Legacy & Spellbound (16 page)

He nodded. “I'll need the address.”

“I'll go with you,” Nicole said.

“No.” Holly shook her head. “You'll stay here.”

Nicole frowned. “But—”

“She's right, Nicole,” Philippe cut in. “You stay here. I'll go alone.”

* * *

Philippe was gone nearly an hour. When he returned, Holly was waiting for him in the entryway. Her face was ashen, and there were circles under her eyes. He hadn't realized how tired she looked, and his heart went out to her. She looked thin in a baggy sweater, and he guessed that the Capri pants she was wearing shouldn't be as loose as they were on her frame.
I wonder if she's eating?
he thought. She was in a nearly impossible position; he didn't know how she was managing as well as she was, and he admired her for her strength of will and her courage.

She looked at him, then dropped her gaze as his expression told her the bad news. Joel was indeed dead, and had been lying just as Nicole had seen him in her vision.

Holly was silent for a time. Then she murmured, “He healed me. During the battle that went away, he saved my life. And I …”

“Sometimes there is a bargain,” Philippe said gently. “If that was the case, it was the right one to make. You are the High Priestess of a coven, and a powerful and important witch.”

She stared up at him, her eyes glittering like hard, brittle glass. “If I'm so damn powerful, why did I have to make such a bargain?” she demanded. Then she softened a bit. “What did you do with him?” she asked.

He hesitated. Then he said, “Witches are generally cremated. But I couldn't do that for him. I simply called the police. His death appears as a heart attack, no foul play.”

“But you didn't wait for the police.”

“
Non.
They won't find me,” he assured her. “They won't find
us,
” he corrected.

“Good.” She swallowed. “Thanks.”

He inclined his head. “You are welcome, Holly.”

She blinked as if she was almost shocked by the kindness in his voice. His compassion for her increased.

Then she shrugged as if to deny the dent he had made in her armor, turned on her heel, and left him alone in the entryway, where Nicole found him.

She put her arms around him and pressed her face against his chest.

“You found him,” Nicole said brokenly, “as I saw him.”

“Oui.”

“Oh, God, I hate this. All of this,” she whispered. “I want it to be over.”

Philippe stroked her hair, and let her cry.

Tante Cecile, Dan, and Richard: San Francisco

Cecile Beaufrere had found several boxes of Christmas decorations in the attic of the small San Francisco
house she, Dan Carter, and Richard Anderson had been living in for the last few weeks. They had discussed living in Holly's home, or the home of Barbara Davis-Chin, but in the end, had decided that they had to stay as low under Michael Deveraux's radar as possible. She and Richard had enough money to sustain them for a few more months—she had never liked using magic for personal economic gain—but she wondered when this ordeal would be over.

If it's ever over. The battle between good and evil is eternal. Are we destined to be part of that battle from now on?

Despite her
voudon
roots, she had always kept Christmas back home in New Orleans. She did the same now, though it seemed forced: Richard was still numb from the shock of discovering the realities of the magical realm, and sick with worry over his daughters. He seemed to be rallying somewhat, however, and talking about making plans “to help out.” She had cautioned him to be very careful; they were in hiding, and he shouldn't do anything that might allow Michael Deveraux to locate them.

Dan was still mourning the death of his son, Kialish—and Kialish's partner, Eddie, too—and Cecile was well-aware that this was the first Christmas without them.

The year of firsts is the hardest,
she told herself as she
quietly decorated the Christmas tree.
The first birthday, the first anniversary … the first time you walk into a room and realize that he will never be in his favorite chair …

… oh, Marcus …

Cecile had lost her own true love many years before. Marcus, Silvana's uncle, had been a fabulous man—creative, artistic, and very kind. A professor at Tulane, he had died of a brain embolism when Silvana was an infant. Cecile had had no warning, and despite all the magical work she had done to keep her family safe and well, she and her niece had lost him in a matter of heartbeats.

Now she was charged with protecting someone else's loved one—Richard—and she was not certain she was up to the task.

“That's pretty,” he said now, walking into the living room. Nicole and Amanda, his daughters, were going to be terribly shocked when they saw him again. His hair had gone completely white.

And they will see him,
she vowed firmly.
We will all be reunited. My
loa
will help guard them and guide them home.

“Thank you.” She smiled at him and held out a small box of colored glass ornaments shaped like Christmas stockings. “Would you like to help?”

“Maybe in a little while.” He eased himself slowly into a recliner facing the tree, folding his hands over
his lap, and smiled vacantly at her.

“Wish I had some eggnog,” he added. She said nothing. What he wished he had was the whiskey that went in the eggnog. By mutual agreement, neither she nor Dan purchased alcohol when they went to the grocery store—and Richard never went. They saw to that.

Tomorrow night the moon would be full, and witches and magic users everywhere would be celebrating Yule. The winter solstice. Ironically, Yule had roots as an Egyptian solar festival, a twelve-day holiday to celebrate the rebirth of Horus, son of Isis and Osiris. The magical properties of the season were still recognized in their various forms, with many traditions being celebrated in many ways. The American secularized forms, together bundled as Christmas, had always held their appeal for Cecile, and she had no problem participating in the many rituals and traditions, drawing the strength of community from them.

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.