by Nancy Holder
Then something, an unseen force, seemed to grab hold of her foot. Something compelled her to turn off the engine.
It’s my guardian angel, she thought.
The car spun again, then lurched to a stop.
“God,” she whispered, exhaling. She let go of the wheel with shaking hands and wiped her eyes. Tears clouded her vision, and as she tried to remember how to breathe, she clamped her right hand over her mouth to keep herself from becoming violently ill.
With her other hand she punched open the electric window. The whirring was covered by the sound of footfalls racing toward her. A shadowed figure was waving at her with both hands above its head.
It was Michael’s son, Jer.
What’s he doing out here in the middle of the night? she thought. Shame flooded through her; she didn’t want to speak to him, as if somehow he would be able to tell by looking at her that she had been with his father at a tawdry motel a few miles from the Deveraux house.
Before he could reach the car, she turned the key in the ignition, put the car in reverse, and skidded backward. Then she slammed it into drive, made a sharp left, and drove away as fast as she could, as if he might be able to catch up with her.
I don’t think he saw me, she said, glancing fretfully into the rearview mirror. I’m safe.
EIGHT
CHASTE MOON
We take new charge of our fate
Take time to renew our hate
Before us every foe will flee
As we dance in ruthless glee
We dance beneath the moon’s fair light
Laugh and careen far into night
Everything comes with ease
And Cahors take what they please
Kari Hardwicke’s eyes were tired.
Seated in the tiny cubicle she called her on-campus office, she was working on her notes for Dr. Temar’s Lit 204 class—Gothic Lit—or rather, on Dr. Temar’s notes. She was his teaching assistant this semester and, so far, she did everything for him pretty much, except lecture. She composed his lectures and graded the students’ papers.
Well, he did manage to bring his own video in to show the class, she thought. And she did mean “his own.” Ken Temar had written, directed, and starred in The Truth about Frankenstein. It had been broadcast on PBS, and it was part of the reason Dr. Temar had tenure at UW. She was beginning to wonder who had really done all the work on it. They were the ones who should have been given tenure.
But that’s why God made grad students, she thought, sighing.
Her IM binged and she cheered up. It was Circle Lady, her mysterious e-mail correspondent. Circle Lady checked in about once a week. She knew an amazing amount about witchcraft, both stereotypical black magic stuff and the more authentic pagan forms of worship bundled together under the heading of Wicca. It was because of Circle Lady that Kari had developed such an intense interest in Jer. When he had walked into her class section during his freshman year, he had all the earmarks of someone who was practicing the Craft on the sly.
She’d pushed, and finally he’d opened up just a crack. Yes, his family practiced. No, she couldn’t watch. Yes, they had a Tradition. No, she couldn’t know its name. Yes, he would perform some rites and rituals with her.
How are you? Circle Lady queried.
Tired. Good, Kari replied.
Moon coming up. Samhain in a month.
Kari typed in, Yes. As a teenager, she had been fascinated to learn that there were all kinds of magical associations tied in with the more “American” holiday of Halloween. That had led to her studies in comparative religion, which had led to her graduate work in mythology.
How’s Warlock?
Kari grinned at their code name for Jer. Of course, Circle Lady didn’t know his real name. Kari was not stupid. For one thing, she wouldn’t violate his privacy like that; for another, she was using a university computer for private e-mail. Last year, his being assigned to her study sessions would have been an issue. This year, the Administration could go hang, for all it mattered.
Warlock is great, she said.
Did he get all his classes?
You are such a mom, Circle Lady! :) Kari typed back.
My kids are gone. No one to fuss over.
She became aware that she was no longer alone. Someone was standing at the perimeter of her cubicle—no mean feat, since her cubicle had very little perimeter.
As she glanced over her shoulder, warmth suffused through her. It was Jer. His face was cast in shadow; in his black clothes, he could have been some demon lover from an English Gothic romance.
Speak of the devil, and he shows, she told Circle Lady. Later, okay?
Tell him hi. Bye.
Kari logged off. She said, “Hi.”
Jer stepped into the harsh fluorescent light. He looked as if he had just witnessed a car crash—numb and confused and very, very upset.
“Hey,” she blurted, jumping out of her office chair.
His only answer was to lower his head. As if he were drunk, she led him carefully to the chair and set him in it. He stared at his hands as if he had never seen them before. Then abruptly he rose.
“I shouldn’t have come here.” His voice was a harsh rasp. “It could be very dangerous for you.”
Her laugh was startled, shrill. “Wha-at? Jer, are you on something?”
As he moved away from her, she caught his arm. He was sweating profusely. She said, “Take your coat off, Jer. You’re boiling up.”
Jer made no move to do so; he simply shook his head and muttered, “I’m fine.”
He kept walking.
“Jer!” she cried. “What’s wrong with you? Let me help you.”
That must have been the right thing to say, because he froze.
“I want to,” she prodded.
Slowly, he raised his head. His shoulders were hunched, his fists clenched. “You have no idea what . . .”
“I want to.” She reached out a hand that he couldn’t see, lowering it as he pivoted back to her and put his hands on her shoulders. He was much taller than she; she had to tip her head back to look into his eyes. She was afraid of the fear she saw in them.
“It’s going to be dangerous.” He searched her face. “All this stuff you think I’m into . . . you think it’s so cool. So interesting.” He was mocking her; once, he had teased her that interesting was her favorite word, and that she had overused it to the point that it didn’t mean anything anymore.
Without another word, he grabbed her arm and escorted her out of her office and down the hall, hurrying her along. She stumbled against him and held on to his arm; he didn’t even seem to notice.
Then he slammed open the exit door and took her outside. She smelled the evergreens and a hint of rain in the clouds as they stood together in the cool night. Stars shone; the moon was hidden.
“See that bush?” he asked, pointing at a shadowy clump across a narrow trail between the trees. He snapped his fingers. That was all he did.
And the bush burst into flame.
“We can do that to plants,” he said, his voice deathly quiet. “And objects. And people.”
She gasped, thrilled and terrified and shot through with a sense of dread so heavy, she felt rooted to the spot.
As the bush blazed into a ball of fire, she swallowed hard and said to Jer, “We?”
He turned to her and faced her full on. “My father and my brother,” he said, “are trying to kill Marie-Claire Cathers-Anderson with magic.”
Marie-Claire got home, and she was shaking.
I almost died.
She walked into the kitchen, and thought absurdly, I hope the girls have a good day at school tomorrow. Senior year. Poor Holly, what a blow. She thought she would be home by now. So did I.
I almost died.
She raised on tiptoe to the liquor cabinet and got herself the Scotch bottle. She unscrewed the cap and grabbed a shot glass. Two shots later, she was still shaking.
“Mom?” It was Nicole, stan
ding in a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a T-top. Her red hair was tousled, and she was yawning. “Mom, you okay?”
“I-I-” She took a deep breath, saw the bottle in her hand, and was ashamed. “Honey, I almost had a car accident. A very bad one.”
“Oh God, Mom.” Nicole’s eyes widened. “Where? What happened?”
To Marie-Claire’s surprise, Nicole poured her another shot of Scotch and handed it to her.
She socked it back. Then Nicole poured some for herself in another shot glass and tossed it back like a pro. She smirked at her mother as if to say, Don’t even start, Mom. Don’t be naive.
Oh, my God, I’m getting loaded with my own daughter.
“It was like . . . like I couldn’t control the car,” Marie-Claire blurted. Her words were already beginning to slur. “Almost like I . . . like someone wanted me to have an accident.”
Nicole frowned. And then she gave her mother another surprise. She said, “Mom, Eli’s been teaching me about . . . well, you know what everyone says those guys are into.”
Marie-Claire stared at her daughter. Then she burst into laughter.
“C’mon, Mom, don’t pretend you haven’t noticed stuff around their house. And wondered.” Nicole put her hand on her hip. “Look, I know you’re sleeping with—”
“Oh, my God. Don’t say it.” Marie-Claire staggered backward. “Oh, my darling. I didn’t realize that you know. I’m so sorry.”
“No.” She grinned at her mother, and Marie-Claire saw a different person there, not her bright, eager, aspiring actress, but a grown woman with her own life and her own secrets. “You’re not. And I get why you do it, Mom. I really do. If I were married to a boring man—”
“Don’t talk about your father that way!” Marie-Claire half-shouted.
“You were with him tonight,” Nicole said calmly. “Don’t deny it. Someone’s probably jealous. Maybe it’s Jer. He’s so twisted.”
“This isn’t happening. We’re not having this conversation.”
Nicole took her mom’s hand and led her into the living room. She said, “Let me show you a few things, Mom. Things I know how to do. If someone is after you in a magic way, I can help you protect yourself.”
School was a waking nightmare.
As she wound her way through the maze of Hill High, the new faces blurred into the old ones Holly had expected to see on the very first day of her senior year. There was Grace Beck . . . no, that was someone else. There was Mallory Reaves . . . wrong again.
Not for one moment could she mistake Amanda for Tina.
Everything was too much, from the hand-painted posters announcing WE HAVE SCHOOL SPIRIT! to the admittedly nerdy friends of Amanda, who were trying way to too hard to be nice to her orphaned cousin. From the students already urging one another to sign petitions and join clubs and have LOTS OF SCHOOL FUN! to the new rooms and new teachers who loaded on the homework.
I would have some of these same reactions at home, Holly reminded herself. New rooms, new teachers, lots of homework.
“We’re almost done, we’re almost through it,” Amanda would say after each class period. Her aunt had arranged for them to have as many classes together as possible, while Amanda and Nicole had arranged to have as few opportunities to see each other at school as possible. They didn’t even have the same lunch.
When it was time for Holly to go to her first class alone, which was chemistry, she was relieved to find Tommy Nagai there. Seated at a two-person lab table covered with glass beakers and a Bunsen burner, he waved at her as she hovered anxiously at the doorway.
“Lab partner!” he said, throwing wide his arms. “Someone who will do all the work, yes? You’re like that?”
He put his arm around her and walked her back into the room. “Here’s where knowing me will pay off,” he said. “Watch this.”
He shepherded her up to the teacher, a grufflooking middle-aged man with an atrocious haircut and retro glasses that made his eyes wrap halfway around his head, like an alien’s.
“Mr. Boronski,” Tommy said affably. “My lab partner, please? Transfer from San Francisco. Amanda Anderson’s cousin. I want her.”
Mr. Boronski tried not to smile, but he couldn’t help himself. He wagged his head at Tommy and said, “You’ve got to play a little harder to get if you want the chicks to dig you. Right, Amanda’s cousin?”
“Holly,” she said, warming a little.
The teacher glanced down at a computer printout of student names. Like any self-respecting high school student, Holly was accomplished at reading upside down.
“Yes. There you are. Okay. Lab partners.” He smiled at her. “Welcome, Holly. All I ask is that you keep him from talking all through class. For that alone, I’ll give you an A.”
“I yak,” Tommy said joyfully. He took Holly’s hand and began leading her around the class, introducing her to the others. “Jason, Bob, Andrea, Brenda, Scott,” he labeled a sea of faces. He pulled her along. “Other new person, hi, I’m Tommy and this is my lab partner, Holly. We will be ruining the bell curve for you.”
The bell rang, and Mr. Boronski said, “Seats, please. Nagai, zip it.”
Tommy trotted Holly back to their lab table. “In science class, we are all homeys,” he told her. “Just watch me and you’ll be the sweetheart of the periodic table.”
“Nagai.”
“It means ‘long’ in Japanese,” Tommy whispered to Holly, giving her a hey-hey-baby look.
She did something she had not expected to do that day.
She laughed.
Okay, school might not be a nightmare after all. . . .
With Kari wrapped around him, Jer stood on the hill for which Hill High was named, his coat flapping behind him like the wings of a great, black bird.
Kialish and Eddie stood to one side, holding hands, watching the parade of cars waiting at the curb for the students to emerge from classes. The school was very old and made of brick; Jer had loved it there. It had been a refuge from his home life. And though he had never had many friends, he found Eddie and Kialish there.
“No black Mercedes,” Kari finally said.
He had come to check on the Anderson women, Marie-Claire in particular. It did not bode well that her Mercedes was not there to pick up her girls.
If they killed her last night, found another way . . .
“Are you sure about this, bro?” Eddie asked him gently. “Maybe she really did have a car problem.”
Jer closed his eyes and silently intoned a Finder’s Spell. Seconds later, Kialish said, “She’s in a different car.”
Jer opened his eyes; sure enough, a black Jeep Explorer had pulled to the curb and Marie-Claire Cathers-Anderson was stepping from the driver’s side. She hurried into the front entrance of the school just as the bell rang. Students began spilling from the wood-trimmed glass double doors.
Kari pulled her dark brown leather coat around herself and snuggled up to Jer. She said, “You don’t really think your family would try to hurt someone, do you? And why her?”
You have no idea, he thought. He was conflicted, knowing that he needed help to work against his family, not sure that he should have gone to Kari. Even Eddie and Kialish were question marks. Shamanic magic was more about the journey of the psyche; his family’s magic—Black Magic—was about getting what you wanted, no matter who it hurt.
“She looks okay, man.”
Kari’s arm tightened around Jer’s waist. She snuggled up to him. She was loving all this; she had been an animal in bed last night, after he had set the bush on fire.
That’s what’s supposed to happen, he thought bitterly, according to my brother. Magic and six-pack abs will get you the chicks.
“I need to be alone,” he said abruptly. “I need to prepare.”
“Prepare,” Kari said slowly.
He nodded and pulled away from her. She looked hurt. He didn’t care; he really couldn’t find it within himself. If she cared for anyone in this equation, it was she herse
lf. It was all a game to her, something she wanted to learn about, be able to do herself. But help someone? Protect someone? She hadn’t made that leap.
I shouldn’t have gotten her involved in this, he thought. But he needed a male-female connection to make some of the magic he was planning to do.
He looked back down the hill, easily singling out Holly and Amanda—but not Nicole—as Marie-Claire escorted them back out of the school, moving her hands like a hummingbird’s.
She looks so tired, Jer thought of Holly. So sad.
As she, her aunt, and Amanda made their way down Hill High’s steps to the rental—her aunt’s Mercedes was in the shop, awaiting a brake inspection—Holly heard the screech of a bird. Startled, she looked up, losing track of what her aunt was saying.
A black bird hovered about twenty feet above her, staring down at her. Even from this distance, she could see the sharp, curved beak, the taloned claws . . . and the eyes.
They seemed to stare at her . . . glare at her, Amanda, and Marie-Claire.
Unnoticed by her chattering cousin and her aunt, Holly took a step back. Her line of vision ticked downward.
Jer.
He stood on the hill across the street, a girl clinging to him, and two guys with him. The others were watching the bird.
Jer was watching her.
She went hot. She swallowed, looking away, wondering what he was doing there.
“Amanda,” she said quietly, “Amanda, look.”
“ . . . with Tommy in chemistry!” Amanda said, laughing.
“Oh, my goodness,” Aunt Marie-Claire replied, looking at Holly. “Mr. Boronski will have his hands full. Well, it’s nice you both had a good day. Now where did I put the rental key?”
Above them, the bird cawed once, then flapped its large wings and flew away.
Holly glanced at her aunt and said, “I’m sorry, what?”
On the hill, Jer and the others turned and began to walk away. Holly tugged on Amanda’s sleeve and gestured with her head.
Amanda looked up at the hill. She saw, glanced at Holly, and murmured, “That’s Kari with him.”
