Legacy & Spellbound

by Nancy Holder

  The monster froze in mid-fall. With a twitch of her finger, Holly threw it to one side, where it collapsed in a heap on the ground. Behind it stood the tall, dark-haired man in her vision. She didn’t know if her magic or his had killed the demon.

  “Look out,” Holly rasped as another demon rose up behind him.

  He wheeled around and moved his hands in clockwise motions; the demon staggered backward, then came at him again. It stuck its hand into its armor and brought out a wicked-looking short sword, glowing and crackling with magic.

  Holly launched a fireball at the sword, and the weapon burst into flame. Startled, the demon dropped it. Then it slashed at the space between it and the man, and Holly raised her hand to help him again.

  But this time, more of the smaller demons pounced on her, pushing her onto her back. They began to bite… .

  “Non, I will not die this day!” a voice shouted inside Holly’s head. It was Isabeau. Latin words mixed with French poured through Holly’s mind as her witchly ancestress conjured. The demons held her down, slashing at her with their teeth, gnawing on her… .

  “Non!” Isabeau protested. “Live, girl!”

  From somewhere deep within herself, Holly traveled to a place free of panic and pain. Everything around her was black and icy, but she herself was a light. It was as if her consciousness had been somehow crystallized, as if it were some kind of glowing entity. It flickered; then, as if ghostly lips had blown gently on it, it grew brighter.

  “Speak words of magic. I will teach you. Ecoutes …” Isabeau urged her.

  Holly listened carefully, but the words slipped away before she could make them out. They were like luminescent bubbles, each one bobbing away, then popping as she mentally reached out to grasp it. At first she was frustrated, and tried harder. Time passed; she grew languorous, realizing there was a kind of cold comfort in the black ice surrounding her. It was peaceful there, and there was no fear… .

  “Non! You will not die!” Isabeau railed at her.

  But I am dying, Holly thought. And it’s all right. It’s better than all this running, and being afraid… .

  A man was running toward her, his arms outstretched. He wore a robe of green ivy and red holly. On his right arm rested a magnificent falcon, hooded and belled. In his left hand he held a warrior’s sword.

  Her heartbeat echoed his footfalls, which were slowed, each foot lifting up, then moving gradually downward; it was as if he were floating in the unending landscape. “It is my Jean. Thus he has come,” Isabeau said to her, “through vast echoes of time, over long stretches of time apart, moons and years and centuries… .”

  He was coming for her now, to claim her. Surrounded by darkness, coming out of darkness, to bring her into darkness.

  To rend my spirit, and send my soul to Hell …

  Jean … non, ah, Jean … have mercy on me… .

  Holly sensed Isabeau’s confusion, her longing, and her fear. Jean de Deveraux was Isabeau de Cahors’s only love, sprung from her only hate. She had sworn a vow to kill him, and had not; for that, she must walk the earth. Rather, she had died, and he had never forgiven her for either of her treacheries—the massacre of his entire family, or for dying herself… .

  On he came, in the strange, floating gait; he was tall and dark-haired; his eyes were set deep, and his brows were fierce. There was such a look of ferocity on his face that Holly had no idea how to read it. Anger? Joy?

  Through the muffled thunder of her heartbeats he came closer. By the glow of her own light his features became more visible, and her lips parted in surprise. This was no stranger; this was Jer Deveraux.

  Jer! I’m here!

  The man’s expression changed; he looked very confused. Then he shook his head—his hair floated in slow motion, his eyes caught the light and flashed— and his voice slid toward her as if it were rolling toward her inside a crystal ball:

  Holly, no! Don’t make contact with me! They will find you!

  Inside her head, Isabeau cried, “Jean!”

  Still conscious of herself as a light, Holly moved toward Jer. His face shifted, took on a slightly wicked cast, and he murmured, “Isabeau, ma femme.”

  He was Jean once more.

  “I did not kill you, I did not,” Isabeau pleaded. “Je vous en prie, monsieur!”

  Jean ripped the hood off the falcon’s head and raised his right elbow, urging the massive bird to take flight. The creature hefted into the darkness and shot toward Holly. Its sharp beak aimed for her face; its eyes gazed evilly into hers.

  Holly gave a cry of despair.

  The bird soared toward her.

  She tried to back away, to make herself move in any direction, but she couldn’t.

  Behind the bird, Jer Deveraux—not Jean— shouted, “No!”

  And in that moment, Holly woke up.

  Her eyes flew open. The tall man stood with his back to her, battling two of the larger demons with bolts of magic, while, beside him, another, older man held aloft a large cross. Snow was falling; soon it concealed the two men from her view; everything was a blur of snow streaked with something slimy and green, and what looked like human blood.

  “Take it easy,” said a voice. She recognized it as Joel’s. What was he doing here? “I’m healing you.”

  “Jer,” she whispered.

  Then everything faded to black.

  “Oh, God!” Kari shouted as she and Silvana fought to repel the charging demon. It was headed straight for them, and their combined magic spells had done nothing to slow it down. Above its head it whipped a morning star, a sphere of metal covered with spikes.

  The demon’s purple-black skin steamed in the snow; its breath reeked of death. From its glowing eyes tendrils of flame escaped, and when it opened its mouth, ash poured out.

  Kari screamed and started to bolt. Beside her, Silvana tried to stand her ground, murmuring one of the protection spells Holly and Amanda had taught them over the summer, but she was so terrified, she kept forgetting the words. Silvana’s tante —Aunt— Cecile had taught her the ways of voudon, not of black and white magics, and combat was still new to her.

  “Kari, don’t run! It’ll get you!” Silvana shouted, then realized she had interrupted her own spell.

  Kari did run, shrieking as she turned on her heel and raced in the opposite direction. The demon roared and flung the morning star at her. It went wide, leaving Kari unhurt as she kept going.

  Silvana shouted out, “Concresco murus!” and to her relief—and astonishment—a barrier of glowing blue energy formed between her and the spiked ball. The morning star crashed into the barrier and was caught there.

  Enraged, the demon flung itself against the barrier, but it was deflected, bouncing backward and slamming to the icy ground on its back.

  Silvana turned to the right and repeated the spell, then to the left, forming a three-sided wall of protection. The smaller demons scrabbled up against it, pounding at it with their claws and trying to rip at it with their teeth. Two of the larger ones advanced, one with a battle-ax, another with a curved scimitar. Both of them were repulsed and both of them kept trying to break through.

  All any one of them has to figure out is that the fourth side is unprotected, Silvana thought, and we’re dead.

  She caught up with Kari, grabbed her arm, and said, “Move it!” As she tried to put as much distance between them and the demons, she uttered the spell again, pointing to the space directly behind them. Then she hazarded a glance over her shoulder—sure enough, she had created another barrier.

  “Get me out of here, get me out of here!” Kari screamed hysterically. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m guessing guards,” Silvana told her, wasting precious energy. “We must be near the headquarters.”

  “Then they probably know it!” Kari cried. “They’ll be sending out reinforcements!”

  As if on cue—or by magic spell—the area directly in front of Kari and Silvana burst open with a flash of blue light. Dozens of t
iny bony creatures poured out, chittering and gabbling as they darted toward the two girls. They were imps, all mouth and fury, and they were coming after Kari and Silvana.

  Kari started screaming again.

  “Will you shut up!” Silvana yelled at her.

  They both made U -turns, running back in the same direction they had come … until they hit the fourth barrier Silvana had created. Unable to slow down in time, Kari smacked into it, while Silvana managed to avoid a collision. Kari ricocheted backward, disoriented, while Silvana lunged forward and grabbed her, pulling the other girl against her as she held out her left hand and tried to conjure a fireball.

  Her spell failed.

  The imps kept coming.

  Sasha stood beside a male witch whose name she didn’t know—he wasn’t Joel, who had silently followed them here—and together they created a thick, brilliant wall of light. The creatures of darkness that tore themselves into it were instantly consumed. It lasted perhaps ten seconds, then faded.

  “Another?” Sasha queried, and the man nodded.

  They extended their arms, murmured their invocations and incantations in Latin, and created a second wall. But by then, the oncoming demons and imps steered clear of it, and it faded without taking out a single adversary.

  The man shouted, “La-bas!” and Sasha, who lived at the Mother Temple in Paris and spoke French, pointed her fingers at the ground. She willed her energy to become subject to him, to give strength to his spell, and together they incised a ravine into the snow.

  The first demon to step into it plummeted downward as if into a bottomless chasm.

  At the man’s urging, Sasha walked backward, allowing him to use her energy once more to create a second ravine, and then a third. By then she was utterly depleted and trembling like a leaf. Her knees buckled, and he caught her up in his arms, holding her as he whirled around. She knew they had kept their backs undefended for too long, and so she wasn’t too surprised to see a new kind of demon—this one snakelike, with several arms and an elongated head— whipping toward them. It extended its black, forked tongue and it snapped at the man’s arm like a whip. Sasha heard a sharp hiss of burned flesh, and the man flinched but did not drop her.

  The tongue retracted as the demon rushed at them.

  Then the creature extended it again.

  * * *

  Tommy bellowed as he fought in hand-to-hand combat. He was fighting with a sword Amanda had grabbed from one of the dead demons. His opponent had just appeared, bursting through one of the portals—a skeletal warrior with green glowing eyes.

  As Amanda bombarded it with waves of magical energy, it continued to attack. Miraculously, Tommy was holding his own, fighting with uncommon skill— it can’t be because of that one semester we had of fencing— he looked as surprised as she felt. Then she realized that someone must be augmenting his skill with magic.

  With an athletic lunge, he shoved the sword into the rib cage of the skeleton as if to pierce its heart, and the figure exploded in a shower of bones.

  There was no time to so much as cheer. Another skeleton burst through the same portal and took up position. Before Amanda could register its arrival, a third one appeared.

  Something rushed through her like an electric current, making the fillings in her teeth tingle. Her muscles jumped, her heart skipped a beat; she felt renewed and strengthened.

  I’ve been charmed, she thought. Someone did to me what they did to Tommy.

  With no time to take that in, she raced over to another dead demon and picked up a sword for herself. She took a practice swing, confirming her guess that she had been magically enhanced, and raced back to Tommy’s side.

  He was battling the second and third skeletons, and they were beating him back. Amanda jumped in, her sword flashing, her movements so fast, she couldn’t even tell what she was doing.

  Bones flew everywhere as the two skeletons exploded.

  We did it! she exulted.

  But then a fourth sprung up inside the portal. A fifth. A sixth.

  She quickly glanced at Tommy, who anxiously shook his head.

  “I’m tired,” he confessed.

  She took a deep breath.

  So am I.

  The skeleton warriors leaped through.

  There was screaming and fighting all around her, and Holly knew by the tremor in Joel’s voice that their side was losing.

  “Be well, heal,” Joel pleaded with Holly. “You’re our only hope.”

  I can’t be, she wanted to tell him. Please. Not me.

  She was in agony. She had been ripped and bitten in so many places, she had no idea how she was still in one piece. Before Joel had started performing magic on her, she had been so near death, she’d been numb; but with each renewal of his healing spell, her awareness of the pain intensified. She could hardly stand it.

  She tried to fight it, to let herself die, but he gritted his teeth and said, “Damn it, save us.”

  “There’s not much time,” the dark-haired man shouted, flinging magic at an oncoming demon. The demon screamed and fell. The man ticked his gaze down at her, then returned to his magic battle.

  Joel doggedly continued, “Bi tarbhach, bi fallain, bi beò cath. Rach am feabhas creutar agus inntinn.”

  And Holly felt herself being pulled back inside herself, to the dark, cold place. Shadows hung like frozen curtains. As before, she was the only source of light. Was it her imagination, or was that light dimmer?

  A figure appeared on the landscape, and Holly shrank away. Was it Jean again? Or Jer?

  It was neither.

  Wearing black and silver, and holding a large spray of lilies, Isabeau floated toward her. Her hair tumbled loosely over her shoulders, and she looked wild and untamed. “Ma fille, I have brought someone to help you.”

  She extended her arm, and another figure drifted slowly toward Holly, in the same slow-motion manner. This figure was dressed all in black, and heavily veiled. But her hands were visible; they held a gleaming dagger across her chest. Its hilt was brass-colored and encrusted with jewels.

  The dagger glowed. There was something very beautiful, very hypnotic, about it. The point shimmered.

  “You are going to die. But that does not trouble you. You wish it,” the figure said. Her voice was deep and heavily accented, like Isabeau’s.

  “You are a coward.”

  Holly swallowed. “Your friends are going to die. Think of that, soft young woman. In the next few moments, they will be dead.”

  “No,” Holly whispered.

  “All will be lost. And my bloodline will die out. Forever.”

  “You’re Catherine,” Holly said, realizing. “Isabeau’s mother.”

  The figure raised its veiled head. “The strongest witch who ever lived. Until you.”

  She raised the dagger and pointed it at Holly. “You can save everything. But you must be willing to become the witch you were born to be.”

  “I … I …”

  “Don’t stammer, girl! It humiliates me so! The battle is being lost. They are dying.”

  “Then stop it!” Holly cried. “I’ll do anything! I—I will!”

  “Swear.” Catherine held out the dagger. “Swear by your own blood, which is mine, Holly of the Cahors Coven.”

  Holly reached forward and touched the dagger; it pricked the tip of her forefinger with a sharp slice. Three droplets of her blood dripped in slow motion toward the featureless black landscape… .

  And she was on the street.

  With the others.

  And she was unhurt.

  She gasped; beside her, Amanda said, “What, Holly?”

  There were no demons. No imps. No portals. Everyone was fine. The other members of her coven stood in the snow, watching her curiously as she turned in a circle, completely bewildered.

  “Where are the others?” she asked. She was stunned. “The guys? The dark-haired man?”

  Amanda glanced at Sasha and Silvana, standing nearby. Tommy came up and wave
d a hand in front of Holly’s eyes. “Yo. Everything all right?”

  “Joel?” she called.

  The snow fell heavily. The wind whistled. Other pedestrians on the street passed by, oblivious to the presence of the Coven, which was warded and cloaked.

  “Okay, this is very weird,” Holly said slowly.

  “I quite agree,” said a voice as a figure stepped from the snowfall and approached her.

  It was the dark-haired man. He cocked his head and studied Holly. “There was a battle,” he began. He gestured to her coven. “And now … there is not.”

  She nodded, flooding with relief. Someone else knew what had happened.

  From the falling snow, three other men emerged, one very young, looking confused and wary. The others were older, one of them in his forties. Holly recognized them from the battle.

  “You stopped it,” the man continued. “Magically.” She had time to notice now that he had a very thick accent.

  “Holly?” Amanda asked, her voice rising. “What’s he talking about?”

  “I stopped it,” Holly agreed. But there was a price... what was it? Another death? What have I done?

  She turned and walked north.

  There was no tingling sensation, no sense of anxiety, no impending danger.

  “It’s gone.” She looked at the dark-haired man, who was watching her carefully. “We ran into something here, and we were attacked.”

  Her coven members stared at her. But it was clear the man remembered everything that had happened as well.

  “We were on our way to find you,” he said. He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out the petals of a wilted lily. “You left this behind.”

  “I …” She took the lily, examining it carefully. “I had a vision. I saw you, but I never left … the place I was.” She was careful not to mention the safe house. “Who are you?”

  He gestured to himself and said, “We serve White Magic. I am Philippe. Our leader was killed by those whom you fight.”

  The youngest one looked stricken. “He was my brother, José Luís,” he said quietly.

  “Killed?” Holly gestured around them. “But the battle’s … gone.”

  “There was another battle,” said the oldest of the men. “There have been many of them.”