by Nancy Holder
The men produced bread and cheese from somewhere, and Nicole hoped briefly that they might untie her. The hope was in vain, though. Eli fed her while James paced. In between bites she managed to ask, “How come we’re taking so long to get wherever it is we’re going?”
“This is the quickest way, considering. Our magic’s strong, but it would be difficult to keep an entire airport full of people—not to mention plane passengers—from realizing you were our prisoner. Unnecessary, anyway. Two more days and we’ll be where we need to go,” James answered, barely breaking step.
Eli stuffed another mouthful of bread into her mouth, and Nicole glanced at him, loathing him as she did herself. She couldn’t believe she’d ever been attracted to his dark nature. She had been so foolish to believe that she could tame him. As though sensing her thoughts, he gave her the same twisted smile he used to give her when he was touching her, when he was . . .
He began to undress her with his eyes and she turned away, disgusted. Her eyes fell on the pacing James, and a thought struck her.
Sex is Eli’s weakness. Always has been, even before me.
She turned her head slowly, deliberately, back to Eli and batted her eyelashes once, twice. Easy, don’t overdo it. She smiled and gazed at him suggestively. She gave him her best come-hither look and watched him lick his lips nervously as he glanced toward James.
In the days they’d been together, careful observation had led her to believe that while Eli feared James somewhat, he didn’t respect him. Now he glanced back at her, shifting his weight, probably completely unaware of his body language.
Okay, I’m gonna go for it . . . with both of them.
James was an unknown factor, but Eli she knew well. Eli could be counted on to want whatever someone else had. She dropped her eyes to keep him from knowing that the blush mounting her cheeks was not from old days and old memories, but from shame.
She put the whammy on James same as Eli, and he rose to the bait. Soon he was glancing her way, displaying his interest, and Eli was reacting. Without realizing it, the two warlocks were circling her, each with an eye on the other.
She was thrilled, triumphant . . . and a little smug about all those years Amanda had chided her about worrying about what guys thought of her.
When we get back together, I’m going to have to tell Holly and Amanda about this. And we’re going to have to read up on sex magic.
That’s what all this has been about—Michael seducing Mom, and this whole Jean and Isabeau deal; having a High Priestess and a guy with a “long arm.” Excuse me? A “long arm”?
After two days the magic bonds had loosened ever so slightly. She had a chance to try something more, a spell small enough that it would not register with the two men. A spell small enough to be covered by the magical energy already flowing about them. Something very small.
She breathed the glamour into life, something to make her even more beautiful and, Goddess willing, completely irresistible.
By dinner James had untied her. And his nearness excited her; she couldn’t deny that. His smoldering looks shot a tingle down to the small of her back.
By breakfast even she was having a hard time remembering that the electricity between them was one of her glamours.
“What is your father going to do to me?” she asked James as they shared a bottle of wine with Eli.
James shrugged nonchalantly. “Kill you, I guess. You are, after all, a Cahors.”
“And you are a Moore,” she said, “creator of the Supreme Coven chicken sandwich.” It had become something of a joke between them.
Grinning, he nodded and took a swig of wine.
“It doesn’t have to be this way,” she murmured.
He laughed dangerously low as he handed her the bottle. “What’s in a name, eh, Rosebud?”
“You’re a movie fan.” She took the wine and threw some back. Her hands were shaking; she was terrified.
But I’m still alive.
“I’m a movie fan,” he said agreeably, but there was flint in his gaze.
I’m not safe, though. I’m not safe at all.
She’s a hottie.
James didn’t trust her. He’d be lying, though, if he didn’t admit he was attracted to her. Everyone had heard the rumors of Cahors-Deveraux power. It clearly hadn’t worked for Nicole and Eli. Maybe it had nothing to do with houses. Maybe it was all about a certain combination of witch and warlock. House Moore was more powerful now than House Deveraux. Maybe leadership was essential. He licked his lips as he imagined an alliance that could bring him even more power.
With Cahors magic aligned with his, he couldn’t fail to overthrow his father.
Hmm. . .
He looked into her eyes and couldn’t trust what he saw shining there. She wants me ... or else she’s really good at faking it.
Okay, maybe the little bitch was playing him. Then again, maybe she wasn’t. He wasn’t a bad package; and oh, yeah, baby, speaking of packages . . .
He glanced over at Eli and saw the other man eyeing Nicole. A quick burst of anger made him tremble.
You had your shot. Now back off.
A voice from somewhere seemed to be whispering in his ear, “It’s all about the power. That’s what she likes. You have it. He doesn’t.”
“She wants to feel your power, James.
“That’s what she wants. Your power.
“You.
“No need to kill her. . . . No need at all.
“You can have her. She wants you.
“You, James. You can have a Cahors witch.”
James smiled slowly as he wrapped an arm around Nicole’s waist. She put her hand over his and gave him such a look that it was hard to restrain himself from taking her right then and there.
But that Deveraux nerd Eli was around somewhere, and it wasn’t a good idea to provoke a fight with a potential ally, especially while they were traveling together.
We’ll be in England soon.
And I think I just might have a little surprise for my father.
King James I: En route to England from Denmark, 1589
Below decks, at the threshold of their royal quarters, the king of Scotland surveyed his bride, whom he was bringing home to Scotland. She was beautiful. She was a few years younger than he, but her mind had been honed by an inquisitive nature, and she had the bearing of someone older. Her heavily embroidered white skirts were lovely, and the black jacket she wore was just as elegant.
He stared down at the decorative roses on his shoes that hid the laces, and lost himself in thoughts of her beauty. Few men had the privilege to marry such a woman, and he would do everything in his power to make her happy.
Finally he looked up and leaned close to Anne, a smile playing across his features. “I think I shall write a poem about your eyes.”
She blushed fiercely. “You’ve already written me a dozen poems.”
“Yes, but not one exclusively devoted to those magnificent pools of light that reflect the beauty and purity of your soul.”
She laughed in an embarrassed manner, but he could tell by the way she glowed that she was secretly pleased. “We’ve only half a day until we reach port. Surely the king of Scotland, and one day of England, can find better ways to occupy his time than writing love poetry?”
He took her hand in his and gazed into her eyes. “Nothing is more important to the king than his queen. Has not God commanded us that love is our highest duty? And as a husband I am to care for you as Christ does His faithful ones. Therefore, how could I be trusted to rule a country if I cannot follow God’s simplest decrees? How can I rule thousands with compassion if I gaze upon your exquisite face and am not moved to poetry?”
She smiled. “James, I love your poetry. I just wish all you wrote was as pleasant to read.”
He patted her hand. “You’re referencing the dae-monologies that I am penning.”
She shuddered. “Such horrible, frightening things.”
“Dearest Anne, not a
ll the world is as beautiful as you. This world is filled with terrifying things, both demons and the wretched persons who serve them. It is our duty to dispel the myths and denials surrounding such creatures. We must shine the light of truth upon those that live in darkness.”
She shook her head slowly. “Some of it just seems so fantastical.”
“Which? Demons or witches?”
She never had a chance to respond. The ship lurched violently sideways. James and Anne were thrown hard against the bulkhead; from the ladderway, water cascaded from the deck and spilled around their ankles.
Shouts of alarm issued from all quarters of the ship.
“Courage, my darling,” James shouted as he moved forward toward the ladderway. His thought was to get them on deck, above the water line, where they would be safer.
After listing on its side for what seemed an eternity, the vessel straightened back out.
“Anne, now!” James shouted, slogging through the rising water.
“I can’t! My skirts!”
He turned to look at her. Her splendid dress was not only ruined, it was killing her. The skirts held too much water; she could never swim in them. If they had to abandon the vessel, the weight of them would drag her down like a stone to her death.
Barely thinking, he fought his way into the next compartment and picked up his sword from where it had fallen to the floor. The water was waist deep as he made his way back to Anne.
Unsheathing the weapon, he began hacking at her skirts until he was able to cut most of it off. She stood shivering in her undergarments, staring at him with frightened eyes. He grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the cabin. They were halfway up the stairs when the ship lurched again.
He kept going, clinging to her hand, pulling her when he had to. They made it to the deck just as a wave crashed over it. It swept them both into the water. He kicked hard to the surface, Anne still clinging to his hand and kicking along with him. His lungs began to burn from lack of oxygen.
Just when he thought that all was lost, they broke the surface. Air rushed into his lungs, and he gasped and coughed. He twisted around scanning the water. A small boat stood a ways off, and they began swimming toward it, rain pelting their faces.
When they came alongside, hands reached down and pulled them up into the boat. Anxious fisherman scanned their faces and asked them if they were hurt. Slowly James shook his head. He turned to look back toward his ship.
All that was still visible of the royal vessel was her bow, and even as he watched, it slipped beneath the dark waves. As suddenly as it had risen, the storm dissipated.
The captain of the fishing boat crossed himself. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“How so?” James questioned sharply.
“The squall. She came out of nowhere. It was like she was alive, passing us to attack your ship. God have mercy.”
Eyes hard, James turned back to Anne. “Do you still doubt the presence of witches?”
These Witches . . . can rayse stormes and tempestes in the aire, either upon sea or land, though not universally, but in such a particular place and prescribed boundes, as God will permitte them so to trouble: Which likewise is verve easie to be discerned from anie other naturall tempestes that are meteores, in respect of the suddaine and violent raising thereof, together with the short induring of the same.
The king put his pen down and pressed his fingers to his temples.
His trusted advisor waited patiently. The man knew not to interrupt while James was writing. Finally James looked up wearily. “Any word about the identity of the hags who tried to kill the queen and me?”
After months of negative replies, he had grown to fear he would never discover the responsible ones. He had, however, had some small success in rousting some witches and casting light on the dark places wherein they dwelled.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the man said, clearly pleased with himself. “A gentleman would like to speak with you privately. He claims to have knowledge of the witch who attacked you.”
James blinked in surprise. Could it really be? His fatigue forgotten, he commanded, “Show him in and make certain no one disturbs us.”
His aid bowed and left. Within moments he ushered a tall, dark-haired man into the chamber, then left, closing the door behind him.
“Your Majesty,” the stranger greeted, dropping to one knee.
James gestured for the man to rise, leaning forward eagerly to hear what he had to say “Rise, good sir. Tell me who you are and why you have come.”
The man did as he was ordered, but bowed his head with great humility and announced, “My name is Luc Deveraux, Your Majesty. I am here because I have come to understand that we have a common enemy.”
James lifted a brow. “And who might this unfortunate be?”
“She is called Barbara Cahors.”
The king was mildly disappointed. That was no one whom he knew. “The name means nothing to me.”
“It will soon, your majesty,” Luc Deveraux said earnesdy, his expression one of great concern and steadfastness, “for she is the witch that of late tried to kill your good lady and yourself.”
James leaned forward farther, eyeing the other man intently. This is exactly what I have been wanting to hear. And so, I needs must doubt it. Courtiers thrive on pleasing me . . . or rather, appearing to please me.
With great sternness of tone, he said, “How do I know that you do not have some personal vendetta against this woman and thereby seek to bring her to ruin by my hand?”
“But I do have a personal grievance,” Deveraux assured him. “That I do, sir, and I stand by my accusation.”
The king and queen both attended the burning of the witches. Barbara Cahors and her handmaid had been lashed to great pyres, found guilty of the crimes of witchcraft and the attempted murder of the royal couple. Luc Deveraux was also present, close enough that Barbara could see him, far enough away that she could not easily identify him to the soldiers guarding her.
A smirk touched his face as he watched the hem of her skirt catch fire. Soon the witch would burn, like so many innocent women had before her. Barbara was far from innocent, though. He had traced her to this place with great effort. Spies and magic spells had revealed to him all the remaining members of the Cahors Coven. Barbara was one of several whom he planned to kill. The destruction of his enemy brought him great joy. Perhaps at last the House of Deveraux would be rid of the House of Cahors.
His victory was not entirely complete, though. Barbara’s young daughter, Cassandra, had escaped, and though he had combed the countryside, he had been unable to find the child. Without her mother to train her, though, the girl might never come to fully realize her powers. Regardless if she lived or died, the back of House Cahors was broken, and Deveraux was ascendant.
James: London, November
At the headquarters of the Supreme Coven, Sir William looked up as his son, James, strode into the room. The young man stood before him, barely paying the proper respect. Excitement and arrogance streamed from the young pup like musk.
“Father.”
“So, you have returned. Were you successful?”
James smiled. “More than expected.”
He turned, and a young woman was escorted into the hall. Though her hands were bound behind her, she bore herself with grace, standing tall. Sir William breathed deeply. He could smell the fear coming off her, but otherwise she masked it well.
“Father, allow me to introduce Nicole Anderson, my fiancée.”
Holly: Seattle, November
After Silvana and Kialish left the hospital, Holly, Amanda, Tommy, and Kari stood around awkwardly, angrily, very much at odds with one another. No one spoke. Tommy looked on helplessly, unable to comfort Amanda or the other two.
It fell to Tante Cecile to break the silence. She said to the others, “We must hold a Circle and ask the Goddess our best course of action—whether or not Holly should go to save Jeraud. We have the ability to seek guida
nce, and we should.”
Holly’s lips parted to protest. What if she says no? It occurred to her that although she had served as High Priestess for months, she had not really yielded herself to the Goddess. She had looked on the success of their magic spells almost the same as if they had been performing successful lab experiments in chemistry class. The thought of laying down her will was terrifying.
Tante Cecile looked straight at her as if she was reading her thoughts. Slowly she nodded. “You have just reached the threshold,” she said. “You’re on the brink of truly reclaiming your birthright, Holly.”
Holly swallowed hard. Her chest was so tight she couldn’t breathe. Amanda frowned, puzzled, and Kari said anxiously, “What are you two talking about? You’re speaking in secret code.”
A great fear washed over Holly. In the midst of the chaos and confusion, she was overwhelmed. If I do this—agree to really put myself in Her hands—I will be different for the rest of my life. What if my Goddess is a ruthless lady? What if allegiance to her is what made the Cahors before me so brutal?
“It’s still your choice,” Tante Cecile said. “You can turn back.”
“We’ll give Kialish tonight to grieve,” Holly said. “Then we’ll hold Circle tomorrow night and I’ll go before the Goddess.” She said to Amanda, “I can’t let you lead the coven. It’s my responsibility.”
“You still can’t go to him,” Amanda said icily in reply. Tommy put his arm on her shoulder, and this time she shrugged it off, as if she weren’t really paying attention to what he was doing and needed to be left alone.
His look of disappointment spoke volumes to Holly.
“We’ll ask the Goddess what to do,” Tante Cecile soothed. “We’ll have a Clearing and a Knowing.” She sighed. “If we’re lucky.”
Amanda and Kari both moved a bit away, Kari folding her arms. She was still an outsider, still not fully committed to sharing her lot with the others. And she loved Jer, and hated Holly for leaving him to burn in the Black Fire.
“Tonight,” Tante Cecile said, “we should stick together. Whose house should we sleep in?”
“Girls! Thank God you’re all right!”
