Legacy & Spellbound (17 page)

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 cockroaches 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 the 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.”

A chill wind whipped suddenly through Holly and the others, cold enough to take her breath away. Then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone.
The Goddess has spoken.

Sasha held out her arms and sent beams of magical energy into the center of the triangle; they filled the space between Holly, Jer, and Philippe, until Holly sensed Jer's magical essence, and Philippe's, too, and allowed hers to mingle with theirs. The result was an increased magical presence, much greater than the
sum of its parts, and she wondered,
Is this what thrall is like? Is it even better? Because this is pretty wonderful.

As if in answer to her question, Philippe glanced lovingly at Nicole, and she at him, and the moment was so private that Holly began to cry.

Sasha whispered in her ear, “Someday, Holly, I promise.”

But Jer overheard her and looked at his mother steadily, offering no such words of encouragement. Holly had not felt so alone since her parents had died on the river … at the hands of a Deveraux.

Maybe he is his father's son,
she told herself, which was a foolish thing to think, but she knew what she meant: Maybe he was more Michael's son than Sasha's, more evil than good.

“It is done,” Sasha declared, and the energies that crackled in the middle of the triangle dissipated. Holly let her hands fall off of Jer's and Philippe's shoulders and she stepped back, shaken.

“We need to get back to the States,” Nicole proclaimed. “We have so many people to protect.”

Holly nodded. Then she reached out a hand to Jer.

But it started to snow, and he took advantage of the curtain of white to pretend that he didn't see her outstretched hand.

* * *

As before, the Mother Coven offered their private jet, but no other support. No soldiers, no weapons, nothing in the battle against evil that was raging in Seattle.

As soon as they alighted from the plane, the Tri-Covenate was under siege. The weather was horrible— thunder and lightning, incredibly heavy rains that turned the streets to frothing seas, chaotic with an undertow of cars, newspaper kiosks, street signs, and even streetlights. As the waters poured down the hills of Seattle, they began to drag wide-eyed bodies with them, and the corpses of innocent animals caught in the magical onslaught.

Worse were the fires raging all over the city, which the rain couldn't dampen. The flames soared into the sky like demonic aurora borealis; the tongues of fire scorched vast skyscrapers and entire city blocks; there was so much devastation that the news stations had stopped taking count, apparently deciding that they might as well wait until it was all done, and the death and devastation would no longer be a moving target but a quantifiable tragedy.

As Holly and the others tried to grab a cab or even a bus to the Anderson home, they couldn't believe the throngs of panicked crowds trying to catch flights out of the city. The airport was jammed, and people were so terrified that they put their humanity on hold: They
lost their sense of accountability, and forgot that once this was over, they would have to live with their own actions. No one could think that far. No one could think at all.

“We're all going to Hell!” a collared priest informed Holly as he pushed past her and the others as they went down an escalator.

Another man said, “We're
in
Hell, brother!”

Staring at the others, Holly walked through the automatic sliding-glass door and stepped into the storm.

Wind and rain pulled at her, the air howling like a banshee. She caught at her coat, huddling against the elements as Alonzo struggled to hold his umbrella over her. She thought of her parents' funeral—how lightning had struck a tree—and she felt a thick, cold loathing for Michael Deveraux that she knew would only be lost upon his death.