Witch & Curse

by Nancy Holder

  Marie-Claire had missed the whole thing. She smiled and said, “Here it is!” and showed them the key on a chain with a plastic badge that read, SEATTLE’S #1 BRAKE SHOP.

  “And we’re off, home again, safe and sound,” she said.

  Holly climbed into the car.

  “That was a falcon,” Kialish said as Jer and the others left the hill and headed for their cars. “Your totem.”

  Jer looked around the circle. They were an odd bunch to be starting a secret coven, weren’t they? The few, the proud, the sweat lodgers. Would there be enough power here on which he could draw in his quest to protect Marie-Claire? He could only hope.

  “I want you to learn,” he finally answered. “Open your minds and your hearts, and help me.” For a moment he found himself unable to meet their gazes. “My family’s heritage is . . . more extreme than I’ve let any of you know. Eli and my dad, they’re . . .” He looked down at the fire. Kari gave his hand a squeeze.

  “They are so evil,” he whispered finally. “I can’t tell you very much. I’m . . . bound . . . but I will not be a part of their . . . plans” —he nearly spit the word out— “when they want to hurt people. What they do otherwise is not for me to decide, but I can’t allow my father and my brothers to hurt anyone. I won’t.”

  His friends looked at one another, but no one said anything for a long moment. “All right, bro,” Eddie said finally.

  Kialish cleared his throat. “We should go back to see my dad.”

  “I’m not sure,” Jer said. He had been deliberating about that. “This magic is very different from your father’s. It’s more ruthless and vicious. We’ve always known that. Always talked about it.”

  “Then he can help us find us new ways to fight it,” Kialish insisted.

  That was true. Jer inclined his head and said, “All right. You’re right. Tonight we need to meet, to bind ourselves together, in blood. It’s an old ritual and it will establish us as a Coven.” He looked around the group. “Think about that. You are going to become a Coven of the Art. Once I initiate you, you’re bound to loyalty to our Coven. And to me, as your master.”

  Eddie and Kialish nodded, both looking very sober. They knew this was an important moment.

  “And then you’ll teach us,” Kari said, her eyes shining with excitement.

  Jer’s heart was very heavy. She still thought this was all a game. “Yes, I’ll teach you.”

  He prayed that the lessons he had to teach were not painful.

  Or fatal.

  NINE

  SEED MOON

  House of Deveraux arise

  Take your vengeance to the skies

  Let the world feel your ire

  Paint the moon with black fire

  Time to scheme and plant the seeds

  Of distrust and dishonesty

  Take the souls whom we have marked

  Make them ours mind and heart

  Things changed.

  The dreams faded, and Holly slept better at night. No Jer Deveraux showed up on her radar, but she firmly consigned him to her “settling-in phase” and wondered a little about Tommy Nagai . . . except the guy was obviously set on snagging Amanda. And Amanda had no clue, wouldn’t even believe it when Holly would try to tell her about it.

  “We are oldest, bestest friends,” Amanda told her. “You’re misinterpreting him.”

  Holly began to wonder if Amanda was afraid to like Tommy more intensely than she already did; if that would make him go away or stop liking her. She understood that kind of fear; she’d been there herself.

  Holly began to feel at home in Seattle. She found things to like—one of them being that Seattle was a hip, sophisticated place like San Francisco. The kids were quick and smart; they shared the same kind of shorthand as back home. It was good to be well-read and ambitious. One got points for expanded horizons and broad cultural experiences.

  It rained, but then, it had rained a lot in San Francisco. Holly learned to carry an umbrella with the same consistency that she carried a purse. So did Amanda, who “trained” her, reminding her constantly, “Don’t forget your umbrella. Do you have your umbrella?”

  Nicole, though, never wore a raincoat or carried an umbrella. She preferred the more theatrical style of running and screaming through the rain and tearing off her clothes the second she came home and heading straight for a hot shower. This abandon at times sent Amanda, Holly’s former dour, Nicole-despising cousin, into spasms of good-natured revulsion—something that had developed over time, after Holly came to live there.

  I’ve been here six weeks and they’re both so different. So happy. It’s like magic.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Amanda would demand, laughing. “You hedonistic, barbaric moron!”

  Nicole would just wad up one of her ever-present midriff-baring tees and throw it at her. “You’re just jealous you don’t look as good as I do.”

  “Please.”

  Holly loved the changes in them both. They were more relaxed around each other. In fact, hanging with Amanda and Nicole had begun to prove sisterhood could be more than powerful, it could be liberating and fun. The terrible loneliness began to recede, although the ache of losing her parents was still as fresh as the day it had happened. But just being there, rain or no rain, faintly erased the fierce emptiness of facing the future. Her cousins could make her laugh when she really felt like an all-night cry session watching Jay Leno or David Letterman, switching back and forth until she made herself crazy. Bast and her cousins’ cats were adorable too, always popping up when she needed their sweet, furry selves, sleek and ready to be played with.

  Amanda was happy, Nicole was friendly, and Holly was beginning to believe that she had a place here.

  Family.

  Nicole kept urging her to tell Bast her secrets and to “help you get a guy.” As they lay around in Nicole’s room, where Holly was now more welcome and which was decorated in black with silver moons, a lot of theater posters and a signed picture of Winona Ryder, Nicole wrinkled up her nose, as if to take the sting out of what she said next.

  “Just don’t make it Eli. We’re going to make a new life once we’re released from prison.”

  “Eli. Ugh,” Amanda said. “Let’s don’t go there. And on that note, I’m going to bed.”

  “I should too,” Holly said.

  As she slid off the bed, Bast trotted in. Hecate wriggled out of Nicole’s arms, leaped off the bed, and joined her. They touched noses, then turned and sauntered out of the room together.

  “They’ve probably gone off to plan your future,” Nicole said to Holly. “Well, g’night.” She smiled at her sister as well as her cousin.

  “Don’t make us late in the morning,” Amanda warned Nicole as she, too, got up to leave. “And don’t hog the bathroom.”

  “Moi?” Nicole fluttered her lashes.

  Amanda gave her a look.

  In the hallway, Amanda rolled her eyes. She said, “God, she drives me crazy. Just watch, she’ll make us late.” She shrugged and smiled, and Holly saw that the sting and hurt that had once haunted her cousins’ relationship were still gone. “If you do pray to your cat tonight, beg her to make Nicole ready on time. If I get one more tardy in P.E., my grade’s going to be lowered.”

  “How embarrassing,” Holly empathized.

  “How stupid. I won’t get into a good school if my G.P.A. is down, and I won’t have it happen over running around like a fool for forty-five minutes in thirtydegree weather.” She made a face. “I should have caught on early, like Nicole. Taken modern dance.”

  Holly made a face. “I’m not big on pretending I’m a dancing tree.”

  Amanda laughed. “Well, it just gives her another reason to demand everybody’s attention.” She said it good-naturedly. “And on that happy note, bonne nuit, as we say around here.”

  Holly felt a pang. Her father used to wish her bonne nuit—good night—in French. Maybe it was a family tradition, from being French and everything. There’s
so much I don’t know about my parents. And maybe I’ll never know. I should ask Aunt Marie-Claire to tell me some more about Daddy’s childhood.

  “Bonne nuit,” she told her cousin, and went into her room.

  Her deaf kitten scampered in after her. Holly took a deep breath and shut the door, leaning against it as she gazed around the room, watching to see if the cat freaked out. Weird things still happened in this room. The closet door liked to swing open in the night. The floorboards liked to creak. And the cat, who could not hear, didn’t like any of it.

  “So, my dear familiar,” she teased the cat as the two of them walked toward the bed. “Here’s my wish list: getting to school on time, a good night’s sleep, and . . .” She trailed off, too shy to mention a foolish desire to see Jer soon, even to the cat. “That’s all,” she said.

  The cat meowed and blinked her large blue eyes. She was such a petite little thing that her face was little more than her eyes and a tiny cupid-bow mouth and a dot of a nose.

  Holly picked her up and whispered against her neck, “Oh God, I miss my mom and dad so much. I miss Tina. This was going to be our year.”

  The cat purred and extended her right forepaw in such a human-like gesture of comfort that Holly couldn’t find it in herself to smile. The pit in her stomach became a tight knot. Her throat closed up with unspoken grief and she thought, How long am I going to feel this bad? Am I going to miss them like this for the rest of my life?

  Tap, tap, Bast’s forepaw touched on the back of her hand. She snuggled up and licked Holly’s forearm, and Holly sank onto her bed.

  She couldn’t sleep; she tapped her fingers on her blanket to the steady drumbeat against the window. Just as she began to doze, she thought she heard a soft whispering outside her door. Maybe it’s one of my cousins. Maybe Amanda wants to talk about what happened in her room. Drama is obviously a touchy subject around here. . . .

  Holly yawned and opened her eyes.

  She blinked.

  Did I sleepwalk?

  She was standing on the landing above the living room. She was in her nightgown, and she was looking down on Nicole and Marie-Claire, who were seated on the stonework in front of the large fireplace. Both of them were in their bathrobes. Nicole’s was fireengine red. Marie-Claire’s was black.

  Several bundles of sticks lay beside them. Nicole picked one of them up, kissed it, and handed it to her mother.

  Marie-Claire passed it over the warm, crackling fire and said, “Oh, Goddess, grant to Amanda the wishes of her heart. May a good young man love her truly, and may she discover her own talents and gifts.”

  Holly was stunned. What are they doing? Are they actually doing that Wicca stuff? My own aunt?

  “Blessed be,” Nicole said sweetly.

  “Oh, Goddess, grant to Holly the wishes of her heart. Let her life with us be filled with ease and joy, and the feelings of a warm family.”

  Is that why they’re getting along so well? Holly thought, shocked. They’ve been . . . enchanting themselves?

  “And better clothes,” Nicole added, giggling. Her mother gave her a stern look. Nicole cleared her throat and murmured, “Blessed be.”

  Marie-Claire put down the bundle and said, “Now you.” She leaned over and gave Nicole a kiss on her forehead.

  Nicole handed her another bundle.

  “Oh, Goddess, grant to my beautiful Nicole the wishes of her heart. Fame on the stage, and love in her life.”

  “That’s great, Mom,” Nicole said. “You catch on quick.”

  “It’s incredible,” Marie-Claire gushed. “Who would ever have guessed?”

  Holly was transfixed. Then, as mother and daughter carried the bundles of sticks to the fireplace, something brushed Holly’s ankle. She caught her breath and turned to look.

  The three cats, Freya, Hecate, and Bast, had grouped around Holly’s bare feet. Their yellow eyes gazed up at her. None of them moved; they sat still as if they wanted very much to speak to her. As if to say, Blessed be.

  Then Bast opened her mouth and said in a perfectly human voice, “I shall serve thee, Holly Cathers. . . .”

  Holly bolted upright, blinking at the sunlight streaming through the window of the Seattle guest room.

  It was a dream, she thought. The dreams are back.

  Bast sat at the foot of the bed, staring at her, and began to purr.

  In the dark-hearted chamber of the Deveraux house, Eli and Michael made obeisance to the Horned God. Michael had butchered a dozen lady hawks, symbol of the House of Cahors, and a dozen ravens, symbol of the Deveraux. After a long Ritual of flame and fire, Michael conjured Laurent for his older son, who stared openmouthed at what he saw.

  Their ancestor took his own sweet time, and as usual, the French warlock appeared as a moldering corpse. Tonight he was nearly transparent, and his flesh was a stomach-churning blue-gray.

  “This is Eli, my son,” Michael announced to the half-formed cadaver. “Kneel,” he said through clenched teeth to the boy.

  Hastily, Eli knelt.

  “One of two sons,” Laurent said, through lips that did not move. “If he doesn’t perform any better than your other child, he’d make a suitable sacrifice.”

  Eli paled, and Laurent laughed, the sound echoing off the grisly walls that had seen pain and death, and even worse. Michael bowed on one knee and said, “He is my firstborn.”

  “Firstborn sons are rare, and precious,” Laurent observed. “So much the better when a father must part with his.”

  Michael remained silent, trying to gauge how serious Laurent was being. Does he mean for me to kill Eli now? Is he testing me?

  Because I’ll pass that test. . . .

  He looked at his son with no other feeling in his heart except a mild regret. Sasha was right; I can’t love anyone. But she was wrong to leave me. There’s such a thing as loyalty.

  Okay, I’m not big on loyalty, either. But she should have backed me up, not left me with two kids to take care of.

  Laurent paced the marble floor, although his footfalls made no noise. Michael watched him calmly. Eli was glancing at their athames on the altar, maybe thinking about self-defense or patricide, Michael didn’t know which.

  “Your other son—Jeraud—has become possessed by the spirit of my child, Jean,” Laurent announced. “That is why he has run away from you.”

  Michael’s lips parted in surprise. Eli looked completely baffled, muttering, “Who’s Jean?”

  “Isabeau has succeeded in moving into the life of Holly Cathers,” the Duke continued.

  “The Lord and the Lady,” Michael murmured, half to himself. He cocked his head as he regarded his patron. “You told me that it was only a legend, that Cahors magic mixed with Deveraux creates a far more powerful combination than the usual male and female magics I have attempted.”

  “Which you attempted with Marie-Claire, against my direct orders,” Laurent added sternly.

  “I was going to kill her,” Michael protested.

  “You should. She and her daughters contain power, as well. But above all, it is the little cousine who must be destroyed.”

  “Dad?” Eli whispered. “What’s going on?”

  “Shut up,” Michael hissed at him. To Laurent, he held out his hands. “Give me the Black Fire, my lord, and I will burn them all.”

  At this, Laurent smiled bitterly. “First, the Cahors witches must be eliminated,” Laurent said. “We cannot proceed with the Black Fire as long as they’re alive. If Holly Cathers were to decipher the spell, learn how to conjure it . . . it’s unthinkable.”

  Frustrated, but also hopeful, Michael crossed his arms over his chest and bowed. “Oui, mon seigneur.”

  “The anniversary of the betrayal is nigh. If Holly is not dead by Mead Moon, I will withdraw my patronage.” He wagged a skeletal finger at Michael, the flesh hanging from it. In place of the fingernail gleamed a talon, long and curved as the crescent moon. “Don’t forget, mortal man, that I have time and I can wait. If you and your s
ons disappoint, I will recruit other Deveraux warlocks to help me. You are not alone in this world.”

  Michael swallowed. It would be naive to assume they were the only descendants of the noble Deveraux Coven, but so far he had been unable to track down the others. Someday . . .

  “Listen, um, my lord. Do we have to . . . should we kill all of the Cathers?” Eli asked Laurent. “Because one of them is my girlfri—”

  The French nobleman stared down at him with utter disbelief. As Michael looked on, he advanced threateningly on Eli, raised his taloned hand, and sliced at him, narrowly missing the kid’s cheek.

  “Arrogant child! You will speak when spoken to!” he thundered. Furious, he turned to Michael. “In what manner have you raised your heir?”

  To Michael’s surprise, Eli raised his chin and said, in a strong, calm voice, “These are different times, Duke Laurent. And I’m not a child.”

  Laurent cocked his head. He looked at Eli long and hard, then said, as if to himself, “So it would appear.”

  It was a rainy Thursday night. In Nicole’s room Holly cradled Bast, and the cat was purring like crazy. Nicole stretched out on her bed and Amanda sprawled on the floor. They’d emptied two bags of microwave popcorn and drunk enough Diet Dr. Pepper to float the entire city of Seattle as they’d watched the Claire Danes and Leo DiCaprio production of Romeo + Juliet for the umpteenth time.

  The senior play had been announced. It was going to be Romeo and Juliet.

  Nicole wanted the lead, of course. She was studying all the versions she could find, looking for her interpretation.

  “I’m the only one who can do it right,” she said, shaking her head at the TV.

  “Uh-huh.” Amanda yawned as her cat climbed onto her stomach.

  “I mean it.” Nicole stood up and stretched. Her towel-turbaned head reminded Holly of Erykah Badu. She struck a pose and her voice grew deeper than the sudden rumble of real thunder outside.

  “Give me my Romeo: and, when he shall die,

  Take him, and cut him out in little stars,

  And he will make the face of heaven so fine,