The Necromancer's Grimoire (47 page)

“I cannot. I am a man.”

Nadira did not have the patience to argue. “You are a magus. Come,” she insisted.

He closed the book. “I cannot. You know that. She will not permit a man to enter. And it is night. We will fall from the rocks.”

She flashed her eyes at him. “You will come with me to the temple. Now.”

He scrambled to his feet. “Lead on, then.”

The moon was bright enough to see the shine on the white rocks of Eleusis. Nadira felt an incredible urgency. She walked as fast as she dared. William puffed behind her carrying the
Grimoire
. She hitched her skirts and climbed to the cleft in the hillside and squeezed herself though the dark to the door. She felt around the edges, for they had not brought a light with them. She was shocked to find the door open. William walked into her and forced her into the room. They both stumbled and fell over one another. Her eyes adjusted to the low glow of the lamps in the wall sconces. William got to his feet and pulled her up after him.

“Where is their gatekeeper?” he asked.

“I don't know,” she answered him. She cast out for the priestess and was alarmed that there was no response.

“This must be the wrong cave.”

“There is only one.” She lifted a torch from a sconce and moved to the opening she remembered led to the long corridor and then to the large room with the couch and the waterfall. She could hear William breathing behind her. His footsteps were loud and echoed against the stones.

The door to the main room was also standing open. She stopped and raised the torch over her head. Bodies of women in white stolas lay heaped against the walls and splayed out on the floor. William breathed behind her, “Oh God.” She turned around to find him crossing himself.

She gave him the torch. “William, stay right here until I call for you.”

She knelt to touch the nearest body of one of the acolytes. Cold. She touched each of the women. All dead. They lay as if they had collapsed like puppets when the strings are cut. None showed any mark of violence. She went to the couch and beckoned William to bring the light. On the couch lay the priestess. Nadira did not have to touch her to know she was dead. Her eyes stared open, her white hair lay spread across the pillows. The light wavered and cast moving shadows against the wall of the cave. She turned to find William shaking. He looked down at the old woman then at Nadira.

“The priestess?” He asked in a small voice.

Nadira took a short breath. Her chest felt like no air could get in. She meant to answer him, but only a choking sound came out. If the necromancer could kill the priestess then there was no hope for her. She was finished. Defeated.

“He did this,” William whispered, and the torched waved around the room. He set the torch in the sconce over the couch and opened the
Grimoire
. There was a flash of fire from the pages. William was blasted back against the sharp rock of the wall and slid down to the floor. The book dropped with a thud at her feet, the cover opened and the pages flipped, one, two, three. Nadira's eyes widened.

The drawing on the third page was no longer a young woman preparing to slice a thick braid with a man's dagger. The necromancer's eyes stared out of the book at her.

She crawled to William and took him in her arms. She held him tightly. “Don't move,” she warned.

He blinked at her. “The
Grimoire
struck me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She shook her head. “You are bleeding,” she murmured.

“My head. I hit my head on the wall.”

She tried to move his head so she could see where the blood was coming from but he resisted.

“Answer me, Nadira. Leave that be.”

“You are hurt…”

He shook her shoulders. “There will be a time for that later. You are not yourself. Something is wrong with you. He struck you, too, Nadira. He should not have been able to. How could he do that? You are injured right now and don't realize it.” His eyes were concerned.

She felt exhausted. She wanted to sleep. She sunk lower to the floor. Just a nap. His hands lifted her again and brought her against his chest. She felt his warmth.
Cinnamon
. His arms were strong. He was saying something to her. His voice was warm like his body. The words were soft.
I can only hold you, Nadira.
She smelled the metallic tang of his blood as it dribbled in rivulets down his neck and into the cloth of his tunic. Cinnamon and blood. That was William.
Head wounds always bleed forever
.
I need to get bandages. And a needle.
Her world went dark.

But only for a moment.

Someone was shaking her. “Nadira, get up! Hurry!”

She wanted to sleep a little longer. Let someone else start the fires and get the water. She had been up late serving the wine. They should have known and had Juana do the morning work.

“Nadira.”

“It is not my day to start the fires. It is Juana's,” she grumbled.

“You are not a servant anymore, Nadira.” She felt a cool hand on her head. “But we still need your work.”

Nadira pulled the covers over her head. “Someone else can do it.”

“No one else can do it. You are the only one. Get up.”

She resisted. They could not force her. If she lay quietly enough they would go away. She thought about telling them she was sick. She needed to stay in bed today.

“William is dying, Nadira. It is not time for him to go. He will be cast far away and you will never find him.”

“William…” She sat up slowly and moved her legs. “Where is he?”

The priestess had a hand on her shoulder. “Look at me.”

She did. The old woman looked younger now. Her eyes were clear and calm. There was some color in her hair under the blue veil.

“You must wake up.”

“What happened?”

“You let him win, Precious One. When you despaired you gave him your power.”

“What can I do? I do not have the experience or the training to confront him.”

The priestess shook her head. “It is that idea that he is using against you. You only think you need those things. Jettison that idea and you will be freed from that limitation. The part of you that can resist him is here now.”

The priestess lifted her up and suspended her over the room. Nadira looked down. There was William propped against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him. Her body was sitting nearly in his lap, her head cradled lovingly against his chest in his arms. He rested his chin on her head. The
Grimoire
lay open on the floor in the middle of the room.

Nadira looked at the bodies strewn throughout the temple. “But how was he able to come here, to your temple, and kill all of you? He must be amazingly strong. If he is able to kill thirty of you, how can I ever be strong enough to stop him alone?”

The priestess put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her. “He did not come here and kill us all. He does not have the power to enter this holy place.”

“No?” Nadira touched her toe to the floor and moved among the bodies of the acolytes. They were empty shells. She stopped beside the priestess's limp form draped over the cushions on the couch. She looked at the woman standing next to her. She pointed. “You are quite dead, Lady. Do you not know it?”

The priestess smiled at her and it seemed that the sun rose inside the cave. Light filled the room. White beams of light shot out from each of the many bodies and coalesced into a shining ball that hovered before her. The priestess disappeared. The resplendent ball moved slowly across the room and paused before her chest.

She heard the priestess's voice inside her. “Open your heart and let us in,” it said.

Nadira closed her eyes and opened her heart. The bright ball moved into her and filled her with the energies of each of the temple's women. She felt it as a squeeze and a push, then as a tingling edge. She snapped back to her body and sat up so suddenly she knocked William back against the wall. He winced and put his hand to his head.

“Thank God, Nadira,” he gasped. “You woke up.”

“She said you were dying.” Nadira got to her knees and looked at him carefully.

“I don't feel well,” he agreed. “It hurts, but I don't think I am dying. I hit my head on the wall. My scalp is torn, it looks worse than it is. I am so glad to see you are back.”

She shifted her vision and saw the necromancer's red cord. Instead of emerging from his heart as it had with Calvin, she saw it as a noose around William's neck. She dug at it with her fingers and saw it tighten. William's eyes grew large and he gasped for air. She drew her hands back and it loosened again. He began to breathe easier.

He touched his throat. “What was that?”

“He has you.” She got to her feet and began to pace the room. At each pass near the
Grimoire
she glanced down at the open page and the likeness of the necromancer staring at her in triumph.

William was running his hands over his body. “He has me? Why didn't he kill me like he killed all the women?”

Tears welled up in her eyes. “He didn't kill them. They killed themselves. They lay down and gave me their souls.” She touched her heart.

“Oh, my God,” William swayed and caught himself on his hands and knees. “All of them?”

She nodded. “They are here now.” She tapped her chest.

“Then you have to stop him. Now.” William tried to get to his feet, but fell back. “I am dizzy, Nadira.” He put a hand to his throat. “I can't breathe.”

She moved across the room and touched him. He gasped for air. She put a hand to his head and then his throat. “No.” she said. His eyes rolled up and he swayed against her arms. She watched his face turn red, then his lips turned blue. “No,” she said calmly to the necromancer. “You are not frightening me with this display.”

William's eyes opened and his color returned to his face. He took in great gulps of air. “But he is frightening me. Make him stop, Nadira.”

“I am.” She put her lips to his forehead. “Be still and let me hear what he is saying.”

She heard the necromancer inside William. She saw that the necromancer realized she needed William to hold the portal for her if she were to come after him. If she were to strike at him with any permanence she would need to go deep into hell and attack the source. He did not know about the priestess and her acolytes. He thought they were dead. He thought their souls had fled to Elysium, terrified of him, because that is the message the priestess left behind for him to read.

“William,” she squeezed his arms. “You have to remove the noose he has around your neck.”

He understood. “Tell me how. I will do it.”

She didn't know. “I am working on that,” she told him honestly. “I would have asked the
Grimoire
,” they both turned to look at the book. “But not anymore.”

“Think. That is what you do best.” His eyes held so much confidence in her.

She nodded. “A noose. Not a cord, or a thread. He cuts off your air, not sends pain to your heart as he did to Calvin, or wraps you in remorse as he did to Corbett. Why the difference?”

William sighed, thinking. “A noose is for a criminal,” he suggested. “Have I committed a crime?”

“Have you?” she asked.

His eyes became very sad. “I have broken all my vows.”

“Not all of them,” she said gently.

“Yes, I have. With my mind and my hands I have made love to you, Nadira. Another man's woman. Now I am involved in pagan ceremonies and I commune with the denizens of hell.” He nodded and winced as droplets of blood from his wound splattered her cheek. “I
am
a criminal.”

“Then he is playing off your sense of guilt. You must take it back.”

“Oh, I am to take back the years of conditioning on my knees, with flails and strings of beads? Fasting, penance, hours on a cold stone floor…” his eyes took on the memories. “…and you say ‘take it back'.” He snorted. “Not so easy.”

She tilted her head, tried a different tack. “You made love to me?”

He lowered his eyes.

“William. Let us start with this one.”

“Ah…let us not,” he said. She felt the wave of shame that rolled over him.

“No. Listen to me. We will erase each crime until you are pardoned. Do you understand?”

He nodded. Blood continued to drip from his head. She took his hands. “You love me. It is natural that you would want to hold me and kiss me. It is normal to desire touch. It is how we communicate our love. Words and expression can only go so far. Poetry and music, dance and art. Love is materialized in many forms. Touch is as valid as song.”

“But you belong to Lord Montrose. Your touch belongs to him.”

“Who told you that?”

“He did. Many times.”

She smiled. “When my lord was a child no one touched him with love. Ever. Every touch he felt was a blow. From his father, from the men who trained him to kill, and from his enemies. Richard's love was the only love he experienced in his life, and their father separated them, and later even that was lost. Can you see his desperation when he touched me? It was natural for him to cling to that and fear it would be taken away, as all lovely things were taken away from him. He is jealous of you.”

William sighed for Montrose. “You are still his, though. You can never be mine.”

“You took me in your
mind
. You did not steal what was his.”

“That part of you belongs to me,” he whispered.

“It does. I give my love to you freely. It is not stolen.”

“And my vows?” He met her eyes.

“Ask God. He is the one who can release you from them.”

“Where is he?” William murmured. “I will ask him if I find him.” He made a wry mouth.