Free Blood of the Sorceress by MAGGIE SHAYNE Page B

ways, or maybe he’s just looking for a hefty donation. But he’s been so persistent that I finally took his number and promised to pass it along. I sent it to your smartphone.”
    “Thank you, Sid.”
    Sid sighed, started to go back inside, then hesitated. “You probably shouldn’t mention all that Underworld stuff, or the three witches or the rest of it to anyone, okay, boss?”
    “Gus told me much the same thing when were in New York. Don’t worry, Sid. I’ll keep it to myself from now on.”
    “Okay. Good. Later, boss.”
    “Later, Sid.”
    He sat there for a long moment, thinking. He wondered why he hated priests, and why one was trying to contact him now. He wondered where the third witch had gone after she’d flashed into existence in that alley—for that was surely who she had to be. He hadn’t been able to shake her from his mind since. He saw her every time he closed his eyes and in the face of every woman he bedded. She haunted his dreams, dancing exotically in ribbons of sheer fabric on the desert sands. Seducing him with her eyes. What did she have in store for him? And what was she waiting for?
    And now there was a new player in this game of his earthbound existence. A priest. Demetrius wondered what information the priest had for him and realized there was only one way to find out. So he took out his smartphone, a device that frankly amazed him with its capabilities, pulled up the text message Sid had sent and then called the number.
    When a male voice answered, deep and raspy, another inexplicable shiver crept up his spine.
    “Hello. This is—”
    “I know who this is,” the priest said. “I’ve been waiting for your call.”
    Demetrius blinked down the odd sense of revulsion that rose in him. He didn’t know this man, so why should he feel so repelled?
    It was as irrational as his fear of the woman who’d appeared in the alley. The witch. He’d been struck with such terror at the sight of her that he’d run away, straight into the path of Ned Nelson’s car.
    Then again, he wouldn’t have all of this—this mansion, this lifestyle—if he hadn’t. He’d expected the third witch’s task would be to help him make his way in this world. And in a way, that was exactly what she had done. Maybe she was finished, then. Maybe he would never see her again.
    The thought twisted his heart into a painful knot that confused him even more.
    “Demetrius?” said the voice on the phone.
    “Who are you? How do you know about me?” he demanded.
    “I’m a priest, my son. You may call me Father Dom. I know your story. I know about your time in the Underworld. I know about the two witches who helped you escape. And I know about the third one, who will soon come for you yet again. She’ll offer you something, that witch. Something you must refuse or you will end up back where you started.”
    Demetrius narrowed his eyes as suspicion blossomed and whispered a warning into his ear. Despite that, he couldn’t deny the relief that had preceded it. She’s coming back. Thank the Gods. “How do you know this?”
    “Let me come to you and I’ll explain it all, my son.”
    Demetrius thought about that and decided it would be all right. It wasn’t as if a mortal priest could do him any harm, after all. He had the dagger, and he was strong. Immortal. An ordinary man couldn’t hurt him. “Where are you?” he asked.
    “I’m standing at your front gate.”
    Demetrius couldn’t prevent his slight gasp, and he was sure the priest heard it. He rose from his chair, walked to the edge of the balcony and looked down the hill. A thin, frail-looking man with white hair stood just beyond the gate. He wore a black suit with a white collar. As he looked, the man waved, and Demetrius suppressed an involuntary shiver.
    Looking down at his phone, he sent a text message to Sid.
    Man at front gate. Bring him to me.
    * * *
    Spring was coming to Milbury, New York. There were only a few days left in April, and the snow