Witch & Curse (27 page)

Luc spat a mixture of blood and saliva onto the stones. “Kill the whore. May she burn forever for betraying me.”

An amused smile twisted Catherine's face. “I take it you do not love your wife.”

“I hate her,” he answered, rage rushing through his body
.

“And yet I think you love her, as well,” the queen replied. “I know something of loving and hating one person and I can see that you do, your eyes betray you.”

“I have nothing to tell you, believe me or not, but kill the witch and save me the trouble.”

“Interesting choice of words, Luc. I think I'll leave you two alone for a while. I have some things I have to attend to.” The queen headed to the door. She turned before leaving. “My daughter is marrying tonight, the groom is the Huguenot leader, Henry of Navarre. Little does he know that his wedding bed is likely to be his deathbed as well. Now, I have to see to arrangements for our guests.” She spat the last word, then forced a smile and swept from the room, her servant trailing after her
.

Seattle, the present

Now Isabeau spoke directly to the four women of the séance:

“During the Religious Wars, Catherine de' Medici tortured dozens of the Deveraux family, seeking the source of the Black Fire, but none could tell her. I watched her through the eyes of Marie, a Cahors married to Luc Deveraux. Before he bled to death from the many lashes he had received, Luc killed Marie with a
knife she had secreted in her dress in the hopes of saving him. I saw and I could not stop it. That night Catherine's daughter married the leader of the Huguenots. The next day Catherine had all the Protestant Huguenot wedding guests slaughtered. Instead of being a union of peace, it was a trap. On St. Bartholomew's Day, the massacre occurred.

“Following this, several of the survivors of the Deveraux family, the few who had escaped the queen, fled to the New World. Here they have flourished, nourishing their power and their hatred for centuries. Jeraud is a descendant of these Deveraux as you and Holly are descended from my family, the Cahors, the name changed slightly in the New World to provide protection and allow a new identity to spring forth, if only for public life.

“The cycle is starting again and in a few weeks it will be the six hundredth anniversary of my shame, my failure.”

Stunned, Amanda stared at Isabeau, trying to take in all that she had revealed. Suddenly the pale figure shuddered and her eyes rolled back for a moment. She seemed to fade slightly and then she returned, stronger, her eyes blazing. “My time draws short, we cannot long occupy this space. As I grow stronger,
Holly fades. But this is not my time, it is hers, and I can only pray to the Goddess that she does not make the mistakes that I did.”

Before their eyes, Isabeau drifted away, her features slowly shifting and solidifying into Holly's. At last the blue eyes closed and the body shuddered.

A moment later the eyelids fluttered open and Holly's dark eyes stared out at them. Her eyes bulged from her head and her face looked frozen in a strange, strained mask. Suddenly, the muscles all went slack and as her body slumped in the chair, Holly gave a great gasp and gulped air into her lungs.

“I saw, I saw,” she gasped, unable to continue.

“We know,” Amanda answered gently, reaching out to touch her hand. “We heard.”

Holly said, “They don't know the secret of the Black Fire. But they want it, very badly.”

“Enough to kill for it.”

Part Three: Beltane
The Awakening

BELTANE

“I had a vision last night and it frightened me greatly. I saw the head of a great family take for wife a mortal enemy. Their passion was great and their power unearthly. And their mating destroyed all within their path.”

—Duke Kensington to his scribe, Joshua, May 1, 1612

TWELVE

MEAD MOON

Disguise our evil with faces kind
A goodly exterior, a darker mind
And turn the gentle to my power
And poison the most innocent flower

Transform us and make us new
Give us strength through and through
Lady hide our hearts and fates
Grant us the gift of masquerade

Thanksgiving was over, thank God, and they were on the verge of Christmas. But Marie-Claire Anderson was heartsick.

He knows
, she thought miserably.
My poor, sweet, boring husband knows I cheated on him
.

That evening, Richard had tiptoed into their bedroom to check on her, and she had lain with her back to the door, pretending to be asleep. He had whispered, “Oh God, baby,” and started to cry. She
could hear him weeping in the hall like an abandoned child, and it nearly killed her.

He went back down the hallway, and she decided to follow him, try to explain that she was almost middle-aged, and she needed—needed badly—to feel young and desirable. That he plunked away day and night at his computer, never noticing her new clothes, her haircuts. And so she tried harder, bought more makeup, more clothes. Worked out.

He never said anything.

I was starving
, she wanted to tell him.
Michael . . . he fed me
.

Her minor burns were gone, but she had stared long and hard at her face and seen the wrinkles and creases. She had been terrified.
Who wants an old woman? Richard doesn't want anybody. And Michael . . . Michael has abandoned me. It was just an affair. I should have known that. But I've been so lonely . . . and so afraid
.

Sitting up, she pushed herself out of bed, fumbling for the light switch. She was drained; it was all too much, the fire and the E.R. and now this, her marital crisis.
Will we get divorced? Can we make up?

Her mind spun.

The bedroom door was ajar; she timidly eased it open and walked into the hall, calling her husband's name. There was no answer.

She continued down the hall, spotting a flash of white.
One of the cats
. She smiled sadly at the sweetness of kittens and little girls, her own innocence lost.

I will win him back. Nicole and I will make him come back
, she thought.
We have our little tricks, she and I. . .
.

And then she remembered that Richard had brought her something to drink earlier in the evening.
Some tea
. She was ashamed; that tea had been a gift from Michael, who claimed it enhanced physical youth and beauty. She'd laughed . . . and started drinking it religiously, every night. Her legs wobbled like rubber and she held out a hand as the wall slid toward her. She moved on down the hall, looking for her lost love.

The guest room door was open, and someone was sitting on the bed. Her contacts were out, and she hadn't put on her glasses. She couldn't make out the figure.

But it gestured toward her, and who else could it be but Richard? The girls were at a party . . .
so many parties when you're that young . . . and free, and you have your whole life. . . .
.

“Honey?” she slurred.

The figure beckoned her.

She staggered toward it.

Your whole life . .
.

Michael Deveraux smiled as he and Eli stared into the Turk's eye.

“I'll kill her now,” he said to his son. “It's a perfect time.”

In the Chamber of Spells, Eli nodded eagerly. He wasn't used to killing living human beings, but he had definitely acquired a taste for it.

Michael whispered to the darkness,

“Dark is dark, light is light,
Know now that which is not right.
The time has come, the time is near,
Live the love and live in fear.
When it came, the soul will cry
Tonight, her innocence shall die.
Fight the world and look within,
Hesitation shall not win.”

And the door to the guest room in the Anderson house opened and Richard Anderson said to his wife, “What are you doing in here?”

She looked down at the bedspread. Finally she said, “There are these big veins in the backs of my hands, Richard. I look at my hands and I can't figure out why they're mine. They're so old and ugly.”

“They're the hands that held the girls when they were babies.” The boring husband took the tired fingers
in his and closed his large, pale, flabby hands around Marie-Claire's. He brought them to his lips and said, “Let's go to sleep, honey. You're very tired.”

Nicole woke up.

She looked around, realized she had fallen asleep on the couch in Eli's house, and frowned in confusion. Where was he? Why hadn't he awakened her and driven her home?

She tried to stand up, and realized she couldn't. She was off-balance and out of focus.

I didn't have anything to drink, she thought. I didn't do anything tonight. We were here to
. . . she tried to remember. . . .
He told me we were going to watch a movie
.

The space in front of her swirled with colors. Then all at once, a shape snapped into focus; it was a figure made of silver light, and it was holding a mirror. The face of the mirror was black, but as Nicole peered into it, she saw:

Eli making me something to drink in the kitchen; Eli putting something in it; Eli laughing with his father as they watch me sleep; I am a Cahors witch and Holly is my Coven Mother; Holly is the strongest one; they are trying to kill us so they can get the Black Fire; Jer is Jean and he loves Isabeau, loves Holly; Eli is going to kill me tonight and I must—

Nicole woke up running down the street.

What am I doing here?
she wondered, stopping and stumbling around in a sweater.
Did I have a bad dream? Did he drug me? What the hell was that all about?

She wore a short black dress and clunky heels, and a sweater. Her coat was back at the Deveraux house, but she couldn't go back. She was shivering because it was snowing, but she was outta there—

What am I doing?

—Help me!—

And Holly said to Silvana, Tante Cecile, and Amanda as they stayed in the circle, “Nicole has joined our side. And if we don't go get her right now, she's going to die.”

They found her wandering the streets in Lower Queen Anne. She was half-frozen, delirious, and staggering like a drunk.

She was hysterical, trying to make sense of everything.

“I was, like, asleep on his couch. Or I thought I was . . . and then I dreamed that I was going to die, that he was going to kill me. I woke up running down the street. Oh, my God, am I having some kind of drug experience?”

Amanda cleared her throat, indicating that Holly should do the talking.

Where to begin?

“You know those spells you do? Those little things you ask to make come true?”

Nicole looked uneasy. “How do you know about that?” She raised her hands to smooth her hair.

Then Holly looked down at her palm. Her eyes widened. “When did you get that burn mark?”

Nicole shrugged. “I don't know. Halloween.”

“What burn mark?” Amanda asked from behind the wheel.