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 pushing 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 shirt 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 shines 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.

I'd had to. The G.o.ddess fed on magic. The more I used it, the closer to the surface She came. What bothered me now was that I hadn't cast a spell in six months. I'd been feeling pretty good about myself.

Yet there She was at the slightest provocation.

A pet.i.te yet noticeable sneeze broke my reverie.

"Yeah, okay. Look, I'm trying to quit. Everything," I said as I finished daubing at the torn edge of my hose. Although I still kept up with astrology. That couldn't count as real magic, surely. Returning the bottle to its spot in the cabinet, I added, "It's not that easy. I'd like to see you try."

Barney yawned, her pink tongue curling in an almost complete circle inside her wide-open mouth.

"So you say," I told her, giving her another fond scratch, "but you wouldn't last a week."

She snorted. Leaping off the toilet seat, she padded delicately out the door. I knew where she was headed: the kitchen. I fed her, then dutifully wolfed down a bowl of flax flakes while Barney watched over me. I gulped down coffee, nearly scalding my tongue. Pouring the remains of the pot of coffee into a thermos, I tucked it into my backpack. I double-checked the contents of my bag: Kleenex, black lipstick, bottled water, bike lock, and the latest issue ofMountain Astrologer to read at my lunch break.

I felt along the rim of the canvas until I found the hidden compartment. After opening it up, I methodicallyrecounted the two thousand dollars in cash I kept there. It wasn't nearly enough if I had to run again, but it was a better start than I'd had before. I replaced the money.

Barney mewed. I mussed the fur on the top of her head. "I'd come back for you; I promise."

She rippled her back and stalked off to her sunny spot among the herbs I had growing in the tower room adjacent to the kitchen. I put my bowl in the sink with the other dirty dishes I promised myself I'd clean soon.

Before closing the compartment, I carefully removed Jasmine's prayer necklace. Jasmine and I had gone to college together. I'd talked her into joining the coven, even though she'd always said she enjoyed the craft part of "the Craft" more than the magic. The prayer necklace was proof. It was a piece of art.

Jasmine had twisted the silver wire herself and strung mother-of-pearl and amethyst beads in groups of three. I held the pieces in my hand.

"The circle is open, but unbroken," I whispered. We'd ended each ritual that way. Except this time it wasn't true. When the Vatican agents attacked Jasmine, a jump ring had snapped, and the circle was broken .

Reverently, I tucked the necklace back into the compartment. There was one other item I kept hidden, but I refused to look at it: a blood-covered crucifix. I'd torn it from the body of a Vatican agent. Or rather, the G.o.ddess had.

With a tremor that clenched my gut, I checked my watch. I was running late for work. I couldn't allow myself to be late. Not ever again.

I live on the upper floor of a creaky Victorian. Locking the door behind me, I headed down the stairs.

The stairwell and a narrow hallway were the only common areas in the house. This place had seen its share of students, since it was less than a mile from campus, and nowhere did it show more than in these s.p.a.ces. Relentless grunge and wear had given the wood a dark patina. The stair runner, which might have been red at some point in its life, had faded to a dull brown. A big crack ran down the center of the gla.s.s of the window at the landing. Original plaster clung tenaciously to hundred-year-old laths.

Despite mistreatment, it was still a grand old house. A chandelier with tulip shades hung on a bra.s.s chain fastened to a tin medallion. The banister, though dinged and nicked, still had all of its spindles and had been built at a slight curve, which gave it a sweeping effect. Dusty wainscoting lined the walls.

I grabbed my mountain bike from its spot in the hall and headed out. It was late May, and the days were finally starting to be consistently warm. Spring-green buds tipped the branches of the trees. From under piles of leaves and mulch, fiddleheads and columbine struggled toward the light. Though the air held a nip, the sun glittered across the lake. Seagulls soared lazily overhead.

I pushed myself hard, pumping my legs the whole way. I was covered in a light sweat by the time I hit State Street.

State Street was Madison's main tourist destination. The white marble State Capitol building anch.o.r.ed the "top" of the pedestrian mall; the University of Wisconsin-Madison's campus occupied the "bottom."

The several intervening blocks held hat boutiques, novelty shops, Nepali restaurants, sports bars, artisan clothiers, the world's only toilet paper museum, and Mercury Crossing, where I worked. After lockingmy bike in the back alley, I checked my watch. d.a.m.n. Despite my best efforts, I was five minutes late.

An irrational shiver of fear fluttered in my stomach as I opened the door.

My shoulders relaxed the second I smelled the incense. It was sweet with a touch of spice and smelled like every magic shop from here to Poughkeepsie.

Crystal wind chimes decorated with tourmaline, amethyst, and other semiprecious stones hung from the ceiling. I made my way past crowded aisles crammed with books and tarot cards to the checkout counter in the center of the shop, which was surrounded by display cases full of wands, jade Buddhas, necklaces, gazing globes, and G.o.ddess jewelry of every kind.

I loved this place. It felt like home to me.

Probably, if I wanted to avoid magic, I should work at the deli two blocks down. One thing they always told people in recovery from drugs and alcohol was to stay away from old companions, old places, and old things.

I told myself working here was all part of my "cover." No self-respecting true Witch would come within a mile of this New Age, Warlock-wannabe haven. Well, okay, we would, but we'd come in really early or over our lunch breaks. There just aren't enough places like this for Witches to be too picky.

But we sold black, hooded cloaks for crying out loud! Not only that, one of our big sellers was the dashboard glow-in-the-dark parking s.p.a.ce G.o.ddess to protect the owner from meter maids. We had computer gargoyles. We carried the entire line of How to be a Teenage Witch books.

Then there was the other full-time employee, William, or was it Wolfsbane this week?

William/Wolfsbane had intense hazel eyes and the typical gaunt, gawky, college freshman build. His hair matched his eyes, which is to say it was light brown with amber and green highlights. This week his interest appeared to be Irish magic. He had Celtic knot-work everywhere: earring, bracelet, necklace, and even his T-shirt showed two dragons intertwined. I swore that boy blew his entire salary here at the shop, since he had a new interest and a new wardrobe every two weeks.

William was what the Belief.net quizzes would determine to be "a sincere seeker." A Libra with a Pisces Rising, he jumped from one cause to another with both feet. Indecisive yet polite to a fault, I had to make sure he wasn't in charge when the salespeople came through because he couldn't say no to anyone, much less make a firm decision.

"Hey, guy," I said cautiously, afraid he might have changed his name again.

William looked up from the book his nose had been pressed into and gave me a worried look. "Are you okay?"

"I overslept." It was easier to lie than to say I had to fight down a G.o.ddess who wanted to kill them, kill them all.

"It happens," William said, not noticing my shift in mood or choosing to ignore it. "Anyway, it was spooky. Is there some kind of lateness planet transiting your getting-to-work-on-time house?" he teased with a fond smile, but his eyes held a touch of seriousness. William counted on me for astrological tidbits.

"Are the planets doing something weird or what? Today feels all retrograde to me."

That's when it hit me. I hadn't progressed my natal chart to see what would happen today. I'd gotten inthe habit of doing it every morning during breakfast. I had all the books I needed in the kitchen shelved next to my cookbooks and recipe cards. "Well," I said, "judging by my morning, I'd guess Mars went retrograde."

I stowed my bag behind the counter and grabbed my handy yearly ephemeris. After finding the month, I scanned the columns for today's date. Mars was direct, it appeared, but not much else. Jupiter, Neptune, and Pluto were all retrograde.Retrograde in astronomical terms means that a planet appears to be moving backwards in the sky from the vantage point of the earth. It had something to do with orbital velocities. I didn't really know all the science. What I did know was that astrologically, it was bad news: screwed-up, blocked energy.

Usually, I didn't put much stock in outer planets. Anything past Jupiter moved too slowly to really affect daily life. When a bunch of planets ganged up like that, well... seemed pretty ominous to me.

"Well?" William asked. He crouched beside me, peering intently at the rows of numbers. "What does it say?"

"I'm not really sure," I admitted, standing back up. William followed my motion like a nervous shadow.

"Neptune retrograde in a natal chart is all about self-deception and mysterious circ.u.mstances. Pluto means secrets and other people's money. So," I added with a laugh, "we could lose out on an inheritance and not even know it."

William chuckled, but I could tell I'd worried him. He adjusted the counter display of polished gemstones. "Anything else?"