Resurrection (3 page)

“Do what you can,” Rose instructed. Kyle was the only witch she knew who loved dead things. His skills with preserving bodies were often called upon for ceremonies and rites, and if the occasional preservation seemed odd, he never asked questions.

“If we remove the organs, this will be easier,” he ventured, lifting one of Kari's arms and inspecting her fingertips.

“Like mummification?” Sarah asked.

“I was going more for taxidermy, but yeah,” he said, lowering her arm and frowning at the gaping hole in her chest.

“No, the family would like her as intact as possible,” Rose said. She couldn't help but wonder if Dr. Frankenstein would be able to reanimate a body that had been dead several days and was as badly damaged as this one. If he could, his would be a secret worth knowing.

“I'll need the usual,” Kyle said. “Salt, myrrh, amber.” He made a face. “This isn't going to be easy.”

Four hours later, it was done. Kari was as well preserved as possible. Rose and Kyle placed her in a large box, and Sarah went to work putting a glamour on it, so that no one would see the body inside.

When it was done, Rose dialed the number she
had for the doctor, and when he answered, she said, “We're ready to ship. Please give me the address.”

Seattle: Dr. Temar and Hecate

Inside his laboratory Dr. Temar carefully, reverently opened the plain wooden box. Inside he saw what appeared to be dozens of gilded dried herbs and flowers. They were beautiful, delicate, and completely unreal. This was the glamour that English Rose had placed upon the crate to make sure that anyone who opened it would not see the body that was inside. He muttered a few words under his breath, ones she had told him would break the illusion.

The air seemed to shimmer for a moment, light traced the outlines of the flowers, and then they faded and he saw the beautiful face of Kari. The witches had been true to their word. Although she had now been dead a couple of weeks, her body was in a state of preservation, though it was far from perfect.

Something had exploded in her chest, shredding flesh and bone until there was not much left intact. Her throat had also been cut, a jagged line passing over the jugular. He had prepared himself for what he might see, but he couldn't stop the tears that fell from his eyes and wet her lifeless cheeks.

“Kari, I swear I will bring you back,” he vowed.

Inside their cages the cats screamed.

Avalon: Eli

Eli Deveraux walked the beaches of the island of Avalon like one in a dream. After the battle at the Supreme Coven headquarters in London, he had somehow ended up at Avalon. He still wasn't sure how or why. What he did know was that he was different.

He was stronger, more powerful. He could feel the vitality that he had taken from his father, Michael Deveraux, and from his rival, James Moore, when he had killed them that night. It had been Wind Moon; anyone who killed a witch or warlock on Wind Moon gained their power.

He turned, and without lifting a finger or uttering a single syllable he set an oak tree on fire. Then just as easily he put it out with a sudden violent wind. He seemed to have control over three of the elements now, but the fourth, water, eluded him. As did a way off the island.

At least he wasn't in too much of a hurry. From his past experiences on the island he knew where everything was, including the kitchens and the larders. Most of the island's demonic inhabitants seemed to have disappeared. Whether they had gone to aid their masters in the fight or had fled at the first opportunity, he wasn't sure. Either way, he walked the island mostly undisturbed, watching the waves crash on the sand, the rushes wave in the wind. Towering
rocks gazed down on him like castle turrets, and sea birds cawed.

With the island almost entirely deserted, though, it was easier to feel…something. Nicole had told him that there was a presence on the island. He had never felt it before, when he had come there to rescue her, but he could feel it now. It was as though something were watching him, peeping out at him through the cracks and crevices, through time itself. Whatever it was, the evil that emanated from it freaked out even him…and he was just about as evil as they came.

He had been there for a month, and every day he scryed for Nicole, trying to find her. Every day he found nothing. He refused to believe that she was dead. Somehow he was sure that if she was, he would feel it, would know somehow. Even if the baby wasn't his. With the magic now at his disposal it would take some incredibly powerful wards to hide her forever.

He combed every inch of the island, turning over rocks, feeling along the crevices of ruined stone walls, looking for something that might have belonged to her. A personal object could serve as the basis of a finder's spell. All he could find were things of James's that she might have touched—a jeweled goblet; James's clothes, left behind. He found a cache of
James's backup athames—ritual knives used in magic ceremonies.

He spent undue amounts of time in the bedroom where Nicole had been kept a prisoner. It was decorated in the style of warlocks who worshipped the God—with carved images of Pan, and the great, leering face of the Horned One.

He tore the bed apart—the very bed where James had forced Nicole—and pounded it in anger with his fists. He found the hidden cavity in the headboard. It was empty, but he sensed that powerful magical objects had once lain inside. His blood froze as he recalled the stories he had heard from his father, of the silent bargain the Deveraux and Cahors had made—the secret of the Black Fire in exchange for a son of both their blood. James had possessed the magical ability to force Nicole to carry his child. Had he done it?

Eli's imagination clawed at him, tormenting him as each day on the island dragged past. He became obsessed with the marriage room; he scoured every inch; then, one day in despair, he stood in the center and turned slowly, eyes closed.

“Open my eyes that I might see the treasure that belonged to my lady,” he whispered. He winced as he thought about how much it sounded like a prayer to the Goddess. In many ways Nicole was his Goddess.
And after everything that had happened, she should have been the lady to his lord. He grit his teeth as he thought again of James marrying her, taking her. His fingernails dug into his palms until he could feel blood oozing out. The drops hit the floor, a fitting sacrifice.

“Take my blood in this hour, grant me a prize from my lady's bower.”

He opened his eyes and continued to turn, hoping to see something, anything, that could have belonged to her. And slowly he tilted his head up, and as though compelled, he lifted his eyes to the ceiling. It was ornately carved with symbols of the Horned God.

And there, in the dead center of the ceiling, was the glint of something round, something metal.

He lifted his hand and willed it to come to him. It came free easily, as though it had been long waiting for just such a call, and fell into his hand. It was a thin ring of gold with a tiny circumference. He wondered if it would even fit Nicole's pinky finger. He closed his hand around it, and let his blood cover it.

That night he tried his seeking spell one last time, but with the gold ring as the focus of it. “From this ring give me power to see the woman newly a mother, and tell me then where I might find this lady who holds the heart and mind.”

A woman's scream pierced the night. He jumped
to his feet and whirled around. His heart slammed against his ribs as he wondered if somehow he had managed to bring Nicole to him.

There was another scream, and he realized it was outside; he ran as fast as he could, conjuring fireballs to light his way. A third scream—it was coming from the cave where he and Nicole had hidden when they'd been trying to escape the island.

The cries grew fainter; fear spurred him to put on a fresh burst of speed. What if he hadn't brought her to him? What if he was about to see what was happening to her right now?

Then: silence.

He swore to himself as he ran the last one hundred feet before bursting into the cave. He stopped at what he saw. A spectral woman lay there, trembling with pain and exhaustion, a newborn baby upon her breast.

Nicole? No, it wasn't she; it was someone else. From the style of her clothes she had been dead a long, long time. The ring, then, must have belonged to her. He sank to his knees in rage as disappointment ripped through him.

Then the ghost woman turned and looked at him.

He blinked, and so did she.

“Can you see me?” he asked her.

Her brow furrowed, and he realized she couldn't
understand him. He held up his hand slowly. He pointed first to her, then to his eyes, and then to his own chest.

She nodded. Her eyes were wide, young, and incredibly gentle. He knew he had never seen her before, yet something about her seemed so…familiar.

He pointed again to himself. “Eli.”

She smiled faintly at him before pointing to herself. “Mary.”

A shiver went up his spine and a terrible fear raced through him. Slowly he lifted his finger and pointed at the baby she clutched.

Her smile widened and she looked down at the child. “Jesus.”

And suddenly the entire cave changed. Everywhere he looked he saw animals and people. Mary and her child were the center of attention. He turned to where the entrance to the cave was. He didn't trust his legs to hold his weight, but he figured he could try to crawl free. Only, standing at the mouth of the cave were men of great power and wealth. Their clothes were bejeweled. They carried with them boxes. He could feel the magical energy coming off them, crackling powerfully.

They strode by him without noticing. No one there except for Mary seemed to see him. Her ring—he guessed it must be hers—and his spell must have created some sort of portal between their times. He
turned back to watch as the Magi—that must be who they were—laid their gifts at her feet.

He remembered the legends and he watched as they laid down gold, frankincense, myrrh…and silver. And that was when he realized.

There were four of them.

Medieval France: Jean, Karienne, and Isabeau

“I shall never leave you,” Jean whispered to Karienne as he removed his ritual robe and came, for the last time, to her bed. She smelled the blood of sacrificial victims on him, and gazed overhead at the mural of the pit of hell where his ancestors resided, and then she felt his heat and his strength as he shivered with a deliciousness that, for the moment, outweighed her sorrow. Yes, he must put her aside, but she had his love. And the love of the son of the most powerful warlock family
in all of Coventry was the bridal trousseau she would bring to the castle of the count, who was to become her husband. Thus had Jean assured her protection in the lonely years to come.

“Once I have a son on Isabeau, I will murder her,” Jean promised her. “Then I will come for you.”

“Swear an oath on your soul,” she begged as he lay down and covered her.

His eyes glowed with evil, and he laughed. “Wench, you know by now that I have no soul.”

The Present: Holly, Without Him

Holly jerked from a dream, and rolled over in the darkness. Her heart was pounding and her face was wet with tears. She had been dreaming about Jer again. She could almost feel his lips on her closed eyes, her cheeks, her lips.

He is dead to me,
she told herself. But the truth was, there was a tiny part of her soul that flared whenever she dreamed of him, thought of him. Then, and only then, did she feel fully alive.

But their love lay in ashes, and she knew it. It was as dead as that part of her heart.

In the Forever Place, Damaged

In the mystical greenwood beyond space and time, Fantasme flew, carrying a tincture of the essence of
the Cahors' witch's soul. He screeched in triumph.

From the other side of that eternal forest, Pandion gave chase.

Outside Cologne, Germany: Pablo

Pablo, the little witch boy who could read minds, called out in searing terror to his covenate Philippe again, and again, although he lay unconscious.

And although he was in thrall and in love, and wished to take no part in warfare, Philippe answered.

One Month Later, North Berwick, Scotland:
Nicole, Amanda, Tommy, Richard, Owen

Nicole Anderson-Moore had a warlock for a lawyer. If her twin sister, Amanda, hadn't been bouncing a fireball menacingly on her fingertips, Nicole might have laughed. As it was, she looked him dead in the eye and asked, “And what makes you my attorney?”

Derek Jeffries smiled at Nicole, seemingly paying no attention to Amanda and his own impending doom. “I'm from the firm Hackem, Hackem, and Derringer. We represent the Moore estate.”

Even the mention of that name was enough to make Nicole feel sick.

“How did you find us?” the girls' father, Richard, demanded.

It was a good question, one that Nicole would
dearly love to have answered. For the past two months they had been on the run, moving from place to place, never staying anywhere for more than a night or two. It was hard on them all, but they had each wanted to get as far away from the ruin of the Supreme Coven headquarters in London as they could. They had made it only as far as Scotland, unsure how safe public transportation was and whether or not they should attempt to return home to Seattle.

“One of the services our law firm provides to practitioners is tracking of relatives upon the death of one of our clients. Upon the deaths of Sir William and his two named heirs, the family finder spell immediately engaged. As James Moore's widow, Nicole is the closest living family member.”

No matter what I do, I can't escape James,
Nicole thought bitterly.
Or, apparently, his lawyers.

“So, all you'd have to do to find Holly is kill us?” Amanda asked, eyes narrowed.

Holly, their cousin and high priestess, had been gone since right after the battle.

“It's not quite that simple. First you would have to retain the firm as your attorneys. Then you would need to draft up a will or something of that nature. Then we could magically attach your relatives either in the order of your preference or in the order of nearest relation. So, as you can plainly see, you and your precious Holly are fine.”

“Except that you've already declared yourself as Nicole's lawyer,” Richard growled.

Derek smiled. “Well, there is that. I guess she'll just have to postpone writing her will. As her legal representative, however, I wouldn't advise that. Now that she has a child to look after, a will is imperative to ensure that the child is provided for and that suitable guardians are appointed.”

Nicole forced herself to smile. “I wouldn't worry about Owen; he's very well looked after.”

Derek flashed her an oily professional smile. “I don't doubt it.”

“So, what now?” she asked.

“I've come to take you home.”

“To Seattle?” Tommy asked hopefully.

“No, to Scarborough.”

“What's in Scarborough?” Amanda asked suspiciously.

“The ancestral home of her
late
husband.”

Nicole burned under his stare. “Don't look at me that way. I didn't kill him.”

“No, you managed to get one of your lovers, Eli Deveraux, to do it. I must say, very old-school of you.”

“Don't you dare think I planned that,” Nicole spat.

“And don't mistake my admiration for condemnation,” Derek said.

My life is way too complicated,
Nicole thought. The
baby cried, and she was grateful to be able to focus on him for a moment. She could still feel Derek's eyes on her. She wondered briefly if his firm's family finder spell would be able to determine if James was her baby's father.

She shook her head. She wouldn't give Derek the satisfaction of hearing her voice her own confusion on that topic. No matter how many times she went over it in her head, though, she still couldn't puzzle it out. The first eight months of the pregnancy were hazy, almost like half memories from a dream. She couldn't even figure out who the father could be. Eli, James, her beloved Philippe. The timing just didn't make sense. And then there had been the thing, the
presence
, in her room when she was James's prisoner on the lost island of Avalon.

She looked deep into her son's eyes and wondered how she had come to be in some twisted paranormal version of
Mamma Mia!
More than anything, though, she wished that Philippe were there. A week after Holly, Armand, and Pablo had taken off with Alex Carruthers to find lost Cahors relatives and battle evil, Philippe had received a psychic distress call from Pablo. Afraid for the little boy, Philippe had left in the middle of the night and had promised to return as soon as he could. She hadn't heard a thing from him since. She sighed heavily and turned her attention back to Derek.

“In addition to lands, there are rather extensive financial holdings. We'll go over it all on the way,” he said.

I want Philippe,
she thought as Owen snuggled against her.

A private jet and two helicopter rides later, they had arrived at the mansion that belonged to their enemies. It was getting dark when they finally stood at the gates that led to the drive. Still they could make out the hulking structure, and Nicole did her best to ignore the sense of evil that was coming off it.

Derek entered an alarm code and the gate unlocked. He swung it outward and then took a step backward.

“After you, Mrs. Moore,” he said, his tone lightly mocking.

It took all of Nicole's willpower not to lob a fireball at his head. Instead she ducked him a mocking curtsy and said, “No, after you. I insist.”

Derek shook his head. “Unfortunately, it doesn't quite work that way.”

“I think you need to explain yourself,” Amanda interjected, moving more closely to her twin.

“My firm has represented the Moore family for generations. I myself was the chief liaison for the last five years, and I have entered these gates many times.”

“So, enter them now,” Tommy said. He raised his chin and folded his arms, as if challenging the powerful warlock.

“I'm afraid it's not that simple. Sir William Moore and all who went before him were very powerful men. They were, however, not stupid men. The only safe way to enter these premises is at the invitation of a Moore.”

Nicole had a sinking feeling in her stomach.

“And, like it or not, you seem to be the only one left alive,” Derek finished, pinning Nicole with his eyes. They were warlock eyes: hard, cold, with an almost reptilian gleam in them. Everything she knew told her not to trust him. There was something else she saw there, though, that convinced her he was telling the truth.

“Is there a magic password?” she asked, briefly allowing herself to be amused at the thought.

“If it's ‘open sesame,' we're leaving,” Amanda said.

“No, you should be able to walk right on in. Then you will need to invite each of the rest of us by name.”

“What are we, vampires now? I thought we were witches,” Tommy said with a roll of his eyes.

“I would never speak lightly of the Cursed Ones, and you would do well to follow my example,” Derek said pointedly.

“Oh, man, it was a joke. Are you kidding me about vampires?” Tommy groaned.

Derek didn't answer but returned his attention to Nicole.

She took a deep breath and stepped forward. She had expected…something…alarms, demons appearing out of portals…maybe an earthquake. Instead there was nothing. She turned and looked suspiciously at Derek, just in time to catch him sigh in apparent relief.

“Voilà,” she said, throwing her hands up into the air. For a moment she wasn't Nicole the witch or Nicole the mother or Nicole the unwilling bride. She was just Nicole, drama queen.

Amanda smirked at least. The others just stared.

“So, I just call you by name?”

“That's it,” Derek said.

She realized she didn't remember his last name. It was on the business card she had stuffed in her pocket, but she didn't feel like giving him the satisfaction of reaching for it.

“Okay, Lawyer Derek, come on in.”

He stepped forward and joined her. Nothing happened. Nicole didn't relax, though. What if it was some terrible trick and only Moores or warlocks could enter? Could she really risk any of the others? She sucked in her breath. She teetered for the moment on the brink of indecision. She could run back to them and they could run as far away as they could.

She knew they'd never be able to hide from the spell the cursed lawyers were using, though. And so
far, no harm had come to them.
And in the home of our enemy would be the last place they would look for us, ma petite,
a female voice with a strong French accent whispered in her head. Isabeau, their long dead ancestress, come to impart some of her wisdom or enforce her will.

Nicole looked at the people she loved. Her sister, Amanda; Tommy, Amanda's soul mate; their father, Richard; and little baby Owen cradled in his arms. It was a terrible choice, but in the end it was easy. She gambled with the only life she could.

“Tommy Nagai, I invite you to come here,” she said, her voice shaking.

He stepped forward boldly, slipping out of Amanda's grasp. A glance at his steely eyes told Nicole that he knew full well why she had called him first.

He stepped forward, and a bolt of lightning flashed across the sky. Nicole dropped to the ground and threw up a protective shield around them both. Thunder rolled and fat drops of rain suddenly began to splatter down.

“It's just a storm,” Derek said. “Bad timing.”

Nothing else happened, but the skies opened up and the rain began to pour down in earnest. The rest of them might have been able to stand in the rain and debate this, but Owen needed to get out of the freezing wet.

“Richard Anderson, I invite you to come in. Owen Anderson-Moore, I invite you to come in. Amanda Anderson, I invite you to come in.”

And a moment later they were all racing beside her up the drive to the house that stood with dark windows gaping at them like so many hideous mouths waiting to devour them.

Just let them try,
Nicole thought grimly as they pounded up the front steps and onto the porch.

Derek produced a key and opened the massive front door. Nicole expected it to creak as it opened, but it gave way smoothly. They tumbled inside the foyer and stood for a moment, dripping on the marble floor as they took in their surroundings.

Derek snapped on the lights, and a chandelier above their heads came to life and showed them a massive staircase rising up three stories, and passageways to the right and left.

Tommy whistled. “Where's the butler?”

“All Sir Richard's servants were damned creatures. When he…died…they were taken back to hell.”

Nicole noticed the hesitation. It was something that had been plaguing her. She wasn't really sure Sir William was dead. After all, she had watched a demon erupt from his body and escape the massacre at the Supreme Coven. More than the other warlocks that might be searching for them, she worried about that
creature. Was it Sir William's true face? And, if so, how long before he came home to reclaim what was his? She shivered.

“You should change into some dry clothes,” Derek said, noticing and mistaking the cause.

The others fanned out, turning on lights as they went. Nicole wanted to tell them to be careful. Who knew what wards or magic booby traps might be in place. She was tired, though, and a change of clothes did seem in order. She picked up the backpack she had dropped upon entering the house, and turned to the right. The first door opened into a bathroom, and she used it to change.

Ten minutes later she found everyone congregated in the kitchen. Amanda was perched on a countertop holding Owen, with Tommy leaning against her. Richard was pacing, and Derek had spread some papers out on one of the countertops. Nicole moved over to him.