by Nancy Holder
But now she was isolated from her community. Now she was a stranger in a strange land, drawing strength only from Dan Carter. The two kept the flame alive as they waited for those in Europe to find and save the lost ones, put an end to the Cathers-Deveraux vendetta, and hopefully, return home.
What I fear, however, is that the Deveraux have convinced the Supreme Coven to make the private vendetta their public war... pulling in the Mother Coven as well. And then it will never end, because the two larger forces will paint the confrontation as the war of good versus evil. When in truth it’s not that at all. The Cathers were never entirely good.
And if the love Jean held for Isabeau is to be accepted as real, the Deveraux were never entirely evil… .
She sighed and placed another metallic Christmas stocking on the tree. Her spirits drooped, and she wished—as she often wished—that she and Silvana were back home in the French Quarter, blissfully unaware of all the trouble that had been brewing in Seattle.
But that was a coward’s thinking, and she knew that those blessed with communion with the loa had grave responsibilities in this world.
I should give thanks that Amanda called me, she thought. I have been called to my highest and best purpose. But in truth, she really couldn’t. My niece-daughter is with the Coven, and I’m as worried about her as Richard is about his girls.
Sighing, she plucked another ball out of the box.
That was when she saw the shadows flitting across Richard Anderson’s face.
Wings.
Several of them, flapped in silhouette across his pale features, and then against the tan leather of the recliner. They glided silently over the flocked wall-paper, sliding menacingly along.
As was Cecile’s habit, the drapes were pulled across the windows. The silhouettes were magical, emanating from no natural source.
Drawing in breath, Cecile set the box down and whispered to her loa, “Guardians, come. Guardians, take the magic from this room and use it for protection.”
Still, the silhouettes slid without sound over the walls, then dipped downward toward the floorboards, stretching over the hardwood floor. The shadows moved toward her; she got up on the ladder she had been using to decorate the tree, standing still and praying for protection, for strength, for annihilation of all evil.
At that moment, she heard Dan Carter shout from upstairs, where his bedroom was. It was a cry of surprise. His footsteps sounded across the floor; then his door opened. She held her breath as he raced down the stairs.
She called out, “Stop!” when he began to race into the room.
Seeing the menacing shadows of wings, he halted, frozen to the spot. Then he made a series of hand motions and plucked something from the leather bag he had had the presence of mind to bring with him— his medicine bag—and sprinkled it in front of himself on the floor.
The shadows broke up as they hit that portion of the hardwood. He sprinkled more on the floor, and then into the air in front of him, and in that way, created a safety zone for himself as he walked toward Cecile. As he progressed, he gestured for her to stay silent.
Finally he stood at the bottom of the ladder. He flung magical dust at her, then reached out his hands and gestured for her to come to him. She let him pull her from the ladder and drape her body over his shoulder. Saying not a word, he backed slowly out of the room.
That was when the shaking began.
The entire house quaked, once to the left, and once to the right. The windows rattled. From inside the chimney, birds shrieked.
Then ghostly hounds began baying, their howls terrible and fierce, their invisible toenails skittering over the wooden floor as they raced after Dan and Cecile. Cecile smelled their wet fur and their dragon-hot breath, but saw nothing. They were invisible. But as they rushed past Richard’s recliner, they tipped it over, throwing Richard to the floor. Invisible maybe, but not insubstantial.
Richard got to his feet, then was hit dead-on by something. With a shout he fell to his knees and began wrestling with something he couldn’t see. He yelled, “Run! Get out of here!”
Dan ran-walked backward. Cecile scrabbled out of his arms and raised her hands to Heaven, summoning the forces of Baron Samedi, King of voudon, to aid her. Rushing winds gathered between her palms and she sent them to Richard to aid him.
Then the door slammed shut, separating her and Dan from Richard.
“Richard!” she shouted, pounding on the door with her fists. Dan began to chant as he worked the door-knob, straining to get the door open. The invisible hounds scratched and bayed on the other side, and the door bowed toward her and Dan.
There was a crash, and then the door burst open and Richard shot across the transom. Dan slammed the door behind him.
Richard shouted, “Keep going!”
His face was cut and bleeding, and a hank of his hair had been yanked from his skull; he looked partially scalped.
The three raced down the hallway toward the stairs, Cecile in the lead, Dan next, and Richard bringing up the rear.
Dan yelled to her, “Upstairs!”
Halfway there, mist began to gather around their ankles; it was dark brown, hot, and poisonous. It attacked them, swirling around their legs. Blisters broke out on her shins and thighs, and Cecile cried out, shocked by the pain.
Dan grabbed her hand and yanked her toward the stairs, pushing her in front of him and propelling her upstairs. She stumbled several times, but he gave her no chance to right herself. He kept pushing and pushing until she reached the landing. Richard charged up close behind.
“My room!” Dan shouted. “Go, Cecile!”
Speaking her name was like breaking a spell; as she raced down the hall she began to babble, saying, “What’s happening? What’s going on?” even though she knew: They were finally being attacked. By the Supreme Coven or Michael Deveraux, she could not say. She had anticipated this for a long time, waited for it, braced herself for it.
I finally let down my guard, and now, it’s here.
But how? How did they find us?
She threw open the door to Dan’s bedroom and ran inside. The other two came in right behind her and slammed the door.
Dreamcatchers hung from the ceiling, and feathers and bones; they whipped about as the three of them ran for the wall opposite the door and flattened themselves against it. She prayed to her loa and Dan called upon Raven, his totem, while Richard pushed Dan’s dresser in front of the door. The house was booming as if someone were bowling with cannonballs, and the door was rattling practically off the hinges.
That was when the window shattered, and an enormous black falcon soared into the room.
“Look out!” Dan cried, throwing himself over Cecile in a shielding embrace. They flattened against the floor, he with his weight on top of her, as the shards flew in all directions and the bird screamed with pain.
She hazarded a glance at it, peering through the jumble of his arms. It had been aiming at Richard, but it had narrowly missed him. He had ducked, and the bird had pinioned itself in the wall. Blood was gushing from the bird’s beak and it was struggling frantically to get loose. It flapped its wings and batted its head, but still it stayed stuck, and it was rapidly losing blood.
Dan was murmuring words at it; she joined in, in French, willing it to die and for its essence of hate to return to its master. Still, the bird thrashed, flapping its wings.
Richard picked up the brass lamp on top of the dresser and began slamming it against the bird’s body. It screamed like a human being; he kept hitting it, with a strength Cecile hadn’t realized Richard possessed, until the creature hung limp from its beak. Then it detached from the wall and slid to the floor, dead.
That was when the imps started pouring in through the broken window. Hundreds of them, tiny, scaly creatures that jittered and cackled as they crawled over the shards, mindless of the injuries they inflicted on themselves. Some lost limbs, some taloned claws, and still they jabbered and clattered, dropping onto the floor like c
ockroaches or rats, and scrambling toward Dan and Cecile.
That was when Cecile sent out a mental message: Holly, help us! We’re under attack!
She had no idea if the girl would hear them.
But Dan shifted his attention toward her and said, “Yes. Good, Cecile.”
She felt his own vibration as he joined her.
Help, Holly!
Save us!
We have been found!
The Tri-Covenate: London, Yule
It was finally Yule. Sasha smiled at the two pairings who had volunteered to put themselves into thrall— the Lady to the Lord—in order to multiply their magical powers. As an official of the Mother Coven, she had the ability to perform the rite, and she knew that now, more than ever, those she traveled with had need of more power. The forces of the Supreme Coven were gathering all around them, and she knew, in her heart, that their days of safety were numbered.
So she stood on the night of the full moon before the door to Westminster Abbey with two couples bound together with herbed ropes, ready to slice their palms so that their blood might mingle.
One of the pairs was Nicole and Philippe, which did not surprise her. But the second had made her smile wistfully for lost days of innocent love: Tommy Nagai had declared his love for Amanda, and she, apparently, returned it.
Life is full of surprises, she told herself. Many of them sweet and winsome.
But as with life, so with the ritual: She had assumed that Jeraud would agree to accept Holly in thrall, and he had refused.
“My blood is tainted,” he had told his mother. “I am a Deveraux.”
That was exactly the point, Sasha had tried to explain to him. He was a Deveraux.
Ashen, Holly had absorbed the blow of his refusal as best she could, but it was clear she had not been prepared for what was, ultimately, a rejection of the most intimate connection witch and warlock could undergo. She loved Jer, plain and simple. And she had assumed that he would consent to place her in thrall. After all, she had braved much to rescue him—the enmity of the Mother Coven, her own life, and that of her other loved ones.
But all Jer said when he refused was, “I am a Deveraux.”
So Holly stood beside Sasha, acting as her assistant while she bound the ropes around the wrists of the others. Nicole and Philippe were filled with passion— Sasha could feel it—while Amanda and Tommy were newer, shyer, more childlike with each other.
“By the Goddess, I charge thee, turn to each other in times of peril,” Sasha intoned. “By her mercy, draw strength from each other, the Lady to the Lord, the Lord to the Lady.”
“Blessed be,” the onlookers intoned. Alonzo made the sign of the cross over them while Sasha dipped oak leaves in water and sprinkled them.
“May the Lord draw magical blessings from the Lady, and may the Lady do the same.”
“Blessed be.”
Holly choked back tears as Jer stood in the shadow beyond the reach of the Lady Moon. His scarred face was hidden from her view, and yet, she had memorized each rivulet of flesh, the way his eyes pulled downward as if his face were melting. Her heart understood why he had refused to place himself in thrall with her, and yet that same heart was breaking.
It’s our turn, she mentally told him.
But she understood the danger as well—what if Isabeau took possession of her, and demanded Jean’s death? What if Jean finally exacted his revenge?
And yet, her yearning for him was unbearable.
Jer, I would die for you. I would forsake all these others for you. And she meant it too. Goddess help me, I mean it.
He kept his face turned away from hers, as if by looking at her he might weaken. So she kept staring at him, hoping to make eye contact.
But through the long ritual, he kept his face averted.
His heart averted.
I love you, she called out to him.
And she knew he answered, I know.
She endured her pain during the ritual, as Amanda and Tommy and Nicole and Philippe entered into a union more profound and intimate than Christian marriage: Their magical essences were united, and they were, in a sense, one combined source of magical power. She saw the light in their eyes, saw the soft glow of magic surrounding them, and she could hardly bear to be in their presence.
Then Sasha announced, “It is done. They are in thrall.”
And Nicole and Amanda both gasped and said in unison, “Seattle is under attack!”
It was true. Back in the safe house, Rose turned on the news. Seattle, in the state of Washington, was under siege. No one knew what precisely was going on, but floods rushed through the town; squares of city blocks were on fire; and people were being devoured by “packs of dogs” the likes of which the city had never seen. Bodies by the score were being discovered, both on land and washing up on the beaches. And numerous eyewitnesses had claimed that the dead were walking… .
“It’s Michael,” Holly angrily announced. She didn’t need scrying stones and runes to tell her that, although she did consult them. “He wants us back there.” Though I have no idea why.
“What about San Francisco?” Amanda demanded, frantic about her father. Silvana was equally worried about Cecile. But the news was only about Seattle.
While they watched, Jer came up to Holly. As if to underscore his reasons for not joining her in thrall, he let her see his hideous face. If only Joel were alive, he could probably do something to heal him, she thought bitterly. The Black Fire that had burned him was magic, and it would take incredibly strong healing magic to even begin to heal the damage done to him. Alas, healing was not one of her gifts. Cahors seem better equipped to inflict pain and suffering than to heal. She did her best not to react, but her stomach churned at the sight of him. As if he read her expression, he gave her a sour smile.
Then he said loudly, “I’d like to propose that we three covens unite. We’ll be a Tri-Covenate, and there’s very little stronger than that.”
Sasha came over, listening carefully. She nodded at his words and said to Holly, “He’s right. We have your coven, the Coven of White Magic, and the remnants of Jer’s Rebel Coven—he and Kari.”
At this, Kari took a breath. She said, “I wouldn’t be here if I could help it,” she said a bit sullenly.
“I know.” Jer put a hand on her shoulder. When she visibly shuddered, he removed it with a sigh. “But you’re still part of my coven. I haven’t released you.”
Philippe and the other members of his coven shared a silent look before he answered, “The Coven of White Magic agrees to this union.”
“Even though I’m in thrall to you, Philippe, I’m still part of Holly’s coven,” Nicole said.
“Yes,” Sasha agreed. “One of the three Ladies of the Lily.”
She pointed to the scar in Nicole’s palm. As Nicole held out her hand, Amanda walked to her and put her hand beside her sister’s. Holly joined them, and together, the imprint of a lily was formed in their upright palms.
“When we place it together, we make very strong magic,” Amanda said, smiling at them both.
Nicole lowered her gaze and sighed—whether out of guilt that she had abandoned the other two, or with resignation that she couldn’t outrun her obligation, Holly didn’t know. A rush of pity shot through her for Nicole, and Kari—for them all, in fact.
It would have been so nice to grow up innocent of the Coventry world, she thought. To not know there was power like this. To not need it.
“Let us go outside, then, so the Lady Moon will shine down on us,” Sasha urged.
They did as she bade, finding a place behind Rose’s flat where they could perform the ritual unnoticed. Holly stood, a little anxious at the thought of binding her coven to the others so formally. Not the kind of binding ritual I was hoping to do tonight, she thought, looking at Jer.
Sasha opened her arms. “Let the leaders come forward.”
Holly, Philippe, and Jer stood in a triangle, each with his or her hands on the shoulders of t
he others. Sasha walked slowly to each of them, picking up each hand, slicing the palm and replacing it on a shoulder. In the end the blood of each was upon a shoulder of the other two. Rose took a silk cord and wove it in and out of their legs, binding the three of them together.
Then Sasha bade each person stand behind the leader of his or her coven. Rose pricked their fingers with a pin, and they each squeezed a drop of blood onto the head of their leader.
Sasha spoke, her voice reverberating with authority and power: “Now these three lives and these three fates are bound together as are these three covens. Each High Priest or Priestess bears the responsibility for their own coven. The blood of each of their covenates is on their heads. Each High Priest or High Priestess also bears the burdens of the other two. You place hands on shoulders to support and to guide one another. Your burdens are theirs as your blood is now theirs. Your legs are bound so that you may not turn from one another in adversity, never flee from your brothers and sisters, but will stand beside them to protect them. You are three.”
Sasha placed her hand on Jer’s head. “You are fire.”
Holly winced in unison with him as he heard the word. Fire had nearly been his destruction. Fire had cost him so much. How then, could he be fire?
Sasha moved to place her hand on Philippe’s head. “You are earth.”
Then it was Holly’s turn. Sasha placed her hand upon her head. “You are water.”
Dread filled Holly. No! How can I be water, the thing that destroys those I love? As she thought back upon all that she had done, though, the “sacrifices” she had made, she could see the truth of it. The pain wrenched her heart.
Sasha removed her hand and continued. “You three stand in need of a fourth. Let the Goddess dwell with you and fulfill the circle. Let the Goddess be the very air that you breathe.”
