Besides the five of us, Carter’s the only one who knows.” She sighed. Might as well tell them about the birds. “This wasn’t the first dead animal I was gifted with, either. I’ve been finding dead crows on my doorstep.”

“Crows.” The symbolism seemed significant to Phoebe.

“Why, does that mean something?”

“That’s one of Rafe’s naguals.”

This was news to Ione. “You have more than one nagual?”

Rafe cleared his throat as though Phoebe had mentioned something indelicate. “I transformed into a crow early in the quetzal’s awakening. I believe it was a subconscious response to Hamilton using his necromantic powers to become the coyote when he was appropriating the authority of Quetzalcoatl’s nemesis, Tezcatlipoca.”

Nemesis. There was that word again.

“It does seem like Hamilton’s MO.” Rafe paused. “Why were you at the temple on a Saturday morning?”

“They sent a Covent assayer to investigate me—sort of a magical insurance claim adjuster—and he was there, along with the entire coven, when we discovered the cat.”

“No.” Phoebe managed to give that one little monosyllabic word the weight of an entire sentence.

Rafe was subdued. “I’m so sorry about all this, Ione.”

“I suppose it was inevitable. And this is not your fault, Rafe. I just wish they’d sent an actual licensed investigator so we could find out how Carter’s doing this. If he’s communicating with someone on the outside, I don’t think we have a legal right to know.” She paused. “There must be some private investigators you work with through the Public Defender’s Office, Phoebe. Maybe there’s someone you can recommend?”

“Um, yeah, about that...”

“You might as well tell her, babe.”

Ione’s entire body went tense, like it used to when Phoebe’s high school would call to tell her legal guardian about her latest trip to the principal’s office. “Tell me what?”

“I don’t work for the PD’s office anymore. I quit my job to apprentice as a private investigator.”

Ione’s blood pressure shot through the roof. “You quit your job? You spent three years getting that law degree, Phoebe. Not to mention all the time you’ve spent putting in your dues. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking practicing law while having shades jump in and out of me at random is never going to stop being a conflict of interest. Not to mention awkward in the courtroom.”

“Can’t you just forbid the shades to bother you?”

“That’s not exactly how it works. And I happen to like helping them. We’ve been over this a hundred times. I’m not giving it up. Even if I could keep them out, I won’t.”

“I didn’t mean you shouldn’t help at all. It’s just...you’re a really good lawyer, Phoebe.”

Phoebe was silent for a moment, as if Ione had shocked her. “You’ve never said that before.”

“You already know you’re good at it. Why do I have to tell you?”

Phoebe sighed. “Anyway, I can always return to practicing law if this doesn’t work out. But right now I’d say it’s damn lucky I have my investigator’s license, because I have access to the prison visitor and communication logs at the Florence State Prison.”

“Oh.” Ione smiled reluctantly. “I guess that is lucky, then.”

“I’ll take a drive down there and see what I can find out.”

“I’ve strengthened the protection spell around Phoebe and around the house,” Rafe reassured Ione before she could object. “I can come over and ward the perimeter at your place, too, if you like. My wards have a little extra kick these days with the quetzal magic.”

“Why not?” A little extra protection couldn’t hurt.

* * *

Dev was starting to think certain members of the Council had given him this assignment on purpose to smoke him out. Rumors had surrounded his mentor Simon’s death and Dev’s part in it. There was no question that something unnatural had attacked them both, but no one had quite been willing to say “demon.” At least not aloud. And now some anonymous person was making accusations about demon blood and cleansing the Covent—and Dev was right in the middle of it.

He tried to shake off the disturbing events of the day as he headed back to his hotel. Documenting the impressions he’d gathered from the day’s interviews—and the peculiar turn of events that had cut them short, he’d ended up staying at the temple much later than he’d planned.

The temple itself was a curious combination of enchanting and repelling. The temporal and spatial glamour around it to keep the general public from prying was exceptional. He hadn’t even noticed the property as he’d approached this morning—though he’d been mesmerized by the landscape, which he supposed was part of the magic the glamour merely needed to draw from—until the white neo-Gothic spires had risen from among the damp rocks looking utterly out of place.

Despite the incongruous beauty of it, he’d felt the unpleasant residue of necromancy hanging in the air about the temple as he’d followed the twisting road to the small courtyard at the center of the labyrinth. No amount of stark, unearthly white stone had been able to mask what seemed like an almost visible muddy-gray pall. He’d thought then it was the negative influence of the necromancer and his high-priestess girlfriend, but now that he’d met Ione, Dev wasn’t so sure. Perhaps the person who’d left the note and the dead cat had been hiding somewhere on the property at the time. That might have accounted for it.

But he was done thinking about those gruesome images for today. There was ordinary enchantment all around him. He’d thought the view spectacular this morning, but he’d been preoccupied with the case. Or maybe it was simply more stunning this direction. Light rain fell like an afterthought on the pillars and domes of rock lining the highway. Their fantastic orangey-red hues struck a breathtaking contrast with the cerulean sky melting into a blend of indigo and violet—like the juice of a pomegranate running into the horizon. It was as if he’d driven off the highway into the land of the Fae, otherworldly and impossibly beautiful in a way he couldn’t even articulate.

Much like his impression of Ione Carlisle.

Dev groaned. Best to nip that kind of thinking in the bud. She was the subject of his investigation and nothing more.

He tried to steer his thoughts toward a safer target—the image of Kylie driving away on her motorbike last night, leather pants supple against the shapely arse on the seat—the arse he’d let slip away because he hadn’t been adequately prepared. He’d had no business starting something with her in the first place when it came to that. He’d gone to the pub to experience the local color, playing tourist before he had to face the drudgery of his assignment. But, despite the fact that she hadn’t been his type, he couldn’t get over the odd intensity of his response to her.

He felt like he’d taken the tiniest bite of enchanted Turkish delight before losing sight of the sleigh on which the White Witch of Narnia had ridden away, only to realize he’d die without another taste of that unearthly sweet.

Dev laughed. That sugary metaphor was Kur’s influence for certain. “All right, you miserable sod. Let’s go look for the White Witch.” At least it would get his mind off Ione Carlisle.