Spellbinder: A Love Story With Magical Interruptions

by Melanie Rawn

  “Nice,” Evan said. “I’ve seen cattle tied up worse for gelding.” His hand lifted to his chest, shied back. Nick saw then an oval burn. “Shit, this hurts. Can we get the hell out of here now?”

  He was talking to reconfirm his own reality, Nick surmised; he hadn’t looked at Holly once. “You, yes. The rest of us have Work to do yet.”

  “Tell me a new one,” he replied wryly. “What’s with His Honor?”

  Elias was breathing normally again, but looking spell-shocked. Nick went to him, touched his arm, and said, “Are you all right?”

  “Stupid question,” the Magistrate muttered. “Time to shut down this Circle. It’s giving me a headache.”

  Nick followed his gaze: the restive ravens, the black candles, the remains of Noel’s instrumentation. A travesty of Samhain. Tonight was meant to be a remembrance of the dead at the turning of the year. The summer’s Oak Lord gave way to the Holly Lord of winter; the slowly shortening days led to Yule, when the god was reborn with the sun. The Christ story followed the pattern: birth at the Winter Solstice, death at the Vernal Equinox to sanctify the Earth with blood and make fruitful the land. But this Circle was a thing of shadows, ravens, and death, and Nick had no idea how Elias would nullify it without the cooperation of its maker.

  Nick stared down at the trussed and helpless architect of this Circle. Silverblue eyes met his. They neither beseeched nor defied; they merely seized and held his gaze with surprising strength. As Nick instinctively fought him off, Noel’s bloodless lips moved. Without sound he said, “Kill me.”

  Nick shook his head. Still the pale eyes demanded his awareness. He moved back a little, awkwardly. “Stop it.” The attempt to spell him faded away.

  “What does he want?” Bradshaw’s voice was raspy.

  “He says he wants to die.”

  “No!” Noel exclaimed, and coughed. “Kill me!”

  Lachlan said softly, “Yeah, there is a difference, isn’t there?”

  IT REALLY WAS TOO PERFECT. An hour ago Bradshaw could have given Noel exactly what he wanted and savored the experience. It was his right as Magistrate to judge and pass sentence; he’d met few who deserved death more than this man.

  He couldn’t do it. Neither could he order it done. Between his anger and this quietude of soul had come the truest memory of Susannah. Vengeance was dead in him.

  He was peripherally aware of the others in the cellar: when they had arrived and what they had witnessed interested him not at all. Kate and Simon, Lydia and Martin and Ian, Leah Towsley and the Reverend Fleming—they clustered in the doorway, curious or worried or anxiously alert. They must all be protected from whatever remained here, and to do that he must negate this Circle.

  Gathering himself, he said, “Take the places you occupied the night Lydia read Susannah’s music.”

  The Reverend had other ideas. “I will have no truck with Satanism,” he warned, “or the worship of demons—I know what you people do on Hallowe‘en, a celebration of death and all that is evil. ‘And the soul that turneth after such as have familiar spirits, and after wizards, to go whoring after them, I will even set my face against that soul, and will cut him off from among his people.’”

  “Leviticus, Chapter Twenty,” Elias said tiredly. “Forgive me for not remembering the verse numbers. Can we at least agree, Reverend, that Noel is the one whoring after spirits tonight? And that you haven’t the slightest notion of how to deal with him?”

  Fleming drew breath as if to argue further, then swept his gaze around the room, resting at last on Noel. His brow pinched and he shied back. But his voice was fiercely defiant as he said, “I am strong in the Lord.”

  “Elias,” Lydia said as the others took their positions, “you don’t need me, so why don’t I look after the Reverend?” Gently she took Fleming’s arm and coaxed him aside to stand with Holly and Marshal Towsley. Farcically enough, Holly introduced herself and he shook her hand. When all else failed, Bradshaw told himself, take refuge in civilities; how very Jane Austen of her.

  “Miss McClure, you’re bleeding,” said the Reverend.

  “Oh—sorry.” She pressed thumb and forefinger together. “I’d say ‘occupational hazard’ but it would take too long to explain, and His Honor needs silence right now.”

  Bradshaw surveyed the Circle: the implements he hadn’t used and the ravens he hadn’t brought into being and the candle flames he hadn’t kindled. If his fifty years had taught him nothing else, they had taught him to improvise. The configuration wasn’t quite right; he considered, then said, “Simon, you’re our Death Lord. Kate —”

  “I know, I know—The Crone.” She sighed and stood beside Ian in the North. “Why is it always me? I’m forty-six, not a hundred and twelve.”

  Elias was about to begin when another voice whined, “Wh-what about me?”

  “You?” He stared at Denise where she crouched on the floor. “You’ll stay put and shut up.”

  For a second she looked as if she might resist him—but then her green eyes flickered to the golden Measure tethering Noel, and whatever fight had been left in her wilted.

  He called the Guardians. Raphael, Ariel, Gabriel, Michael; East, North, West, South; Air, Earth, Water, Fire. Unexpectedly, with each invocation the name and nature of a goddess came into his mind also: brilliant Athena in the East; nurturing Demeter in the North; Selene, Keeper of the Silver Wheel of Stars, in the West; to the South, Brighid of the Sacred Fire. In each was something of Susannah’s beauty: her green eyes, her wheaten hair, her wry smile, her welcoming arms. The associations surprised him, but there was a pleasure and a promise, too.

  “This is a time which is not a time, a place which is not a place, a day which is not a day. On Samhain we pass into darkness with the turning of the wheel, on the night when the veil between the worlds is thin. On this night, the Lord of the Sun passes from us, the Lord of the Day becomes the Lord of Shadows. Let goodness—let joy—be harvested as wheat in the fields, and let hurt be cast aside, winnowed away as chaff.”

  The Crone’s turn came, and Kate chanted, “Though the Sun Lord leaves us on this Samhain night, fear not Death. Death is the Comforter and the Consoler, Death is Heart’s Ease and Sorrow’s End. Remember those who have died, for they who are remembered, live.”

  Simon, the Death Lord, spoke next. “The circle is ever turning. The days are growing shorter. The Sun Lord leaves us now to the long nights of winter, but shall return with the spring, when the days lengthen and the nights are warm and sweet. That which dies is reborn. They who are remembered, live.”

  “All that is born shall live and die,” Elias murmured, “and all that dies shall be born and live again. This is the Trinity,” he went on with a certain relish, fully aware of Reverend Fleming’s scowling disapproval, “the Three-in-One that defines the universe. Thought, word, and deed. Morning, noon, and night. Seed, fruit, and wine. Birth, life, and death.”

  “That which dies is reborn,” Simon repeated. “They who are remembered, live.”

  SHE WHO IS REMEMBERED, LIVES. Holly silently promised it to Susannah, grateful to concentrate on the traditional reason for Samhain instead of worrying about Evan. He hadn’t so much as looked at her since—well, since. She supposed that sooner or later she’d be able to convince herself it had been a hallucination brought on by delayed reaction to the incense—until the next time Evan took off a shirt and she saw the scar.

  She could feel him standing next to her, tall and solid, warm and alive. She was just beginning to believe it, as Elias continued his tranquil recitation, when Noel’s sudden movement snagged her gaze.

  “Bayemon!”

  Noel’s voice, resonant with power, echoed from the flagstones to the vaulted ceiling. He was on his knees, his arms and throat helplessly knotted in Denise’s golden Measure. He turned his head as far as the cord would allow, glaring at Nicky, who stood in the West, domain of Gabriel.

  “Bayemon!”

  Nicky’s eyes, the color of a summer sea, flick
ered with darkness like rain clouds. Opposite him, Alec swayed slightly and moaned.

  “Amayon!”

  This to the South, where both Elias and Martin stood, the latter like a Crusader knight carved of ebony—and the Sword in his hands flowed orange and crimson with flame. Martin gave a blurt of surprise but held on to the Sword.

  “Amayon!”

  In the North, Ian grimaced in sudden pain.

  “Lucifer!” screamed Noel. Alec, in Raphael’s realm, already reeling from Nicky’s anguish, shuddered and gasped for air.

  “By the Lord Jehovah, no!” roared Reverend Fleming. And before Noel could complete his second calling of Lucifer, the servant of God surged forward, away from the Jewish girl who stood stricken by shadows and the two stunned marshals and Holly, and grasped Alec Singleton by the shoulders. “Begone from this man! In the name of Jesus Christ the Son of God I cast thee out!” Alec struggled for breath, his head lolling as Fleming shook him. “Hear me, Angels, Prophets, Apostles! Drive out from these men the evil spirits that possess them! Now, I say! Help me, Father Abraham, Moses the Lawgiver, Mary the Gentle and Merciful Mother of Christ —”

  The four men standing the cardinal points of the compass cried out and collapsed to their knees. Reverend Fleming staggered and fell, tangling with Alec; Simon and Kate sagged to the stone floor. Bradshaw stayed upright a little longer, fighting frantically, but now Noel focused on him alone and whatever the Magistrate’s hands and lips were conjuring did him no good. Lydia gave a single sob of horrified vision and covered her face with her hands when Elias slumped to the flagstones.

  Holly groped desperately for Evan’s hand—but he, too, was down, curled on his knees, arms wrapped around himself. She was about to bend over him, to touch him and damn the consequences, when a gentle hand clasped her arm and a soft voice whispered, “No. They are none of them harmed. Watch.”

  A cloud of shadows gathered around Noel, black shadows subtly iridescent and trailing sparks as a sudden wind wailed through shattered glass. The ravens gathered, chittering excitedly, feathers blurring into a swirl that became a garment. Within it a figure coalesced, ancient and withered and smiling.

  Holly knew who this must be: the Morrigan. Guised as a woman, on the night before battle she washed the bloodstained clothing of those who would die on the morrow. In her shape of the great Raven, she soared over clashing armies, kawing her eagerness to feed on the corpses. For an instant it was indeed an Irish face above the raven-wing cloak: broad-browed, green-eyed, whiteskinned amid a wild tangle of curls.

  The features changed. Cheekbones widened, angled; eyes darkened to rich earth-brown; skin glossed to coppery bronze; thick hair straightened, became long and lustrous and inky black.

  “Kâ’lanû Ahkyeli’skï,” murmured the unknown woman at Holly’s side. “Raven Mocker. The Cherokee witch who seeks out the dying to rob them of the last of life.”

  With a chuckle like a raven’s, and with arms spreading like wings, black feather-woven material fell back from her hands. Her fingers trailed sparks. Noel slid down, curled now on the floor, gasping. Glittering embers fell on his rictus of a face, smoldering on his robe and the golden cord. The would-be god writhed, struggling against Raven Mocker, fighting for his life. Or perhaps for the death he had envisioned. The death, Holly finally understood, that would make him a god. But not this. Not this. There was now no deep resonance in his hoarse cries; his gods and parts of gods had deserted him.

  Denise screamed without cease, her Measure singed by fire dancing from Raven Mocker’s hands. Holly heard her agony from a great distance, for her head was filled with the rasps of Raven Mocker’s voice. She understood every word.

  “Sgë! Nâ’gwa tsûdantâ’gï tegû’nyatawâ’ilateli’ga!” Listen! Now I have come to step over your soul!

  Raven Mocker bent over Noel, a swirl of rainbow black.

  “Ä ‘nûwa‘gï gû’ gû‘nnage’ gûnyû‘tlûntani’ga! Sûn‘talu’ga gû‘nnage degû ’nyanu‘galû’n-tani’ ga, tsû‘nanugâ’istï nige’sûnna!” I have come to cover you over with the black cloth! I have come to cover you with the black slabs, never to reappear!

  She reached for his chest, where the Measure crossed his breastbone, and clawed the golden cording aside. Where sharp nails raked his skin there opened up a gaping bloody hollow braced by white ribs. Her fingers burrowed deep, and from between bones Raven Mocker dug out a heart.

  “Tsûdantâ’gï ûska’lûntsi’ga!” Now your soul has faded away!

  The heart beat frenziedly in her palm, starved for blood to pulse through the body it had served. With the last air in his lungs Noel groaned hopelessly. Raven Mocker nodded.

  “Tsûtû’neli’ga!” So shall it be for you. “Sgë!”

  But there was nothing to hear. The heart lay still and silent in her hand.

  She tucked it away beneath her cloak of feathers and mist, became a cloud of shadows once more, and was gone.

  A soft sigh. “And so he knows Death.”

  Holly’s own heart was thudding, thick with blood, her Spellbinder’s blood that still smeared Noel’s dead fingers.

  “How could it be your fault?” the quiet voice asked. “He summoned Death, and so Death came—but not as he expected.”

  “And—and he was alone.” She heard the words; she had not spoken aloud.

  “Yes. Alone. Do you understand?”

  She wrestled with it, the aloneness and the reasons for that aloneness. In pursuit of godhood, he had severed connection to his own kind. A rift such as this from humanity’s intrinsic magic bestowed the power to kill other humans without thought or qualm. To murder Scott Fleming and snap Susannah’s graceful neck with no regard for the lives he was ending. To be aloof, distant, separated—was this what it meant to be a god?

  No. Never. Deity was everywhere, in all Creation. To turn one’s back on Creation was Death.

  “Look within. Discover what you are at this moment creating.” Her confusion brought a snort of impatience. “Your blood, so important to others—listen to what it tells you!”

  Blood—cells—nuclei—the elegant double helix where all that she was curled in a code of chemicals that were as old as the Universe. “We are stardust—”

  And there was the soft rhythm of the drums, and of voices murmuring in the star-strewn night. The laughter of water over river rocks, the whisper of the wind. The crackle of flames in the sacred circle of stones, and the heartbeats—billions of them—the shift of soil under her bare feet as she approached the place where the slight, delicate woman crouched, swaying lightly back and forth, hands extended to the warmth of an ancient fire.

  Dark eyes luminous in a small dark face, she looked up and smiled welcome. They had not met before, but they were as familiar to each other as water and skin and recurring dreams. The modern brain that knew modern science identified the linkage of mitochondrial DNA, the unique pattern of mother to daughter to daughters uncounted throughout the millennia; the ancient blood that knew timeless things made her bend her head in reverence to the woman rocking beside the fire.

  In the vast singing silence of the grasslands, magic had been created. And then had come the flow of humankind across the Earth, out of Africa and across Asia, the Americas, Europe, to every gigantic continent and tiny island, until the planet was connected by ever-seeking, ever-curious, ever-creating humankind. Always bringing with them the first magic, connecting it to the magic in new places that wasn’t really new magic at all, only waiting for humans to come and listen.

  If humans could only listen to each other—listen without prejudice or intolerance—listen with opened minds and compassionate hearts—the connections could be something so splendid, so powerful, so perfect—

  “It begins with one,” the woman murmured. “And from that one, others. Now you begin to understand.”

  Thirty-two

  THE FIRELIGHT WAS ONLY CANDLELIGHT now; the circle of stones a Circle of fading power. She looked at no one as she spoke aloud the
words, easily recalled from a hundred rituals, that would thank and disperse the Guardians, and when that was finished she gathered up the leavings: wood, glass bowls, incense pots cold with ash, and little black carvings of ravens. These she placed on the black marble altar, and to them she called flames enough to burn and melt and char.

  The women were the first to stir. Lydia, blinking at Holly with wide, speculative eyes; Kate, searching instinctively with long fingers in the pockets of her robe to find a restorative herb; Leah Towsley, rocking lightly back and forth for a moment on her knees before the dazed expression left her dark eyes. Holly smiled at her, and very nearly bowed her head once more. But that would only confuse her. Denise did not move at all.

  “I’m not going to ask what happened,” Kate began slowly.

  “Wise choice,” Holly told her. Any explanation she might attempt would, in honor, be authentic—but not the truth, the way the sparkle wasn’t really the diamond.

  “That’s what I was afraid of.” She sorted among the little colored silk bags of herbs before her on the floor, selected one, and breathed deep of its scent. “That’s better.” Pushing herself to her feet, she moved to Alec, Ian, Nicky, and Martin, pressing the sachet to each nose in turn. Holly was amused to note that Kate automatically moved sunwise around the Circle; Elias had trained them all very well.

  He was recovering, too, gaze sharpening as it probed the Four Quarters and found them quiet. The diminishing fire on the altar made him arch a brow. He frowned at Holly. “You?”

  “Yes.”

  “All of it?”

  “All.”

  He grunted with effort as he got to his feet. “Good.” He stared down at Noel. “Dead?”

  “Very.”

  Kate was ministering to Simon now. The old man drew back from the herbs, wrinkling his nose. “Get that away from me—you’ll have me sneezing my sinuses raw, like Holly.”

  She watched them all—the Reverend sitting on the cold stones, whispering a prayer; the Witches, alert now and tending to each other; the young black deputy marshal who might or might not remember who she had for a little while been—all but Evan. She could not go to him. He must come to her.