Legacy & Spellbound (36 page)

He set her down, propping her in a corner in the hope that she wouldn't fall. He then knelt carefully by the back wall and ran his fingers under the edge of the carpet. It lifted up, and with a mighty tug he pulled, folding it back onto itself and revealing a bare floor with a trapdoor.

After securing the carpet so that it wouldn't fall back down over the trapdoor, Michael opened it and picked up Holly once more. The imp grabbed a flashlight and staggered down the steps before them, the flashlight beam waving drunkenly from side to side.

Down they descended into a darkness so thick, it made Michael wonder bemusedly if they had reached hell. Violent odors assaulted his nostrils, dank air carried the scent of blood and death. Then the stairs finally ended, and they were standing in a basement the little Baptist church above knew nothing about. Evil coated the walls and seeped up through the floor. Michael shivered as it washed over him, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. This was a dark
place, an evil place, that had seen worse things than any he had ever done. It frightened him and, since so little did, he reveled in it. He had been here once before when he was a child. His father had brought him, and the entire experience still lived crystal-clear in his memory. How his father had first found the place he had been too afraid to ask.

He stood Holly up once more on her feet and put his arm around her to keep her standing upright. She turned and looked at him with great wild eyes and began to coo softly. It almost sounded as though she were singing a children's nursery rhyme. She laughed, loud and hollowly, and the sound echoed off the walls, coming back wilder and deeper.

He shivered again as he searched her eyes. She looked... happy... as though whatever had possessed her had found this place to its liking. He was glad it approved. The imp flitted here and there, setting everything up just so. At last he was finished and came to stand beside Michael. The strange little creature pulled itself up to its full height and bowed very slowly and with more dignity than he would have thought it capable. Truly it was a momentous occasion.

An upside-down pentagram had been drawn on the wall opposite of where they stood. The symbol had been inscribed with fresh blood—whose, he did not
know. The figure of an old man suddenly appeared, coming from the wall and passing through the pentagram so that blood from the five points rested on his clothes.

Michael had seen him before when he had come with his father. The old man was some sort of dark priest—or, at least, the ghost of one. He performed rituals for those who needed them and haunted the Christians above when he was off duty.

“What do you seek?” he asked, his voice creaking.

“I seek to have this woman placed in thrall to me.”

The old man drifted closer, his eyes burning. “To such a one as this?” he questioned, lifting Holly's chin with a long, bony finger.

“Yes.”

“Carefully should you do this. She is not of your kind.”

Michael smiled thinly.
A ghost and a Yoda wanna-be on top of it.
“Neither is she of her own mind.”

“True, true. But you should be wary of the day that that changes. Whatever I bind to you, you are also bound to.”

“I accept the risk,” Michael told him.

The old man nodded slowly, and Michael could hear the creak of brittle bones. The priest's pale fingers reached inside his ancient robes and pulled out an
athame. It glowed wickedly with a light of its own, and Michael could hear the sounds of faraway screams coming from it.
A reminder of sacrifices past,
he thought.

The old man reached out and slashed first Holly's palm, then Michael's. Michael couldn't help but hiss slightly at the pain. He was used to being cut ceremonially, but this pain was somehow different, as though it were amplified by the place, the time, and his intention.

The old man peered at him from beneath bushy brows. “To be in thrall is to share each other's power … and pain.”

Michael hesitated, wondering fleetingly what that would mean when the time came to kill Holly. He shrugged, though, dismissing the thought. Thousands of witches and warlocks had gone through this ceremony, and it was rarely more lasting for them than marriage was for mortals. He was sure he could find some way to break the contract.

The priest took their bleeding palms and pressed them together until Holly's blood flowed in his veins and his in hers. Next the priest took a black silken cord from the imp and lashed their hands together.

“Blood to blood, magic to magic, in this very hour you double your power. As Eve bound herself to the serpent, so this woman is now bound to you.” The
priest then walked slowly around each of them, slashing at their clothing with his athame. At last, hands still bound, they both stood naked and bleeding from several shallow cuts from the blade.

Michael stared at Holly and could feel lust spreading throughout his body. He hadn't given much thought to this part of the ceremony, obviously an oversight on his part.

“Take her, for she is yours,” the priest commanded.

Michael stepped forward to do just that, but Holly tottered and slumped to the ground, unconscious. The force of her fall undid the black cord binding their hands together, and Michael stood staring down at her.

She was his, and he would have her … but he would find no pleasure with her unconscious. He'd learned that the hard way, with Holly's aunt Marie-Claire—the mother of the two other Cahors witches, Nicole and Amanda Anderson.

He sighed. “Bring the change of clothes,” he commanded his imp as he turned his back on Holly's inert form.

Seattle: Tri-Coven

Richard paced the floor like a caged animal. He felt as though the walls were closing in on him. He could feel his daughter's eyes on him. The woman, Sasha, was
staring at him as well. They three alone were awake, keeping watch in the night while the others slept.

Now that they had accounted for all but Holly and Nicole; the others had started talking about rescue missions. Sasha was particularly insistent that someone should try to go into the Nightmare Dreamtime to find her son, Jer. If he was still alive. His body was, at least. They had found it a few yards away from the ruined cabin. Someone had carried him that far.

Considering that Holly had come back from the Dreamtime insane and possessed, almost everyone was disagreeing with Sasha. He could see her point, though. If he was alive, they needed to at least try to rescue him. If he was dead, then they could all move on and put their energies elsewhere.

Sasha interrupted his thoughts. “You saw a lot of pain during the war.”

It was a statement, not a question, and he glanced at her in surprise. “Is it that obvious?”

She smiled slightly. “It is to me. But then, I know something about pain.”

He stared at her. Amanda had told him that Sasha had been married to Michael and had had to give up both of her children when she'd fled from him and his evil. He guessed that she did know something about pain … and loss.

He pulled up a chair and lowered himself into it deliberately, though he only perched on the edge of it. “Yes, I believe you do.”

Amanda glanced from one to the other of them with a bewildered look on her face.

Richard leaned forward. “I spent a year in the jungle. Very little food, less sleep, friends dying every day. Just when we thought we'd gained a couple of hours' peace, a chance to rest, the VC would be there, all around us, and the sounds of gunfire would all but drown out the screams of the dying. And in the night when I didn't know if I'd live to see another sunrise, all I had to hold on to was the hope of making it home and spending the rest of my years in peace and quiet with my wife.”

He glanced at Amanda and saw the tears streaking down her face. “I guess we know how well that plan worked out,” he said sardonically.

“Mom didn't understand,” Amanda whispered brokenly.

“No, she didn't. But I think you do,” he said, touching his daughter's cheek. “I'm so sorry, baby. I'd give anything to have spared you this kind of pain and fear.”

“I know, Daddy,” she choked. And then she flew into his arms, and he was holding his daughter as they
cried together, for themselves and each other. Sasha placed a hand on his arm, and he could feel her pain, too, and the grief that she suffered for them as well. In that moment, he knew he was going to find her son.

Santa Cruz: Mother Coven

Luna, High Priestess of the Mother Coven, was stunned. She had asked the Goddess to help her find Holly. Instead, the Goddess had shown her another Cathers witch.

“Goddess, how can this be? Who is this witch I see?”

A gray cat with great yellow eyes scampered into the room and proceeded to sit down before her. Then the cat opened its mouth and a resounding female voice poured forth:

“What you seek has been lost for a century. Two sisters, removed from one another, one to dwell in the City of Devils, and the other to stay with her father. Death came to both, and the menchildren they bore lost their way, so that their descendants forgot who they were. House Cahors was all but lost.”

Luna sat, stunned, barely able to breathe, let alone speak. The Goddess had only come to her in this manner twice, long years before. She bowed her head, feelings of unworthiness washing over her.

“My Goddess, I was seeking Holly.”

“And to find her you must first find her counterpart. Seek the other witch in that city where darkness dwells. Look for the name changed once again from the ancient. You seek a Carruthers who alone may help to restore Holly's mind.”

The cat stood, blinked once, and left the room, leaving Luna shaken and humbled. “To the City of Devils I will go,” she vowed.

She could swear she heard the Goddess sigh in answer.

Triumphant now, Deveraux reign
Nothing will ever be the same
Cahors moan and Cahors cry
In death throes beneath the velvet sky

Everything pure is but a ruse
And love is naught but the excuse
We make for all the things we do
There is little good and nothing true

Seattle: Michael and Holly

Michael thought Holly might actually be looking better. Then again, it was so hard to tell. Her eyes were bright...
she could have a fever, or one of the hell-beasts in her could be ascendant
. She wasn't drooling on herself …
maybe she's dehydrated.
She had actually managed to eat some food on her own …
she got more on her face than in her mouth.
He sighed. There was only one way to know for sure.

She was sitting on the couch, contemplating her
knees. He warily sat beside her. “Holly, do you hear me?” he asked.

She nodded briefly.

“Do you understand me?”

She looked at him and again nodded.

Ah-ha, progress!
“Holly, I want you to listen very carefully to me.”

Her eyes were still on him. It was a good sign. “Holly, I want you to kill Amanda and Nicole Anderson.”

He waited for a moment while she seemed to think about that. “Kill Amanda and Nicole,” she said slowly.

He felt like holding his breath. The connection was tenuous, but it seemed to be there. He reached out to her with his mind, gently pushing.
My will to yours.
It was the way of thrall.

Aloud, he asked, “Holly, can you do that?”

She raised her hand. “Kill,” she whispered. Every lightbulb in the room exploded at once.

In the sudden darkness, Michael could think of nothing else to say but, “Very, very good.”

Luna: Los Angeles

Luna, High Priestess of the Mother Coven, stared out the window as the plane circled over Los Angeles
International Airport. Heavy, poisonous smog hung over the city like a shroud over a decaying corpse. The earth, the sea, the air itself were poison here, and all the people were walking corpses, shells of human beings, hollow and empty. That didn't account for the darkness, though, the darkness that she could see but most could not. There was a pall that lay over the entire area, black and twisting like so many shadows. The evil seething from the buildings, the people, the very earth was overwhelming.

She moved her lips in supplication to the Goddess, for protection and for guidance. Her skin crawled as the plane began its final descent. The teenager sitting next to her shifted uncomfortably in her seat and moved away from Luna.
She thinks I'm crazy,
Luna thought sadly. She looked at the girl's revealing clothes, her soulless stare, and the features perfected by plastic surgery.
In reality she is the crazy one, sacrificing her youth and her soul to this city of evil, which has devoured so many before her and will devour so many after her.

Luna turned back to the window. The plane hadn't even touched ground, and yet she already felt tired, drained, old. She continued her prayers, fortifying her mind and trying to calm even the cells in her body, which were shrinking from the horrors below.