Bewitching The Dragon

Chapter 3

The chime of her calendar notification in the morning reminding her of the Covent summonses brought her temporarily forgotten troubles crashing back. Time to face the music.

She tried to tell herself she was just being paranoid as she stroked her razor over her legs a bit aggressively as a proxy for the source of her frustration. Though it wasn’t really paranoia when a necromancer had gone to such elaborate lengths to inveigle his way into the Covent’s midst. Carter had spent years on his deception, becoming a respected member of the Phoenix branch of the Covent. He’d come to Sedona as part of a convention of the Regional Conclave to deal with the sudden rash of lingering shades of the recent dead in the area—shades, it turned out, that Carter himself had been trapping here.

Ione let out a sharp exclamation as the razor bit into the tender flesh at her ankle. Blood dripped onto the white marble tile like garnet beads scattering from a broken rosary—blood from the veins of a demon.

That was the crux of it. Carter had targeted her because of something she hadn’t even known she possessed. She had been the last to know and the last to believe that she was a descendant of the most ancient of demons. She was a daughter of Lilith. And the Lilith blood was what Carter had coveted, the magic ingredient that would give him the power to command the dead. Phoebe had been his ultimate target, but he’d used Ione to set her up.

Despite the way they’d found out about it, Phoebe had seemed to take the news of their heritage in stride. Unlike Ione, she hadn’t spent years struggling to reconcile the practice of magic with a belief in God. But everything was easy for Phoebe. She’d walked away from the church and embraced her gift years ago without a backward glance. If you could call being a way station for the recently deceased a gift.

Ione touched her finger to one of the drops of blood on her ankle, holding the tiny red orb on her fingertip under the cool white glow of the LED bulbs around the mirror. She concentrated on the drop until nothing else existed, the convex surface glistening like a miniature crystal ball in crimson in which her reflection was inverted. An angel on the head of a pin. Or a demon.

With a murmured incantation, she set the ruby bead floating above her fingertip. It was a simple trick, one of the first she’d learned. A trick for slumber parties when she was a girl. Light as a feather, stiff as a board. She’d thought then it was her own affinity for magic that had made it come so easily to her. It was because of that affinity that she’d started on the path that had led her to the Covent.

She’d come to believe in magic as a gift, and an art to be learned, not some kind of transgressive aberration. But this tainted blood was where her magical aptitude had come from, not hours of practice and months of apprenticeship; not innate talent. Not a gift from God.

Even so, it had allowed her to do what she loved. And if the Covent was going to take that away from her, she intended to walk into the temple as Ione Carlisle, high priestess of the Sedona Coventry, with her head held high.

She dressed in a crisp, white blouse and slim-cut black pants fresh from the dry cleaner’s, topped with a black, flared, knee-length frock coat with delicate gray pinstripes. Presenting a confident, authoritative air was crucial in maintaining the respect of her coven, and Ione never left the house without making sure she was representing the office of high priestess with the utmost solemnity—when she left in her own face, at any rate. A light layer of foundation, a pale smudge of blush, a swipe of mascara across her bottom lashes and a dab of clear, matte gloss across her lips conveyed both professionalism and a certain understated grace.

* * *

The parking lot of Covent Temple was full when she arrived. As Calvin had implied, every member of the Sedona Coventry must have received a summons. Yet the Covent hadn’t seen fit to inform their high priestess. Tears slammed against the backs of her eyes as she paused inside the atrium, and she dug her fingernails into her palms to keep them from going any farther. This was it. She was going to lose everything. Carter Hamilton had kneecapped her from behind bars without even trying.

Ione deepened her breath and exhaled the frailty of ego. She’d been elected to serve the needs of the magical community, not as some kind of merit badge or status symbol. If what the coven needed to heal from Carter’s betrayal was for Ione to step down as high priestess, she would do it graciously. Even if it meant collapsing into a quivering heap on her bathroom floor when she got home and sobbing until she was sick. And then picking herself up and getting a job in the real world.

When she entered the temple, the rest of the coven members were seated on the comfortable benches that lined the aisles. The temple had been built with much the same design as a Catholic church—the Covent’s origins steeped in the religion from which it had emerged—but its pews were for comfort not worship. So maybe this wasn’t a ritual defrocking, after all; if they meant to perform any kind of ceremony, they’d be gathered in a formal circle at the altar.

All eyes turned to her as she came up the aisle—including a pair that were a glittering tiger’s-eye golden brown.

Ione stopped still, blood rushing to her cheeks as well as to other more inconvenient and intimate places. It was impossible, but there he was, seated among them, just a little apart from the rest: last night’s epic bad judgment. When he rose, the others rose with him.

The golden-brown eyes widened slightly at the sight of her, and she was certain for a mortifying instant that he’d somehow seen through the glamour last night. He knew exactly who she was. But the expression was gone just as quickly with no hint of recognition in his eyes, only grim determination.

“Dione Carlisle?” He’d pronounced her given name as “Dee-ohn”—which was the reason she’d changed it.

She willed herself to behave like someone who hadn’t just run smack into the man she’d sucked off in a parking lot the night before while wearing another woman’s face. “I go by Ione, actually. But I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” Her cheeks throbbed at the unfortunate word choice, and he studied her with a peculiar expression.

With a slight, formal bow, he held out his hand. “Dharamdev Gideon. The Leadership Council sent me.” Ione’s heart sank. So this was her replacement, after all.

His skin tingled with magical energy as she shook his hand. She should have recognized it last night, the vibrational hum his proximity—and his touch—had set off inside her. It was magic—ordinary magical ability and not the pulsing tremor of some karmic sexual connection. She tried to ignore how the warm vibration of his skin touched off that answering warmth inside her that was decidedly more carnal than spiritual. And to ignore the enticing scent of his skin.

Realizing she’d held his hand a moment longer than necessary, Ione released it.

His expression masked, Dev clasped his hands behind his back, his deep-charcoal suit obviously tailored, as it accommodated his movements with perfect ease. “I’m the Covent assayer. I assume they told you I was coming.”

Ione tried to make sense of the words. She’d thought for sure he was the new interim high priest. But maybe he was just some kind of number-cruncher or efficiency expert. Maybe the world wasn’t ending.

“No, I’m afraid they didn’t, Mr. Gideon. Assayer...what is that, exactly?”

Dev cleared his throat and drew himself up tall as he straightened his raw silk tie in dark teal, his face expressing disapproval—and a touch of what looked suspiciously like disgust. “The Covent seeks to determine what role you may have played in the infiltration of the necromancer Carter Hamilton. I’m here to evaluate your failure of leadership, Miss Carlisle, and to decide on an appropriate punishment.” His cheeks seemed to color, but only for an instant. “Penalty.”

The furious heat in Ione’s cheeks was undoubtedly far more obvious. The Covent leaders apparently intended to treat her like a naughty child. The sense of resignation and grief at what she’d believed she was about to lose was quickly giving way to umbrage.

“I see.” Ione put her hands in the pockets of her coat to keep the angry tremble from showing. “I take it my account of the events is in question. I suppose that’s not entirely a surprise, given that none of the Council members was here to witness what happened. But the police accepted my account, Mr. Gideon. And Mr. Hamilton himself confessed that he alone was responsible for his actions. I’m sure any of the members of my coven can tell you what an act he put on, how he fooled us all.”

She glanced at her fellow coven members to be sure they were still on her side. A few looked embarrassed but no one was avoiding her gaze.

“I’m not proud of being fooled, and I’ll accept whatever censure the Covent deems fit to mete out for that failing, but I can assure you, Mr. Gideon, that I did nothing unethical.”

Dev gave her a condescending smile. “I will, of course, be interviewing every member of the coven at length. But by your own account, your actions were anything but ethical. You used unauthorized magical influence on a Covent member—”

“A Covent member who happened to be a necromancer, Mr. Gideon. Who was in the act of attempting to murder my sister and another member of my coven.”

“Unauthorized influence.” The gemstone eyes seemed to crackle with intensity. “There are no exceptions to this rule. Rafael Diamante subdued him with the very necromancy of which you’ve accused Hamilton, and it appears from your account that you helped Diamante do it.”

Ione’s mouth dropped open and she had to work to get her jaw to function normally. And to respond without screaming. “You’re not actually suggesting Carter Hamilton is innocent?”

“I’m not suggesting anything, Miss Carlisle. I’m merely explaining to you, since you seem to be having difficulty with the concept, that you took actions that are greatly frowned upon by the Covent. And a full investigation is more than warranted to determine exactly what happened here and who is culpable.” Whatever trick of the light had made him seem so damnably attractive a moment before, his smug condescension had managed to shake Ione loose of it. Now he just looked like a pompous jerk.

He glanced around at the others as if just remembering their presence and let out a sigh. “I trust that you’ll all cooperate fully with my investigation. I’d like to begin with brief, preliminary interviews with each of you, no more than ten or fifteen minutes, before Miss Carlisle and I sit down to discuss her account at length.” Dev turned back to Ione. “I hadn’t expected you to attend this preliminary session.” His frown expressed disapproval of whoever had leaked the news. “Since I may be a few hours, it might be best if you leave and return later.” He took out his phone, poised to make an entry. “If you’d give me your mobile number, I’ll call you when the interviews are completed.”

“I don’t have a ‘mobile’ number.” She couldn’t help echoing his British pronunciation. Ione fixed her gaze on him as he looked up, daring him to mock her for being a Luddite. She actually did have a cell phone—for emergencies—but she was rather proud of the fact that she hadn’t succumbed to the pressure to carry the phone about with her. “I don’t need to reach anyone that urgently and anyone who needs me knows to reach me at my home number.”

She took a book from her bag and turned to take a seat beneath one of the stained-glass windows. “I’ll just sit and read while I wait.” The glass depicted the tongue-thrusting goddess Kali. Ione hadn’t chosen it on accident.

“Miss Carlisle.” Dev hadn’t moved, his brows drawn together in consternation when she glanced up from her bench. “I’d prefer not to have any...undue influence on the accounts of the others.”

Ione glared daggers of ice at him. “I beg your pardon?”

Dev seemed to blanch as if only now aware of his choice of words. “I mean, it would be better if none of the coven members were to discuss their versions of the events with you prior to our interviews.”

She let out an astonished and offended laugh. “You think I’m going to coach them, Mr. Gideon? You don’t know a thing about me or my coven if you imagine for one moment that I’d tell anyone here to lie for me—or that any of them would.”

Chatoyant eyes glittered dangerously in the candlelight. “Well, that’s just it, isn’t it? I don’t know anything about you or your coven. That’s what I’m here to assess. There’s a process and protocol that must be followed.”

Ione shrugged and opened her book. “Then follow it. I pledge a solemn oath before Kali beside me, Mr. Gideon, that I will sit here quietly and read and not ‘influence’ anyone in any way.”

He was still staring at her. She could feel the indignation radiating from him in waves as she continued to ignore him until he finally sighed his disapproval and gestured to one of the coven members to accompany him to the vestry behind the altar.

Self-satisfied prick didn’t know whom he was dealing with. She’d sit here all day if she felt like it—even if he didn’t deign to talk to her at all.

A beam of sunlight through the window dappled the pages of her book with vivid reds and golds. Not the best reading light, but she was reading the same four or five words over and over again anyway, unable to make English out of them, her heart still pounding with anger—and more than a little anxiety.

“Is this seat taken?”

Ione glanced up to find the newest member of the coven smiling at her. Fresh and eager, Margot had apprenticed to an elderly member who’d decided to retire a few months ago. Ione hadn’t gotten to know her yet. Not that Ione ever really got to know anyone. Once she’d been anointed as high priestess, it seemed wiser to keep her personal and coven lives separate. As the disaster of dating Carter had proved.

Ione 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.”