Resurrection (21 page)

And magic was impossible.

Scarborough, 1268: Nicolette and Elijah

“What shall I tell your love, your Nicolette?” the servant asked Elijah of the House Deveraux.

Elijah thought for a moment. “Tell her she must perform a task for me.”

“What manner of task?”

“One that is impossible for a mere mortal, one only a follower of the Horned God could perform. Tell the fair maiden of the Cahors that she must make me a cambric shirt.” He held up a finger for emphasis. “Without seam or needlework.”

The servant bowed low. “And if she can produce such an impossible garment?”

Elijah laughed. “Then she'll be a true love of mine.”

The servant bowed out of his presence, and Elijah threw himself down onto his bed. Tomorrow was the first day of the fair, and if Nicolette was half the woman or the warlock he believed she was, he would marry her by fair's end.

They had met the year before at the fair, her first. Beautiful, bewitching, her family had kept her closely guarded. This year would be different; she was old enough to be courted, old enough to marry. He changed for dinner and went downstairs to join his family in dining with their gracious hosts, the family Moore.

 

Nicolette regarded the servant with wide eyes. “He wants me to make him what?”

The servant repeated the request. “Will my lady make such a garment?” he asked at last.

“Yes, but tell your lord that I expect him to do something for me.”

“What do you ask of my lord?”

“Tell him…Tell him to find me an acre of land between the salt water and the seastrand.”

“But, what my lady asks is impossible!”

“No more so than what he is asking of me.”

The servant bowed. “Anything else?”

“Yes, tell him that then he'll be a true love of mine.”

The servant bowed again and left, and Nicolette sank into a chair and laughed. “Elijah thinks he is clever, but I'll show him.”

Her younger sister, Catherine, looked up at her with wide eyes. “Will you make him the shirt?”

“Of course I will,” Nicolette said.

“But how?” Catherine asked.

“Why, with magic, of course.”

 

The servant had been in the employ of the Deveraux family since birth. It was long enough to know them well and long enough to know that no matter how loyal he was, he was never safe from their wrath. So he trembled slightly as he entered Elijah's presence again with the news from Nicolette.

“Did you tell her to make me the shirt?” Elijah asked.

“Yes, and she asked a favor of you in return.”

Elijah slapped his leg when he heard what it was. “Well chosen.”

Elijah's youngest brother looked at him with solemn eyes. “That is impossible.”

“Not for a warlock, Laurent,” Elijah assured him.

 

In the morning Nicolette awoke early, eager to see Elijah Deveraux. She took pains with her clothes and arranged her hair in perfect braids, with flowers laced throughout, and herbs. Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. All powerful herbs with their own magic use and significance. Used together they made a love charm.

She made her way to the fair and began winding her way through, looking at all the things people had to sell or show. As she walked, she could feel eyes upon her, and she knew that they were Elijah's. Her heart beat faster as she pretended she could not feel his presence.

He stalked her as the hunter did a fox, and she knew she would have to be very clever not to be caught. At least, too soon. She wound her way past performers and merchants. She avoided people she knew so that she could keep moving.

She paused for a moment and tried to feel him. He was near, so near it was as though he filled her senses. She turned to the left, hoping to hide for a moment behind a gypsy cart. As she moved behind it, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her and lifted her clear off the ground.

It was her Elijah. As their lips met, fire exploded in her veins and she clung to him. At last her senses took over. “We must not let them catch us.”

“Why, does this go beyond the bounds of acceptable courtship?” he asked, his lips trailing down her throat.

“Yes, and you know it,” she said, pushing against his chest.

He released her and she struggled to regain her composure. There was a game to be played, and when he was standing so near, it was hard to remember her part.

“Have you found me my land?” she breathed.

“Yes. And my shirt?”

“Finished.”

It was true, she had conjured it into being before she had gone to bed, though she dared not tell him she had then used it as her pillow. “So, when do I see my land?” she asked.

He raised a finger and placed it against her lips, and she could feel his heartbeat through it, pounding as hers did.

“First I want you to wash my shirt, in a dry well into which neither water has sprung nor rain has fell.”

She smiled at him. “Then you must plow my acre with…a lamb's horn.”

“And?”

“Sow it all over with a single peppercorn.”

“Nicolette!”

She turned at the sound. “My sister calls. I must go.”

He caught her by the wrist. “Then will I be a true love of yours?”

She let her smile speak for her, then she tugged her wrist free and fled.

 

“Are you going to marry Nicolette of the Cahors?” Roland of the House of Moore asked Elijah several days later.

“It is my plan,” the warlock admitted. “In fact, she has only one task left to perform.”

“What impossible thing did you ask of her this time?”

“I told her to dry the shirt on a thorn.”

Roland shook his head. “The two of you really should be more careful, you know. Your exploits are getting noticed.”

“You're not worried what the peasants think, surely!”

“No, more worried about what the priests think,” Roland said pointedly.

Elijah waved a hand dismissively. “The priests are paid not to notice these things, especially during the fair.”

“That may be true, but there are limits even for us.”

“For you maybe, Roland, but not for me. And not for my sweet, wicked Nicolette.”

 

House Moore was powerful, but it always lived in the shadow of Houses Deveraux and Cahors. A closer alliance between those two houses would essentially create a king and queen of Coventry. That couldn't be allowed to happen. Roland's father was old and ill and could do nothing to save his house.

Roland sacrificed every manner of animal and human to the Horned God and was at last given his answer. He watched and he waited for his time to strike.

 

“Where are you going?” Catherine asked Nicolette. It was late, and their parents were asleep. Nicolette had woken Catherine up.

Even in the light of the single candle Catherine could see her sister blushing. “I'm going to see Elijah,” she whispered.

Catherine crossed her arms. “I don't think Father would like that very much.”

“That's why you're not going to tell him,” Nicolette said, her voice hardening.

Catherine wanted to stop her and she couldn't. As she watched Nicolette's dark figure slip into the night, she felt helpless. Something bad was going to happen and she couldn't stop it.

When the morning came and Roland Moore arrived
to tell them that Nicolette had been murdered by Elijah, who had escaped, her fears were realized. She should have stopped her sister from going to see the Deveraux man. She wished she had more power, and she vowed she would find it no matter the cost and no matter who she had to sacrifice to.

 

Roland Moore wept openly as he returned home and delivered the news that Nicolette Cahors had murdered Elijah and then escaped capture. The Moores and the Deveraux grieved together and began to plot their revenge against the treacherous Cahors.

Laurent seethed with rage. His brother, the only one of his family he had ever cared for, had been taken from him. He would never let something like that happen again, no matter that he had to move heaven and hell or change time itself to do it.

The Frozen Wasteland: Holly

“Jer,” Holly whispered as she jerked awake. She was lying in snow, and the sky above her danced with colored lights. She was no longer in the thick of battle. She sprawled on a barren plain of snow—no trees, no rocks, nothing but the snow and the lights.

“Jer?” she called, but his name seemed to freeze in her mouth. Shivering, she pushed up onto her elbows. Prisms of color—green, red, bluish-white—threw shifting patterns on the vast fields of white. Was she still in India?

Her teeth chattered and her head began to ache. She jerked like a windup toy as she stared in wonder and confusion at the lights. What magic had flung her here? Had Jer done it to save her? Or had Alex—
make that Duc Laurent
—pitched her through space to murder her? Was this Hindi magic, or warlock mischief—or both?

She trembled violently as cold seeped through her and seized her with bone-cracking numbness. After a few moments she couldn't tell where she stopped and the snow began. Her heartbeat slowed; her blood congealed.

I'm…dying,
she thought. She tried to move.
Jer, please, help me
.

Where are you?
a voice answered, but it wasn't Jer. It was Duc Laurent, with whom she was in thrall.
My lady?

“No,” she said, gasping. “I—I—I'm n-n-not—”

Then she remembered that she was not a helpless girl; she was a powerful witch, and she had magical gifts. In a low guttural whisper she croaked, “Ice and fire, fear and desire, comfort I claim, in the…in my own name.” She knew she had made terrible bargains in the past, losing bits of her soul to the Goddess, and to Catherine of the House of Cahors. She wouldn't indebt herself further, if she could help it.

She closed her eyes, waiting for the spell to take effect. Suddenly she felt as if she were whirling inside a spinning sphere of white, and her frozen lips pulled
up in a tiny smile. Warmth poured through her, and her smile grew.

“Ice and fire, fear and desire, sanctuary I claim, in my own name.”

More warmth coursed through her veins. She could almost imagine that her heart was glowing inside her chest, and she was certain she had either transported herself to shelter or created one around herself.

She opened her eyes. The beautiful lights were gone, and a fat golden moon hung overhead. The same snowfield stretched in all directions. There was no cottage, hovel, no cave, not even a single tree or boulder. A slicing wind whipped up, slamming her backward. She fell, hard, and her ears rang.

“Help,” she managed, as dots of grayish yellow popped behind her eyelids.

“Ah, there you are. Do not fear. I will come for you, Holly,”
Duc Laurent whispered inside her mind.

“No,” she demanded.
I am free of you. I don't know how. Who sent me here? Jer?

“I will come.”

How did I get here?

Everything faded to black.

Scarborough: Nicole and Owen

She must have fallen asleep while rocking Owen, because Nicole suddenly woke up. She got up slowly,
careful not to wake Owen, and then put him down in his crib. The room was warm and she crossed to a window and opened it.

Outside, the air was crisp and clear, and she breathed in deeply. Suddenly a tiny sparrow hopped up onto the ledge and cocked its head at her. She smiled and made a soft whistling noise. The bird cocked its head to the side again and then flew to the back of her rocking chair. While she was enjoying the cool of the outdoors, he was clearly thrilled with the warmth indoors.

He perched for a moment and ruffled his feathers all up. Nicole smiled at him. It was funny how the tiniest creatures could still bring such joy to—

The bird exploded in a puff of feathers. Nicole blinked in disbelief, but the bird was gone. Bits of him rained down in the room. For one wild moment she wondered if it had been because she hadn't invited him in by name, and then she heard a sound that made her blood curdle. It was wild high-pitched laughter.

She turned slowly and saw Owen,
standing
in his crib, one finger pointing at the remains of the bird and his face twisted up in a grin of pure evil.

He killed the bird! My baby killed the innocent little bird! He is the child who will end the world
. She knew then what she had to do, and it had to be done quickly, before she lost her nerve or before Anne-Louise or her father
could stop her. She walked to Owen, grabbed him up, and headed for the hidden passage at a run.

She made it to the section of wall, slid her hand where she had seen Amanda move it, and then ducked into the opening. It sealed behind her, and she didn't bother summoning a light but just ran down the hall toward the inner sanctum. In her arms Owen cooed contentedly, and Nicole felt the tears streaming down her face.

You should have known, should have believed,
a voice whispered in her ear.

Yes, she should have.

Hurry now before it's too late, before he stops you.

“I'm hurrying!”

She made it to the chamber and looked around wildly. She had not had a chance to examine it closely earlier. In the one corner there was an altar. It seemed right that she should use it. She ran over and placed Owen on its deeply gouged and stained surface. The blood of sacrifices past seemed to reach out to seize him from her arms.

To the left was a cabinet. She opened it and found candles, stones, and crystals for various purposes and a collection of athames.
I should do a purifying ritual, a ceremony to cleanse his soul and send him to the Goddess,
she thought as her hand moved toward the white candles.

No time! Strike now before it's too late.

She raised the athame high into the air and turned toward Owen.

 

Anne-Louise wasn't sure what she was searching for among the books and papers of Sir William Moore. She had been at it for several hours with nothing useful to show for it.

I should get some tea, take a break, check up on Nicole
. She started to move toward the door.

And then Anne-Louise spotted something that seemed wrong. Among all the neat rows of books there was a book shoved on top of some others and sticking out at an angle. It was wrapped in an embroidered silk cloth, and she instantly recognized the symbol for the House of Cahors.

A page was marked and she opened to it. She read about the destruction of the Cahors Castle in France and how many things of great monetary and magical value had been stolen, including a book of prophecies written by the dark wizard Merlin.

As Anne-Louise continued to read, she gasped out loud. There was a sudden popping sound, and she lifted her head to see the space in front of her literally rent in two as though it were a curtain.

Sasha tumbled through the hole and leaped to her feet as it sealed before her.

She staggered and looked fearfully around. Then her gaze fastened on Anne-Louise.

“Goddess,” she breathed, “I'm alive.” She raced into Anne-Louise's arms. “Thank you.”

Anne-Louise held her covenate closely as relief surged through her. Sasha was here, and apparently unharmed. But how?

“Sasha,” she said, “I didn't bring you here.”

The mother of Jer and Eli Deveraux lifted her head from Anne-Louise's shoulder. “Then who did? I was about to die. Then the ground shook and a portal opened. Going anywhere was preferable to dying by the hand of Merlin.”

A cold terror seized Anne-Louise.
“What?”

“Where is Nicole?” Sasha asked, grabbing Anne-Louise's shoulders and giving her a shake. “We have to stop her before it's too late!”

“I don't know where she is.” Anne-Louise frowned. “Stop her from what?”

“Owen. She's sacrificing Owen,” Sasha said. “Anne-Louise, please believe me. We may already be too late.”

“Goddess…” Anne-Louise breathed in horror. There was only one place a deed that terrible could be performed. She turned and raced toward the entrance to the secret tunnel, Sasha close on her heels.

As soon as they entered the tunnel, Anne-Louise began shouting. “Nicole, stop! Don't do it! It's a trap!”

Heart in her throat, she burst into the main chamber and saw Nicole swinging an athame down toward Owen. She threw a ward across the room to encase Owen, and the knife glanced off it.

“Nicole! It's a lie. Merlin's prophecies, every thirteenth one is a lie. It's backward to try to manipulate time, change history.”

Nicole looked at her with glassy eyes, and for a moment Anne-Louise thought she might be possessed. Slowly Nicole lowered the athame and blinked at her.

“What did you say?”

But Anne-Louise couldn't answer her as she stared at Owen, who sat quietly for once, a halo of light around his head.

Mumbai: Jer, Eve, Eli, Philippe, Pablo, Armand, Amanda, and Tommy

Jer spun around, looking for Holly. One moment she had been there, and the next gone. A dagger whistled through the air past his cheek, and he heard a thud as it landed in flesh. He turned just in time to see Eve crumple to the snow.

The Black Fire flickered once and then went out.
It requires three to create it and three to keep it burning,
he realized. “Incoming!” he shouted, erecting a hasty barrier where the fire had burned a moment before.

Alex crashed through the barrier and slammed into
Jer. Jer was flung onto his back while Alex slammed his fists into his face, preferring, it seemed, to beat him to death with his own hands. Jer tried to push back, but two spectral knights in luminous armor pushed his wrists into the snow.

“Monster!” Alex bellowed at him. “How could you, a Deveraux, betray your own kind?”

He brought both his fists down onto Jer's nose. Pain shot straight into his brain; inside his skull he heard a crunch and knew his nose was broken. More blows shattered more bones, and then it felt as if his skin were being ripped away. He fought to keep his eyes open and saw the changing face of Alex Carruthers: in one moment the handsome man who had deceived Holly and her family; in the next the moldering corpse of the man who had bound Jean Deveraux's soul to that of Isabeau Cahors. Purple-blue skin hung off Alex's face, and worms crawled from his eye sockets.

“You should have agreed to thrall with Holly Cathers, and then handed her over to your family, the Deveraux. But we got her anyway. She's in thrall to
me
. The lady to my lord. Think about that as I kill you.”

“She…,” Jer managed. “She is not in thrall. She saved me.”

“Menteur!”
Laurent shouted. “Liar!” He pummeled Jer's face like a savage. His rage was stunning; through
the haze of pain, Jer tried to comprehend it. Anger was the son of fear. What was Laurent afraid of?

“Always in my way, always!” Laurent broke into medieval French, and Jer understood it. He went back in time again, back…

 

Jean paused at the top of the stairs in his wedding finery and listened to his father speaking to Paul-Henri, Jean's younger brother.

“If he fails to get a boy on her, you can try next,” Laurent said.

“But,
mon père,
to do that I must either rape her or murder him, or both,” Paul-Henri protested. Mildly.

“Pfft. Have you learned nothing? You are French. Seduce her.”

“But—”

“By the horns of the God, Paul-Henri, it's a political match. She doesn't love him. My spies tell me she weeps at her window. Her bitch of a mother is sacrificing serfs with abandon, forcing Isabeau to bathe in their blood, and for what? Courage! The ability to lie with Jean without screaming.”

Jean smiled evilly. He would enjoy making Isabeau scream. And enjoy even more the prospect of killing Paul-Henri. Both, as soon as possible. He would be his father's only son.

 

“But you loved her,” Alex/Laurent screamed at him. Spittle flew everywhere. “The spirit of Jean, inside you still, loved Isabeau.
Love?
You destroyed our family with your love! And even now you fight for the Cahors! Against your own blood kin!”

I am not Jean. I am…

Something sharp sliced his neck. Blood gushed, steamed, froze.

I am…

He was dying.

I would die for her. For Isabeau…

mais non,
no, not Isabeau…

Isabeau was born so that Holly would be…

Wait for me, wherever it is the God sends me,
he thought, as the world thinned into a red line. Then,
No, don't. Don't come there, ever. It will be hell.

Scarborough: Nicole, Anne-Louise, Richard, Sasha, and Owen

Anne-Louise, Sasha, and Richard talked in hushed tones as Nicole laid Owen down for the night. She drank a cup of herbal tea laced with soothing herbs that Sasha had made her and sat beside his cradle, rocking him, seeing again the nimbus of light that glowed around his head like a halo. She set the red cup decorated with green ivy on his changing table and rubbed his cheek with her warm fingers. Marveling at the softness, she wondered who he was, really. Kari had said
he would die if he left the house. Was that true, or just another of Merlin's lies? Kari seemed to see things differently now that she was dead, and Nicole wanted to ask her what she saw when she looked at Owen.

But Kari was gone. They'd searched for her, but no finder's spell or scrying stone had located her. Also missing was nearly all the money Anne-Louise had brought with her, which meant, at least, that Kari had run away—that she had not been abducted.

Nicole had thought she'd feel safer without Kari near the baby, but not knowing where she was, or why she'd gone, made Nicole more nervous. Now that she was a mother, it was so much harder to deal with her fear. She couldn't run away; she had to stand her ground and protect her baby. Fear could be a very selfish emotion; before Owen had come into her life, she had been self-centered in the extreme. Back then she'd run and left Holly and Amanda behind, breaking the power of the three…for magic was strongest when three witches conjured.