In Death 05 - Ceremony in Death

glittering, she slid down. "Force me."
    And when he covered her body with his, she turned her head, bared her teeth, and dug them into his shoulder to draw blood.
    "Hurt me," she demanded.
    "With pleasure." he replied.
    And when they lay apart, their violent passion sated, he lay quiet beside her. She would revive now, he knew. She would cool and she would calm, and she would think.
    "We should perform a ceremony tonight. Call together the entire coven for a Black Mass. We need power, Alban. She isn't weak, and she wants to destroy us."
    "She won't." With affection now, he stroked her cheek. "She can't. After all, she's only a cop with no past and a limited future. But you're right, of course, we'll call the coven. We'll perform the rite. And, I think, we'll provide Lieutenant Dallas with a distraction -- or two. She won't have the time or inclination to worry overmuch about little Alice for long."
    Fresh arousal rippled through her, a dark wave that flooded into her eyes. "Who dies?"
    "My love." He lifted her, speared her, sighed when her muscles clamped viciously around him. "You have only to choose."
    "You really pissed her off." Peabody struggled to ignore the light sweat of fear that dried on her skin as Eve drove away from the building.
    "That was the idea. Now that I know control isn't her strong point, I'll be sure to piss her off again. She's all ego," Eve decided. "Imagine, thinking we'd fall for a second-rate trick like the fire."
    "Yeah." Peabody managed a sickly smile. "Imagine." Eve tucked her tongue in her cheek and decided against ragging on her aide. "Since we're into witches, let's swing by and check out this Isis at Spirit Quest." She slid her eyes right. Well, maybe she'd rag just a little. "You can probably buy a talisman or some herbs," she said solemnly. "You know, to ward off evil."
    Peabody shifted in her seat. Feeling foolish wasn't nearly as bad as worrying about being cursed. "Don't think I won't."
    "After we deal with Isis, we can grab a pizza sub -- with plenty of garlic."
    "Garlic's for vampires."
    "Oh. We can have Roarke get us a couple of his antique guns. With silver bullets."
    "Werewolves, Dallas." Amused at both of them now, Peabody rolled her eyes. "A lot of good you're going to do if we have to defend ourselves against witchcraft."
    "What does it to witches, then?"
    "I don't know," Peabody admitted. "But I'm damn sure going to find out."

CHAPTER SIX
    Shopping wasn't something Eve considered one of the small pleasures in life. She wasn't a browser, a window shopper, or a electronic catalogue surfer. She avoided, whenever possible, the shops and boutiques in, above, and below Manhattan. She shuddered at the very thought of a trip to one of the sky malls.
    She imagined her outward resistance to the consumption of merchandise was the primary reason Isis pegged her as a cop the minute she stepped into Spirit Quest.
    As stores went, Eve considered it tolerable. She wasn't interested in the crystals and cards, the statues and candles, even though they were attractively displayed. The background music was soft, more of a murmur than a tune, and the light was allowed to play over the edges of raw crystals and polished stones in pretty rainbows.
    The place smelled, she thought, not offensively of forest.
    If witches were what she was dealing with, Eve decided, Isis and Selina couldn't have been more dramatically opposed in appearance. Selina had been pale and slim and feline. Isis was an exotic amazon of a female with gypsy curls of flaming red, round black eyes, and cheekbones that could have carved wood. Her skin was the soft gold of a mixed-race heritage, her features bold and broad. Eve measured her at just over six feet and a well-packed and curvy one-seventy.
    She wore a loose, flowing robe of blinding white with a belt studded with rough stones. Her right arm was wound with gold coils from elbow to shoulder, and her large hands winked and flashed with as many as a dozen rings.
    "Welcome." The voice suited her, oddly accented and throaty. Her lips curved, but it was a smile of grieving rather than pleasure. "Alice's cop."
    Eve lifted a brow as she took out her shield. She figured she looked like a cop. And, since Roarke, her face had been in the media relentlessly. "Dallas. You'd be Isis, then?"
    "I would. You'll wish to talk. Excuse me." She walked to the door. Graceful, Eve observed, the way an athlete is graceful. She turned an old-fashioned hand-lettered sign to Closed, pulled