Mark of the Witch

The way I was moving was like tai chi on fast-forward. Graceful, rapid, powerful. I yelled something at them, but in some strange language that sounded made up. The old man ran away, looking back over his shoulder at me like I’d sprouted horns or something. And then I got nailed from behind and went down hard. But I sprang up again, did a flip—a fucking flip—that seemed to defy gravity and every other law of physics and whipped my hands once more, shouting more words in that same foreign language. I missed that time, nailing a big metal wastebasket and sending it flying like a missile. It came apart when it hit the wall, clanging and banging to the floor. And then the punks closed in on me all at once, kicking the shit out of me for a minute, before someone off camera—probably the person holding it—shouted, “Hey, get the hell away from her. I’m calling the cops!”

The voice was female. And familiar, though I couldn’t quite place it.

The punks ran for it. Well, two of them did. The third was basically being dragged between them. And then the camera came closer, as if the person carrying it were bending over me. “Are you okay?” a male voice asked.

I heard the woman ordering this guy away, too. Demanding to know if he’d actually been filming an assault instead of helping. I couldn’t see her coming closer, as the camera was still on me as I stared up at it. Close up, my eyes were black—jet-black—except my eyes are blue—and then I said, “Milik ša zanunzê ihakkim mannu?”

The camera backed away and the video abruptly ended.

I blinked, staring at my BlackBerry, swearing under my breath as I dragged my finger along the bar at the bottom, managing to rewind the video just a little. Then I hit Play and stared again at the close-up of my face.

Yes, my eyes were black. Irises, pupils, everything. Just two black marbles. Dead-looking eyes.

The woman in the video, a woman I still couldn’t think of as me, uttered her strange words again, and I whispered along with them, “Who can know the minds of the Underworld Gods?”

“What’s that, Indy?”

I’d forgotten the priest was still sitting there and looked up at him quickly. “It wasn’t me.” I barked the words so fast, I didn’t take time to think about them first. But once they were out, I knew it was the only possible argument I could make. I turned the phone toward the priest. “Look at the eyes. Those aren’t my eyes. This is just some chick who looks like me. My eyes are blue. Not black. All right?”

“But she looks just like you,” he said.

“No, she doesn’t. She has black eyes. And she knows a lot of martial arts shit I wouldn’t even begin to be able to do. And how the hell did you get my phone?”

“You left it at your friend’s place.”

“My f-friend?” I blinked at him, looking like a doe in the headlights, probably. “You mean Rayne?” I thought that was her voice on the recording.

He nodded. “She went after you to return it and saw the last bit of the attack. Then she realized that guy was recording it. She tried to get him to delete it, but he told her to go to hell, that it was going to go viral. She took you home and put you to bed, but she was so upset she forgot she still had your phone on her.”

“So … you know Rayne?”

He nodded but didn’t elaborate. “She knows about my … mission. That’s why she told me about you.”

I was feeling horribly betrayed by my friend, and there were tears in my voice when I asked, “And have I gone viral?”

“Thankfully, no. Most people who commented seem to think it’s a hoax. But you and I both know it wasn’t. Was it, Indira?”

“It wasn’t me, and it wasn’t real, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay?” I got up, hitched my bag higher on my shoulder, turned to leave. “I’m going to be late for work. I have to go.” I started walking.

He came with me, damn him. “Trust me, I know how hard it is to believe all this. It took a lot to convince me, too. Took seeing the impossible with my own eyes, and I’m still arguing with my doubting side.”

“Your doubting side is right. I’m not a demon fighter. I’m just a simple ex-witch trying to eke out a life in the big bad city. You’ve got the wrong girl.”

“You’re a Warrior Witch. One of three. And I need your help.”

“You’re not getting it.” I strode faster, aiming for the big pink sign on the front of the shop up ahead.

“The dreams are not going to stop, Indy.”

“She told you about the dreams, too?” No wonder he knew details—the cliff, the location. Everything.

“The dreams have come to call you to action, to make you remember your mission, your duty, your calling.”

I reached the door of the Pink Petals, yanked it open hard and looked back at the priest. “My only calling is going to be to nine-one-one unless you get the hell out of my face—now.” I swung my arm out, aiming my forefinger back the way we had come, and a gust went with it, just as if I’d caused it, blowing over a wastebasket and sending every discarded piece of sidewalk litter airborne all at once.

Could have been a breeze. Had to have been a breeze.

He lowered his head—I hoped in defeat—took a card from his pocket, and a cigarette along with it, and closed the distance between us. “My cell number is here. I’ll be in the city for a while. If anything else happens, please call me. I’m the only one who can help you, Indy.”

He handed both the card and the cigarette to me. I would have refused to take the card, but I wanted that smoke—badly—and he knew it, damn him. So I took them both.

His fingers brushed over mine.

I jerked as if electrocuted. A flash, white-hot, blinding bright, flesh on flesh, coppery naked flesh on flesh. Thick black hair, bodies entangling through veils of silk.

I feel his hands on my back.

He gripped my shoulders. “Are you all right?”

His touch burned. And he felt it, too, I knew he did. He held my eyes for a long moment, and chills rushed right up my spine. Tears—tears, for crying out loud—burned in my eyes.

He blinked as if stunned, dragged his gaze from mine, pushed a hand through his thick, dark hair, much the way I wanted to do.

Stop it! He’s a priest!

I straightened, realizing he’d grabbed me because I’d nearly fallen over backward, knocked off balance by that brief, vivid flash of lovers entwined. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. And we both know it. It’s going to get worse for you, Indy. I’ll help you. Even if you refuse to help me, all right?”

I squinted at him, delivering my patented “Who the fuck do you think you are?” look, proudly made in Brooklyn.

But he just turned and walked back the way we’d come, moving in long, powerful strides as I noticed the breadth of his shoulders. He had to be cut underneath his black priestly clothes. I wondered if Gnostic priests from the Leaders of the Pack sect took vows of celibacy, then shook the thought away. It didn’t matter. I was never going to see the man again.

However, there was a certain high priestess who was going to get a fucking earful as soon as I got off work. Because if this guy was her idea of a confidant, she was the most messed-up witch I’d ever heard of.

Then I looked down at my forefinger and wondered if I had really made that phantom whirlwind kick up, and whether I could do it again.

3

Hours later, my workday finished and another long night alone the only thing on my to-do list, I figured I had nothing to lose. If I had somehow tapped into a power beyond everyday witchcraft—which was really not a lot more than positive thinking, focus and luck, or so I’d always thought—then I might as well use it.

I put an old coffee mug I wasn’t overly fond of on the counter. It was a putrid yellow shade and had come with a set of four that someone had given me. I’d already broken the other three. Time to get rid of this one.

Standing back a few feet, I focused my eyes on the cup, my arm bent at the elbow, forefinger aimed at the ceiling. When I felt ready, I bought my arm down fast, aiming right at the mug and willing it to explode to smithereens.

It didn’t even wiggle.

Huh. Okay, reload and try again. This time I used a sideways sweep of my arms. But nothing. Drawing like a gunfighter didn’t work, either. I sank onto a stool for a break, and quickly flipped open my BlackBerry and searched for that video of me, found it, played it, reviewed my moves, tried to find a pattern.