Legacy & Spellbound (30 page)

He put his hand inside his white garment. Sewn into the skirt was a pouch, and in that pouch lay twelve pieces
of vellum stolen from the Cathedral of Notre-Dame in Paris during one of the Supreme Coven's many aborted raids on the Mother Coven's Moon Temple.

Inside the mouths of the Golems he placed the strips of vellum. The creatures had no teeth; they expelled no breath. Once he brought them into life, the paper would still stay in place, as Golems had no voices with which to speak. It was the only flaw in otherwise perfect creatures.

While the houses of Deveraux and Cahors had spent centuries trying to destroy each other, House Moore had spent the time studying every form of magic known to man. It had been a wise and mature path … and one that was personally very rewarding for Sir William, for all their knowledge had all been passed down to him. He knew the secrets of the Australian aboriginals; the holy words of the Middle East; the rituals of shamans from countless different tribes... and he knew the secrets of the Kabalistic schools.

Golems sprang from that tradition: the veneration of the word. From thought to word sprang all creation—the earth, the heavens, and life within shapes of clay.

Sir William slowly walked around his unholy dozen, chanting in Hebrew. He called out the seventy-two names of God recorded in the Talmud. He did so carefully, precisely, for to make a slip would mean certain
death to him. Each name corresponded to a limb or organ of the creatures on the ground. Each name called a part of the clay beings into life. To mispronounce a name would result in that organ or limb being misplaced on his own body.

Into the clay creatures he poured his spirit, his will, even as he breathed words of life over them. Ancient rabbis had created Golems for holy purposes. Ancient warlocks had learned how to twist that act of creation to their own dark purposes. The Golem became an extension of its creator, and any sins it might commit were placed on the head of the “father.” Sir William could not hold back a smile.
It is a good thing I don't care about sins
.

At last the final name was pronounced. With a flourish, Sir William stepped back.
“Abracadabra,”
he intoned—a sacred word used so often, it had become a shorthand parody of magical forms. Few who spoke it mockingly understood that each syllable carried within it enormous potential for destruction … or grace.

The twelve forms on the ground shuddered into hideous life. Slowly, one by one, they rose, terrible in form, with blank, uncomprehending stares. Truly they were empty vessels waiting to be filled, to be commanded, to be given a purpose.

Sir William waved his hand at the four of them on
his left. “You, you will seek out the witch known as Nicole Anderson, of the ancient house Cahors. Destroy her.”

The four beings nodded, their eyes filling with a flicker of intelligence as they grasped their duty. Faithful servants, they would obey him.

He turned to the four on his right. “You four shall seek out the witch known as Amanda Anderson, of the ancient House of Cahors. Destroy her.”

Those four nodded as well. Their faces reflected an eagerness to please, like that of dogs willing to die or kill for their masters.

He faced the four directly in front of him. “And you four shall seek out the witch known as Holly Cathers, of the ancient House of Cahors. Destroy her. Grind her bones until they are dust and then scatter that to the winds.”

They nodded eagerly, flexing the muscles along their shoulders. Sir William was pleased as he looked upon his creation. They would do their job well, never stopping, never resting. They would be completely relentless, fixed on one goal only. And when they had achieved it, the three witches would be dead.

He slowly lifted his arms into the air. “Now go, my children, and do my bidding.”

He tapped each one on the chest, infusing them
with magic power. Each now had the ability to teleport through space. Slowly, the creatures vanished from his sight. When the last had gone, he smiled to himself.
Let's see the Rabbis top that
.

Four of the Golems didn't have far to go. The island of Avalon was heavily warded, though. Centuries of magic protected the place from all prying eyes and intruders. It wasn't by chance that no ship had accidentally run aground on its shores. The magics used to protect the island were powerful and indiscriminate.

Therefore, when the Golems tried to teleport there, they were repulsed—violently. The four creatures stood up on a distant shore, only slightly dazed, and shook themselves off. Then, with the single-minded unity of a common purpose, they headed off in search of a boat to try to reach the island.

Seattle: Richard

I'm back in the jungle again, knee-deep in the hooplah, and it's raining hell.

That was all Richard Anderson could think as the smoke stung his eyes and the sound of explosions pierced the air. He crouched down, the years seeming to fall off him as he zigzagged his way through the underbrush, the unconscious Barbara Davis-Chin
draped over his shoulder. His eyes roved back and forth, probing the darkness.

By the time Dan Carter's cabin exploded, dozens of witches Richard had never seen fought valiantly to protect Amanda, Nicole, and everyone else trapped inside. The warrior witches had failed; and many had died while he was making his break for the tree line. One of the foreign men in the cabin had died horribly, cut in half by a pincered monster. Richard was sure more of his people would have been slaughtered if the witches hadn't come to their aid.

Thank God you showed,
he thought.
Thank God you fought. I'm going to make damn sure your sacrifice was not in vain
.

Without a moment's hesitation, he'd hoisted Barbara over his shoulder. One of the European men gathered Kari Hardwicke into his arms and took off without a single look back.

Richard had seen Amanda and Tommy escape toward the north. He himself was moving east to force the enemy to divide its forces. His strategy was simple: to increase the number of targets for whoever was attacking them. If everybody moved in one large group, it would be easier for the enemy to pick them off.

Where's Nicole?
he wondered now.
Where's my other little girl?

A tree exploded in a shower of sparks to his left, and he jerked his face away, shielding his eyes. A distance behind him, a woman screamed, high and shrill. Her voice was cut off suddenly, in a gurgling rasp.

Oh God, don't let that be one of mine.

Forcing himself to move on, he stepped on a branch that cracked like a rifle. Wild animals shrieked with panic as the fire burned them out.

Richard stumbled over a smoking tree root; then, as he caught himself, the ground erupted with fire. A white-hot rock smacked him on his cheek. He flinched but stolidly kept going. A second explosion shot a tree into the air like a missile; then, from the gaping hole it left behind, a scaly demon with long ebony claws yanked itself from the earth.

Richard shifted Barbara's weight and kicked the creature in the jaw so hard, its head snapped back. Another kick snapped the bones in its neck; with a shriek, the thing collapsed on the ground, a jumbled heap of bones and horns. Richard leaped over it and raced on.

Another demon jumped in front of Richard, howling like a banshee. With his free hand, Richard unsheathed a knife with a wicked four-inch blade from his belt. He lunged forward and, in a merciless arc, slashed once at the creature's throat. It staggered to the
side. He didn't know if he had actually injured it or just startled it. He didn't stop to look; he kept running.

A roaring sound punctuated by sharp snaps propelled the air behind him. The sap in the burning trees exploded like gunpowder, and Richard ducked as a branch went sailing over his head. It flew smack into the face of another demon, who hurtled itself toward Richard.

He changed directions and kept running.

He didn't know where the others were or if they were even alive. There would be time enough to worry about that later. Behind him he heard another unearthly shriek and felt something swipe at his back. Something like a claw scratched his skin. He did the only thing he could do: He kept running.

Seattle: Michael Deveraux

Holly Cathers was nuts.

As Michael's surprise began to ebb, a malicious wave of joy took its place.

The strongest witch on earth had lost her mind. And she was begging her mortal enemy for help.

It was too delicious. But it was true.

Standing beside him in the ashes of the cabin where the witches had made their stand, his ancestor, Duc Laurent, of the House of Deveraux, gave Holly an
appraising once-over, then chuckled and shook his head. He locked gazes with Michael, obviously savoring the moment with the living, titular head of his family dynasty. For six hundred years, Laurent had waited for a moment such as this.

The Duc looked good for a man dead six hundred years. Then again, it helped that he had managed to give himself a new flesh-and-blood body so that he was no longer appearing as a moldering corpse.

“Possession,” he intoned in his medieval French accent. “How did you manage it, my boy?”

In wonder, Michael shook his head. “I didn't. The God has smiled on us, Laurent.”

Holly burst into pitiful, houndlike howls and clawed wildly at her face. She smacked her bleeding cheeks, yanked at her hair. Then she sank forward and buried her face into the smoking earth that bore the ashes of her coven. Abruptly she jerked up again, sobbing and waving her hands.

“Stay free of contact,” Laurent warned him. “It's like a contagion. She could infect you.”

Michael took that in; he knelt cautiously beside her, careful not to touch her or get in reach of her flailing hands.

“Make it stop,” she whimpered, looking at him out of wild eyes. It was obvious she had no idea who he
was. Wisps of hair were plastered to her face by streaks of blood. Saliva dripped from the corners of her mouth. “Make it stop, please.” She threw back her head and screamed, “I can't bear this!”

“We can,” Michael assured her. “We can make it stop.”

She sobbed and began blithering, swaying like a cobra, lacing and unlacing her hands as she whispered to herself, “Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop …”

Tears sluiced down her cheeks. She was filthy, and she stank.

“I'm supposed to kill her,” Michael said, bemused. “Sir William will be much happier with me once I do.” He cocked his head, watching her. “If I
cure
her … aren't I aiding and abetting the enemy?” He smiled. “Holly Cathers, begging me for help. Begging me for anything.”

“
Oui
. It is a moment,” Laurent concurred. “But if you kill her,
mon fils,
the best you will be is Sir William's loyal follower. You will lose this compelling opportunity to raise our House to its rightful place.”

Laurent was telling Michael nothing new. And he already knew what he would do. Still, it was so pleasant to have this special time, and to share it across the spans of time and space.

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

Michael nodded at her. “I will,” he said slowly and
deliberately, hoping his words could find a way to sink into her boiling brain, “but you have to do everything I tell you. You must obey me without question. Do you understand?”

She nodded fiercely. “Yes, I'll do anything you say, anything. Just make it
stop
!”

“Perhaps something in the Nightmare Dreamtime crawled its way into her mind. Several somethings, by the looks of her,” he said to Laurent. “Could that be so?”

“
Vraiment.
I would assume so.”

Michael wondered idly if his son, Jeraud Deveraux, was still alive. Jer and Holly had been in the Nightmare Dreamtime, trying to rescue one of Holly's loved ones, when Michael had finally managed to create the Black Fire again. It had been a triumphant moment … much like this one.

Michael nudged Holly with the toe of his expensive Italian boot. She didn't even notice, just moaned and kept rocking back and forth faster and faster. He had never seen anything quite like it.

He stood slowly and stared around at the hell that surrounded them. Fire blazed everywhere, escaping into the forest. It was too bad about the trees, really; they had been quite lovely.
More casualties of the Deveraux-Cahors war.
He bowed his head for a moment in the appearance of reverence and muttered a prayer
to the God to allow quick rebirth to the trees.

He smirked to himself.
What was it that Treebeard said in
The Lord of the Rings
? Ah yes: A wizard should know better than to destroy the forest
. Unlike Saruman, Michael refused to incur the wrath of the forest gods and guardians.

New trees would spring up, though, from the ashes. That was the beauty of nature, the cycle always continued. He glanced down at Holly, and a smile twisted his lips. For Holly and her friends, though, there would be no renewal, no rebirth—only death.

That's fine by me
.

Seattle: Amanda

The new day dawned at last, and the sunrise dripped with ravishing colors—prismatic, jewel-toned hues of tangerine and vermilion refracting on the smoke.

Amanda was surprised. She had thought it would never come, or if it did, that she wouldn't be alive to see it. Yet, the sun was there, shedding watery sunlight on the charred bones of what had once been an exquisite forest. By its light, Amanda could see a little motel, perched just beyond the edge of the trees. Exhausted, bruised, and broken, she began to limp toward it.

Beside her, Tommy shuffled along, dragging himself
painfully along. He had stayed with her throughout the night, and she knew she owed him her life for that. Had he not been there she would have lain down and died any number of times. His strength had buoyed her, saved her. Now, as she detected his gasps of pain in every step he took, she knew she must do the same for him.