Ceremony In Death

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 begi