Resurrection (20 page)

It was unbelievable agony.

It was what he had felt.
Jean. Jer.

It can go away,
Catherine told her.
Say the word. He will die, now, but you will no longer suffer.

“No,” she screamed. “Jer!”

The pain intensified. It burned the air around her, every space she had ever touched. It burned time.

Holly screamed.

And screamed.

 

Jer woke. Holly had tried to drown him. Now she was on fire, and all the demons of hell were diving after them.

Jer grabbed Holly and flung her over his back as Armand, Pablo, and Eve hurled fireballs at scaly crea
tures and monsters with talons, and hulking giants and winged nightmares. And his ancestor, the terrifying Duc Laurent, rode a skeleton warhorse that breathed fire and galloped above the rocks, crushing them with his hooves. Hellhounds bayed and clacked their teeth.

“Faster!” Jer shouted at the others.

And Holly's burning body sizzled into his scarred and suffering flesh.

“Fire in the hole!” Eve shouted.

Jer jerked his head around just in time to see the landscape behind him explode in a shower of rocks and debris. He ducked his head to avoid getting hit, and kept running.

“Holly, work with me!” he shouted.

She groaned in agony, and his heart broke for her. And suddenly, in the distance, he saw two figures appear, running toward them. More of Duc Laurent's men? Behind him Jer heard people dying, and he realized in a second that the Duc was killing his own coven. So much for the Temple of the Air. It sounded like at least a couple of them were fighting back; Jer just prayed that would give them enough time.

Eve ran up beside him. “Jer, there's something I haven't told you.” She was panting heavily.

“Please let it be that you know a way to stop this guy.”

She swallowed big gulps of air. “I might.”

He glanced over at her without slowing. “What?”

“I think we can conjure the Black Fire.”

He almost tripped. “That's impossible. Only Deveraux can do it. Even if we could find Eli, we would still need three of us.”

“We'll have three of us.”

“What are you talking about?” A fireball whizzed past Jer's ear.

She stared at him for a full beat as they ran. And then she said, “Jer, I'm a Deveraux.”

Scarborough: Nicole, Amanda, Tommy, Richard, Owen, Kari, Anne-Louise, and the cats

In the kitchen of House Moore, Kari watched Nicole pacing, anxiously whipping out her cell phone to check for messages, cuddling the baby against her chest. Owen was swathed in a silver shawl covered with amulets and sachets Anne-Louise had brought as baby gifts.

The kitchen was redolent of cinnamon and cloves, and a tiny flicker of longing for lost Christmases tugged at the recesses of Kari's ashen memory.

A vein pulsed at Nicole's temple, and she kept pacing and chewing her lower lip. Her nervous energy made it all the more obvious to Kari that she herself was dead inside. Kari knew she should also be upset, and frightened, but she was neither. She was flat. Empty.

Standing at the granite-topped kitchen island,
Anne-Louise, in white and silver, peered at a scrying stone, one of thirteen she had set up in a circle on the counter sprinkled with salt and crushed hazelnuts. White candles burned at the four corners of the counter, and in the center stood a statue of the Goddess in her incarnation as the Virgin Mary. A low-burning flame in an arched alcove beside the refrigerator was dedicated to Hestia, Greek goddess of the hearth, and a lock of Holly's hair was burning in it.

Kari moved so that she could see over Anne-Louise's shoulder. She saw Holly, writhing in agony, her skin turning black as though from fire. She was in trouble. So were those with her, including…Jer!

Kari remembered pain and death. She remembered Jer's knife at her throat as she lay dying on the floor of the Supreme Coven's headquarters in London. The loving words in ancient French they had exchanged before he'd slit her throat. She had begged him to; it had been Wind Moon, and whoever killed her would acquire her magical strength. Rather than allow it to flow to Michael Deveraux who had wounded her, she willed it to Jer, the man she had lost in this century, and in France, long ago.

In another century, in medieval France, they had been lovers—Karienne and Jean. She was his beloved mistress, his exquisite French lily, and they lived in a perpetual state of decadent pleasure. When his arranged
marriage to Isabeau was successfully negotiated, he had set Karienne aside, and she had accepted that, for she knew the ways of politics; and, as one allied with the House of Deveraux, she agreed that he must marry the enemy witch to keep their noble family safe. But Kari knew that Jean loved
her
. She had his heart, and that would comfort her in the long years ahead.

Count Alois, her new patron, had informed her he would come for her after the wedding ceremony. Her things were packed, and they would live in Paris. She had one precious hour before she must fasten her admiring gaze on a man who was not Jean. He would become her legal husband. And so, she stole into the church, to watch from the steeple, for seeing him given to another in name only was preferable to not seeing him at all.

Wind and firelight cast shadows over the glittering assembly. Silver and black, for Cahors; red and green, for the doublets and gowns of the Deveraux. Gems, gold, and silver. The blood of sacrifices hung in the air. The wailing of the serfs over those who had died.

He is mine,
she thought as she gazed down on her handsome, lost Jean. She dug her fingers into her palms, and prayed that she might be pregnant with his babe. She wasn't certain, but she had her suspicions.

As droplets of blood welled and slid down the lifeline in her right hand, Jean's father, Duc Laurent,
opened Jean's vein with a ceremonial dagger, and Isabeau's mother did the same to her. Their wrists were bound together.

Lightning flashed. Thunder rumbled, and the torches flared. Who was that woman, standing off to one side, weeping?

Clouds rushed the moon. Overhead, lightning sizzled like falling stars. And then, a dagger of grief cleaved Karienne's heart: As his blood mingled with Isabeau's, his face changed. From standing stiff and guarded, half-glowering at the bitch, now he leaned toward her, gazing at her like a starving man at table. He glowed with rapture, and adoration.
He loved Isabeau, his bride
.

“Non,”
she protested, gripping the wood railing. It was to be a political match; no one dreamed the two would harbor anything but sheer hatred for each other…and yet, as Jean looked upon Isabeau, his hard face softened as it never had for her, for Karienne.

Karienne, alors, viens ici,
a voice murmured to her.
Viens. Je t'espére.

Come here. I am waiting for you.

“Qui?”
she murmured. Who? Was it Jean, at last, calling to her? Had he seen how wrong he was to love that murdering witch?

Karienne, viens ici. Maintenant.

And the voice urged her again, to come…now…to leave the room at House Moore, to quietly get a coat, and take a lot of money from Anne-Louise's purse…to walk down to the gate, and to the lane, where the bus would come, and to take the bus, and then go to Dover, and from there to take the ferry…

…to France.

By the time they realized she had left…

…she was gone.

Mumbai: Jer, Holly, Eve, Pablo, and Armand

“You're a Deveraux!” Jer shouted in disbelief. “When did that happen?”

She had the decency to look ashamed. “My family has hidden their true name for a long, long time. I—I didn't know when to tell you. I wasn't sure…” She trailed off.

It made sense. Deveraux had not exactly been popular with the Supreme Coven for quite a while. It also explained the weird sort of kinship he had felt with her. It explained a lot of things.

“We're still only two,” he said finally. “We still need Eli to make Black Fire.”

That is not going to be a problem,
he heard Pablo say in his head.

Why?

Look carefully at the people in front of us.

Jer looked again. Running toward them as fast as they could were Eli and Philippe.

This must be a miracle,
Jer thought.
Magic didn't do this. No magic that I have, anyway.

Yes, perhaps,
Pablo replied.

“Philippe!” Jer bellowed. “How did you find us?”

“Eli cast a finder's spell. He saw you. In fact, he insisted there were several Deveraux with you. I didn't really want to come.”

Jer smiled crookedly. “I'm glad you did. Take Holly,” he said to Armand, holding her out to him. “Be careful.”

Armand slung her over his own back. Jer grabbed Eve's hand and ran for everything that he was worth. His scarred legs screamed in agony, but he ignored the pain and instead fixated on his brother, and his…What was she, a cousin?

A moment later the three of them collided. Jer reached out and grabbed Eli's hand. “Black Fire! Conjure it. I know you know how!”

For once there was no sarcastic retort from his brother. Instead Eli began chanting in a deep, ringing voice. Jer and Eve listened intently, and when the chant began to repeat, they joined in.

“Incendio, Agni…Dando…”

Armand, with Holly in his arms, and Pablo beside him, passed the three and began casting magic with
Philippe. Jer turned and faced the oncoming Duc. He imagined him on fire. He imagined him burning as he had, and as Jean had, and as Isabeau. He imagined him dead.

And, ten feet away, the Black Fire sprang into life.

Scarborough: Amanda, Tommy, Nicole, Richard, Owen, Anne-Louise, and the cats

Anne-Louise listened to everything Nicole and Amanda told her. She paced, and then she whirled around and said, “Nicole, Amanda, where did you find this book?”

“I'll show you,” Amanda said, as she rose and led them through the house. She led them into the study, below the portrait, and headed for a wall. She took a deep breath and waved it open, and the others moved back.

“I—I should go with you,” Nicole said. But it was clear she was conflicted.

“I'll protect Owen,” Richard promised.

“If you hear me knocking, move your hand over the wall like I did,” Amanda told him.

Reluctantly, Nicole handed her child over, and then followed Amanda into the darkness. She smelled evil. The shadows whispered warnings.

She wanted to turn back.

“What is this place?” Tommy asked when they'd reached the inner sanctum.

“It's the heart of House Moore,” Anne-Louise said. “There are dark magics working here.”

“We shouldn't be here,” Nicole murmured.

“No,” Anne-Louise countered. “It's the very best place we can be.”

Mumbai: Holly, Jer, Philippe, Pablo, Armand, Eve, and Eli

The battle raged around Philippe, and the air before him shimmered with fresh magic.

What now?
he thought, bracing himself.

The shimmering grew blinding, popped like a firework. And to his utter astonishment, Amanda and Tommy tumbled out.

Eve spun toward them, hands raised, and Philippe stopped her with a shout. She took a closer look at the newcomers.

“What the hell?” Eve cried.

“Holly!” Amanda cried, reaching for her cousin, who was half-clinging to the back of Armand.

“Look out!” Armand shouted, and Amanda turned in time to see a winged demon flying over a huge, billowing wall of ebony flames. Black Fire. Her heart stuttered. She had seen Black Fire once before, seen what it could do.

Holly moaned. Fire seemed to dance along her skin. Amanda reached out and grabbed her hand, touched their palms together. She could feel the mark of the lily burning.

“Fire within and fire without, cease your burning here about.”

A moment later Holly opened her eyes. They widened, and filled with tears.

“Amanda,” she rasped. “Oh, Amanda, I thought I would never see you again.”

“We're here. Tommy and I. We were in the study and we
saw
…” Amanda knew she should save her explanation for later.

Holly squeezed her hand. “Armand, put me down.”

He set her on her feet and she spun around with a shout, and electricity shot from her eyes and hands and destroyed the demon in midflight. Amanda started to cheer, but a sudden pulse of white-hot light blinded her, and when her vision returned, Holly was gone.

Scarborough: Nicole, Richard, Owen, and Anne-Louise

“Okay, bring them back right now,” Richard ordered.

“I…can't,” Anne-Louise confessed. “That portal opened, and before I could stop them, they went through.”

“And my little girl is in
India
?” Richard shouted. “In another goddamn battle?”

“I'm sorry,” Anne-Louise replied.

Nicole sat in her room and rocked Owen, trying to
sing him to sleep. She tried to sing over the shouting. “Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.”

She tried not to think about her loved ones in India fighting for their lives.

“Then she'll be a true love of mine.”

She tried not to think about the curse that had been put on her family.

“Tell her to wash it in yonder dry well.”

She tried not to think about her Owen destroying the world.

“Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.”

She didn't want to know where Kari had gone off to.

“Which never sprung water nor rain ever fell.”

She tried not to think too hard about the lyrics of “Scarborough Fair.”

“Then she'll be a true love of mine.”

Even if they were nonsense and set forth a series of impossible tasks. It was just a song.

And she was just a girl.