Witch & Curse (15 page)

We Deveraux are cursed. And how to explain that to some sweet, shy girl like Amanda, who would rather read about mystical priestesses and unicorns than see the truth?

Jer moved silently down the hall, bringing his mind back to the task at hand. He, his brother, and his father had all placed wards around the star chamber, magical spells that caused the minds of potential trespassers to wander, so that they forgot to investigate further the halls and stairs that led to places best left unexplored. Now those wards were acting against Jer himself as he drew closer to the shadowed realms of Deveraux conjuring and deathdealing.

He was sure that Eli and Michael had killed human beings in their quest for Dark Magics. He couldn't prove it, but he often asked himself why, if he believed such a thing, he stayed with them in the house in Lower Queen Anne.

Am I a coward, or am I waiting for a chance to strike, and stop them once and for all?

It was a question he had often asked himself. So far, he had no answer.

Until I can answer it, I have to stay here. And after . . . who knows?

Maybe I'll go somewhere completely unexpected
.

Maybe I'll even find my mother
.

Jer walked to the door that led to the chamber, or
rather to the staircase that led down to it. The door blended in perfectly with the hall, the only indication of its presence a subtle swirl in the wallpaper. He pressed it and the door fwoomed open like an airlock in a science fiction movie. He crept down two stairs in the pitch-black corridor, and listened.

He could hear murmuring, but only that. Two voices, one raised in anger.
Dad
. One answering.
Eli
.

Frustrated, he kept listening. If he moved one step more, the wards that protected the chamber would alert his family to his presence. Then he remembered his brother's incantation in the pantry.

He climbed the two steps backward, then pulled the door shut and walked back along the hallway.

I wonder if any other family spends their nights together like this
, he thought bitterly.
Spying on one another, invoking demons, lifting weights
. . . .

He glided into the kitchen and from there, the pantry. Feeling along the walls, he whispered a Spell of Seeing, searching for the hidden artifact his brother had employed. There was no result.
He's used a ward to protect it
, Jer realized. He recalled a litany from one of the Books of Shadows his father had used to instruct them in the Art:
“Things that are Hidden are Things worth Discovering.”

He tried a different Spell of Seeing. When that
failed as well, he began to rap against the brickwork, looking for a hollow spot that could contain a cache place.

Finally his knuckles tapped against a brick on his right that didn't echo back in precisely the same way as the others.
Yes
, he thought, and gripped his fingertips around it. Gingerly he eased the loose brick out. It slid easily, which told him that it had been moved many times.

My brother's probably been spying on
both
Dad and me
.

Cautiously transferring the bogus brick to his left hand, he bent down to see inside the rectangular space left bare by its absence. The light was not good, but he could detect a small, round object lying inside the area.

He was just about to take hold of it when footsteps and voices alerted him to the fact that his father and brother had left the chamber and were heading for the kitchen.

Moving fast, he replaced the brick. Then he smoothed back his hair and took a breath, grabbed a box of cereal, and started to come out of the pantry.

His brother said, “You think she's the one.”

“I had a sense of it,” Michael replied. “Meanwhile, we have Sir William to worry about.”

Jer wrinkled his forehead as he listened carefully. Sir William Moore was the Master of the Supreme
Coven of the Art, the head coven to which the Deveraux Coven owed allegiance. It was headquartered in London, and Jer had no idea how many Dark Covens offered their loyalty to the Supreme Coven. He did know that Sir William was afraid of the power of the Deveraux, and had recently demanded that they prove their loyalty.

What Sir William didn't know was that in secret, Michael had pledged the sorcery of the Deveraux to Sir William's son, James. James had long plotted to overthrow his father. Michael regarded James as someone who could be more easily controlled than Sir William. Since Michael believed that the title of Master of the Supreme Coven belonged by right and tradition to the House of Deveraux, he had offered to back James if James tried to topple his father from the throne of the Master. Once the foolish young man was in power, Michael would stand behind that throne and arrange the situation to his own liking . . . no doubt by murdering James at the first opportunity, and raising either himself or Eli to the exalted position of Master.

Once a Deveraux led the Coven, the forces of light would be extinguished, one by one by one, until only the Black Arts tipped the scales of Fate, in this and other worlds.

Jeraud Deveraux was determined never to let that happen.

Even if I have to betray my own flesh and blood someday
.

“We might have to kill her,” his father was saying.

Jer started, furious at himself for losing his focus.
Who? Who are they talking about?

Whoever she was, there was no way he would ever let his father and brother spill her blood. Even if it meant their own deaths, he would not knowingly permit them to kill an innocent.

What about the guilty, Jer?
asked a little voice inside him. He knew it was his conscience, but it was cast in the voice of his Overlord, Sir William.
Proud warlock, you scorn your Tradition, yet still seek the privileges of your blood. If you discern good and evil, it is because they exist, and because you have the power to use them as you will
.

But once you choose to use evil—no matter the reason—you are Coven-bound . . . forever . . . and your soul belongs to us
.

“We could always make it look like a car accident,” his father drawled. “Like that other one we did.”

“That was gross,” Eli replied.

“But it did the job. He's dead, isn't it?”

Jer's heart literally skipped a beat. Rival Seattle architect Zane Thornwood had recently died in a car accident. Both he and Jer's father had bid on the same
project in Pioneer Square. With his death, the contract had gone to Michael Deveraux.

His eyes welled and he felt sick down to the core of his base, warlock soul. He was afraid he might throw up.

So now I know it's true
, he thought.
My brother, my father . . . they're murderers
.

The voice said,
You've known for years, you hypocrite. You just didn't want to do anything about it
.

Eli said, “True. But accidents like that are pretty easy to detect. We almost got caught last time.”

“Ah, but we Deveraux learn from our mistakes. That's what separates the sheep from the wolves, Eli. I'm thinking we could take advantage of the wet streets. . . . It's so rainy in Seattle, and if you go too fast, you'll hydroplane. We could do that from a good distance.”

“Maybe even from as far away as San Francisco,” Eli said archly. “Where we kept a grieving lady company?”

“I can't keep anything from you.” Michael sounded proud, also a little wary. “Keep an eye on her. We'll decide what to do by next moon.”

Jer swayed, then realized he didn't have the luxury of reacting to the horror of what he had learned—confirmed—this night. Deeply ashamed of his former
passivity, he sent out a silent message to his family's potential victim.

The time had come for him to take a stand against his own family.

Run
, he ordered,
to me. By the power of the God, come into my influence and be bound to me. Find me. If my father wants you dead, you're dead already
.

And I'm the only one in Seattle who can protect you from him
.

It was midnight. Holly and Amanda had gotten home hours ago. But Nicole was still out . . . with Eli Deveraux, Jer's brother.

Fuming at being dumped by her sister, Amanda talked about Eli as Holly lay on her bed, Freya curled up beside her. Bast was nowhere to be found.

“I wish he'd get put in jail for good or something.”

Her face was getting red and she chewed on her left thumbnail before she apparently realized what she was doing and dropped her hand into her lap.

“Listen, she's not supposed to see him, but it's awkward, you know, with my parents being friends with his dad and all. He's done so much work on our house. His dad, I mean. He's an architect.”

Amanda didn't know that Eli's father had been in San Francisco with her mother. Holly felt just sick for
Uncle Richard—and for the girls, if they should find out. More than one of her friends' families had been broken up by an affair. But she covered her reaction with a fake cough and said, “Okay.”

“Eli will probably eventually come on to you, just to freak you out,” Amanda continued. “Just totally ignore him. It's what I do.” She joined Holly in petting Freya, and her features softened. “Jer's different. I swear, sometimes I think he was adopted.” Her laugh was forced, and her face grew even redder. They spent a few awkward moments petting the cat. Holly was about to drop.

“I have to go to bed,” Holly said. “I'm really tired, Amanda.” She said, “I swear, I was delirious or something back at The Half Caff.”

“I know. You're sick.” She touched Holly's forehead, kind and honestly concerned. “Holly . . . ,” she began, and Holly wondered if she was going to broach the subject of Jer Deveraux and spoken-for territory.

With a sigh, Amanda made some kind of decision. She said, “I'm glad you're here. Really glad.” She gave her a pained smile. “It's fun to have someone to hang out with.”

“I'm sorry I won't be staying much longer,” Holly reminded her gently.
So you can still try to snag Jer
, she tried to tell her with her words.
I pose no permanent threat
.

“I'm sorry, too,” Amanda said.

Freya the cat lifted her head and gazed steadily at Amanda. Then she swiveled her head at Holly, and put her head back down on Amanda's bedspread.

“Well . . . good night.” Holly got off the bed and stood, yawning.

“Good night. Sleep tight,” Amanda said in a slightly singsong way, as if she was determined not to let the Jer Affair get her down.

As Holly got ready for bed, she replayed the scene in the coffeehouse over and over again. She was fascinated. Embarrassed, yeah.
In fact, I could just about sink through the floor
. But it was so weird how mutual it was . . . the way they had both been drawn to each other . . .
But hey, hormones. He
is
a hottie
. And the French they had spoken to each other . . .
which I've studied, so no weird there. And he has a French name, so they probably speak a little in his family. So no weird there, either
.

But my vision . . . I saw him, and me, in another time. Only it wasn't us
. . . .

Lack of sleep
, she told herself.
So get some. You're all stressed out. You knew you weren't ready to face the world. So do some deep breathing, meditating, like Daddy showed you
.

With a pang at the memory of her father, she pictured a beautiful lake, and herself in a rowboat . . . and
Jer, taking up the oars while she sat in the bow. They were rowing somewhere . . .
to Avalon . . . like in Amanda's book she's reading . . . the mists . . . they're parting
. . . .

And we're doing magic, to save the world
.

She drifted along, beginning to drowse. Settling in, she cuddled her cat and murmured, “He's amazing. If he liked me . . .” Too shy to complete the thought, she closed her eyes.

The cat's breath sighed against Holly's cheek. The tip of Bast's pink tongue scraped her face. Or the dream of a kiss.

Jeraud Deveraux
. . .

The floor creaked; she was dimly aware of the sound. This house, this big, noisy house; it held secrets.

If he liked me
. . .

Then he was in bed with her, beside her, and she smiled to herself. The dream caressed her like a tender lover, and she thought,
I've never really had a boyfriend. Not one I would . . . not someone special
. . .

Then hands, and lips
. . .

And suddenly it was Michael Deveraux straddling her, his hands around her throat. His dark eyes glared at her with a killing look; his mouth was drawn back in a rictus of hatred, madness, and cruelty. His hair was tousled; his lips were swollen as if with kisses.

And he was choking the life out of her.

She could feel his hands around her neck; the weight of his body. She smelled wine on him, and perfume.

He's really here. Oh, my God, this is really happening! He's trying to kill me!

In a blind panic, Holly tried to claw him. Flailing with her arms, her legs, even her body, she couldn't breathe. She couldn't, and she couldn't; it was as if she were under the river drowning again, and then she sucked in air and expelled it forcefully, screaming.

In real time her cat howled, snarled, hissed. Holly's eyes flew open.

Bast jumped off the bed.

Holly was alone.

“Amanda!” she cried hoarsely, her throat raw from the dream strangle. Holly's dry mouth worked, but no more sound came out. With shaking hands, she checked her throat.

Against the window, a large black bird flapped its wings, as if it were hovering in the black night; and then it flew out of sight.

A dream
, she told herself, taking in huge gasps of air.
It was just a weird dream, everything all mixed up in it because of Michael being with my aunt and what happened with Jer at The Half Caff. Just stress, finding a way out of me
. . .