Sacrifice In Stone by Patricia Mason Page A

monster.” The feeling in Lucy’s eyes
touched Mara. “I saw the bruises he left on you after your parents died and he
became your guardian. I promise I won’t think you’re crazy.”
    Mara ignored the choking sensation
thinking of her parents could still raise in her throat.
    “Okay then. Here goes.” She took a deep
breath. “When I was seventeen, I think I saw Sacrifice —at least part of him—come to life,” she
blurted.
    “You were right. I think you’re crazy.”
Lucy placed her hands on her hips. “In fact, you’re the mayor of crazy town.”
    “Thanks a lot.”
    “Sorry, but how am I supposed to believe
this?”
    “I know, I know. Don’t you think I’ve
wondered if I imagined the whole thing? Some sort of delusion brought on by
wishful thinking? Congenital insanity? Some explanation other than a statue
came to life?”
    “I vote for wishful thinking over
congenital insanity,” Lucy said wryly.
    “This explains where Sacrifice came from.” Placing the oversized messenger bag she
carried onto the floor beside her, Mara opened the flap, extracted a journal
and handed it to Lucy. The journal’s brown leather cover was worn and cracking
with age. Opening it to the center, Lucy ran a finger over one of its parchment
pages covered in calligraphy-style writing in a reddish-brown ink.
    Flipping back to the first page, Lucy
read the title aloud. “ Transfero Vita .”
Slamming the volume shut, she handed it back to Mara. “Just tell me what it
says. You know I didn’t pass Latin class.”
    “Maybe a demonstration would be better.”
Mara jumped off the bench and strode to the statue. Glancing around to assure
herself she and Lucy were still alone, Mara scraped the palm of her hand along
the tip of the marble dagger gripped in the statue’s hand. Blood welled in the
cut.
    Lucy gasped.
    Mara squeezed at the cut, forcing out
more blood.
    “Stop,” Lucy whispered furiously as she
leapt from her seat and raced to Mara’s side. “You’re hurting yourself.” Lucy
tried to grab Mara’s injured hand but she jerked out of reach.
    “No, let it bleed.” The bright red
continued to well and flow. Mara turned her palm and grasped the statue’s stone
hand, smearing the blood on its surface.
    “We’ve got to get you to a hospital…a
mental hospital,” Lucy gasped.
    “Patience,” Mara said, inclining her head
toward Sacrifice . “Do you see his
hand?”
    “I see a bunch of your blood all over
it,” Lucy muttered.
    “Really look at him, Luce.”
    The tips of the tapered fingers of the
statue went from rigid alabaster to a pink and then took on a healthy golden
complexion. The color change gradually spread from the fingertips back across
the hand to the wrist and then up the forearm. As it spread, Mara’s blood
seemed to seep in and disappear.
    “I must be crazy too,” Lucy said with a
sputter.
    Mara smiled. “Feel his skin. It’s warm
and alive.”
    Just then, the dagger dropped, clattering
on the hardwood floor. “You’ve broken it,” Lucy said, scooping up the weapon.
    The fingers on the statue’s hand moved,
jerky and uncoordinated. Then his fingers turned to caress Mara’s hand. The
caress turned into a grasp.
    Lucy screamed.
    Instinctively, Mara jerked her hand from
the grip of the statue. “Shhhh,” Mara said. “Do you want us to get caught?”
    As she said the words, a woman entered
the room. “What’s going on back here?” The middle-aged matron in sensible heals
had a voice only a couple of octaves higher than James Earl Jones. “Oh my.
You’ve cut yourself.”
    Mara glared briefly at Lucy. She was
relieved to see her friend had at least the sense to hide the stone dagger
behind her back. Mara turned her attention to the woman. “Yes. I’m afraid it
startled my friend.”
    “Can I get you a bandage?”
    “No, I’m all right,” Mara said.
    “Really? It looks like a nasty cut.” The
woman’s gaze abruptly fixed on the statue. “Hmm. That’s