Legacy & Spellbound (28 page)

Michael concealed his embarrassment; he didn't know where they were, and Laurent was correct: They should be here. It was galling to endure Eli's obvious lack of respect for his own father and his High Priest as well. It could also prove disastrous—if Laurent decided Michael was too weak to act as the head of the Supreme Coven, he could simply wait for another generation of Deveraux to grow up, and select one of them.

Damn you, Jeraud,
he thought.
Why did you have to be the rebellious one?

You would have made a fine leader.

Laurent raised a hand, and the sky above them burst with light, creating a vortex of energy that
swirled and throbbed. From it fell more warriors, including knights on horseback and men in modern combat gear: the Deveraux dead of generations past. Scores of them descended from the vortex, joining the army at the base of the cliff. None spoke, but their armor clanked and their weapons knocked against their sides as they looked silently up at Michael.

Michael had not forgotten that Holly had been able to raise an army of her own dead. Nor that she had managed to defeat him with it. Taking the battle to the water had not deterred her.

But this time, she's not here,
he thought.

In the cabin, Anne-Louise invoked the Goddess, and from a wavering mist just outside the cabin, the warriors of the Mother Coven took their form.

They were knights in armor, and soldiers, and amazons and Valkyries. But they were not fully solid.

Nicole glanced at Anne-Louise, who looked both embarrassed and frustrated until she realized Nicole was looking at her. Then she raised her chin and continued her chant.

More fighters appeared—there were hundreds— each as insubstantial as the others.

She stopped, then turned her attention to Holly,
encasing her in a bubble of green energy. Holly cocked her head as if she didn't understand what was happening, then erupted into screams and began to throw herself against the barrier. “Let me out of here, witch!” she shrieked. “I'll kill you!”

Amanda pressed her face against Tommy's chest. Then she squared her shoulders resolutely and said to Nicole, “We're in charge now, Nicki. It's up to us.”

She held out her hand. Nicole placed her palm over Amanda's, and two thirds of their lily brand were joined. Energy sizzled up and down their arms.

Together they faced the doorway. Dan and Uncle Richard joined them.

Then the cabin began to shake with the force of the rain and the wind outside, and Tommy whispered to Amanda, “I love you.”

“Attack!” Michael shouted, and the dead swarmed toward the little cabin of the shaman.

From his vantage point atop a spectral tank, he watched his forces swarming toward their ghostly opponents.
Mother Coven forces,
he thought, sneering.
Of very little use.

Sure enough, the enemy was engaged, and the massacre began. The warriors of the Mother Coven
simply weren't as strong as his own troops. Some of the Mother Coven fighters put up a struggle, but many simply faded from existence, or disappeared in a shower of sparks. Before long, his monsters, zombies, and demons had cut a swath through them and were converging on the cabin.

He chuckled, and Duc Laurent, standing on the tank beside him, wagged a finger. “Don't get too cocky,” he warned. “The witches have not yet shown themselves.”

Holly,
whispered the woman inside her head.
Holly, we can save you.

“Go away,” Holly hissed. “Go away, go away!”

She burst into fresh laughter. As the people who had imprisoned her looked at her, she flung out her arms and shouted, “I foreswear you, all of you! Go to the Devil! Go to hell!”

“Oh, my God,” Richard murmured as the magical barrier his daughters had erected began to wobble. Flashes of magic burst at the shield over the broken window, and at the covers over all the other windows. The door was about to give way.

All the magic users in the room were at work,
strengthening the wards while outside, the soldiers of the Mother Coven were being eliminated. The battle was perhaps thirty seconds old, yet it was nearly lost.

Richard flexed his arms, ready for whatever came next, hoping there was something he could do to hurt the enemy before they took him down.

“I can't deal with this anymore,” Kari cried as she crumpled into a ball. The others glanced at her, wondering when she had woken up.

“I should have given her a stronger tranquilizer,” Armand muttered.

Then a light flashed to the right of her, became a portal, and James and Eli tumbled into the room.

“Grab them!” Philippe shouted.

Richard rushed at the two men but was flung across the room by James before he could get anywhere near them. Tommy tried next as Dan, Amanda, and Nicole aimed magical energy at them.

James and Eli deflected it all easily. Laughing, they both strode to Nicole, grabbed her arms and, before anyone else realized what was happening, they tossed her into the portal and barreled in after her.

It disappeared.

“No!” Philippe shouted. “No!”

Then the cabin exploded.

The tank rocked with the explosion. Michael was laughing so hard, he nearly fell off, and Laurent had to steady him.

“Mop it up!” he shouted to his warriors. “Take 'em out!” He grabbed his ghostly ancestor's arm to keep his balance and said, “To quote the kids, ‘This rocks!'”

“Indeed,” Laurent agreed.

Despite the rain, the forest had caught fire. The trees showered sizzling branches on the ruins of the structure. Smoke clouded his vision, and Michael strained to see if there were any survivors.

The tank rolled through the mud.
“Alors,”
Laurent said loudly. He pointed. “Look!”

Michael's mouth dropped open.

Hovering above the destroyed cabin floor, a green sphere held a single inhabitant who was pounding against it.

Holly.

Her face was a contorted mass of terror. She was shrieking wildly.

Laurent snapped his fingers at her, and she collapsed to the bottom of the sphere.

He and Michael climbed down from the tank and slogged over the bodies of dead demons and deanimated corpses as they made their way to the sphere.

Holly looked up at them. Her terror grew.

As well it should,
Michael thought, preparing to annihilate her. He raised his hands.

“Make it stop,” she whimpered. “Make it stop.”

“Oh, I will,” he assured her. He began to conjure a fireball.

Then Laurent held up a hand.

“Attends.”
He leaned toward Holly. “Do you know who we are?”

She shook her head. “Make it stop. Make it
stopmakeitstopmakeitstop!
” She threw back her head and screamed, “Help me!”

The two Deveraux stared at each other in wonder.

“Well.” Michael raised his brows. Then he turned back to Holly Cathers, the strongest Cahors witch since Isabeau. “All right,” he said brightly. “I think we can work out some arrangement,
Holly.
”

They ran through the forest as the evil army pursued them. Lightning and fire crackled over the heads of Tommy and Amanda as they raced for their lives.

“Who else?” Amanda gasped. “Who else made it?”
She caught her breath as another scream of agony pierced the chaos around them. “Did you hear that? They're still torturing Holly!”

He raised a hand. “Look! It's Philippe!”

“Philippe!” she cried. She allowed Tommy to drag her along as they caught up with Philippe, who embraced them both.

“Is Pablo with you?” he demanded, looking wildly around.

“No. And what about my dad?” Amanda murmured. “And what about Sasha?”

In the distance, Holly screamed again. Amanda cried out and turned in her direction. Tommy held her fast.

“We can't go back for her,” Tommy said. “We can't go back.”

“He's right,
petite,
” Philippe said, his face bloodless, his eyes filled with sorrow. “For now, we must stay alive, so we can save the others.”

Tears streamed down Amanda's face as she turned back around.

Someday I will,
she promised Holly.
I will come back for you. And for Nicole, too. I swear I will.

Or I'll die trying.

* * *

From her perch in the mists of time, Pandion, the lady hawk of the Cahors, stirred from her perch and rose above time and perdition; above those damned and doomed to struggle and strive. She was the mystical symbol of the strongest witchblood line in all of human history, and as she soared and danced in the sky, she heard the screech of her immortal enemy, the hawk of the Deveraux, whose name was Fantasme.

Just as certainly as if they were enshrined in marble effigies, the players of life's pageant held their poses, frozen against rainbow-hued chronicles of what had already happened in the tangled tale of Cahors and Deveraux, and what would come to pass.

Worries were like mice to Pandion; fears were greater prey. She was of witchblood the greatest of all familiars, and so her motives could never be said to be purely good. The hunt stirred the blood; the pursuit was what propelled her essence from one century to the next. So it was with witchery and warlockhood— indeed, with all coventry—passions and hatreds, ambitions and thwarted dreams, kept the great Houses alive, whether they knew it or not.

And so, because Pandion so loved the Cahors, she was determined to rout their complacencies. They must not content themselves with small victories only,
or they would fade with time. All would be dust.

This could not happen to those whom she was sworn to serve.

And so Pandion swooped and danced against the moon, celestial home of the Goddess, and prayed for obstacles, for thorns, for snares. Else, the most beloved of all witches—Holly Cathers, the heiress apparent of the throne of Cahors—would succumb to the tortures of Michael Deveraux, and all would be lost.

Despair would be Holly's lot, but not defeat.

With a cry of triumph, Pandion demanded that of the Goddess.

And winking in the cool ice light of a winter's Yule moon, the Goddess assented.

Holly Cathers was not yet done.

Nor were her covenates.

Nor was her love.

For those who hold me spellbound: Elise and Hank, Skylah and Belle, Teresa and Richard, Sandra and Belle … and our David, always. We all miss you, sweetie.

—Nancy Holder

To my mother, Barbara Reynolds, who has always loved me, encouraged me, and believed in me, thank you for everything.

—Debbie Viguié

First of all, thank you, Debbie Viguié, for your friendship, your talent, and your dedication. And thank you to her husband, Scott, for your shoulder, your ear, and your wisdom. Lisa Clancy and Lisa Gribbin at Simon and Schuster, thank you both for all your care, editorial and otherwise. I have so much respect and affection for my agent, Howard Morhaim, and his assistant, Ryan Blitstein. For my many friends, I am so grateful—Dal, Steve, Lydia, Art, Jeff, Maryelizabeth, Melissa Mia, Von and Wes, Angela and Pat, and Liz Cratty Engstrom. Kym, you're the It girl. Thank you.

—N. H.

Thanks to my friend and coauthor, Nancy Holder, you are one in a million! Thanks, as always, to the fabulous team of Lisa Clancy and Lisa Gribbin at Simon and Schuster—what would we do without you? Thank you to Lindsay Keilers for your friendship. Thanks to Morris Skupinsky and Julie Gentile for all your love and support and my lucky contract/book-signing pen! Thank you to Super Librarian Rebecca Collacott (sorry for giving away your secret identity!). Thank you also to Michael, Sabrina, and most especially, Whisper.

—D. V.

From the earth below we come
And upon its breast we live
We feed it with our death
Our bodies all we can give

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust
In Mother Earth we place our trust
And as we cycle through our years
We water it with blood and tears