Witch & Curse (57 page)

She waited patiently for several minutes. At last everything had been discussed and Holly rose to her feet. Anne-Louise stepped back to the group.

“We will go, but not all of us. Tante Cecile and Dan are taking Uncle Richard to San Francisco. There they will protect him and also look out for an old friend. Amanda, Kari, Tommy, Silvana, and I will go with you.”

Anne-Louise nodded understanding. She disguised her relief. The discussion had gone better than she had dreamed.

The private jet was standing by at the airport, and Holly could not help but gawk. They were ushered inside by Anne-Louise and were soon seated in the softest of leather chairs.

“Drinks and food are in the galley,” Anne-Louise informed them, pointing. “Help yourselves.”

Tommy, eager to be of help, jumped to his feet and raced off. He was back in moments with sodas for all and little bags of nuts.

“Ever think of becoming a flight attendant?” Kari quipped.

“Travel, meet interesting people, gain unique life experience? Sorry, I think I've had my share of those,” he answered good-naturedly.

Holly gazed at Tommy. The young man was not a warlock, not truly, but he tried so hard. When he handed Amanda her soda, his smile brightened and he brushed her hand.

Holly stared in turn at Amanda, wondering if her cousin knew how Tommy felt about her. If she did, she didn't let on.
Either break his heart or give him some bit of hope
, Holly thought.

As though she had heard her, Amanda turned and gave her a tight smile. Holly smiled weakly in return
before settling back in her chair. It was going to be a long flight.

Gwen: Atlantic Ocean, 1666

The storms had raged for days all around the ship. Everywhere, people were sick and dying. Giselle, now Gwen, had gathered her children—she had three—and left London. The Mother Coven was furious with her, and she had no use for them.

Now she chanted spells of protection over her twin boys, Isaiah and David, and Marianne, her daughter. The four of them were still healthy, Goddess be praised. The people needed fresh air, needed to get away from each other. At last one of the crew informed her that the rain had stopped.

She gathered up her children and went up on deck. Around them the ocean churned, but a pale stream of sunlight cut through some of the clouds. She breathed in deeply and urged the children to do the same.

Marianne scampered away from her across the deck. Gwen did not stop her. The child needed the exercise, needed the freedom.

When Marianne walked over to the side of the ship and peered over into the water, though, Gwen felt her heart move into her throat.

“Come away!” she shouted.

But it was too late.

A massive wave swept over the side of the boat and sucked the child with it back into the sea.

Gwen lurched forward, screaming. The captain had seen, and he stopped her, pushing his body between her and the side of the boat.

Two crewmen ran over to the side and peered into the dark waters. Slowly they straightened, shaking their heads grimly.

“I am sorry, madam. She is gone,” the captain told her in a gruff voice. His eyes, though, gleamed with sympathy.

She screamed and tried to throw herself after her daughter. Maybe she could still save her. She could at least join her.

“Madam! Think of your other children!”

The words brought her to her senses. She turned, sobbing, and ran back to her two small boys. They looked up at her with fear shining in their eyes. She crushed them to her and wept.

By the time the forests of the new land came into view, she had resigned herself to the death of Marianne. Her heart was broken, but she was a Cahors, and broken hearts had little to do with what must be done.

Now we are three, we “Cathers.” I have no daughter to carry on the family line, but the boys have at least some magic. Mayhaps 'tis just as well. Perhaps it is a sign from the Goddess that House Cahors is truly dead . . . and that the magic should die with me
.

Gwen of the Cahors looked down at her boys and felt only love for them. She wanted them to grow up knowing only love. And peace. No, she wouldn't teach them the magics. She wouldn't tell them of the Goddess and their sworn enemies, the Deveraux.

It would all die with her. The cycle would be broken.

Her daughter was the last sacrifice. “No one else shall die because of our family,” she swore to herself.

She gathered the children in her arms and took them to the rail.

“Look, my children. We are coming to a new world. A new place. It is called Jamestown.”

A cloud passed over her joy.

Jamestown had been named for King James, the monarch who had so detested witches.

No matter
, she reminded herself.
All that is over
.

The Mother Coven: Paris, November

“It was nothing short of miraculous,” Anne-Louise told the High Priestess as they sat together in the
Moon Temple. The circular room glowed with luminous paintings and holograms of the moon, graced with golden-yellow candlelight and verdant pools of fragrant water. Ancient mosaics to Artemis decorated the floors; the walls were covered with murals and sacred writings to the Moon Lady, who was the Goddess in all her aspects.

Acolytes moved soundlessly, tending the flames of the many candles and braziers, heaping lilies and roses at the feet of the statues of the Goddess in her many incarnations: Hecate, Astarte, Mary of Nazareth, Kwan Yen, and others.

The Moon Temple was the most sacred space of the Mother Coven.

They were sipping covenate wine; Anne-Louise had requested and been granted rites of purification upon her return. She still wasn't certain if she had been cleansed of Holly's taint. She didn't feel as whole and strong as she had upon her arrival in Seattle.

“Miraculous is an odd word for a witch to use,” the High Priestess observed. She was an older woman, still very beautiful, with long red hair tumbling around her shoulders. She was dressed in the white robes of her office, with a moon tattooed onto her forehead. Anne-Louise also wore white flowing robes.

“The Deveraux disappeared,” Anne-Louise continued,
waving her hand so violently that she almost spilled her wine. “The entire army simply disappeared.” She leaned forward. “The Mother Coven
must
protect her . . . no matter what she does.”

The High Priestess looked thoughtful. “But she's a Cahors . . . blood will out. That boy who died . . .”

Anne-Louise shook her head. “Would you rather that she joined the Supreme Coven? They highly prize ambition and power. What if they facilitated a truce between her and the Deveraux?”

The High Priestess scoffed. “Sir William Moore would never allow that. It would pose too great a threat to his leadership.”

“Sir William has many enemies,” Anne-Louise said reasonably. “Our only hope is to stand by Holly, let her know that we are her friends.”

The High Priestess regarded the other woman for a full minute. Then she said simply, “So mote it be.”

They raised their glasses of wine in salute, took a sip of wine, and smashed them on the tiled floor.

Paris, November

The room was humbling; even Holly felt the power of it and dropped her eyes reverently. The Moon Temple was beautiful and filled with peace and light. The High Priestess had greeted them briefly and then
withdrawn. Anne-Louise stood to the side.

There were half a dozen other women spread throughout the room, all staring at the new arrivals. One of them moved toward Holly. Her silver hair cascaded to her knees.

It was the woman from her dream. She moved with the same grace in the flesh that she had in Holly's vision. She strode forward and very solemnly kissed Holly on each cheek.

“Who are you?”

The woman gave her a ghostly smile. “My name is Sasha. I am Jer and Eli's mother.”

Beside her Kari gasped. Sasha turned toward her. “And you, my friend, know me as Circle Lady.”

Holly was shocked to see Kari throw her arms around Sasha and begin to sob.

THIRTEEN

DARK MOON

Darkness covers all we do
Fills our souls through and through
Death and evil lurk in our wake
What Deveraux want Deveraux take

Goddess guide us through the night
Fill us with your will and might
Grant us will to carry on
And chase away the fateful dawn

The Cathers/Anderson Coven: Paris, November

In her white temple robes, Holly walked by the light of the waning moon in the robe garden, savoring the tranquility of the Moon Temple compound. It was amazing to Holly that such a vast complex could be located within the city limits of noisy, busy Paris. But the place was very peaceful, warded against the hubbub and the chaos, and part of her wished she could become an acolyte and live here for the rest of her life.

They have no idea what it's like beyond these walls
, she thought.
They've forgotten. Or is it that we're more jacked into reality, aware of the evil in the world because we're fighting Michael Deveraux?

Someone was following her; she sensed a vibration in the air, the soft pad of footfalls on the smooth-stoned path that meandered like a snake through the garden. She closed her eyes and murmured a spell of Seeing, then relaxed as she saw that it was her cousin.

She walked slowly so that Amanda could catch up. Amanda's white robe was a little long on her, and she had gathered up the extra fabric in her fists; she looked like a little girl playing dress-up. Holly smiled wistfully for younger days, happier days.

“They sent me to find you,” Amanda said by way of greeting. “They're getting ready for a strengthening ritual for us.”

Holly took that in.
They know we're leaving
. They had only been there one day and one night, but she knew too that they could spend no more time recuperating from their battle with Michael and the long flight to Paris.

“Tommy and Silvana are already there,” Amanda went on, then added, smirking, “Kari says she's not going to participate, and she wants the High Priestess to get someone to drive her to the airport.”

“So
not a team player,” Holly observed, then realized that she was hardly one to talk.

A beautiful-sounding gong rang three times. Amanda turned to Holly, who said, “Let's do it.”

They walked the serpentine path together, turning along a hedgerow to face the entrance to the Moon Temple. The entrance was a fat arch of stone, the building topped with a dome shaped like half a grapefruit. Beautiful plane trees, commonplace in France, flanked the entrance; before each tree stood an oversized white marble statue of the Goddess in one of her aspects, as within the temple: Astarte, Diana, Jezebel, Mary of Nazareth, and Mother Teresa.

Amanda stopped abruptly. She put a hand on Holly's forearm and whispered, “Look, Holly.”

The statue of the Goddess as Hecate was crying. Tears streamed in rivulets down the stone face.

Holly swallowed. Moved, she slowly knelt on both knees and bowed her head. Amanda watched, her features soft, and Holly said silently,
My cousin thinks I'm begging your forgiveness, Goddess Hecate. But I only did what you wanted, and I refuse to believe that the familiar's death is my sole responsibility
.

The statue's tears stopped.

Holly had no idea what that signified, only that some sort of response was implied.

“Oh, Holly,” Amanda whispered as she stared at the statue. She took Holly's hand and helped her to her feet. “Holly, I . . . I'm sorry I've been so mean.”

Holly was sorry too, but not in the way Amanda meant. She was sorry that Amanda's apology meant nothing to her, except that it was proof that Amanda wasn't strong enough to lead the coven.

I've changed so much
, she thought.
After I sacrificed Hecate, I got tougher. And with Kialish's death
. . .
my heart has hardened
.

Well, so be it. If this is what I have to become in order to keep my coven alive and save Jer, then that's fine with me
.