Witch & Curse (53 page)

“No, Priestess. I would have us
destroy
the Supreme Coven, not try to dwell in its stated territory.”

“And with its destruction, destroy your Deveraux enemies?” The High Priestess sat back in her curved-back chair and folded her arms over her chest. She looked so like a nun, in her white wimple and robes, that Giselle had to remind herself that they were of the same tradition. “Is your concern for the Mother Coven or for your own house?”

“For both,” Giselle protested.

The woman cocked her head. “My child, if your loyalties are divided, then you are not to be trusted.
The strength of your purpose must outweigh the call of your blood. We shall fight the Supreme Coven in our own time on our own terms. When our power grows to surpass theirs, then we can rid the world of their evil.”

Evil. The word flowed silkily off the older woman's tongue, and Giselle could not help but shiver. Standing there in the inner sanctum, she stared at the altar and the blood stains on the floor all around it. It was a fine line that divided the Mother Coven's evil from that of the Supreme Coven.

“Very well,
ma mère
” Giselle bit off. “I will be the coven's obedient daughter.”

“There's a good girl,” the High Priestess said patronizingly. She reached out her arms to receive a ritual embrace. “Now, leave us. We have much to do.”

With a hot heart, Giselle embraced her, dipped her head, and left the room.

This may have been a mistake
, she thought.

Realizing she could not battle the entire Deveraux family alone, she had joined the newly formed Mother Coven, which was made up of witches who claimed to practice “whiter” magic than those of the more powerful Supreme Coven. Over the last few months Giselle had been given reason to question that claim.

Still, the leadership of the Mother Coven said all
the proper things about the superiority of white magic and made all the appropriate gestures to Coventry at large. To hear them, it was
she
who was the problem, she who was the bloodthirsty one. It was her Cahors blood that was tainted and evil and to be reigned in.

For the thousandth time she wondered what her grandmother, Barbara, had been like, and if she, Giselle, would have a different view of magic had the older witch lived to influence her offspring.

Thanks to Luc Deveraux she would never know the answer. He had been responsible for her grandmother being burned at the stake and for her own mother's life of running and hiding before he had finally caught her and had Cassandra Cahors drowned. He thought he had finally succeeded in wiping them out and had risen through the ranks of the Supreme Coven based on that accomplishment.

He didn't know that one Cahors still eluded him.

He would, though, soon enough.

She had seen him in her scrying stones. He was near. For weeks she had read the signs. They all pointed to the next few days. If she was to finally kill Luc Deveraux, she might never have a better opportunity.

Despite what she promised the High Priestess, she did not intend to let this chance pass her by.

I've made a few close friends among the other covenates
, she
thought as she strode down the corridor and away from the inner sanctum.
They might aid me in the coming battle
.

Luc Deveraux was older than he looked. Some shred of vanity prodded him to maintain his appearance. The magic kept his body alive, and with a little effort he could look well when he chose. His family had grown even more powerful under his tutelage, and their alliance with the Supreme Coven had only brought them more power. Within a couple of generations they might even be leading it.

Only the House of Moore posed a threat. The warlocks of that family seemed to grow more powerful by the day. House Deveraux needed to be focused in order to outwit House Moore and claim the throne of the coven, the seat of power. House Deveraux could suffer no distractions, no barriers. He had systematically removed all that he could think of. All but one.

She thinks I don't know about her
, he thought,
but I do. I have always known about her
.

The signs were right. He would wipe the last descendant of the Cahors from the earth.

He has called me
.

He has challenged me
.

Giselle was thrown. She had thought to have the
element of surprise in her armory. She had also thought to have one more moon before she challenged Luc Deveraux to battle.

But he had thrown down the gauntlet first.

Drawn by his magics, Giselle and her two sister witches found themselves in Pudding Lane.

He was there, waiting, and he was not alone. The two groups approached each other slowly, silently.

They were met on the street as though on a battlefield. Luc and Giselle locked eyes, warriors about to do battle.

Without warning Luc pulled a wicked dagger from beneath his cloak and threw it with deadly accuracy toward her head. She lifted a hand and the dagger stopped in midair. It slowly spun in a half-circle till it was facing its master. She sent it back with all the ferocity she could muster.

It was the signal the others had been waiting for. The battle was fierce, the opponents equally matched. Dark forms spun and twirled by the light of the moon, dancing to their own macabre tune with steps only those attuned to dark magics could accomplish.

Around Luc and Giselle the others slowly fell away. A warlock turned to melt into the night and a witch followed him. Another couple's struggles carried
them into a nearby street. At last the two of them were alone.

Slowly they circled each other, searching for weaknesses. Both were tired, both were running out of strength.

“I shall kill you as I killed your mother and grandmother before you.”

“And I swear by the Goddess that this Cahors will avenge all whom you have slain. You shall not kill another of my kin.”

She was exhausted and shaking, but Giselle could feel the rage rising in her, filling her and giving her strength. Her hands began to shake with the power that coursed through her. At last she let it out in a single shout.

“Incendia!”
Fireballs appeared in the air before her. She hurled them at the old man, one after another.

Luc batted them out of the sky as if they were children's playthings. Several landed at his feet, sputtering and dying in the dirt. Two plummeted into a nearby watering trough. One flew through a window into the home of the king's baker. The last one he sent back to her.

She threw her hand up and the ball of flame stopped in midair. It vibrated for a moment, humming
as each applied more and more force to it. At last it exploded in a shower of sparks that rained down in the street between them.

“I've seen better tricks from charlatans, my dear child,” he sneered.

“Poor Luc. Did you think that you had ended the House of Cahors then? You didn't take into account that she had a daughter.”

“Ah, but I did,” he riposted. “And you will certainly not escape me now.”

Before she could respond, flames erupted from the window of the baker's house and shouts came from within. A woman screamed in anguish, and around the Coventry witches and the warlock, houses stirred to life with flickering candles as sleepy residents rushed to see the problem.

Giselle and Luc stared at each other for a long minute. At last he gave a mocking bow before wrapping himself in a cloak of darkness and vanishing.

As the first faces started peering out of doors, she realized that she had no time to be discreet. She picked up her skirts and ran down the street yelling, “Fire!”

People burst from their homes and ran toward the blaze upon hearing her shout. Not a single one of them gave her a second glance.

The fire moved like a living thing, terrible in its ferocity as it swallowed houses, shops, and churches alike without discretion. As if the destruction caused by the licking flames was not enough, houses were pulled down one after another, destroyed in an attempt to stop the fire's path. The fire just laughed and leaped across the ruins of people's homes and lives.

Ministers preached farewell sermons as the flames approached their churches. Thousands of people fled, many with only the clothes upon their backs. Still the relentless flame pressed on. Many claimed that it was the hand of God, that His face had been set against London because of its great wickedness.

For days the inferno blazed its way across London. When at last it seemed to die out at Temple Church, it was only gathering its strength for one last savage run. The smoke and debris clogged the air until it seemed the whole world was on fire.

In the end, the fire killed many people and destroyed thousands of buildings. When the last flame had died, Giselle stood in Pudding Lane, surveying the damage. She could scarcely believe that she had been standing in the exact same spot a few nights before.

Tears stung her eyes. So much carnage, so much death. Luc Deveraux had not come looking for her, and as she stood staring at the chaos they had caused,
she vowed not to hunt for him. It was too dangerous.

There was a ship sailing in the morning for the New World. She and her daughter and infant sons would be on it. In the Americas she would start over. A new life with a new name. The old one reeked of death.

Gwen Cathers would be on that ship. Giselle Cahors had died in the fire.

Luc Deveraux tried in vain to still the trembling of his limbs as he stood before the Supreme Coven. Any warlock would be a fool not to fear the judgment of the coven under the circumstances.

The coven leader, Jonathan Moore, could not hide the smirk on his face as the coven delivered its proclamation.

“Luc Deveraux, you have willfully disobeyed the law of the coven by making your battle with the House of Cahors a public one and thereby endangering us all.” It was significant that the coven did not care so much about the fire and the destruction it had caused except as it might lead to exposure.

“Already several have been arrested in connection with the conflagration. Two of them are warlocks, members of this coven who foolishly followed you. The other is your manservant. This reckless disregard for the safety of the coven cannot be overlooked. House
Deveraux shall hold no place in the leadership of this coven, and you must step down as the head of your house.”

Luc was stunned. Death he expected and would have accepted, but he had not expected them to censure his entire family. He opened his mouth to protest. “My actions are mine alone. Do not punish House Deveraux for what I alone have done.”

Moore was having none of it. “It is no secret that House Deveraux and House Cahors have feuded for many years. These public uses of magic will stop here and now. House Deveraux must regain the trust they once enjoyed in this coven.”

So there is hope
. Luc's agile mind began to consider strategies. He asked humbly, “How might we prove our loyalty?”

There were a few murmurs that were quickly silenced. Moore narrowed his eyes and thought for a few moments.

“House Deveraux must cease all displays of public magic immediately and forever. Also, your coven may eventually redeem itself by bringing the secret of the Black Fire to the Supreme Coven.”

Luc felt sick in the deepest recesses of his twisted soul. The secret of the Black Fire was lost. House Deveraux could never redeem itself without it.

Philippe: On the Spanish border, November

They were going to burn José Luís's body.

They had waited the requisite three days to see if he would rise. But the warlock was truly dead.

Philippe wondered for a brief moment if it had been the death José Luís envisioned. He shook his head slowly, grief stricken.

Mon vieux
, he thought fondly,
the battles we fought!

Pray for me in Paradise that I will fight one to save Nicole, and win that one
.

Several feet away the others huddled. Armand sat on the ground, too injured to stand. Seated beside him, Pablo was shaking with exhaustion. Philippe felt his throat constrict as he gazed upon José Luís's little brother, who looked so much like him. Alonzo crouched, eyes alert and probing the darkness, a cross in one hand and a crystal in the other.

He looked back down at the shell that had housed his friend and mentor. José Luís was dead, Nicole taken, and the battle against darkness had been well and truly joined.

He passed his hand over José Luís's face, blessing him. “We lost this time, old friend. But I swear to you, we shall prevail in the end.”

He bowed his head briefly—half-praying, half-meditating. When he was finished he stood up slowly,
his face set. He felt old and tired, but he knew what he had to do.

The others stared at him, seeking guidance, direction. He would give it to them. “We are going to find Nicole and battle this evil before it spreads farther.”

“Where do we go?” Alonzo asked.

“Pablo?”