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“Alice claimed to have seen a child murdered.”
“Yes, and I believe she did. She couldn’t have invented such a thing. She was in shock and ill when she came to me.” Isis pressed her lips together, shuddered out a breath. “I did what I could for her.”
“Such as encouraging her to report the incident to the police?”
“That was for her to decide.” Isis lifted her chin again, met the iced anger in Eve’s eyes. “I was more concerned with her emotional and spiritual survival. The child was already lost; I had hoped to save Alice from the same fate.” Her eyes dropped now, and dampened. “And I regret, bitterly, that I didn’t act differently. And that, in the
end, I failed her. Perhaps it was pride.” She looked at Eve again. “You’d understand the power and the deception of personal pride. I thought I could handle it, that I was wise enough, strong enough. I was wrong. So, Dallas, to atone, I’ll do anything you ask, avail you of all knowledge and any power the goddess grants me.”
“Information will do.” Eve angled her head. “Selina treated us to a little demonstration of what she’d call power. It impressed Peabody.”
“It caught me off guard,” Peabody muttered, studying Isis warily. She didn’t think she was up for another demonstration. To Peabody’s surprise, and Eve’s, Isis threw back her magnificent head and laughed. It was like hearing silver buoys clang in pearly fog.
“Should I call up the wind?” With one hand pressed to her breast, she chuckled. “Summon the dead, strike the cold fire? Really, Dallas, you believe in none of that, so it would be a waste of my time and energy. But perhaps you’d be interested in observing one of our gatherings. We have one at the end of next week. I can arrange it.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You smirk,” Isis said lightly, “yet the pledge you wear on your finger carries the ancient symbol of protection.”
“What?”
“Your wedding ring, Dallas.” With that quiet smile, Isis lifted Eve’s left hand. “It’s carved with an old Celtic design for protection.”
Baffled, Eve studied the pretty etching in the slim gold ring. “It’s just a design.”
“It’s a very specific and powerful one, to give the wearer protection from harm.” Amused, she raised her brows. “I see you didn’t know. Is it so surprising, really? Your husband has the blood of the Celts, and you lead a very precarious life. Roarke loves you very much, and you wear the symbol of it.”
“I prefer facts to superstitions,” Eve said and rose.
“As you should,” Isis agreed. “But you will be welcome at the next gathering, should you choose to attend. Roarke will also be welcome.” She smiled at Peabody. “And your aide. Will you accept a gift?”
“It’s against the rules.”
“And rules are to be respected.” Rising, Isis moved behind a display counter, took out a small, clear bowl with a wide lip. “Then perhaps you will buy this. I have, after all, lost potential business by closing to speak to you. Twenty dollars.”
“Fair enough.” Eve dug into her pocket for credits. “What is it?”
“We’ll call it a worry bowl. In this you place all your pain, your sorrow, your worries. Set it aside and sleep without shadows.”
“Such a deal.” Eve set the credits on the counter and waited for Isis to wrap the bowl in protective paper.
Eve got home early, a rarity. She thought she could dive into work in the quiet of her home office. She could get past Summerset easily enough, she mused as she pulled up at the end of the drive. The butler would simply sniff and ignore her. She’d have a couple of hours clear to run data on Isis and to contact Dr. Mira’s office and make an appointment with the psychiatrist. It would, Eve decided, be interesting to get Mira’s take on personalities such as Selina Cross and Isis.
Eve got no farther than the front door when her plans disintegrated.
Music pounded, blasting out of the front parlor like compact nuclear explosions. Staggering against the waves, Eve slapped her hands over her ears and shouted.
She didn’t have to be told it was Mavis. No one else in her sphere would play clashing, discordant notes at that decibel. When she reached the doorway, the volume was still revved high. Her shouted demands reached neither the remote nor the single occupant of the room.
Alone, decked out in a micro robe of searing magenta that echoed the spiral curls shooting out of her head, Mavis Freestone lounged on the couch, doing the impossible. She slept like a baby.
“Jesus Christ.” Since vocal commands were useless, Eve risked her eardrums and dropped her hands to fumble with the recessed control unit. “Off, off, off!” She shouted stabbing buttons. The noise shut down in midblast and made her moan.
Mavis’s eyes popped open. “Hey, how’s it going?”
“What?” Eve shook her head to try to dispel the high-pitched ringing. “What?”
“That was a new group I picked up this morning. Mayhem. Pretty decent.”
