Blood of the Sorceress. Maggie Shayne
knew he had remembered. “The one about the Playboy Mansion?” he asked, grinning further. “Not likely to forget that one, am I?”
“That’s what I would do, if I had twelve million dollars. I’d have a place like that. Gated, private. A staff of servants to see to my every need. Heated swimming pools with waterfalls and fountains. Sprawling, fragrant gardens with every kind of flower and tree. The softest beds imaginable. Anything I want to eat anytime I want it. Beautiful women basking in almost no clothing, eager to satisfy my every desire. And a constant flow of cash without having to work.”
Something tickled at his side as he spoke, and he jerked his head down, pulling his blanket away to see what was crawling on him. The golden dagger seemed to be … glowing. A gleam of golden light in the exact shape of the knife and its sheath shone right through the plastic bag that held them.
“D-man! What the hell?” Gus crab-walked backward along the alley floor, his eyes wide and focused on the glowing bag.
Demetrius scrambled to his feet, turning his back to the sidewalk, intuitively wanting to hide the bag at his waist from the view of strangers. He moved fast, deeper into the alley that was, for the most part, their home, past Gus, and past the bins overflowing with trash, until he was well enough hidden to examine this phenomenon more closely. Gus came up behind him but kept his distance, his eyes wide and riveted on the illuminated grocery sack.
Demetrius removed his blade from the plastic bag that hid it from would-be thieves and slid the double-edged dagger from its jeweled sheath. It was glowing. No question.
“You were right, D! I can’t believe … but you were right. Them trinkets of yours … they’re some kind of magic.”
Demetrius shot Gus a look over his shoulder. “But why now?”
“Because! Don’t you see? You were dreaming. Imagining. Visualizing. Isn’t that what those witches of yours do when they want to cast spells? Visualize?”
Demetrius stared at the glowing blade, saying nothing. Gradually the light began to fade, and then it was gone.
“Do it again, boss. Visualize the shit outta that dream life you were talking about before. And make damn sure I’m in it, too!”
“But—”
“Wait, wait, wait, let me help get’cha started.” Gus had lost his fear of the apparently enchanted weapon and moved up close, standing shoulder to shoulder with Demetrius, who thought Gus must have been an impressive man once. They were close to the same height, and there were traces of what must have been an almost regal bone structure in Gus’s face. Every once in a while, when Demetrius looked at him, he saw someone else in the old man’s eyes. Someone vaguely familiar.
“See it with me now,” Gus was saying. “See it real clear in your mind. Playboy Mansion. Big gorgeous house. And good old Gus is the head of security, D-dog’s right-hand man. He’s wearing fine clothes, shiny shoes, a nice suit. Catalogue nice. Gus decides who gets in and who has to stay the hell out.” He pounded his chest with a fist. “I’ll protect you from the swarms who’d take advantage of a guy like you, bein’ new here and all. Shoot, I know how. I was a soldier once.”
That brought Demetrius right out of his vision. “You were?”
“Shh. Not now, Dog. We got visualizing to do. Now see it, damn you. See it. See the pool? It’s bluer than blue, crystalline water sparkling in the sunshine. It’s warm all the time. Like summer, year-round.”
Demetrius nodded, wanting to examine the knife but resigned to shutting Gus up first. “All right, all right. I see the pool. It’s kidney-shaped. And there’s a waterfall off to one side, natural-looking, with stones all piled up.” He really was seeing it—and enjoying the vision playing out in his mind, though he would rather be shot than admit that to Gus. “And off to the side, just above it, there’s a bubbling spa tub that looks like a pond and spills over to feed the waterfall.”
“Ah, that’s nice. And there’s a—a poolside bar, fully stocked all the time. And women in bikinis everywhere you look. Can you see them, D-man? There’s a redhead with bazongas out to here, and there’s a brunette with a butt so round you want to bite it.”
Demetrius frowned. He could see the bikini-clad beauties, all right. But they all looked alike. Pale corn silk–haired angels with piercing blue, blue eyes.
No, no, no, not her. Not her. She’ll ruin it all.
What an odd thing for me to think, I don’t even know who she is.
“And the cars, oh, Dog, the cars. Be sure you visualize a big garage in there someplace, and fill it with the hottest cars. Like that Jag we saw the other day. And a long black limo, with a driver who knows everything we could ever need to know.”
Cars, yes, cars. A good way to get the blonde out of his head. He’d seen enough kinds of cars speeding past his alley to know what he liked. He wanted one of those giant SUVs, and the limousine and Jaguar Gus had mentioned. And then some of those sports cars that made his pulse speed up. A Mustang. A 370Z. A Carrera.
He tried to see himself behind the wheel, but every one of his imaginary vehicles had that blonde sitting in the passenger seat. Every glimpse of her made his heart rate speed up and his nerve endings jump with fear. Who was she? And why was he afraid of her?
There was more tingling going on. It was happening behind him this time, near his hip, where his silver chalice hung in its own plastic bag. He quickly ripped the bag open, tearing it in the process, which meant he would have to find another one. He took the cup out and looked inside it, where the light was coming from. It was filled with … something. Swirling colors, and … was that a face taking shape?
Do as I tell you, Demetrius.
“Who said that?” He looked left and right, then turned to look behind, too, but there was no one there.
“Who said what?” Gus asked.
Demetrius looked at his friend, saw the worry forming in the old man’s eyes. “Didn’t you hear that? A woman. Kind of whispering.”
Gus took a step backward. “What’d she say?”
“She said to do what she tells me.”
“Then do it, boy, there’s magic goin’ on here! And keep visualizing. Don’t you stop. Make sure I’m in it. Don’t leave me out, D.”
Demetrius tried to keep visualizing his own personal den of pleasures, tried to keep seeing Gus as a part of it, but that damned blue-eyed blonde kept popping in everywhere. She was in the sprawling living room with its wall-sized gas fireplace and in the theater room with its giant movie screen. She was sprawled invitingly on his giant four-poster bed’s satin sheets.
The knife in his hand was getting hot and feeling kind of jumpy. And the cup was vibrating, swirling.
Lower the dagger into the chalice and say these words.
“She wants me to put the knife into the cup,” Demetrius said.
“Well? Do it!” Gus stomped his foot. “Do it, damn you.”
Demetrius flipped the dagger so the point was aiming downward and moved it over the cup. Actually, he didn’t have to move it, because it felt as if something was pulling his hand toward that big sparkling mug. He started lowering the blade. It seemed to want to move slowly, so he let it—whatever it was—guide his hand.
Say these words as you lower it, she told him. As the rod is to the God, so the chalice is to the Goddess.
“That’s stupid. I’m not saying that. It doesn’t even make any—”
Say it!
“All right. All right. As the rod is to the God …”
“Huh?” Gus asked. “What’s this now?”
“It’s what she wants