Witch & Curse (54 page)

Pablo raised his head and in a weak voice answered, “London. They're taking her to London.”

Philippe nodded. “Then that is where we shall go.”

The others nodded agreement as he locked eyes with each of them in turn. Armand held his eyes the longest, and Philippe winced at the pain reflected there. Armand was more seriously injured than he had let on.

Philippe knelt beside him and placed a hand on his chest. Slowly he exhaled as his heart sped up to match the rapid beating of Armand's. Blinding pain surged through his body as his nervous system linked with Armand's. His body was trying to help heal the other warlock.

Suddenly the pain lessened dramatically, and Philippe opened his eyes to see that Alonzo was beside him, also working to heal Armand.

At last the most dangerous injuries were healed and the three broke contact. Philippe rocked backward on his heels.

From the torch stand, he plucked the flaming torch and touched the wood beneath José Luís's body.

“As soon as he is ashes, we leave.”

Seattle, November

The full moon was drowned by the heavy rains that fell from the sky in large, gulping cascades. Pioneer Square was awash; the twinkling funk of Hill Street was inundated; the bay was gorged and overflowing. It was not a fit night for anything, much less a battle. But it was the full moon, and witches were at their strongest.

Warlocks, too, but there was nothing to be done about that. Holly had called the Circle together at Dan's house. It was a beautiful, hand-built cabin in the woods, almost too small for the gathering that had assembled: Holly, Amanda, Tommy, Tante Cecile, Kari, Dan himself, and Uncle Richard.

“We have to get him out of town,” Holly said to the group. “He won't be safe here no matter the outcome. He hasn't been safe here for months.” She was speaking of her uncle, who was seated beside Dan's cast-iron stove in a state of shock. Back at the Anderson home, she and Amanda had revealed the truth about everything that was going on: the reality of Coventry, the fact that they were witches, that Michael
Deveraux, who had been his wife's lover, had also probably murdered her.

“But. . . but she had a heart attack,” Richard had protested weakly. He looked so upset, Holly was afraid he himself might have a heart attack. So they performed for him, she and Amanda, conjuring the equivalent of witch parlor tricks. They conjured fire and wind, and they levitated objects in the room.

Then Holly produced a scrying stone, and asked him to look into it. He saw Michael Deveraux in robes, bowing before what looked very much like a Black Magic altar covered with skulls and black candles and a large book bound in black leather. The stone also showed Silvana and Kialish bound with ropes, their faces wan and bloodless. They might have been dead, except that at one point Silvana's eyes opened, and she stared in the direction of the stone's field of view, as if she knew it was focused on her.

Perhaps it was then that he began to believe. At any rate, he agreed to accompany them to Dan's, sitting in stunned, exhausted silence. Holly and Amanda had agreed not to tell him about the imp they had pulled from him and drowned, nor the fact that they had tied him up in case he tried to kill the two of them. He didn't remember any of it, and they thought it best to leave him ignorant of those recent dark days.

At Holly's request, Dan was going to purify each one of them for the coming rescue attempt. Each would go into his sweat lodge alone, hopefully to have a vision. Then he would speak to her of the shadow she had seen, and help her to use it to fortify herself in the coming battle.

At her request, everyone had dressed in the colors of the ancient House of Cahors: silver and black. She and Amanda were dressed in black sweaters and black leather pants, with silver hoops in their ears and silver chain necklaces from which dangled amethysts and silver. Dried herbs had been braided into their hair. Tante Cecile had plaited their hair, Amanda's into French braids and Holly's into corn rows.

Kari was swathed in a silver-and-black shawl over a black silk blouse and black jeans. Tante Cecile had on a form-fitting black dress embroidered with gold and silver leaves at the hem. Tommy wore black slacks and a T-shirt. He had borrowed a silver bracelet from Amanda, and he wore it awkwardly.

We used to be so many more
, Holly thought. Then she reminded herself,
We defeated them on Beltane, on the 600th anniversary of the massacre of Deveraux Castle. We can defeat them again
.

“We have to assume Michael may launch an attack on us at any moment,” Holly reminded the others.
“He has spies and scrying stones too. So I should go first. I'm point.”

The others agreed.

Holly took off her clothes in Dan's bedroom, then wrapped herself in a large beach towel and followed him into the sweat lodge. Dressed in a T-shirt and buckskins, he stoked the alder smoke for her, sitting on his haunches while she inhaled the scent and began to sweat. The combination of smoke and heat made her dizzy; she allowed the sensations to take her over, and then the spirits showed her Pandion, the lady hawk, perched on her arm. Isabeau was riding Delicate, her mare, and the sun was shining gloriously down on her dark, unruly hair. She was galloping; her skirts of velvet were flying behind her, and Jean was shouting, “Slow down, wench! You'll break your neck!”

She cast a glance over her shoulder at her husband, laughing at him because he was having trouble keeping up with her. They were in the forests outside Deveraux Castle, and she was in love with him.

Never mind politics and magic spells, she was young and beautiful, and he was likewise young and very handsome . . . and the day was filled with joy. Above Jean's head the Deveraux falcon circled and soared in wild abandon, as exuberant as the witch and warlock. Then he screeched and dove into the
thick underbrush. A battle ensued.

“He's caught something,” Isabeau said delightedly, pulling on the reins. Delicate slowed.

“As have you,” Jean replied, trotting up beside her. “My heart.”

And then she was Isabeau, cradled beneath Jean as her kinsmen burned his castle to the ground; as his own kinsman Laurent conjured the Black Fire and sent it sweeping through the bailey. She could hear Jean screaming; could hear herself begging him to forgive her.

Through centuries they had searched for one another, locked in love and heat . . .

... and then a lady hawk flew above a misty island, dropping down, down, to land on the arm of a man who was so horribly, terribly scarred:

Jer.

Then overhead something wheeled, but it was not a bird; it was an Orca, a black-and-white whale, and it floated and swam.
I'm underwater. I'm drowning
.

She was beneath the waters of the bay, and as she turned to the right, she saw Eddie in the grip of the hideous monster that had killed him; and to the left, the rest of her coven, caught in the grip of its minions, each struggling to make it to the surface, their eyes bulging, unable to move as the creatures held them down.

They will drown
.

She was spinning as if someone had tossed her out of a window headfirst; the vertigo made her sick and she crouched forward to vomit . . .

. . . and that was when she opened her eyes and came back to herself. She was back in the sweat lodge.

To one side of the sweat lodge was a shower; Holly rinsed first in warm water, and then in cool, allowing her mind to sharpen. Tommy went in next.

While she was there, Holly dressed and emerged from Dan's bedroom, facing her coven sisters, Kari and Amanda. Dan, who had finished helping Tommy get started, came out of the sweat lodge and regarded her soberly. It was he who spoke first.

“You want to go alone.”

She replied, “I don't want to. I have to.”

“No,” Tante Cecile insisted, rising. “He has my daughter. I'm going with you.”

“We all go together, or we all die here and now.” Amanda spoke, pale and shaking with the force of her convictions. “He hurts us only when we are weakened by the absence of one or more. If we all stay together, we can all protect each other. It is our only chance of survival.”

“I can't protect you,” Holly protested, weakening under the onslaught.

“Who made you queen of the universe?” Kari asked sharply. “No one's asking you to protect us. If anything, I'm here to make sure you don't screw up again and hurt anyone else I care for.”

Her reference to Jer and the fire that had nearly killed him was like a slap in the face. Holly took it, though she felt a growing animosity toward Kari that she knew she would not always be able to quell.

Anne-Louise watched from a safe distance as the members of the coven one by one entered the sweat lodge and took part in the ritual. Things were about to get very ugly. She could feel it with every fiber of her being. The only question was: What should she do to stop it?

Part Three
Waning

“And when Lithia has passed and the year is waning there will be a great
pall that settles upon the earth. Some will be given in marriage whom
should not and others will wield a power unforeseen and uncontrolled.
Then the earth will tremble and the skies will rain fire.”

—Lammas the Elder

ELEVEN

BLESSING MOON

Fill us now, Lord, with your might
Help us now to end this fight
And we will defile the head
Of the Cahors Coven dead

Evil about, evil without
Don't let it turn you inside out
But as we turn from their sin
We find it naught to the evil within

Michael Deveraux: Seattle, November

In the day
, Michael mused as he held his athame up to the candlelight and admired the very, very sharp blade,
a Deveraux warlock facing battle would have received last words through runners or carrier pigeons. Deveraux warlocks even conjured with smoke signals, back in the Wild West Phones are much more magical, carrying our disembodied voices across space, and yet they seem far more mundane. The romance is lost, somehow
.

No matter that I have magically enhanced the connection, because of the rain
.

November in Seattle was not a kind month. It was harsh and wild and angry—warlock weather. Samhain—Halloween in the parlance of humanity—had passed by without the proper obeisance from him. For the first time in his memory, he had not run his life by the esbats and sabbats of his tradition. Instead he had focused his energies on the Cahors and on regaining leadership of the Supreme Coven—an internally driven calendar based on ambition . . . and revenge.

“Why
not
try for a hostage exchange?” Eli asked. He was still in England keeping an eye on the Moores for his father. And watching his brother.

Jer, my errant son
.

And if truth be known, my pride and joy. . .
.

“She won't sacrifice herself to save two people who aren't even related to her,” Michael said. “She's a Cahors, after all. The best I can hope for is that her coven will put the screw to her to make a rescue attempt.”

“It's gotta happen, Dad,” Eli murmured, lowering his voice. “You've got to kill her. Sir William's got them all totally freaked out. Some of them want to take you out.”

Because of the attack on the ferry
, Michael knew.
There's
some flaw in me
, he thought.
I could've been more subtle. So why wasn't I? Deveraux rush in where angels fear to tread
.

“Don't sweat it,” he drawled. “I'm this close to conjuring the Black Fire again. Then past history won't matter a damn.”

Just past ancestry
.

Everyone knows the Deveraux should rule the Supreme Coven
.

He changed the subject. “What's the situation with Jeraud?”

“He's still on Avalon. James has done a lot to make him feel better, but he sure looks gross.”

“So you've seen him.”