by Nancy Holder
“Tommy, help them. Make sure they get out, and more importantly, make sure you do,” Amanda instructed him.
He stared from one to another before nodding his head in reluctant agreement. Without another word he jumped off the stage and disappeared in the throng of people.
A shudder rippled up Holly’s spine. Acting on instinct she leaped to the side, pulling her cousins with her. Flames emerged once more where they had been standing.
Nicole calmly reached up and extinguished her burning hair. “Well, girls, let’s stay on the move.”
“Great, but are we looking inside or out?” Amanda asked.
A whisper brushed through Holly’s mind. It was faint and she strained to hear it; ignoring the discussion her cousins were having, she tried to block everything out but the whisper. It came again.
“Inside.”
But was it a trap, or was it good advice?
She was unaware that she had spoken until Amanda said, “Okay.”
“Backstage,” Holly added. She took off and the others fell in behind her. She didn’t know where she was going, but she didn’t have to. The voice was in her head, clearer now, and it told her where to turn. They quickly reached the scenery workshop and stepped inside the large room. Catwalks soared more than twenty feet in the air up amidst the fly galleries where unused backdrops were stored, held in place by chains that could also be used to lower them when they were once again wanted.
The three girls moved to the door at the far end, but a voice behind them froze them in their tracks.
“Well, well, what do we have here? Three Cahors bitches. Nice to see you again, ladies.”
Holly whipped around to see Michael Deveraux standing just inside the door.
“Thanks, but we prefer to be called witches,” Nicole retorted as she centered herself and then lashed out with a wave of energy pulled from deep within.
Michael lifted a hand casually and sent the wave of energy hurtling back at Nicole with twice the energy she had sent it. It hit her in the chest and knocked her flat.
“You see, Eli. Magic isn’t just about spells and potions, it’s also about physics. You throw something at a wall, it comes back at you with twice the force.”
Holly turned to see Eli lounging in the far doorway. “Nicely done.”
“That only works if you’re a wall,” Holly said, as a bolt of lightning left her fingers and flew toward him. The other two girls stared at her. “Clasp hands,” she ordered them.
Michael caught the electricity easily and it crackled at the tips of his fingers. He proceeded to pass it back and forth between his hands, occasionally letting it arc between them.
He stared with an amused grin at the girls. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you want this back?” he offered, moving his hand as though he were about to throw a ball. “Or maybe I should give it to your cousin?” he suggested before throwing it at the weakened Nicole.
“No!” Amanda shouted before diving in front of the ball. When it hit her, it lit up her entire frame for a moment, until her head appeared almost as a skeleton’s. Holly watched in horror as Amanda fell unconscious to the ground.
“Isabeau, help us,” she murmured.
Michael and Eli were closing now, slow and catlike. Pillars of flame danced behind them, giving them the appearance of demons fresh from Hell.
“I’m afraid you can’t stop me,” Michael informed her, unable to contain his delight.
“But I can,” a voice called from on high.
Jer stood dimly silhouetted on the catwalk above. The sword in his hand reflected the light. Holly thrilled and cringed at the site of him. He was magnificent, angry, and dangerous.
“I had hoped you would join us, Jeraud. Needless to say, I’m very disappointed,” Michael called upward.
“Actually, you’ll find that it was you who should have joined us.”
Moving from the shadows, Eddie, Kialish, and Kari also stood on catwalks. Kari swiftly clambored down to join Holly by her fallen cousins as Eddie and Kialish locked hands and began to chant. As easily as though they were candles, the flames behind Michael and Eli were extinguished. Michael’s eyes widened in surprise.
Holly could feel the flames dying all through the building. She tried to throw her will, too, into the magics being used even though she did not know the words spoken by the shaman’s son and his lover.
Kari crouched briefly over Amanda and Nicole and when she stood again, she nearly fell. Holly caught her and noticed the paleness of her face. Before she could ask Kari what was wrong, Nicole and Amanda rose as well. They were weak-looking but they managed to stay on their feet.
“I gave them some of my energy,” Kari explained. “We need them.”
Holly nodded briefly and then the four girls clasped hands.
Michael and Eli began to chant; a chant half-remembered from Holly’s vision.
They were calling the Black Fire.
“No!” Holly shouted.
No, Jer echoed.
Murmuring a Spell of Protection, he leaped off the catwalk. He felt the rush of incredible speed and then a bone-jarring impact as he landed on his father, who was chanting the profane words with Eli. Father and son both went crashing to the ground, while Eli moved out of the way. Jer was the first to gain his feet, amazingly unharmed.
He rammed his fist into Michael’s left cheek; the warlock caught Jer’s hand and twisted it, sweeping out with his right leg to throw Jer off balance. Then he conjured a fireball in his hand and sent it directly into his son’s face.
The pain was horrible, but Jer instantly negated the spell with one that Dan had taught him. Then he prepared to launch a full assault, springing at Michael and slamming him to the ground. He heard his brother chanting to create a fireball of his own, and knew himself to be dead in seconds. . . .
“Get him!” Eddie shouted as he rushed Eli.
Jer stayed focused on his father. He had no idea if his lodge brother—now his Circle acolyte—could take on Eli successfully, but he couldn’t risk looking away from his father.
But as he launched himself at Michael, he realized that the older warlock had set up a barrier between them. Soft green glowed in a wall, separating the two. Jer ran at it with both fists, arcing them over his head and then slamming them down on the glowing mist, but it was like hitting Plexiglas. Next, Jer conjured a spell to break it.
Michael only smiled. Then he closed his eyes and resumed the chant to bring the Black Fire to life.
“No!” he bellowed. “Stop!”
Without breaking rhythm, Michael smiled triumpantly.
“Jer!” Holly screamed.
The Black Fire exploded into existence in the middle of the room. Midnight tendrils of savage heat and destruction lashed out from the molten center. The legs of the nearby catwalks caught fire; wood went up in an insant, like hair.
Everyone scrambled; Kari dove underneath a table set with refreshments for the cast and flipped it on its side. Nicole grabbed Amanda and fell with her to the ground, each huddling against the other. Holly joined them.
The three clasped hands.
“We need a spell. We need to fight this,” Holly said. “We’re all going to die.”
Eli was too close to the fire. It reared over his head like a wave at the beach; panicking, Eli fell to his knees and held up his arms.
Jer watched as his brother’s skin turned black within a moment. And then . . .
Eli threw open his arms and screamed words into the fiery holocaust. From the center of the blaze, huge wings flapped; the cry of a falcon shot through the roar of the Black Fire. . . .
And a bird materialized, its beak massive, its talons enormous; it was blue-black and magnificent; it was a ghost and yet it had form, and shape, and substance. It grabbed up the burning warlock with its talons, screeched three times, and disappeared.
Stunned by the sight, Jer forgot for a moment about his father. Michael dissolved the barrier and a powerful blow to his jaw snapped his head backward and he fell to t
he ground, momentarily stunned. Michael straddled him, leering, and lifted Jer’s sword above him.
“You preening little peacock!” Michael shouted. “I should have let Sasha take you!”
Jer waited for the blow, trying desperately to recover his strength and wondering if he could block it. But at that moment, the fire doubled in size. Michael’s eyes went wide. He dropped the sword and began to back slowly away before turning to run.
Then Holly moved into action, summoning up her strength. She kept hold of her cousins’ hands, her palm burning with magical energy.
We have to stand our ground, make this our moment, stand our ground, break the curse. Stand our ground . . .
. . . it’s so hot; I’m so scared . . .
We can’t stop it, Jer thought. It’s too much.
Jer chanted a spell and then scrambled to his feet. Tongues of black flame reared through the roof of the theater; waves of ebony heat rippled and gleamed over every surface the fire could touch.
“Get out of here!” he shouted to anyone who would listen. He shoved at Eddie and Kialish to make them leave. He conjured magic in Kari’s direction to send her toward the exit.
But the Black Fire pulled to him, called to him . . .
He, too, would go, after one last look at the fire. . . .
The roaring, burning heat shot toward Holly, who was standing with her cousins. It yanked her, and only her, into its maw. As her cousins watched in horror, her body writhed in the blackness.
“Holly!”
Jer dove toward the conflagration . . .
. . . but it was Jean who stopped mere inches from it, and watched in rage and satisfaction as the flames began to consume her.
“Let it be so again. Let her burn,” Jean whispered. But she was his to love or hate. His to protect or kill. She was his and nothing would take her from him this time. He stepped into the fire and pressed his palms to hers.
“What are you doing? The fire will kill you!” she shouted.
“ ‘I have more care to stay than will to go. —Come, death, and welcome! My love wills it so.’ ”
Holly’s eyes dropped to their clasped hands and a strangled sob escaped her. When she lifted her head it was Isabeau who looked up at him with her haunting eyes. “I loved you. I am sorry,” she whispered, at last able to tell him.
Jean nodded. “I know.”
And in the keep of Castle Deveraux, in the bonfire of hatred, ruin, and evil, Jean and Isabeau did not burn. They lay, he above her, she below; and they did not burn.
It wasn’t until one of Jean’s bodyguards spotted them, and pulled him from the blaze . . .
. . . that Isabeau ignited in a horrible, agonizing moment; she writhed as she died, screaming his name.
Jean! Jean!
“Die, Cahors witch!” Jean’s bodyguard had shrieked.
And in that moment, her family symbol was branded into her palm, so that all who saw her spirit would know she was of the traitor Coven. . . .
Jer could feel the flames licking at them, hungry, passionate, angry. But the flames without were nothing to the flames within. He felt such power welling up inside him, surrounding him, binding him to her until their love, their magic together kept them safe. They could stay in the flames forever and so long as they were together they would come to no harm.
Jer threw back his head and shouted in French.
Without warning, the roof overhead began to crack. Huge pieces fell like bombs, the structure disintegrating. The smoke of the Black Fire sailed up, up, threatening to blot out the very sky, the Black Fire smoke taking the shape of a skull, laughing down at the tableau like a hideous, appreciative audience.
Suddenly Holly was jerked backward, her hands pulled from his. Her eyes widened in horror.
“No!” she shouted. “Let me go! He’ll die if you don’t let me go!”
And Jer stepped forward to follow, but searing pain rooted him to the spot. His flesh was on fire. Every nerve in his body screamed with the unimaginable agony. His hands, his face . . . everything was going up like dry paper. He could feel his skin melting from his body, and his legs slowly collapsed.
She abandoned me to the flames, and now I’ll die. Isabeau will have her revenge.
This was the end, then.
Come death and welcome. Holly wills it so. . . .
Screaming, Holly tried to break free of Amanda’s and Nicole’s hands, but she could not.
“He’s bewitched you! You’ll die in there with him!” Amanda shouted.
“No! It’s the way to save him!” she cried, fighting, struggling . . . forgetting to use her magic.
Horrified, she watched as Jer’s skin turned black and his body collapsed. The smell of burnt flesh permeated her nostrils until it was the only smell she could ever remember.
And then she remembered her magic.
In a sudden burst of inspiration, she screamed at her cousins, “It always rains here! It always friggin’ rains here!”
Yes!” Amanda yelled. “Of course.”
Hot tears streamed down her face as they pressed their palms together. “Help me, ancestress,” Holly whispered.
The glowing blue form of Isabeau shimmered into being, covering Holly with her spirit, yet not allowing a total merge, as she had before.
If he dies, I will rest, Isabeau reminded her.
“You won’t. You’ll hate yourself,” Holly insisted. “And I will hate you!”
How long it took Isabeau to decide, Holly had no idea. But then she guided Holly’s mouth, and words tumbled out. Her cousins held fast, though the lily brand on their three palms had started to smoke and burn through their flesh.
Elaborate French of another time and place rang through the coursing Black Fire, around the bonfire of it, the writhing figure in the middle. Hurry, vite, vite, Holly begged her ancestress. The man we love is in there. Je vous en prie, ma mère, je vous en prie . . . oh, please, oh, please, save him.
The fire began to die.
Seconds later the rest of the building began to collapse, and someone had their arms around her, dragging her away. She was screaming for Jer, shouting for . . .
“Jean!” she shrieked hysterically. “Jean!”
It was too late.
All that was left was ashes.
EPILOGUE
It was over.
Jer was dead. His father had evidently escaped, and his brother . . . who knew where Eli had gone, in the grasp of that enormous bird?
Now the members of Jer’s circle, together with Holly’s, had come to empty ashes into Eliott Bay.
They had no idea if they were his ashes; the entire theater had been destroyed. A town scandal had erupted because the sprinklers never went off, and innocent heads would no doubt roll, but Holly could do nothing about that.
Holly wept. The gulls sobbed and wheeled, and the others—including the members of Jer’s Rebel Coven—kept a respectful distance.
I am still bound to him, she thought. As Isabeau was to Jean. She was doomed to walk the earth until she killed him, and I’m doomed to grieve my whole life. . . .
She broke down, completely losing it, until strong arms grabbed her shoulders.
It was Tante Cecile.
“Cry, and then carry on,” the woman said. “Magics are still at work. I was prevented from getting here in time to help by magic. And I can feel magic everywhere. Your Coven may have no time to rest, Holly.” She gestured to Jer’s group. “You’ll need to persuade them to join you. You’re going to need them.”
Holly went into the older woman’s arms and buried her head against her shoulders. “I’m not . . . I can’t . . .”
“Yes, you can,” Tante Cecile said firmly. She nodded, and Amanda and Nicole joined them, putting their arms around her and Holly.
Slowly, Kialish walked toward the circle. Eddie, Kari, and Dan trailed after.
Kialish held out his hand and Holly, sobbing, took it. He pulled her against his chest, where she buried her head. He began t
o cry, too. Eddie joined them, arms around them both. Dan joined them.
He said to Holly, “Those of the Black Arts rule by cruelty and fear. He was learning that there was another way. If he could have brought all that power to the light . . .”
It was no comfort. Not then. Nothing could comfort her. Her soul was ripped and bleeding, and she had no idea if such a wound could ever heal.
For a time, Kari held herself stiffly away from Holly. When Holly looked over at her, the woman gazed at her steadily and said, “You as much as killed him, you know. If he hadn’t had you to worry about . . .”
“Leave her alone, Kari,” Kialish said harshly. “She’s going through enough.”
“What about me?” Kari demanded.
She turned on her heel and stalked away.
London, Headquarters of the Supreme Coven
Sir William regarded Michael Deveraux with skepticism. “And so, you want me to save your son,” he drawled.
He was seated on the throne of skulls, his own son, James, standing beside him with his arms crossed over his chest. James’s face was a neutral blank, but he was speaking volumes to Michael with his eyes. After all, Michael was the secret ringleader of his bid to depose his father and seize the throne for himself.
“Yes. He knows the secret of the Black Fire.”
That was not entirely true. After the fire in the school theater, Michael had learned, to his horror, that he and Eli alone could not call up the fire. Not alone. It had been Jer’s presence combined with theirs that had allowed it to materialize.
He needed both his sons alive. Eli, through his own quick thinking, had called up the spirit of the family falcon, Fantasme, and saved himself. He was waiting even now in their quarters, his face still burned but on the mend.
“And you will pledge your own allegiance, and that of both your sons, if I make . . . that . . . something that stays alive.”
Dispassionately, Michael regarded his younger boy, Jeraud. Lying on a hospital gurney, Jer was less a living human being and more a writhing mass of melted flesh. If he lived, he would be a monster.
Suitable punishment for turning against his own flesh and blood, Michael thought derisively.