Resurrection

by Nancy Holder

  “Voilà,” she said, throwing her hands up into the air. For a moment she wasn’t Nicole the witch or Nicole the mother or Nicole the unwilling bride. She was just Nicole, drama queen.

  Amanda smirked at least. The others just stared.

  “So, I just call you by name?”

  “That’s it,” Derek said.

  She realized she didn’t remember his last name. It was on the business card she had stuffed in her pocket, but she didn’t feel like giving him the satisfaction of reaching for it.

  “Okay, Lawyer Derek, come on in.”

  He stepped forward and joined her. Nothing happened. Nicole didn’t relax, though. What if it was some terrible trick and only Moores or warlocks could enter? Could she really risk any of the others? She sucked in her breath. She teetered for the moment on the brink of indecision. She could run back to them and they could run as far away as they could.

  She knew they’d never be able to hide from the spell the cursed lawyers were using, though. And so far, no harm had come to them. And in the home of our enemy would be the last place they would look for us, ma petite, a female voice with a strong French accent whispered in her head. Isabeau, their long dead ancestress, come to impart some of her wisdom or enforce her will.

  Nicole looked at the people she loved. Her sister, Amanda; Tommy, Amanda’s soul mate; their father, Richard; and little baby Owen cradled in his arms. It was a terrible choice, but in the end it was easy. She gambled with the only life she could.

  “Tommy Nagai, I invite you to come here,” she said, her voice shaking.

  He stepped forward boldly, slipping out of Amanda’s grasp. A glance at his steely eyes told Nicole that he knew full well why she had called him first.

  He stepped forward, and a bolt of lightning flashed across the sky. Nicole dropped to the ground and threw up a protective shield around them both. Thunder rolled and fat drops of rain suddenly began to splatter down.

  “It’s just a storm,” Derek said. “Bad timing.”

  Nothing else happened, but the skies opened up and the rain began to pour down in earnest. The rest of them might have been able to stand in the rain and debate this, but Owen needed to get out of the freezing wet.

  “Richard Anderson, I invite you to come in. Owen Anderson-Moore, I invite you to come in. Amanda Anderson, I invite you to come in.”

  And a moment later they were all racing beside her up the drive to the house that stood with dark windows gaping at them like so many hideous mouths waiting to devour them.

  Just let them try, Nicole thought grimly as they pounded up the front steps and onto the porch.

  Derek produced a key and opened the massive front door. Nicole expected it to creak as it opened, but it gave way smoothly. They tumbled inside the foyer and stood for a moment, dripping on the marble floor as they took in their surroundings.

  Derek snapped on the lights, and a chandelier above their heads came to life and showed them a massive staircase rising up three stories, and passageways to the right and left.

  Tommy whistled. “Where’s the butler?”

  “All Sir Richard’s servants were damned creatures. When he…died…they were taken back to hell.”

  Nicole noticed the hesitation. It was something that had been plaguing her. She wasn’t really sure Sir William was dead. After all, she had watched a demon erupt from his body and escape the massacre at the Supreme Coven. More than the other warlocks that might be searching for them, she worried about that creature. Was it Sir William’s true face? And, if so, how long before he came home to reclaim what was his? She shivered.

  “You should change into some dry clothes,” Derek said, noticing and mistaking the cause.

  The others fanned out, turning on lights as they went. Nicole wanted to tell them to be careful. Who knew what wards or magic booby traps might be in place. She was tired, though, and a change of clothes did seem in order. She picked up the backpack she had dropped upon entering the house, and turned to the right. The first door opened into a bathroom, and she used it to change.

  Ten minutes later she found everyone congregated in the kitchen. Amanda was perched on a countertop holding Owen, with Tommy leaning against her. Richard was pacing, and Derek had spread some papers out on one of the countertops. Nicole moved over to him.

  He handed her a pen and slid the first paper in her direction. “No matter what world we live in, paperwork is still a pain,” he joked.

  Nicole glanced down at the paper. “The whole thing is fine print,” she noticed.

  He chuckled. “You can take your time and read it all if you like. Actually this is all the mundane paperwork. We’ll save the special parts for last.”

  “Great,” Nicole said with a sigh as she began to skim the document.

  “It isn’t right, what happened to you,” Derek said suddenly, his voice softer.

  Nicole winced. “What, I’m supposed to believe you’re a warlock with a heart of gold?”

  He smiled, and she fought back a chill. “Like everything in life, there is a spectrum. Think about witches. On the one hand you have the noble, selfless creature of great virtue.”

  Nicole nodded, her thoughts instantly flying to Anne-Louise Montrachet.

  “On the other hand you have power-mad half-insane witches who embrace the dark in their search for power.”

  In her mind Nicole saw Holly, and she flushed and refused to meet his gaze.

  “So it is with our side. There is the epitome of the warlock, someone completely evil like Sir William, and on the other hand there are those of us who sacrifice for the power to make the lives of others better.”

  “You make it sound so noble,” Amanda mocked from her perch.

  He shrugged.

  “So, you’re one of those better warlocks?” Nicole asked.

  His smile turned darker. “I wouldn’t go that far.” He glanced sideways at Amanda. “And you can tell your boy toy not to even think about coming after me with an ice pick.”

  Nicole shuddered. It was a reference to how her covenates had killed the warlocks guarding the entrance to the Supreme Coven’s London head quarters prior to the battle.

  Richard stepped forward and purred, “No, we leave those kinds of toys for the grown men. You know the thing about magic? It’s only a good defense against other magic.”

  It wasn’t entirely true, but there was enough truth to it that, combined with the reputation her father had earned as a warrior, it made Derek flinch.

  “Dad, he’s trying to be nice,” Nicole said with a sigh. “Like it or not, he’s sort of our lawyer for now. And something tells me that’s the real altar he sacrifices on.”

  Derek inclined his head. “Well spotted, Lady Moore.”

  It’s a compliment; just accept it, Nicole thought to herself, forcing a smile onto her lips.

  Pembrokeshire, Wales: Jer

  The dolphins breached in a semicircle as Jeraud Deveraux broke the surface of the chilly, turbulent sea. They chattered at him with their happy faces, squeeing in their language; he knew there were warlocks who could converse with animals, but he was not one of them.

  He knew that those beloved of Cahors witches were cursed to die by drowning. He was not one of those, either. Otherwise, the hours he had spent swimming against the current would surely have dragged him under and ended the life he wished so thoroughly to be rid of.

  Yet, despite his bitterness, he found comfort in the frigid waters. His face and body were a melting ruin of scars caused by the Black Fire, the magical secret weapon of House Deveraux, once again lost. Swimming with the dolphins, he could forget the pain that continually racked his body, inside and out; on land each movement brought searing pain, even a year later. And the dolphins didn’t care that he was a monster, so hideous that he had refused to be joined in thrall with Holly Cathers, the only woman he had ever loved.

  No. That’s not the only reason, and you well know it.

  Of course he was lying to himself. He was a Devera
ux, and through the centuries the Deveraux warlocks had based their survival on deceit. Holly was tainted, as he was. She had made terrible deals with the darkness to keep her people safe. The goodness in her was shadowy, and as icy as the waters he swam in. Mix her magic with his, and the world would quake.

  It doesn’t matter. I don’t love her anymore. That died when she agreed to go with Alex Carruthers and his damn Temple of the Air. Smarmy bastard. He and I swore one of us would die on Wind Moon. Holly dismissed our bad blood as testosterone poisoning, but if I’d had the Black Fire, I’d have used it against him then.

  If I had it now, I would hunt him down and light him up like a torch.

  No, I wouldn’t. She made her choice. I’ll let her live with it. If there’s anything left of the Holly who once loved me, she’ll realize soon enough that she has made a mistake.

  Besides, Jeraud Deveraux didn’t know how to conjure the Black Fire. His father, Michael Deveraux, who had conjured the Black Fire that had disfigured Jer, was dead. Jer’s brother, Eli, who had helped Michael create the fire, had turned on their father and killed him in the last battle at the Supreme Coven headquarters in London. He’d gone missing and was presumed dead.

  He’s alive. I know it. And I’ll find him.

  The ocean rumbled as if in disapproval. Clouds rolled in, obscuring the sun, symbol of warlock virility. Jer had cast runes and performed finder’s spells for three straight months, and still there was no sign of Eli. Better, perhaps, to let the dead bury the dead. Michael and Eli had cast their lot in with the Horned God, and the world was better off without them.

  And what of me? To what power do I owe my allegiance now? Warlock blood pulsed through his veins; he wasn’t some male witch obligated to the Goddess. Like Alex Carruthers.

  His mother, however, had joined the Goddess’s temple. And Holly believed there was good in him. He had turned his back on his male relatives….

  And look where it has gotten me.

  As it began to rain, raindrops shooting past him like bullets, he dove beneath the surface. The dolphins joined him, sleek and untroubled. He wished he could lose himself in the sea forever. He wished that by drowning he would know that Holly had actually loved him.

  It’s over for me. For us. I’m…free.

  A dolphin nosed him, as if to remind him that he was a land creature and should soon return. Once he would have found joy in communion with such a magical creature, but delight and happiness had been burned out of him.

  He swam back toward the coast and found purchase in the breakers, trudging naked onto the rocky shore. The sharp shells sliced the scars of the soles of his feet, but unlike the rest of his body, most of the nerve endings in the bottoms of his feet were dead.

  Someone was watching him. He felt it before he saw anyone; he murmured a few words in Latin, and a dot on the cliffs above him telescoped in his mind. Eve, the warlock sent by Sir William Moore to kill Michael Deveraux. Eli had robbed her of her target, and she was cast adrift, as Jer was. She was one of the only people he knew who didn’t flinch when she looked at him.

  She reminded him of Kari, when they’d first become lovers. Driven, ambitious, lustful. He wasn’t sure she knew what love was.

  Of course, he didn’t know, either.

  He could tell that she knew he’d spotted her; she began making her way down a narrow path. He went to his small white towel and began to dry off, averting his gaze at the sight of his gnarled hands; his fingers were swollen lumps of scar tissue. It was remarkable—perhaps miraculous, or simply ironic—that Black Fire hadn’t touched his groin. A waste, from his point of view.

  He was fully dressed by the time Eve reached him. She was wearing a black fisherman’s sweater and black jeans. She had let her short hair grow, and her huge eyes in her delicate face gave her an elfin appearance. But there was nothing dainty about Eve. She was a trained assassin, and she had nearly taken him, Jer, down in her eagerness to please her master, Sir William Moore.

  Despite her protestations to the contrary, Jer assumed she was still Sir William’s willing servant. Moore had transformed into a hideous demon and had vanished during the battle, and as with Eli, Jer hadn’t seen him since. But this was the third time Eve and Jer had crossed paths—and each time, he’d braced himself for an attack. None had come.

  Maybe the third time is the charm.

  “Good morning,” she said to him in her upper-class British accent.

  “What do you want?” Jer’s voice was flat and cold.

  “By the God, you’re testy today.” She smiled faintly at him. “Seen your brother?”

  “If I had, I wouldn’t tell you. I’m betting Sir William is turning up the heat. Wants payback for the massacre.”

  She began to shake her head, then sighed heavily and crossed her arms. As she moved her weight, he felt a stir of desire, and efficiently and magically quelled it.

  “Actually, this time I have come from the Supreme Coven, but not from Sir William. No one’s seen him. And since James Moore, his son and heir, is dead, it’s been declared that House Moore sits on the throne of bones no longer.”

  She uncrossed her arms and inclined her head, a gesture of deference. The wind ruffled her hair as seagulls wheeled across the sun, casting shadows on her face.

  “I’ve been authorized to offer the throne to you,” she declared. Then she gazed up at him and smiled. “The Temple of the Air’s got us on the run.”

  He stared at her. “Are you serious? I took part in the attack.”

  She moved closer to him, and he smelled fresh soap and soft skin. Felt her body heat. “Come on, Jer. We’re warlocks. There’s no such thing as loyalty. Only enlightened self-interest.”

  “Well, I’m not interested.”

  Her smile played on her mouth. There was a dimple on either side of her mouth. He hadn’t noticed them before. “Maybe Eli would be interested.”

  “Ask him. If you find him,” Jer said. He wondered if that had been Eli’s plan all along. What had Michael felt, when he’d realized his son was about to murder him? Pride, no doubt, that his older son was as ruthless as he.

  “Perhaps we could sweeten the pot,” Eve ventured, laying a hand on his forearm. His chest tightened. No one touched him anymore.

  “I would rather die,” he said frankly, brushing past her.

  “That can be arranged too.” The seagulls nearly drowned her out.

  He stopped walking. “Are they that afraid of her?”

  “Are you?’

  He resumed his pace. There would be tea at the inn where he was staying. And a fire.

  He was cold.

  Outside Warsaw, Poland:

  Holly, Alex, Pablo, Armand, and the Temple of the Air

  Pablo recovered from his psychic fright, and the Temple of the Air moved on. Alex quizzed him repeatedly about what had caused his collapse, but Pablo didn’t know. Alex accused him of lying. But why should he lie?

  Pablo knew that Holly Cathers was worried. It didn’t take a psychic to read the tension in her face, the fear in her eyes. Being psychic, though, he did know that it wasn’t for herself or him or Armand, or Philippe, or even Alex Carruthers that she was worried. No, her thoughts were with her cousins Nicole and Amanda. She had every reason to be afraid for them. And Pablo had every reason to be worried about her.

  The decision to join with Alex and his Temple of the Air had been a mistake. He and Armand had come with Holly in the hope of fighting evil and making a difference. Some days Pablo wished that he had never heard of the Goddess, had never known another’s thoughts. He would have given everything to spend his childhood fishing instead of fighting.

  But there was going to be more fighting, a lot of it. When he had regained consciousness in the hotel room in Cologne, the only thing he knew was that he had seen the future. He couldn’t remember what it was, but it scared him. Holly had told him that he had called out for Philippe, but he had no memory of it. As always these days, when Pablo thought of Philippe, he clos
ed his eyes and said a brief prayer for his coven leader.

  He missed Philippe, but more than that he missed Richard Anderson. Whenever the world went crazy, Richard slipped away to a peaceful place in his mind where he relived his memories of fishing with his father. Richard didn’t know it, but Pablo had gone with him several times into those memories, and although he had never even held a fishing pole, he now believed it to be the epitome of tranquility. Someday I will go fishing, he promised himself.

  All Holly wanted in the world was to go to bed and wake up from the nightmare she was living. Ever since the battle in London, she felt as though she were spinning out of control. Everything that she had believed, clung to, seemed to be turned upside down. She had believed when it was all over there would be rest, peace, and that she and Jer would be together. None of that had happened.

  Life was more stressful than ever, and Jer was nowhere to be found. She didn’t regret her choice to join with Alex Carruthers and his Temple of the Air, but she wished she could have known what was in store for her. She had thought when he said they would continue to fight evil that they would be wiping out small dark covens. Instead she had discovered that the Supreme Coven headquarters in London that had been destroyed at such great cost was just one of many such headquarters around the world. In fact, it hadn’t even been the central one, or the largest one, or even the most evil one.

  “Just one small stronghold among many,” she muttered.

  “What?” Alex asked as he walked into the room.

  She shook her head. “Have you found any Cahors?” she asked, gesturing to the map he held in his hand. The promise of finding other long-lost family members had helped her make the decision to join with Alex.

  “No, but I did find another warlock coven we can take care of,” he said, smiling.

  Holly sighed. So far they had taken out half a dozen small covens without taking any casualties to themselves or Alex’s followers. They were beginning to rack up quite a body count, and yet they still seemed no closer to finding other Cahors.

  Alex sat down beside her. “Don’t worry; we’ll find them. For now, though, we have a job to do.”