“No.” Arcona shook her head, noting that the amulet was warming almost too
quickly in her cool palm.

“You won’t find this myth in many books; few know or speak of the Strix. The
Strix was a compilation of all ancient Rome’s guilty fears about the so-called
barbarians they enslaved, punished, and brought under their own roofs as
domestics, lovers, and lethal entertainment. The Strix combined fearful
barbarian lore and Roman superstitions in a single horrific creature that
traveled the night as a grotesque bird of prey, sucking the blood from innocent
people and turning them against Rome.

“The Strix might start life as a worshipper of Hecate, the goddess of
witchcraft and necromancy. She could be born Roman or Celtic and work as a
healer, witch, or midwife, but somewhere along the way, hatred and the need for
revenge against the oppressor corrupted the witch’s capacity for doing good.
Rage and destruction took the place of healing acts. Stray witches made bargains
with dark forces in exchange for the power to grant invincibility in battle to
others, who in turn would walk the earth in violent wrath.”

Arcona grimaced. “The Strix sounds absolutely repulsive.”

“She isn’t, and by the way the Strix is always a she. The essence of Venus
imbued the Strix with the power to seduce and sexually torment any young man
she approached. She sought out strong, battle-worthy men. Her victims were
powerless to refuse. At the climax of the sexual act, she’d drink their blood
and send them into a violent rage. During these unnatural couplings, rarely but
sometimes a male, Upir Likhyi, was created.”

Arcona was almost afraid to ask. “What’s an Upir Likhyi?” She struggled to
pronounce the unwieldy words.

“It’s an old pagan Baltic term for wicked or foul vampire. It is a revenant, or
undead soul, that seeks the thrill of blood sport and warfare. In ancient times
many were recruited to secretly serve Mars.”

A shiver trembled up her spine. “We certainly don’t need any more of those
violent, bloodsucking sorts hanging around, that’s for sure.” She laughed with
nervous self-consciousness until she noticed Dame Bishop’s serious face. It was
apparent she did not share the dismissive attitude.

Arcona struggled to compose herself. “I don’t mean to sound so disrespectful,
because I love mythology too. It’s had a huge influence over human history, but
myths are just a way to explain human desires and behavior. I’m a bit puzzled
that you’re talking about the Strix as if it’s a real entity.”

Dame Bishop blanched. “It is a real entity. Make no mistake; every myth carries
a grain of truth within. There are realms loosely tethered to this one far
stranger than anything you can imagine. To say these realms are less real than
ours is to profess the Earth is flat. It is a statement only the ignorant can
speak freely.”

“I’m sorry.” Damn, she really put her foot in it. Arcona gently lowered the
amulet back into its box. “Thank you for sharing this with me. It’s
fascinating.”

She gazed at the skeletal bronze birds and strange craftsmanship one last time.
“How exactly did you come across this? A rare artifact of this age seems like
it should be safely stashed in a museum.”

“I agree.” Dame Bishop’s expression brightened. “Some associates of mine at the
Universita di Roma know my interest in such things and were kind enough to
allow me to examine the amulet.”

“I’m familiar with the University of Rome! My ex-husband once taught there. Who
are your contacts; perhaps I know them?”

“I highly doubt it.” Dame Bishop’s mouth drew tense. “My colleagues are very
private people.” Her gaze dropped toward the amulet. “Tomorrow it’s headed to
the Smithsonian in an armored car. I just wanted to share it with one last soul
before it continued on its journey to lie locked away in some sterile vault
until the curators can figure out what to do with it.”

A heightened gleam shone in Dame Bishop’s eyes as she lifted the amulet from
the box and held it toward Arcona. “Why don’t you try it on? Just to see what
it feels like.” A sly smile crossed her lips. “This is a bit of living history.
You may never get an opportunity like this again.”

Something about the amber riveted Arcona’s attention. The center of the amulet
was translucent and glowed like a fiery ember. Against her better judgment
about carelessly handling antiquities and possibly ill-gotten property, she
reached for the leather thong and looped it around her neck.

The amulet hung heavy and prominent atop her breasts. Arcona glanced downward.
This was a big, bold piece of ornamentation obviously meant to immediately
identify its wearer as a witch who had wandered over to the dark side.

A loud knock pounded on the front door of the shop.

Arcona started.