Excerpt from The Sorcerer s Seer By Kimberly H. Greene-Liebowitz Setting the scene: This scene occurs approximately 2/3 of the way through the book. Sebastien has kidnapped Eve s sister and has told Eve that he will free her sister if she swears fealty to him. Sebastien held the door open for Eve. She brushed against him as she sidled past. He made no effort to stop her or touch her further. Eve scanned the room, then whirled around. Sebastien was leaning against the door, watching her. Where is my sister? She narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips. That made the robe gape over her cleavage, and his eyes went immediately to the shadowy cleft. Eve rolled her eyes and responded as she had countless times in the hospital: she snapped her fingers. You. She pointed at him and then at her face. My eyes are here. He frowned, but his eyes slowly shifted upward. Eve waited until she had his full attention. No sister, no deal. He said nothing as he took a step forward. Then he took another step, bringing his body close to hers. He slapped her, hard. Her head jerked to the side.
Don t speak to me like that again. He stepped away. I know you Saw me. So you know I mean it when I say that if you do not treat me with appropriate respect, you ll wish I was just slapping you. His eyes pinned her in place. Do you understand? Eve nodded. Her face was flaming where he d struck her. On the inside of her cheek, where she d bitten herself, she still bled a little. She would have to be more careful. Your sister cannot be here for this. She is in the house, but she is none of your concern until you complete the ceremony. Now. He thrust a broom at her. Sweep the room. Eve obeyed. Engaging was pointless. When the floor was clean, Sebastien picked up a few items from one of the shelves, and then instructed her to pour a circle of salt that would encompass the two of them with room to spare. As she worked, he laid a piece of parchment down. It was not the baking variety, but the sort for writing with nooks and crannies that clung to ink in a way that modern paper never did. When she was finished with the salt, he handed her a quill.
We re going to make a Contract, you and I, he said. He d slid a hand into one pocket and the other hung idly by his side, and except for his fiery eyes he seemed almost relaxed. You will swear to serve me and I, in turn, will offer you my protection. The Contract will last for the duration of our lives, to be nullified on the death of one or both of us. While it is in effect you cannot commit to another. He stopped and fixed her with a stare. So don t be tempted, he said softly, for I assure you I will find out. Now give me your left hand. Wary, Eve extended her hand only to abruptly yank it back when a searing pain cleaved across her palm. He d cut her, and bright red blood welled up, filling her hand and slipping down her wrist. Her vision went blurry from the pain. She fumbled with her sleeve, meaning to press down on the wound, but his words stopped her. Leave it. Dip your quill in the blood. And sit on the floor so you can write. Eve took a cautious breath and tried to focus, but the hand was throbbing. Pain radiated up her arm, pulling her muscles tight, and she froze, trying to remember why she was here, doing this. Oh, yes. She swayed. For Winnie. Carefully, feeling dizzy, she gathered her robe in the uninjured hand and sank to the floor.
She dipped the tip of the quill in her blood, recoiling as the sharp tip of the feather pressed into her wound. Write the words as I say them, Sebastien said, and then sign it. He paused before beginning, and then he spoke slowly, allowing her time to write each word. With this covenant, I bind myself to Sebastien Saint-Laurent. I pledge my fidelity and my Sight. I do swear this under the laws of the Convention and the Assembly, and will give obeisance to my Lord and Master. I give this oath freely, under my own independent will. When Eve finished the oath, the fingers of her right hand were cramped, and it was with some relief that she set down the quill. Her left hand, caked with dried blood, was stiff and aching. Blood still slowly leaked from the wound. She wondered if she d be able to operate with it, and then, glancing at the contract, she wondered if operating would ever be relevant again. No. She made a fist. She wouldn t think about that. Eve looked up at Sebastien, towering above her. Now what? Kneel at my feet and prostrate yourself. Her soul rebelled against those words. The reality of the subjugation to which she d agreed made her tremble. She had to grit her teeth to stifle her reply. In careful and
controlled tones, staring at his legs, she said, Perhaps I could bandage this wound first. No. Eve chanced a glance upward. His face was expressionless and when he caught her looking, he raised an eyebrow. I gave you an order. I don t care about your hand. Kneel and repeat the oath. Closing her eyes, Eve lowered her head and sighed. Slowly she shifted to her knees, leaning forward to press her forehead and arms to the floor. With this covenant she began, and recited the oath. She kept her head down when she was done. Sebastien muttered something in Latin. There was a flash from somewhere above, and the sound of whistling through the air. Eve stiffened and braced herself and not a minute too soon, because something hard struck across her back, flattening her. She lay on the polished concrete, gasping. Sebastien offered her a hand. Reluctantly, Eve took it and he pulled her to her feet. He was holding a broadsword in his other hand, balancing it on the floor on its pointed tip. She wondered if that was what he d struck her with. It seemed likely.
She also wondered where it had come from. Eve had no recollection of seeing it earlier, and she stared at it, confused. Amused, Sebastien offered her the answer to the unasked question. I summoned it, he said. Eve looked back at him. Now that he had her full attention, he undid the belt of her robe. It fell free and he spread the lapels wide. Eve cringed as his hand passed lightly over her breasts. He released her and took a small knife out of his pocket. It glinted forbiddingly and Eve swallowed. Don t move. She hissed as he carved a small X on the upper slope of her breast. Then he pricked his index finger. He waited until the blood welled and then he traced the small wound and mumbled something else in Latin. After, he met her eyes. It s done. Eve stepped back and pulled the robe around herself, covering her flesh. She turned to leave but hit a barrier at the salt. It was as if the density of the air changed at that point, becoming thick and difficult to traverse. She stopped, not wanting to chance any more of his magic, and looked over her shoulder at him.
My sister. Ah, yes. La Mort. You promised. Sebastien looked down at the broadsword and, with a finger on the pommel, spun it on its tip. He stopped it and looked up. Not just yet.