Legacy & Spellbound (46 page)

For a moment he imagined what it must have been like for her, with James. James had shared some of the brutal details with him, and Eli had been angry, jealous that another man touched her. Until now, though, he had never stopped to think what it must have been like for her. He shook his head.

Fantasme made a strange scrying noise, and for a moment Eli had the ridiculous, giddy thought that they were in a
Scooby-Doo
episode and Fantasme was the guy in the suit. Then he sobered as icy, brackish water sloshed over his already-sodden track shoes. “All right, so where are we? I'll skip the Kansas cliché.”

“We're at sea level,” Nicole informed him. “It brought us to a cave. The water's been coming in steadily. I think the tide is rising.”

“Are we still being hunted?” he asked her.

She snorted. “Of course. There are a couple of these icky guys made out of mud—”

“Golems,” he informed her.

“Whatever. And demons and goo monsters. All kinds of things. Your birdman outran them and then I put a glamour on this cave so they couldn't see the entrance. But I don't know how good of a spell it was, and I don't know when they'll break down my wards and stuff. I used your cloak of invisibility,” she added. “It's a good one.” That sounded like a difficult
admission for her to make, so he didn't reply.

“So. Did you have a plan?” she demanded.

“Of course,” he shot back. “It was based entirely on stealth,” he added, so she wouldn't press him for details he did not have. “James knows this entire island. He spent most of his childhood here. He'll figure out where we are.” He frowned. “If he hasn't already.”

Nicole cast an anxious glance over her shoulder. All he saw was rock, but he guessed that that was where his cloak was shielding the entrance. For all either of them knew, an army of Supreme Coven minions, human or otherwise, was massed on the other side, waiting for them to come out.

He could have taken the knife from her then, but he liked her cute little show of power, so he gave up the chance. Maybe she sensed his thoughts, because she whipped her head back at him and pressed a little harder on the knife. He doubted that she realized that it turned him on even more.

It was too much for Fantasme. The creature arced back an … appendage … and whacked the knife out of Nicole's grasp. She screamed in agony and crumpled onto the cave floor. “My wrist!” she managed, her voice a raspy shriek.

Eli smoothly picked up the athame and slipped it
inside his black leather jacket. Then he roughly covered her mouth to muffle her screams. That made her scream harder, so he murmured a spell of silence, which rendered her mute.

And for old times' sake, he took away the pain and told her wrist to start healing itself.

Jer: Gorman, California

Jer had stopped to gas up the car on the top of the Grapevine before starting the descent into the L.A. basin. From there he would head east toward New Mexico. The night was dark, clouds covering the face of the moon as he glanced anxiously skyward.
Wind Moon is coming,
he thought with a shudder.
There's a good chance none of us are going to survive it.

“Not if I can help it,” he vowed out loud, startling a woman pumping gas into a red minivan five feet away. He narrowed his eyes; there was something about the woman that didn't seem … right.

Her short hair was plastered to her head, and there was something distinctly European about her features. He stared at her hand as it replaced the gas nozzle. She was gripping it tight, the muscles in her forearm knotting. Impressive muscles they were, too. He narrowed his eyes and tried to make out more details in the fluorescent light.

There was scarring on her arm, a long, straight line consistent with self-mutilation. It was on the top of her arm, so it couldn't have been a suicide attempt. No, it looked familiar, like something one would inflict doing a ritual—

She lunged at him, throwing him to the ground and landing on top of him. His head hit the concrete with a dull thud, and a roaring sound filled his ears. His vision blurred, but he felt a sudden stabbing pain in the area of his throat.

“Tell me where your father is,” the woman hissed.

His vision snapped back into focus as he realized she was pressing a knife to his throat.

“I'm not entirely sure,” he answered honestly. There was no need to lie to a woman who could and would kill him for doing so.

He could tell by the way she pursed her lips that she knew he was telling the truth.

“Don't tell me, he jilted you and you're looking for revenge?” he joked, not knowing what else to do. She had him, and could slit his throat before he could do a thing, magical or otherwise, to try to escape.

She laughed soullessly. “Nothing so exciting. But I am going to kill him.”

Jer swallowed hard, trying to ignore the feeling of
the blade cutting his skin. “You'll have to stand in line, then.”

“Why should I believe you? Why should I believe you are going to kill your own father?”

“You know who I am and who my father is and yet you have to ask?”

She nodded, seemingly satisfied, and stood up in one fluid motion. She extended her hand, and he took it. As he scrambled back to his feet, he put a few feet between them with a sense of relief.

“Sir William has ordered your father executed. You, however, he said nothing about.”

“I never thought being ignored could have such advantages,” he quipped lamely as he touched his hand gingerly to his neck. Spots of blood came back on his fingertips, and he cursed under his breath.

“Trust me, he's not ignoring you, he never ignores anyone, which is why he's still alive.”

“Sounds like you speak from personal experience.”

She glanced up at him with a shake of her head. “I've seen what he can do. I'm not anxious to have him do it to me.”

Jer smiled at the double entendre. It was a grim testament to the world that the woman had chosen to live in, the side she had aligned herself with.

“Leave the car. You're riding with me,” the woman ordered.

He looked at her warily. “So, I'm your prisoner?”

“Think of yourself more as an accomplice. As I see it, we're both pursuing the same goal.”

“If you don't mind, I'll just meet you there,” he said, backing toward his car and preparing to erect a barrier between them.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” she warned as he touched the handle on the car.

“And why is that?”

She smiled, a little wicked smile that felt like daggers of ice being showered at him. “Because while you were inside buying soda, I rigged your car to explode.”

He froze, his hand still on the handle. With his mind he began to probe the car, looking for something, anything. It was his eyes that saw it, though. There, lying on the passenger side seat, was a tiny black box with wires running out of it.
It could be a fake,
he thought.

“Are you willing to risk it?” she asked. “Not only your life, and my life, but also the life of the poor slob behind the counter, and theirs,” she said with a nod. He turned to watch as a family poured out of a station wagon that had just parked at a nearby pump. They were all wearing matching Mickey Mouse shirts, and it
was clear from their exhausted yet happy faces where they had just come from.

A bead of sweat trickled down the middle of his back as he instinctually turned his face away so that the children wouldn't see his scars.
Strange,
he thought, as he stared again at the woman.
I didn't care at all what she thought of them, even before she attacked me.

“If I go with you, you'll defuse the car so that no one will be injured after we leave?”

She hesitated for a moment before nodding.

“All right,” he agreed.

“Take your hand off the handle, gently,” she instructed.

He did as he was told and then stepped back away from the car.

“Good boy,” she crooned. “Now, get in the van.”

He gave her a wide berth as he did so. As soon as he closed the door, she headed for his car. The mirrors in the van were angled to let him see what she was doing, and before she could adjust them she had appeared at the van's driver-side door. She opened it and hopped in.

“Finished?” he asked, surprised.

“Sure,” she answered as she started the engine and put the van into gear. As they merged back onto Interstate 5, she added, “There was no bomb.”

He put his head back against the headrest and sighed. She was clearly not to be trusted. “So, do you have a name or shall I just call you Deceiver?”

“How about Temptress instead?” she asked in a coy voice. “My name is Eve.”

It was going to be a long trip.

June Cathers: Santa Paula, California, March 12, 1928 11:57 P.M.

Four-year-old June Cathers lay awake, too excited to sleep. In the morning it would be her birthday and she would be five. In the bed next to June, her twin brothers, Timmy and Tommy, were sound asleep. She held her breath so she could listen to them breathing for a moment. They were younger than she was, and when they had been born her daddy had told her that she had to look out for them.

She let out her breath with a
whoosh
. There was going to be a party tomorrow, with cake. Her grandmother was going to be there, and both her grandfathers. She only had the one grandmother. Her daddy's mommy had died when he was younger than June. It always made her sad for her daddy when she thought about it.

She rolled onto her side, squeezing her eyes tightly shut as she did so. She had forgotten to shut the closet door when she went to bed; she had been too excited,
thinking about her birthday. The closet frightened her; there were things that moved in at night. Once, she had opened her eyes and seen shadows in her closet, shadows that stared at her.

She had screamed and screamed, and when her mommy came she had told her she was just imagining things. She hadn't been, though, she knew it. There were monsters in the world. She saw them sometimes and she knew they wanted to hurt her and her brothers.

The grandfather clock began to chime midnight. She jumped and then forced herself to breathe deeply, calming herself down. She slowly began to drift off to sleep. From somewhere far off she heard something … a deep, low sound. She pulled the blankets over her head, but the sound grew louder, increasing to a dull roar. She clamped her hands over her ears, but it just got louder. At last it was deafening, and she sat up. She turned and looked at the closet just as a wall of water came rushing out of it.

She screamed just as the water washed over her. Suddenly, a light appeared, shining brighter than anything she had ever seen. A woman stood in it, with long, flowing hair. She picked June up and held her close. The water passed around them, but did not touch them. June coughed out the water she had
already swallowed as she clung to the dark-haired lady. “What's happening?” June wailed.

“The St. Francis Dam broke,” the lady answered, holding her closer.

The house collapsed around them, and they remained untouched. The water washed away the debris, and they stayed where they were. At last the deluge passed, and the shining lady set her down on her feet. The mud sucked at her legs, and her night-dress was wet and dirty.

“Be safe,
ma petite
June of the Cahors,” the lady said, and then she disappeared.

June Cathers looked around at the destruction of her home and her town. Her family, her parents, and her little brothers were gone, they were dead. She was five years old, and it was her birthday.

Something now in the wind
Reveals to us all our sin
We meet this darkness with more hate
This alone a Deveraux's fate

Cahors watch and Cahors pray
Wish away the light of day
For in the night alone we sing
Dancing in a silver ring

Tri-Coven: Santa Cruz

“Goddess, how I miss Nicole,” Philippe prayed, as he lay in his narrow bed. “Let me find her well and safe.”

He rolled onto his side, preparing for another sleepless night. He couldn't rest since Nicole had been taken—
again by James and Eli!

He found Pablo staring at him. “What is it,
hijo
?”

“We will find her,” Pablo whispered.

“Thanks, Pablo,” Philippe answered. “I only pray that it is sooner rather than later.”

Pablo nodded at that. The other surviving member of their coven, Armand, snored quietly from his cot. Philippe raised a head to look at him.

Leadership is a difficult burden. I do not know how José Luís bore it so long,
he thought.

“He was able to bear it so long because you were there to encourage him,” Pablo answered, reading his thoughts.

Philippe reached out and touched Pablo's shoulder briefly.
Thank you,
he thought.