Witch & Curse

by Nancy Holder

  Holly slapped the horses’ flanks and said, “Back to shore.”

  The horsemen complied.

  Then all at once, the yacht went down.

  Coughing and vomiting water, Kialish regained consciousness. He was staring straight at the yacht when it sank beneath the surface. That was shock enough; what was worse was that Laurent, the ghostly leader of the Deveraux, dove in after it astride a huge black horse.

  In his right hand he carried a wicked-looking sword. In his left, a magic wand.

  The water he dove into glowed blood red.

  Kialish closed his eyes. He’s after Holly.

  By the change in the troops around him, he knew he was right. Those who still had faces looked stricken; skull jaws dropped open. Heads tilted back. There was screaming such as Kialish had never heard before. Fear boiled around him.

  The Deveraux saw their panic and redoubled their fight . . . and Holly’s army began to falter.

  All this Kialish saw with a strange, lockstep clarity. He knew what was happening almost before it occurred.

  He also knew that Laurent was going to kill Holly . . . unless something could be done.

  Something can be done, said a voice inside his head. You can do it.

  Though he was being carried along at breakneck speed, a woman’s figure shimmered in front of him. She was holding a mirror, and she gestured for Kialish to look into it.

  He saw Holly drowning Hecate. He knew why she had done it.

  She needs to give something more to the water, the figure said. Something of value.

  The figure faded, then vanished, her mirror with her. The red glow where he had last seen Holly bloomed and spread like blood on the water.

  Kialish thought of Eddie, and his heart ached.

  You will see him again. I swear it

  He thought of all the things he had planned to do with his life.

  You will do other things, on another plane.

  And then quickly as he could, so that he couldn’t be saved, Kialish heaved himself into the water.

  It was black, and filled with energy and things that moved; as something dove into the water above him—his rescuer, perhaps—something else grabbed on to his ankles and began to pull him down into the water, too far down to breathe, ever again, even though within seconds, his lungs were screaming for air . . .

  . . . and then in a shimmering sphere, he saw Eddie, his arms outstretched; he stretched out his own, or thought he did; his mind was fuzzy and he was starting to die. But there was Eddie. . . . Yes . . .

  . . . and he loved him, and he would be with him.

  Yes.

  And the Goddess took what had been offered her, upon the water.

  TWELVE

  HARVEST MOON

  We savor all the death we cause

  Tear the bodies with teeth and claws

  Drink the blood and eat the flesh

  Quickly now while they’re still fresh

  Cahors now have too much power

  We glory in our unholy hour

  Twisting, turning they will writhe

  As we harvest them with scythes

  Holly: Seattle, November

  The coven went to Dan’s, though the shaman had taken Uncle Richard to San Francisco to keep him from harm.

  Now, facing her covenates, Holly couldn’t meet their eyes. She had done something horrible. She could feel it in the weight of the stares on her. Still, in her very core, defiance stirred. She had done what she had to, what was necessary to save them, all of them.

  Except Kialish.

  She couldn’t stop the tears that burned the back of her eyes. Kialish was her failing, though she knew he had chosen to sacrifice himself to save her. Had she not needed saving, had she been more powerful, then he would still be alive.

  She closed her eyes, remembering what it had felt like when he died. There had been one intense moment of pain followed by a surge of power unlike everything she had ever felt before. Even the water seemed to push back from her as though in awe of the energy crackling through her veins.

  Holly has lost it, Tommy thought as he stared at her. She swayed slightly, and he wondered what she was seeing, what she was feeling. Beside him Amanda sat and he could feel her anger and her fear. Holly was beyond them now.

  He would never forget the terrible things he had seen the night before, watching, helpless, from the shore.

  It shouldn’t be this way. It isn’t right.

  He stared around at the others and knew they were thinking the same. He knew that Kari was thinking of leaving the group; she had all but said it. He would go if he could, but he was bound. Still, his loyalty was to Amanda, not Holly. If Amanda chose to follow Holly then he would too.

  Anne-Louise could still feel her heart pounding in her chest. It seemed as though it had not slowed since the battle’s end. The news she had to deliver to the Cathers witches from Mother Coven had done nothing to soothe her nerves. The thought of breaking that news to Holly just made her heart pound harder.

  Holly was unlike anything she had ever seen. The young witch’s power was tremendous, greater than she even guessed. In time she would learn how to use and harness her power. She would be nearly unstoppable then. Now, though, she was still too wild, too untrained. She wasted much of her strength, and she had no idea of the unplumbed depths within her.

  Anne-Louise could not help but wonder what Holly would be like had she also been raised in the coven. She would be more skilled, stronger, certainly more controlled. And maybe none of this mess with the Deveraux would have happened.

  She shook her head. That wasn’t true. As long as there were Deveraux and Cahors alive there would be a blood feud. It was a shame, such a waste of time and magic. The rift between the two families was too great, though, for even her to mend. Some things couldn’t be fixed with words. Some truce’s couldn’t last and sometimes peace could not be forged.

  She smiled wryly Not that anyone was even trying to do those things. No, the feud between the two families was permitted, perhaps even secretly encouraged by both the Supreme Coven and the Mother Coven. The power of House Deveraux and House Cahors was too fearsome, and the only way either coven had truly found to control it was to keep it focused elsewhere. As long as Deveraux and Cahors were fighting each other neither could take over one of the covens ... or the world.

  She cleared her head of such thoughts; it would not do to have them read by others. She took a deep breath. Time to face Holly and her coven.

  She passed through the wards without needing to break them. It was a trick that, so far as she knew, she alone in Coventry could do. It was a lost art, mentioned only once in one of the ancient texts. It had taken her fifteen years to learn to do it. It came in handy, though, whenever she wanted to arrive unannounced.

  Holly and company stared up at her in shock as she lifted her veil of invisibility and appeared in their midst. She surveyed the ragtag group, noting their injuries, both the physical ones and the mental ones.

  She wished that she was bringing them comfort. Unfortunately it was quite the opposite.

  Nicole had to admit that it felt good to bathe. She had been given some privacy, or at least she thought she had. As she disrobed she couldn’t put from her mind the thought that someone might be spying on her. She had fought the urge to dive into the bathtub, clothes and all. Instead she had forced herself to undress slowly.

  She was enough of a performer to make a good show of it, even if her hands were shaking. Now, as she lay in the steaming bath, she scrubbed away all the dirt with a loofa and vanilla-scented soap. Rose petals floated in the water.

  She felt more like a virgin about to be sacrificed than a bride. She shivered despite the warmth of the water. As she sunk lower in the water, she thought of how she had nearly drowned in the last bathtub she had been in. She vaguely remembered a foolish vow never to take another bath and only to shower. But that was before the dirt.

  Her mind drifted back over the past twenty-fou
r hours. Sir William had been furious when James had presented her. She hadn’t needed any special powers to sense that. Not half as furious as Amanda and Holly would be if they knew. She couldn’t help but smirk weakly at the thought.

  Would they think that she had lost her mind, or worse, her heart? Amanda would probably think the worst. After all, in the good old days hadn’t Nicole gone out with Eli, attracted to his darkness?

  What would Amanda and Holly think when she didn’t come home? Would they look for her? Were they okay? Amanda had tried to tell her something, something about a ferry, but she had had no time to listen. She said that Eddie was dead. Nicole had not known him well enough to mourn him, but still she shuddered. Things could not be good back home. They probably needed her, and now she couldn’t go to them.

  I’m not flaking on you, Amanda. I just can’t get out of this one .

  She closed her eyes and fought the urge to explode into giddy hysteria. Amanda didn’t know her anymore. She barely knew herself.

  No, in the old days she would probably have been attracted to James. She freely admitted it. That was back when she confused dark with strong, before she had felt the power of the Light. Before Philippe had held her while she cried.

  Her heart ached at the thought of him. She knew he would be coming for her, but he didn’t know when. Her job was to stay alive until he did, no matter the cost, no matter that she had to marry the devil to survive.

  The Cathers/Anderson Coven: Seattle, November

  “What do you want?” Amanda asked, breaking the silence.

  In the shaman’s house, Anne-Louise stared unblinkingly from one to another. “You, all of you. Holly has been summoned to meet with the Mother Coven in Paris, and everyone is to come along.”

  “Why should we?” Holly asked.

  “Because we can help you.” Anne-Louise continued to hold the room a moment longer. Finally she stepped backward, and everyone started talking all at once.

  She waited patiently for several minutes. At last everything had been discussed and Holly rose to her feet. Anne-Louise stepped back to the group.

  “We will go, but not all of us. Tante Cecile and Dan are taking Uncle Richard to San Francisco. There they will protect him and also look out for an old friend. Amanda, Kari, Tommy, Silvana, and I will go with you.”

  Anne-Louise nodded understanding. She disguised her relief. The discussion had gone better than she had dreamed.

  The private jet was standing by at the airport, and Holly could not help but gawk. They were ushered inside by Anne-Louise and were soon seated in the softest of leather chairs.

  “Drinks and food are in the galley,” Anne-Louise informed them, pointing. “Help yourselves.”

  Tommy, eager to be of help, jumped to his feet and raced off. He was back in moments with sodas for all and little bags of nuts.

  “Ever think of becoming a flight attendant?” Kari quipped.

  “Travel, meet interesting people, gain unique life experience? Sorry, I think I’ve had my share of those,” he answered good-naturedly.

  Holly gazed at Tommy. The young man was not a warlock, not truly, but he tried so hard. When he handed Amanda her soda, his smile brightened and he brushed her hand.

  Holly stared in turn at Amanda, wondering if her cousin knew how Tommy felt about her. If she did, she didn’t let on. Either break his heart or give him some bit of hope, Holly thought.

  As though she had heard her, Amanda turned and gave her a tight smile. Holly smiled weakly in return before settling back in her chair. It was going to be a long flight.

  Gwen: Atlantic Ocean, 1666

  The storms had raged for days all around the ship. Everywhere, people were sick and dying. Giselle, now Gwen, had gathered her children—she had three—and left London. The Mother Coven was furious with her, and she had no use for them.

  Now she chanted spells of protection over her twin boys, Isaiah and David, and Marianne, her daughter. The four of them were still healthy, Goddess be praised. The people needed fresh air, needed to get away from each other. At last one of the crew informed her that the rain had stopped.

  She gathered up her children and went up on deck. Around them the ocean churned, but a pale stream of sunlight cut through some of the clouds. She breathed in deeply and urged the children to do the same.

  Marianne scampered away from her across the deck. Gwen did not stop her. The child needed the exercise, needed the freedom.

  When Marianne walked over to the side of the ship and peered over into the water, though, Gwen felt her heart move into her throat.

  “Come away!” she shouted.

  But it was too late.

  A massive wave swept over the side of the boat and sucked the child with it back into the sea.

  Gwen lurched forward, screaming. The captain had seen, and he stopped her, pushing his body between her and the side of the boat.

  Two crewmen ran over to the side and peered into the dark waters. Slowly they straightened, shaking their heads grimly.

  “I am sorry, madam. She is gone,” the captain told her in a gruff voice. His eyes, though, gleamed with sympathy.

  She screamed and tried to throw herself after her daughter. Maybe she could still save her. She could at least join her.

  “Madam! Think of your other children!”

  The words brought her to her senses. She turned, sobbing, and ran back to her two small boys. They looked up at her with fear shining in their eyes. She crushed them to her and wept.

  By the time the forests of the new land came into view, she had resigned herself to the death of Marianne. Her heart was broken, but she was a Cahors, and broken hearts had little to do with what must be done.

  Now we are three, we “Cathers.” I have no daughter to carry on the family line, but the boys have at least some magic. Mayhaps ’tis just as well. Perhaps it is a sign from the Goddess that House Cahors is truly dead . . . and that the magic should die with me.

  Gwen of the Cahors looked down at her boys and felt only love for them. She wanted them to grow up knowing only love. And peace. No, she wouldn’t teach them the magics. She wouldn’t tell them of the Goddess and their sworn enemies, the Deveraux.

  It would all die with her. The cycle would be broken.

  Her daughter was the last sacrifice. “No one else shall die because of our family,” she swore to herself.

  She gathered the children in her arms and took them to the rail.

  “Look, my children. We are coming to a new world. A new place. It is called Jamestown.”

  A cloud passed over her joy.

  Jamestown had been named for King James, the monarch who had so detested witches.

  No matter, she reminded herself. All that is over.

  The Mother Coven: Paris, November

  “It was nothing short of miraculous,” Anne-Louise told the High Priestess as they sat together in the Moon Temple. The circular room glowed with luminous paintings and holograms of the moon, graced with golden-yellow candlelight and verdant pools of fragrant water. Ancient mosaics to Artemis decorated the floors; the walls were covered with murals and sacred writings to the Moon Lady, who was the Goddess in all her aspects.

  Acolytes moved soundlessly, tending the flames of the many candles and braziers, heaping lilies and roses at the feet of the statues of the Goddess in her many incarnations: Hecate, Astarte, Mary of Nazareth, Kwan Yen, and others.

  The Moon Temple was the most sacred space of the Mother Coven.

  They were sipping covenate wine; Anne-Louise had requested and been granted rites of purification upon her return. She still wasn’t certain if she had been cleansed of Holly’s taint. She didn’t feel as whole and strong as she had upon her arrival in Seattle.

  “Miraculous is an odd word for a witch to use,” the High Priestess observed. She was an older woman, still very beautiful, with long red hair tumbling around her shoulders. She was dressed in the white robes of her office, with a moon tattooed onto her forehead. Anne-Lo
uise also wore white flowing robes.

  “The Deveraux disappeared,” Anne-Louise continued, waving her hand so violently that she almost spilled her wine. “The entire army simply disappeared.” She leaned forward. “The Mother Coven must protect her . . . no matter what she does.”

  The High Priestess looked thoughtful. “But she’s a Cahors . . . blood will out. That boy who died . . .”

  Anne-Louise shook her head. “Would you rather that she joined the Supreme Coven? They highly prize ambition and power. What if they facilitated a truce between her and the Deveraux?”

  The High Priestess scoffed. “Sir William Moore would never allow that. It would pose too great a threat to his leadership.”

  “Sir William has many enemies,” Anne-Louise said reasonably. “Our only hope is to stand by Holly, let her know that we are her friends.”

  The High Priestess regarded the other woman for a full minute. Then she said simply, “So mote it be.”

  They raised their glasses of wine in salute, took a sip of wine, and smashed them on the tiled floor.

  Paris, November

  The room was humbling; even Holly felt the power of it and dropped her eyes reverently. The Moon Temple was beautiful and filled with peace and light. The High Priestess had greeted them briefly and then withdrawn. Anne-Louise stood to the side.

  There were half a dozen other women spread throughout the room, all staring at the new arrivals. One of them moved toward Holly. Her silver hair cascaded to her knees.

  It was the woman from her dream. She moved with the same grace in the flesh that she had in Holly’s vision. She strode forward and very solemnly kissed Holly on each cheek.

  “Who are you?”

  The woman gave her a ghostly smile. “My name is Sasha. I am Jer and Eli’s mother.”

  Beside her Kari gasped. Sasha turned toward her. “And you, my friend, know me as Circle Lady.”

  Holly was shocked to see Kari throw her arms around Sasha and begin to sob.

  THIRTEEN

  DARK MOON