Do you think another bokor did this to me?” A horrible thought flashed through her mind. She saw herself, a fuzzy, blurred image of herself as a living woman arguing with a man. Then in the next instant she was on the ground, his distorted face over her body, the dagger that had ended her life poised over her stomach. Blood ran everywhere, rivers running in all directions from a body that was fast cooling. In the next instant the vision was gone replaced by the usual blank void. “You already know that,” he said, releasing her shirt and letting it hide the mark from the world. “You’ve always known the truth Clarissa you just didn’t want to face it. Do you want to know how Ambrose received his mark?” She nodded, finding her voice wasn’t up to a verbal response. “It begins when a man fell in love with the wrong kind of woman,” Corrigan began, taking her hand and leading her to a couch that had seen better days and more springs to hold up the cushions. “That’s not a very nice beginning,”
