Ceremony in Death (In Death #5)(11)

She turned to Roarke, snagging his hand and speaking rapidly in Gaelic. Her face had gone very white, and her breath hitched.

“That’s enough.” Shaken, Eve snatched her hand back. “Hell of a show.” Irritated that her palm tingled, she rubbed it hard against the knee of her slacks. “You’ve got a good eye, Cassandra, is it? And an impressive spiel.” She dug into her pocket, took out fifty in credits and laid them on the table.

“Wait.” Cassandra opened a small, embroidered pouch at her waist, plucked out a smooth stone in pale green. “A gift. A token.” She pushed it into Eve’s hand. “Carry it with you.”

“Why?”

“Why not? Please come again. Blessed be.”

Eve caught one last glance at her pale face before Cassandra hurried into the back room with a musical jingle of beads.

“Well, so much for ‘You’re taking a long ocean voyage,’ ” Eve muttered as she headed for the door. “What did she say to you?”

“Her dialect was a bit thick. I’d say she’s from the west counties.” He stepped outside, oddly relieved to draw in the night air. “The gist was that if I loved you as much as she believed, I would stay close. That you’re in danger of losing your life, perhaps your soul, and you need me to survive it.”

“What a crock.” She glanced down at the stone in her hand.

“Keep it.” Roarke closed her fingers over it. “Couldn’t hurt.”

With a shrug, Eve pushed it into her pocket. “I think I’m going to steer clear of psychics.”

“An excellent idea,” Roarke said with feeling as he walked with her across the street and into the Aquarian Club.

CHAPTER THREE

It was quite a place, Eve mused, and certainly quieter than any club she’d been in before. Both conversation and music were muted, and both had an elegant little lilt. Tables were packed together as was the norm, but they were arranged to provide circular traffic patterns that reminded Eve of the symbol at the base of Alice’s note.

Ringing the walls were mirrors fashioned into the shapes of stars and moons. Each held a burning candle, a white pillar, that reflected light and flame. Between each mirror were plaques of symbols and figures she didn’t recognize. The small dance floor was circular as well, as was the bar where patrons sat on stools that depicted signs of the zodiac. It took her a moment to place the woman seated on the twin faces of Gemini.

“Jesus, that’s Peabody.”

Roarke shifted his gaze, focused on the woman in a long, sweeping dress in swirling hues of blue and green. Three long strands of beads sparkled to her waist, and earrings of varicolored metals jingled beneath the fringes of her straight, cropped hair.

“Well, well,” he said and smiled slowly, “our sturdy Peabody makes quite a picture.”

“She sure… blends,” Eve decided. “I have to meet with Alice alone. Why don’t you go over and talk to Peabody?”

“A pleasure. Lieutenant…” He took a long look at her worn jeans, battered leather jacket, and unadorned ears. “You don’t blend.”

“Is that a dig?”

“No.” He flicked a finger over the dent in her chin. “An observation.” He strolled over, slid onto the stool beside Peabody. “Now, let’s see, what would be the standard line? What’s a nice witch like you doing in a place like this?”

Peabody slid him a sidelong look, grimaced. “I feel like an idiot in this getup.”

“You look lovely.”

She snorted. “Not exactly my style.”

“You know the fascinating thing about women, Peabody?” He reached out, tapped a finger against her dangling earrings to send them dancing. “You have so many styles. What are you drinking?”

Ridiculously flattered, she struggled not to flush. “A Sagittarius. That’s my sign. The drink’s supposed to be metabolically and spiritually designed for my personality.” She sipped from the clear chalice. “Actually, it’s not bad. What’s your, you know, birth sign?”

“I have no idea. I believe I was born the first week of October.”

Believe, Peabody mused. How odd not to know. “Well, that would make you Libran.”

“Well then, let’s be metabolically and spiritually correct.” He turned to order drinks, watched Eve sitting at a table. “What sign would you attribute to your lieutenant?”

“She’s a tough one to pin down.”

“Indeed she is,” Roarke murmured.

From her table on the outer circle, Eve watched everything. There was no band or holographic image of one. Instead, the music seem to come from nowhere and everywhere. Windy flutes and plucked strings, a soothing female voice that sang with impossible sweetness in a language Eve didn’t recognize.

She saw couples in earnest conversations, others laughing quietly. No one flicked an eyelash when a woman in a sheer white sheath rose to dance alone. Eve ordered water and was amused when it was served in a goblet of simulated silver.

She tuned in to the conversation at the table behind her and was further amused to hear the group’s sober discussion on their experiences with astral projection.

At a table in the next ring, two women talked about their former lives as temple dancers in Atlantis. She wondered why former lives were always more exotic than the one being lived. The only shot a person had, in her opinion.