Part 1 (1/2)

Tall, dark & dead.

by Tate Hallaway.

Acknowledgments.

This book would not exist but for the vision of John Morgan and the tender loving care of Anne Sowards. I also have to thank my agent, Martha Millard, for all of her hard work and continued enthusiasm.

The support of my friends and family was also invaluable. A big, huge, hearty thanks to Miss Ember for Meadow Spring and ”you know what,” and to my other midnight-hour readers: Shawn Rounds, Naomi Kritzer, Sean Michael Murphy (to whom special credit regarding Hebrew translation goes), and Kelly McCullough.

If only I hadn't been late.

When I opened the door, I'd expected some halfhearted admonishments from my coven for being tardy once again, a joke or two about ”Garnet-time.”

I hadn't expected all that blood.

Black spatters blotted the walls and floor, obscuring the white pentacle painted on the dining room floor. A dozen bodies lay in the center, curled into fetal positions as though trying to protect something. Eyes, usually full of amus.e.m.e.nt, glazed over, staring and empty.

All of the coven-my friends, all the family I had-were dead. Among the bodies walked the Vatican a.s.sa.s.sins who'd done it, calmly sprinkling holy water on battered faces, and, of all things, administering last rites.

They hadn't seen me yet. By the time they looked up, it was too late. I had summoned into me the G.o.ddess Lilith, a terrible vengeance, and they saw their fate in the changing color of my eyes.

Lilith's eyes...

Content

First House Second House Third House Fourth House Fifth House Sixth House Seventh House Eighth House Ninth House Tenth House Eleventh House Twelfth House

First House

Keywords: Initiation, Personal Involvements, Trouble

What's the best way to keep Vatican Witch hunters off your scent? Dress to kill.

After clasping the last silver skull buckle on my knee-high, black leather, a.s.s-whupping boots, I straightened my velvet miniskirt. The mini tended to ride up my thighs thanks to the sparkly spiderweb hose. I glanced out the bathroom door toward my closet, contemplating a change into a leather skirt. But I might be pus.h.i.+ng the dress code already with my scandalous hemline, and as store manager I really needed to provide a good example for my coworkers. Or, as I liked to refer to them, my minions.

To finish off the look, I applied a layer of Egyptian kohl around my eyes. Regarding the result in the mirror, I smiled: total Goth chick. No one would take me seriously as a Witch dressed like this. A Vatican agent would take one look at the large, silver-plated ankh bouncing off the too-tight decolletage of my fanged h.e.l.lo Kitty s.h.i.+rt and think:Poseur .

Exactly what I wanted.

Yeah, I'd be all right, as long as no one looked in my eyes long enough to seeHer lurking inside. Trouble was, my eyes tended to attract attention. I've had customers gasp when they looked into my eyes. Not a lot of people have purple eyes. Just me and Liz Taylor. And I think mine are prettier. But, really, I think I garner the stunned reaction because, on some instinctual level, people recognize Her, the G.o.ddess inside me.

I've tried covering the color with tinted contacts-blue, brown, even black-but the G.o.ddess always s.h.i.+nes through. She wants me to have purple eyes, so purple eyes I have. I checked my wallet for cash. My driver's license still said boring Minnesota-Norwegian blue; the picture showed a woman with shoulder-length blond hair, not a dyed-black pixie cut. The only thing accurate was my name: Garnet Lacey.

I needed to get to the DMV one of these days. I'd never tested for a Wisconsin license, even though I think I was legally required to do that within thirty days of moving. I'd left Minneapolis almost eight months ago now. The license was a last tie, and though it was a trivial one, my subconscious seemed reluctant to break it.

Just that quick glance at my old self brought back the nightmare night I found my coven dead. I could feel the G.o.ddess stirring, roused by memories. Bile rose in the back of my throat. The hand holding my driver's license trembled with rage and grief. A dark curtain began to descend in front of my eyes as I felt Her rising.

It always started with a cramp shuddering across my abdomen. Then came the rush. Heat, like fire, pulsed upward from between my legs. My thighs quivered. With each heartbeat the heat rose, higher, higher, spreading along my stomach, up my rib cage. My body shook with pleasure.

It felt so good, but I had to stop Her. If She brought me to the crescendo, I would no longer be in control. And what I would destroy, because destroy She always did, I wouldn't know until I came to in time to pick up the pieces or bury the bodies.

My fingertips tingled with unreleased power. In the mirror, I saw Her. My eyes had changed once again.

My pupils darkened to the blood red of the poisonous fruit of the nightshade.

She was coming.

Pitching myself forward, I slammed down hard on my knees. The pain brought me back into focus.

I smacked my head against the sink as hard as I could stand and whispered, ”There is nothing here for you. There is nothing here for you.” She had to know it was true. The Vatican agents were gone. They were just a memory. The only thing to kill in the house were some potted herbs and my cat. This would not satisfy Lilith. Not by half.

Perhaps She understood me, or maybe She sensed that the danger was long gone and that her need would not be satiated. She left. I felt the heat extinguish like someone had thrown cold water on a roaring flame.

My body ached. Not unpleasantly, but definitely... unsatisfactorily. My legs felt rubbery, and my heart pounded in my eardrums.

I knelt there on the bathroom floor, eyes closed, and concentrated on getting my breathing back to normal, counted to six, breathed in. Counted again, and breathed out. I did this for several breaths until I could no longer feel banging in my chest with every heartbeat.

When I opened my eyes, the driver's license was a melted blob in my hand. Blue flames danced for a moment in the center of my palm, then died. I sc.r.a.ped off the remains of the plastic card on the rim of the wastepaper basket.

There was a little blister in the center of my palm where the license had been. Taking a final deep breath,I lay my head on the cool porcelain rim of the claw-foot tub. She was so near the surface these days, it frightened me. Thankfully, I had no roommates to witness my strange behavior... or for Her to-no, that didn't bear thinking about. I lived alone not by choice but by necessity.

Uncurling my now numb legs, I noticed I'd managed to rip the knee of my black lace panty hose. d.a.m.n.

They cost me twenty bucks. Ah, well, the torn look added to the whole Goth ensemble.

As I got up to fetch my clear nail polish from the medicine cabinet to stop the run before it got any worse, Barney made her usual dramatic entrance. The door flew open as she put her weight against it, and then she casually paraded in to sniff disdainfully at her water bowl. Barney was a gray, striped fluff ball of a Maine c.o.o.n. She blinked her yellow cat eyes at me and then sneezed. Barney was allergic to magic.

Or at least she pretended to be.

Rubbing her nose with her paw, she gave another dramatic yet somehow dainty sneeze. She was telling me she didn't approve.

”As if I had any choice, Ms. Puss,” I said to her while scratching behind her ears.

A slow blink told me she was skeptical, and then, as if bored of the whole conversation, she hopped up onto the toilet lid and began fiercely cleaning herself.

Barney was my familiar.

Most peoplethought they understood what their cats said with all their little movements, but I really did know. Before, when I used my magic more freely, Barney had a voice. I heard her talking in my head.

Yeah, the line between magic and insanity was pretty thin. I knew that. That's part of why I quit. I was a Witch no more. I'd gone cold turkey. Never touched the stuff. Nope. No exceptions.