Bewitching The Dragon. Jane KindredЧитать онлайн книгу.
smiled back, grateful for the overture. “It isn’t, but aren’t you afraid I’ll accidentally influence you?”
Margot sat beside her, crossing her ankles beneath a pair of multicolored paisley leggings peeking through a sheer black skirt. Her relaxed, fun sense of personal style was the polar opposite of Ione’s carefully conservative attire. Besides the responsibility of representing the coven as its high priestess, Ione had always feared being judged as perpetuating some kind of metaphysical trend. Sedona had a reputation for being a little out there, and, while many of the merchants were perfectly genuine, some of the more touristy businesses exploited that reputation for maximum effect.
Margot crossed her arms over her ample bosom. “Don’t worry about Chauncey in there. Maybe he just can’t let go of that stick up his butt because it’s so damn tight.” She grinned as Ione nearly strangled on the startled burst of laughter she was trying to suppress. “Man, you didn’t see that thing walking away, did you?” Margot fanned herself. “Kinda makes you wish we could bring back the Great Rite.”
Now that was something Ione didn’t need to be thinking about. The image of rolling about on the floor in front of the altar with a stripped-down Dev Gideon was a little more than she could handle. Not that the Great Rite was really about rolling around on the floor having an uninhibited orgy, per se—God, she really needed to get laid more often. Ione shuddered, realizing the last time had been with Carter. And she did not find Dev Gideon attractive, she reminded herself. His personality had ruined it.
“And speaking of Rafe Diamante...” Margot winked. “How’s your sister Phoebe doing?”
Ione couldn’t hold back the laugh this time. “Yeah, my little sister pretty much hit the jackpot with that one, didn’t she?”
“Not that I was trying to get into that boy’s pants or anything, but I know quite a few women who are quietly weeping about not getting into those pants.” Margot shook her head ruefully. “All joking aside, do you think he’ll be coming back to the Covent?”
Ione closed her book. “No, I think he’s had enough of organized practice.” She was careful not to mention that, thanks to Phoebe’s demon blood awakening his inner Quetzalcoatl, Rafe now had a tendency to sprout wings and get a bit scaly when he practiced ritual. Not that Phoebe seemed to mind that this, apparently, also included the raising of sexual energy.
Ione knew just a little too much about her sister’s sex life these days. Not so much because they’d gotten particularly closer since the Carter incident, but mostly because the twins were busybodies and couldn’t resist sharing juicy tidbits with Ione after calling Phoebe to pester her for details. To hear Rhea and Theia tell it, Phoebe hadn’t left her house in weeks—because she was having trouble walking.
“Well, if you talk to him, let him know we all miss him. And not just because of his pants.” Margot smiled, putting a hand on Ione’s shoulder. “And, seriously, don’t worry about this investigation. We all know you didn’t do anything wrong. We’ve got your back.”
“Thanks.” Unexpectedly, Ione had to work not to tear up. It was nice to have a vote of confidence. “That means more than you know.”
She felt Dev’s approach without looking up, as haughty, self-righteous energy filled the aisle of the nave. “I thought you were going to read quietly, Miss Carlisle.”
Margot jumped up. “Sorry. My fault. I was getting a little antsy sitting around. But don’t worry. I didn’t let her give me the whammy.”
Ione choked back another laugh and had to pretend to be focusing on her book once more, unable to look either of them in the eye.
Dev tried to vibe her with a folded-arm stance of paternal disapproval that she pretended not to see from the corner of her eye until he gave up. “And what is your name, Miss...?”
“Margot Kelley.”
“Miss Kelley, why don’t you accompany me to the vestry and we’ll have a little chat.”
Ione rolled her eyes. What was he, a headmaster in his day job?
The first interviewee, Calvin, passed her with a nod and an encouraging smile on the way out. That was two votes of confidence, anyway.
As she started to make an actual effort to put the proceedings out of her mind and read her book, a strangled cry of alarm came from the antechamber, and Calvin came stumbling back inside.
Ione was on her feet in an instant. “Calvin? What is it? What happened?” She stepped into the aisle and put an arm around his shuddering shoulders.
“On the door,” he choked out, looking ill.
Dev Gideon had come swiftly at the noise and he marched past them with determined steps, Margot following, bemused. Calvin had sunk onto one of the benches, too horrified by whatever he’d seen to articulate it.
Ione started toward the doors just as Margot hurried back inside. “What is it? What’s going on?”
“You don’t want to see it.” Margot shuddered, blinking back tears. “Somebody—some sicko nailed a dead cat to the door.”
She was still high priestess of this coven, and it was her duty to protect it. Ione squeezed Margot’s hand before ignoring her advice and heading into the atrium. Dev stood in the doorway, his body framed in sunlight, looking down at the paper in his hand.
He turned as Ione neared the door and shook his head. “There’s no need to look. Someone was obviously going for shock value, and we don’t all need nightmares.”
“This is my coven, Mr. Gideon, and I’m not some delicate flower.”
Dev caught her arm as she tried to pass him and the surge of vibrational energy struck her once more—not sexual this time, thank heaven, but a powerful bolt like a warning that stopped her in her tracks.
“Let go of me.”
“Sorry.” Dev released her, looking shaken. “I’m just trying to spare you any more trauma than is necessary.”
“Necessary?” Exactly what kind of trauma would be necessary?
Dev held out the note. “I believe you were the target of this little act of terrorism.”
Ione took it, unable to resist one last glance beyond him to the mangled thing that lay on the stone walkway. She looked swiftly away. Maybe he was right about this. Whatever the aim, she had no doubt this was an escalation of the message that had been intended with the dead birds left on her porch every morning for the past week. She’d been so focused on the summonses she hadn’t even noticed the absence of this morning’s “gift.”
Her head swam as she tried to concentrate on the words written on a piece of parchment in the careful, talented hand of a calligrapher—in what appeared to be blood.
“It’s ink.” Dev guessed at her assumption. “They obviously wanted it to look like blood, but it’s ink.”
Ione breathed a little more easily and read the note aloud. “‘Out of love for the truth and from desire to elucidate it, I, Nemesis, intend to defend the following statements.’” She glanced up at Dev. “This nut is doing Martin Luther’s 95 Theses?”
Dev nodded grimly. “Just ten, but they’re what I believe Americans would call ‘doozies.’”
Ione continued. “‘One. When the Covent was established in the Canton du Valais in the Swiss Confederation in 1533, its aim was to illuminate the arcane as a complement to the glory of God, not to profane it.
“‘Two. The practice of the Sacred Craft within the tenets of the Covent is the antithesis of the practice of evil.
“‘Three. The thirteen founding families believed in purity of heart, purity of mind, purity