Legacy & Spellbound (54 page)

She could feel the baby move inside of her and she winced.
What I wouldn't give for a nap.
She glanced around quickly, wondering if Fantasme had come back, but the hulking creature was nowhere to be seen.
Go, find your master and Sasha,
she bid him silently, knowing he would never listen to her.

France, 13th Century

“We're dead,” Sasha said as she rolled over onto her back and stared up at Isabeau.

“No, Madame, you are not,” the Cahors witch assured her, and though she was speaking in medieval French, Sasha understood every word she said.

“If we're not dead, then where are we?” Eli asked, looking around suspiciously. “How do we know if—”

“You are in my home, my time.” The beautiful princess inclined her head. “Inside the castle of my husband, Jean de Deveraux, and his father, Duc Laurent.”

Sasha sat up slowly, confused and unsteady. She saw the gray stone walls, adorned with battleaxes, picks, and maces. A long wooden table was covered with the remains of a recent feast, and rushes were strewn on the floor.

“We're in France, six hundred years ago?” Sasha asked her. “How did this happen?”

A cloud passed over Isabeau's face as she regarded her surprise visitor. “A portal was opened between our two times. It was an accident. I stepped through and pulled you from your time.”

“Why?”

“To save your life,” Isabeau answered.

Sasha slowly stood to her feet. She wanted desperately to reach out and touch the other woman, to assure herself that she was flesh and blood.
Is it she, or her spirit? Does the woman still live, or has the Massacre already occurred?

Isabeau reached out her hand and touched Sasha's. Her skin was soft and warm. “I am flesh,” she said simply. “I was told to look for you.”

And then in her mind, Sasha heard her speak.
He is Deveraux.

He is my son,
she replied.

“You worship the Goddess,” Isabeau asked her out loud.

“I do, yes.”

Then you understand my pain.

“Your husband. Jean.”

My love.

Sasha felt a sudden rush of giddiness.
I can stop it,
she thought.
I can keep it all from happening.

“You can stop nothing,” Isabeau told her, her voice filled with sadness. “Nor can I. All we can do is watch and pray.”

“What are you two talking about?” Eli asked, standing.

“Her future,” Sasha whispered.

Isabeau smiled, and it broke Sasha's heart.
She knows! On some level, she knows all that is to come.

“A choice has been placed before you both. You may remain here, to live out your days, or you can return to your own place and time.”

She nodded to Sasha. “If you should choose to return, you will die from your wound.”

The arrow! So, I was not far wrong in thinking I was dead already.

“Indeed,” Isabeau said to her. “But how many days you will live, I cannot say. Wild days and nights will unfold soon. Of your own fate, I have no knowledge. Of my own …” She turned her face away and sighed. “I have it in me to stop it from happening.”

Sasha's lips parted in surprise. “Would I be able to do anything to help you? Could we manage it together?”

Isabeau stared at her. “I have no idea,” she answered frankly.

“Perhaps the Goddess sent me here,” Sasha told her. “So many die, do they not, once our families clash in the flames? If you and I could change the future, would the Supreme Coven still rise? Will the Mother Coven become so weak, if you and I together worked magic now, in your time?”

“I … I don't know,” Isabeau murmured.

“What of your mother?” Sasha asked, her blood warming. “Would she join us?”

Isabeau smiled bitterly. “For her, the fate of all in this castle is sealed. They shall all die.”

“I shall stay,” Sasha replied. “Even if we fail to change what is to come, I'm a survivor. Better to live, no matter what century. And no matter if for a few days or a hundred. And whether we can stop the Massacre or not.”

Eli stood, emotions that she couldn't read colliding inside him. She could see the struggle, but there was nothing she could do to help him. Death could conceivably await him no matter which he chose. He could die in the Castle Massacre along with dozens of Deveraux, or he could die in his time by the hand of the Supreme Coven, or his own father's.

She could see his fear, his confusion, and for the first time since she had left, she felt close to him.
He's just a child, still searching for his way in the dark,
she thought.

He turned to her, his eyes full of questions she could not answer, and her heart began to break. She reached out and touched his cheek, and for a moment he let her before he jerked away.

Our whole lives have been leading to this,
she realized.

He took a step back and turned to Isabeau. “I choose to return.”

The young woman inclined her head.

He lifted a hand. “Can you return me to London instead of Avalon?”

Isabeau nodded. “The portal was initially formed in London by two who wanted to shield themselves and their love for eternity. I can return you there.”

“Good.”

“What do you intend to do?” Sasha asked.

He looked her in the eyes. “I don't know yet.”

She grasped his hand and swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat. She hadn't been a part of his life for years, but there had always been the possibility that that could change. Now, that would be lost to them both. “I will try to come to you,” she whispered.

He nodded that he understood, but he didn't say anything. He let go of her hand, Isabeau made a motion in the air, and with a rush of wind, he was gone.

Michael Deveraux: London

It was nearly time. In a few hours it would be Wind Moon and blood would be shed. Michael Deveraux smiled. In a few hours House Deveraux would take its rightful place as head of the Supreme Coven. His ceremonial robes flowed about him as he walked toward the altar. He had prepared several sacrifices to appease the Horned God, that he might look with favor upon Michael.

Duc Laurent was there, smiling wickedly and dressed from head to toe in black leather. “Tonight, the Black Fire will consume our enemies, and will visit destruction upon all who stand in our way.”

Considering that the Black Fire had, at least, indirectly, been the death of the Duc, Michael admired his
fearlessness. “You're sure my son will be there?”

Laurent nodded. “He and what's left of the Cahors Coven are planning to attack the Supreme Coven tonight.”

Michael shook his head at the audacity, and at the foolishness of it. “What can they hope to achieve by such an assault? They are weak, divided, and Holly is still possessed.”
At least, last my imp saw her, she was.

Laurent laughed. “Who cares—so long as they are there, we can use them.”

Jer is the key,
Michael thought with bitter amusement.
That was why we were able to conjure the Black Fire in the high school gym. Eli and I were chanting, but his presence was key. The son who disobeys me and tries to break with our magic will lead to the destruction of all. How poetic. I guess he can't help it. Deveraux are just born bad.

“What do you think, pet?” Michael called out.

Kari walked in from the other room, listless and dazed. “That's nice,” she said, though she clearly had no idea what was nice.

“How long do you plan on keeping her like this?” Laurent asked, pursing his lips.

“Oh, a little while longer, at least.”

“You should kill her now, before the battle. The mesmerism takes some concentration, concentration you could easily lose during the fight.”

Michael shrugged his shoulders and sneered. “Look at her. Do you really think she's a threat? Besides, I'm saving her for the after-Massacre celebration.”

Tri-Coven: London

Jer was nervous. The coven wasn't prepared to take on both the Supreme Coven and his father, yet in a few scant hours they were going to war with them both. He touched his face, feeling the scars that lingered there. The last battle his father had been involved with hadn't ended well.

Now I'm hideous, disfigured, a monster outside to match the monster within.
He searched his heart and still found himself lacking. He knew not which deity he owed his allegiance to, and he was filled with rage and bitterness.

What would I have been like had I grown up in a different family, one who worshiped the Goddess? Would I be more like Alex? Can he really be as good and pure as he seems, or is it all a masquerade?

He wasn't going to find the answers to his questions, at least not in time to help with the battle to come.

“Jer?”

He looked up. It was Holly. She seemed different to him—older, quieter.
I would be, too, if I'd gone through what she has.

She came and sat beside him, the springs of the bed creaking ever so slightly. In the darkness she couldn't see his scars, and he was grateful for that. She touched his hand, and he flinched.

“Jer, I want to be close to you. Don't shut me out.”

“You deserve someone who is whole,” he whispered.

“There's nothing wrong with you,” she answered, her voice cracking slightly.

“We both know that's not true, Holly.”

She laced her fingers through his, and he thrilled at her touch. “I need you.”

“You need someone who can take care of you, someone you don't have to hide in the dark with.”

“Your face is not our problem,” she answered, her voice gaining strength. “Your fear is. I've seen horrors I can't even express. You think a few scars bother me, especially when they're yours?”

“You don't know what you want,” he said bitterly. “You and I, if we begin something, it's going to be forever. ‘Till death us do part,' even if we're the cause of that death. You're not ready for that. You're a child.”

“I'm not a child,” she said, her voice rising. “I'm a woman, but you've been too wrapped up in your own self-pity to notice.”

He turned toward her. He could see her eyes gleaming in the dark, large and round like a cat's. He
ached for her. He wanted to take her in his arms and never let go. He had dreamed of it for so long… .

She lifted her hand to touch his cheek, and he jerked back.

“Don't pull away from me. I'm not afraid of you, of us.”

“I am,” he whispered.

“Don't be.”

And then her lips were on his, hungry, demanding, and he could not deny her. He kissed her with all the passion that was in his heart, his soul. He felt her hands plucking at his shirt, unbuttoning it, and then her warm hands moved against his chest.

With a groan, he closed his eyes.
It would be so easy to make love to her, we have both wanted it for so very long.

Yes,
oui,
take her,
he heard Jean whisper in his mind.
She is ours, and we will have her.

“Mon amour,”
whispered Holly—or was it Isabeau? “You are the fire that burns me,” he answered, his lips against hers.

“And you, me.”

Holly stared into Jer's eyes and could see the passion within. His face swam in her sight as Isabeau began to take her over, even as Jean was claiming Jer. She felt everything that Isabeau had felt as she had lain in the
marriage bed with Jean: the passion of a lover, the duty of a bride, the fear of a virgin. Holly knew all these because the same emotions coursed through her, the same feelings held sway in her heart and mind.

Our lord, our husband, we must be with him,
Isabeau demanded, her words ringing clear in Holly's mind.

“I love you, Jer,” Holly whispered, gazing at him through lowered lids.

He paused for a moment, staring into her eyes, and all the world around them seemed to stand still. “I love you, Holly,” he answered in a voice so savage, it made her quake.

His hands were on her shoulders; she could feel the weight of them, and their heat burned through her shirt. He slowly slid his hands downward to the front of her shirt. Her back arched uncontrollably, pushing her harder against his hands. She could hear his breathing heavier now, and his breath warmed her neck.

“My husband,
mon homme, mon amour,
” she whispered.

With a groan, he tore her shirt open and pulled it off her. She gasped as he trailed kisses down her neck and to the tops of her breasts. A fire kindled in her belly, and all she wanted was to be his. Bodies moving,
flesh entwining, as it has been it always shall and must be. He circled his arms around her and crushed her to him.

And then he pushed her away again with hands that shook. “No,” he said, voice hoarse.

She felt as though ice water had been poured into her veins. She tried to lift her hands to touch his face, but he grabbed them and held them still.

“This is Jean and Isabeau, not us, Holly.”

“It
is
us,” she breathed. “It always has been. They can only play upon the emotions we already feel. We belong together.”

“I can't pull you into my world of darkness. You deserve to live your life in the light.”

“I want to live my life with you.”

“No, we have to stop, even if that means I have to be strong for both of us. We need to stop before there's no turning back.”

She stood abruptly, pain rolling off her. “You say that you are being strong, but you are weak. A strong man embraces his emotions, he doesn't run away from them.”

Jer sat helplessly watching as she clutched up her shirt and threw it back on, awkwardly holding together the
ripped edges in front. His heart ached for her. He could feel her pain and humiliation as though they were his own.