Cat Adams - The Isis Collar

Damn it.

“Are you really sure this is the best time, Dottie? John really needs to get to the hospital.” Where they would hopefully poke and prod him until he screamed.

Yeah, he heard that all right and turned his eyes to me with an amused expression.

She nodded, her eyes bird bright, already in “seer” mode. “Yes, dear. Now is the perfect time.” She poured holy water until the bowl was half full and then looked at John with one hand extended. “I’ll need something you were wearing during the event. Metal works best.”

He shook his head, finally trusting himself to talk. But there was a hoarse edge to his voice that worried me. “I don’t have anything like that.”

It made me frown. “What about your watch? That’s metal.”

He shot me a horrified look. “It’s a Rolex ! You don’t put quality watches underwater.”

I sighed and shook my head wearily. Looking at Bruno didn’t help. He had unconsciously put a hand over his own quality watch and wouldn’t look at me. “It’s metal, John, and I’m sure that a Rolex is water resistant. She has to have something you had on at the time.” Which made me wonder why he still had his watch. I mean, it was a Rolex. A gold one, and they’d left it. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd you still have that watch?”

That did it. He looked at the timepiece suspiciously and undid the clasp. Dottie closed her eyes and put her hands on either side of the bowl. Her chant was a common meditative exercise that I occasionally used when I was doing yoga.

With a sad sigh, John let the Rolex slide into the bowl. For a long moment it lay there quietly. Then a bubble rose to the surface, causing him to wince.

“Sheesh. Boys and their toys.”

Bruno snorted. “Says the woman who screamed when I had to cut off her designer pant leg.” Hey, that wasn’t the same at all! I glared at him until he smiled. Okay, fine. Point to the men.

Concentric circles of water abruptly raced from the bubble toward the edge of the bowl, pulling our attention back to the reading. When the waves hit the glass, flames erupted, racing around the silver rim. Both Bruno and John were taken aback. But then, they’d never seen it before. It was pretty cool. Smoke gathered above the water’s surface to form a black-and-white image.

John was getting into his Ferrari when a blast of power hit him in the back. He slumped forward, unconscious. Two men grabbed his arms while a third tied on a blindfold and gag and tied something around his neck that I couldn’t make out. Whatever it was made him bow his back and let out a scream before collapsing again. Then they pulled him backward toward the black sedan I’d seen return him here.

“Wait,” John said quietly. “How can this be showing things I couldn’t see?”

I whispered the answer. “The object is tied to the event, not your memories. It’ll show things you couldn’t see and hear as long as they happened in the watch’s presence.”

He let out a pained sound as one of the goons stroked a hand down the paint job of the Ferrari and then got behind the wheel to follow the black sedan.

Bummer. That was probably the last John would ever see of that car.

One of Dottie’s best abilities was the way she could skip passages of time that had no meaning, like the car trip. Soon John was being dragged into a building and down a flight of stairs. I couldn’t swear it, but the stairwell looked familiar. No matter how hard I tried to pinpoint the memory, it eluded me. John was looking at me expectantly, yet all I could do was shake my head. “Sorry, it’s not coming to me where I’ve seen this place. I’ll think about it while we watch.”

He nodded and Bruno just looked confused. I shrugged. “Telepath, remember? I thought I remembered seeing this place somewhere and he picked up on it.”

Bruno swore under his breath, apparently also just now remembering John’s mental abilities. It’s easy to forget because we all like to believe we’re alone inside our own minds.

“Where do you want him?” The taller of the goons was speaking to a person not yet revealed.

When I heard Glinda Miller-Thompson-Jamisyn’s voice (or whoever the hell she was) I turned to see John’s reaction. He’d paled further, and was giving little shakes of his head no, like he didn’t want to believe what he was seeing and hearing. He looked so … pained. I didn’t even want to say I told you so.

A flicker of motion over Dottie’s bowl drew my attention back to the seeing. “Put him over there, in the spelled cuffs. They’re strong enough to secure him. And please do be rough.”

John swore under his breath as he watched—his eyes fixed firmly on the vision of a woman staring at him with hate in her eyes. “Glinda. I … what the hell are you doing?”

The men chuckled and I winced at the image in the bowl as John’s unconscious form was chained to the wall to hang by his arms and then used as a punching bag by three men until the blonde finally held up her hand. “Okay, that’s enough. We don’t want to kill him.” Her smile sent the same chills down my spine as it had in the bar. “Yet.”

The shortest of the three guys moved back and rubbed his knuckles, which were already swollen and red. “So what’d he do to ya?”

She shrugged and walked toward him, swaying her hips with angry sexuality that the three men couldn’t help but notice and lick their lips at. “He was born more powerful than me. He seemed to think that made me less than him and his handpicked cadre of professionals. But who’s more powerful now, John Creede?” She reached up and removed the item around his neck. It was some sort of jewelry—gold with gemstones—and it glowed with energy. She put it around her own neck and likewise arched her back. But it wasn’t pain that made her spine bow. It was ecstasy. “Oh, my. That’s nice. I like this sort of power. In fact, I think I’ll keep it. All of it.” Her arm shot forward in a powerful, magically enhanced punch to John’s face that was the cause of the cut over his eye. His head snapped sideways and hit the wall, giving him the black eye he still bore. “A few more times and he’ll be less than I ever was and I’ll be more than he could dream of being. Then we’ll see who the employees respect.”

Ouch. I looked at John. His eyes were glittering with anger, his hands clenched into fists.

But it was Bruno who grabbed my attention when he whispered, “Dear God. That’s supposed to only be a legend. Where the hell did she get it?”

“Get what? Do you recognize that necklace?”

“It’s the Isis Collar,” John said coldly. “George had always hinted he’d found something ancient and dangerous in a private collection and was guarding it to keep it from getting into the hands of someone with evil intent. But I had no idea Glinda had found it … or would actually use it.”

“The Isis Collar?” Okay, color me clueless. Apparently this was a big deal, though.

Bruno whispered to me while staring at the image in the bowl. “It was supposedly a gift from the goddess Isis to the fifth Egyptian pharaoh. Most of the pharaohs were mages, but they didn’t start to get powerful until later in the First Dynasty. There’s a little-known legend that the Isis Collar could steal magic from any mage or witch so the pharaoh was always the most powerful one in the room. Isis is supposed to protect anyone wearing her collar.” I was happy to turn to listen to Bruno, to turn away from watching the three goons punch, kick, and slam John’s body with everything from crowbars to lead shot–filled saps. Damn. Yeah, he was going to the hospital. I was amazed he was still upright. Even he was paling at the image. But I think worst for him was watching the smile on the face of a woman he’d considered family as he was beaten.