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Chapters (50)
  1. Cover
  2. Roc Books by Jacqueline Carey
  3. One
  4. Two
  5. Three
  6. Four
  7. Five
  8. Six
  9. Seven
  10. Eight
  11. Nine
  12. Ten
  13. Eleven
  14. Twelve
  15. Thirteen
  16. Fourteen
  17. Fifteen
  18. Sixteen
  19. Seventeen
  20. Eighteen
  21. Nineteen
  22. Twenty
  23. Twenty-one
  24. Twenty-two
  25. Twenty-three
  26. Twenty-four
  27. Twenty-five
  28. Twenty-six
  29. Twenty-seven
  30. Twenty-eight
  31. Twenty-nine
  32. Thirty
  33. Thirty-one
  34. Thirty-two
  35. Thirty-three
  36. Thirty-four
  37. Thirty-five
  38. Thirty-six
  39. Thirty-seven
  40. Thirty-eight
  41. Thirty-nine
  42. Forty
  43. Forty-one
  44. Forty-two
  45. Forty-three
  46. Forty-four
  47. Forty-five
  48. Forty-six
  49. Forty-seven
  50. Forty-eight

I glanced involuntarily toward the altar. At this point it was pretty sparse, containing a pair of white candles, several seashells, including a conch with blue beads glued to it, and a small dried starfish. The conch shell was missing a few beads and one of the starfish’s brittle arms was broken. I had a feeling those items had been in his possession for a long, long time.

Sinclair followed my gaze. “Yemaya’s symbols. Could be an element of a sigil, but not a whole. Not anymore.”

I’d done a little research since he’d mentioned being dedicated to her at the coven meet and greet, enough to know that Yemaya was one of the orishas, Yoruban deities whose worship was imported into the Caribbean via the slave trade. It appeared she was a benevolent goddess associated with the sea, a sort of oceanic mother-of-all. There was a wealth of information available about her role in what Mr. Leary called the syncretized religions like Santería. Obeah, not so much.

Some of the more fabulous depictions I’d found online reminded me of Lurine in her true form. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out she’d served as the inspiration somewhere back at the dawn of time.

Anyway, I kept that thought to myself. “You’ll figure it out,” I said. “Don’t worry. You don’t need a tattoo to face down your sister, Sinclair. Not with the whole eldritch community of Pemkowet behind you.”

He took my hand and squeezed it. “Thanks, Daisy.”

I squeezed his hand back. “I mean it.”

Both of us glanced down at our clasped hands, then let go and scootched a few more inches apart on the couch by mutual accord.

Sinclair turned the volume back up on the TV and reached for the popcorn, settling in to watch a coven of teenaged witches turn on one of their own. “You do know this movie is ridiculous, right?”

“Yeah.” I smiled. “I know. But sometimes ridiculous is exactly what you need to make it through the day.”

He laughed. “True dat.”

Twenty-eight

At the beginning of the following week, Lee finally unveiled his database to me. Not only that, but he actually suppressed his paranoia and made the bold move of divulging his address and inviting me to his house. I’d half expected to find that he was living in his mother’s basement after all, but in fact he’d purchased a place of his own, a newish construction nestled in the woods across from the river on the west side of town.