wits. "Not at the moment, but I'd like to be able to call upon you again, if I may."
"Certainly." He nodded with an aristocrat's grace and rose from his chair.
On the way to the door, Jace's attention was captured by an unusual mask comprised of glossy black feathers on a glass-smooth base, striking in its design.
He noticed and gestured. "The Mask of the Dark Priestess, worn by a chosen person in each generation of a matrilineal tribe in a remote part of the Amazon basin." He picked it up carefully and set it in her hands.
"Amazing." So light.
"Surprising in its elegance, is it not?"
She nodded. "I guess I thought primitive tribes would make things that were—"
"Crude?"
Abashed, Jace nodded. "Yes." She examined the object gingerly, then handed it back.
Their hands grazed.
Abruptly, Jace was cast into darkness so deep her body seized in naked terror. She couldn't breathe. She screamed soundlessly.
He turned to the case.
Jace plummeted right back into the moment.
He replaced the mask as though nothing at all had happened. "Would you like to know its purpose?"
Jace sucked in air. Blinked.
He looked over his shoulder at her. Their eyes locked.
A faint, shimmering trail beckoned her, surrounding her body and his, then journeying beyond them.
His eyes narrowed. "Are you all right?" He stood only inches from her.
"Yes—yes, of course." Jace fought the urge to shift away. "The, uh, the mask. Its purpose."
For a second he didn't answer, his gaze peering deep into her but revealing no trace of emotion.
Then he returned his attention to the mask
She felt as though she'd hovered at the edge of a cliff and barely avoided plunging over.
"It is used in a ceremony where the Priestess brings the young men of the tribe into the Light," he explained. "She does so by drawing them into her body."
Into the Light ...something about that phrase tickled at her memory.
The image of a powerful woman wearing that feathered mask, sexually initiating one young man after another, seared into her brain. Jace shifted her eyes to a nearby niche while she composed herself. In it she glimpsed a carved clay pot, a beadwork vest, a silver disc that—
"Anything else, Detective?" His tone was barely leashed impatience.
"No." She extended her hand. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Sabanne."
"You are welcome."
When his skin touched hers, she fell into a starburst. Colors exploded from beneath her skin.
Desperately she tightened her grip on him, a primal lunge for survival.
He let go, and she plunged back into his study.
She rocked on her feet, struggling for balance. The hair on her neck rose. What the—?
His expression was a study in unconcern, but his eyes...
As quickly as it had come, the flare winked out. "I will escort you to the door, Detective."
Jesus. Get a grip, Jace. She set her back ramrod-straight and fisted her fingers. "Thank you, but I know the way." With rigid care, she managed her way across the room and out the door.
Feeling his eyes on her back every step of the journey.
* * *
Dante remained frozen in place as she left.
He recognized her, of course, even so changed from the other night when he'd visited The Club, disturbed by the rumors about a girl's death. When he'd encountered Simon there and been accosted by his former lover Antonia, he'd known that his fears were not unfounded.
But this...
He'd searched the world to find any reference to the Prism his father had mentioned to him as a young man. He'd pored through ancient texts, sought the wisdom of holy men, unearthed every writing on magic he could find, all to no avail.
Yet somehow, at the instant they'd touched, the beautiful detective had opened the portal.
And the True Path had been visible.
Did she hear the Song, too? Never before had he heard the notes so clearly.
But the second they'd ceased contact, every trace had vanished. It had been all he could do not to seize her and spirit her to his refuge, to speak the Words, to take her with
"Certainly." He nodded with an aristocrat's grace and rose from his chair.
On the way to the door, Jace's attention was captured by an unusual mask comprised of glossy black feathers on a glass-smooth base, striking in its design.
He noticed and gestured. "The Mask of the Dark Priestess, worn by a chosen person in each generation of a matrilineal tribe in a remote part of the Amazon basin." He picked it up carefully and set it in her hands.
"Amazing." So light.
"Surprising in its elegance, is it not?"
She nodded. "I guess I thought primitive tribes would make things that were—"
"Crude?"
Abashed, Jace nodded. "Yes." She examined the object gingerly, then handed it back.
Their hands grazed.
Abruptly, Jace was cast into darkness so deep her body seized in naked terror. She couldn't breathe. She screamed soundlessly.
He turned to the case.
Jace plummeted right back into the moment.
He replaced the mask as though nothing at all had happened. "Would you like to know its purpose?"
Jace sucked in air. Blinked.
He looked over his shoulder at her. Their eyes locked.
A faint, shimmering trail beckoned her, surrounding her body and his, then journeying beyond them.
His eyes narrowed. "Are you all right?" He stood only inches from her.
"Yes—yes, of course." Jace fought the urge to shift away. "The, uh, the mask. Its purpose."
For a second he didn't answer, his gaze peering deep into her but revealing no trace of emotion.
Then he returned his attention to the mask
She felt as though she'd hovered at the edge of a cliff and barely avoided plunging over.
"It is used in a ceremony where the Priestess brings the young men of the tribe into the Light," he explained. "She does so by drawing them into her body."
Into the Light ...something about that phrase tickled at her memory.
The image of a powerful woman wearing that feathered mask, sexually initiating one young man after another, seared into her brain. Jace shifted her eyes to a nearby niche while she composed herself. In it she glimpsed a carved clay pot, a beadwork vest, a silver disc that—
"Anything else, Detective?" His tone was barely leashed impatience.
"No." She extended her hand. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Sabanne."
"You are welcome."
When his skin touched hers, she fell into a starburst. Colors exploded from beneath her skin.
Desperately she tightened her grip on him, a primal lunge for survival.
He let go, and she plunged back into his study.
She rocked on her feet, struggling for balance. The hair on her neck rose. What the—?
His expression was a study in unconcern, but his eyes...
As quickly as it had come, the flare winked out. "I will escort you to the door, Detective."
Jesus. Get a grip, Jace. She set her back ramrod-straight and fisted her fingers. "Thank you, but I know the way." With rigid care, she managed her way across the room and out the door.
Feeling his eyes on her back every step of the journey.
* * *
Dante remained frozen in place as she left.
He recognized her, of course, even so changed from the other night when he'd visited The Club, disturbed by the rumors about a girl's death. When he'd encountered Simon there and been accosted by his former lover Antonia, he'd known that his fears were not unfounded.
But this...
He'd searched the world to find any reference to the Prism his father had mentioned to him as a young man. He'd pored through ancient texts, sought the wisdom of holy men, unearthed every writing on magic he could find, all to no avail.
Yet somehow, at the instant they'd touched, the beautiful detective had opened the portal.
And the True Path had been visible.
Did she hear the Song, too? Never before had he heard the notes so clearly.
But the second they'd ceased contact, every trace had vanished. It had been all he could do not to seize her and spirit her to his refuge, to speak the Words, to take her with
Similar Books
