by J. D. Horn
Fleur cast a glance at Alice’s body, still floating four feet or so above the ground. The Twins had stationed themselves by her in a protective stance, one at her head, facing back, the other at her feet facing forward. Perhaps they were right to anticipate an ambush. Celestin had wanted Alice removed from the common world. If he caught wind of what they were doing, he might well show up to prevent them.
“You mean she may already be lost?” Lucy said.
“I mean there’s no time to spare. I hate myself for not understanding my own nature sooner. If only I’d—”
“The most common regret in the world,” Fleur cut him short. Entertaining negative thoughts could only weaken him. She decided to give him a push forward. “How do we do this?”
“First we need the pentagram . . .” He paused, looking over at Nathalie, who stood leaning against her shovel. She motioned with a wave of her hand at a precise five-pointed star at the center of a perfect circle. The exposed earth held a faint shimmer. A collective gasp rose up from the group. Everyone, other than Nathalie, understood that she had charged it with the power of intent. Fleur had expected it would take the combined focus and powers of all present to complete that task.
“This okay?” Nathalie said, looking down at her work. “I could—”
“No,” Daniel jumped in. He, too, stared at the earth, his eyes wide with surprise. “You did fine.” He pulled a face at Fleur.
Fleur studied the unassuming woman. How could a light this bright have ridden in on such a dark horse? It seemed almost as if Nathalie had reserved whatever power she held for this very moment. Fleur had been unconvinced by Daniel’s theory, but maybe there was something to this gravity of rightful destiny after all. “And next?” She addressed Daniel without taking her eyes off Nathalie.
“We position our girl in the pentagram. Head to upper point, limbs toward the other four.” The Twins grasped Alice by the feet and shoulders and began to guide her toward the pentagram. “Easy, easy,” Daniel called out, though the pair appeared to be taking the utmost care of Alice’s empty form. “Wait,” he said and motioned to Nathalie. “Better if you take her the rest of the way. No one else should cross into the circle.”
Nathalie first seemed surprised, then nervous, but she approached Alice and touched her wrist. A glow, an actual luminescence, came to Nathalie’s face.
New love, Fleur thought, meet magic.
Nathalie released Alice and pulled back, clearly shocked at the energy flowing through her, but Alice’s dormant body followed her anyway, tugged along by the tangible strand of light linking them.
Daniel turned to Fleur, beaming with delight. “This is going to work,” he said, as if before he’d given the working no more than an outside chance. “Go ahead,” Daniel addressed Nathalie. “Step into the circle. She’ll join you.” Nathalie hesitated, her eyes full of uncertainty. “Yes, yes,” Daniel said. “Go on.” His enthusiasm carried Nathalie over the threshold and into the circle, and Alice floated to her side. As if on instinct, Nathalie knelt and Alice lowered to the ground before her. An aurora rose up around them—rose and gold—and then it turned into a white glow that descended and seeped into the star. The energy reached up and shifted Alice’s arms and legs so that they were in alignment with the pentagram’s points.
Daniel snatched up the crystals he’d brought along. At the edge of the boundary, above Alice’s head, he placed a slab of agate. Fleur remembered the stone’s correspondences: mental health, memory. He handed a stone to Nathalie. “Here, place this over her third eye.” When Nathalie looked up at him in confusion, he added, “On the center of her forehead.” The stone was an enormous diamond, no doubt intended to aid travel through the astral. Nathalie positioned the stone.
“That’s the real Silverbell Coven diamond,” Lucy said, pointing at the stone.
“Indeed, it is,” Daniel said. “They traded it to Nicholas. I’m not sure for what, but it must’ve been something big. Doesn’t matter now, though.” He scooted around the edge of the circle and placed two blue stones, lapis, Fleur decided, outside the circle, one at the point of each hand. Fleur was growing concerned. Lapis could be used to assist with trance work, but this stone, like the agate, was usually used to treat brain disorders. Did Daniel expect Alice’s return trip to the common world a risk to her sanity, or did he fear that she might already be too far gone?
He placed sharp pieces of obsidian at each of Alice’s feet. The shiny irregular black stones would serve to ground her, and to draw out and capture any negative forces that might hitchhike along with her.
Daniel stepped back and stood akimbo, examining his work. “Good. Good,” he repeated himself. His eyes fell to the ground, and he crossed to where the athame lay. He picked the knife up and tapped the tip of its blade against each of the drawings in the open book—the Queen of Heaven on one page, the King of Bones and Ashes on the facing. He tilted the blade, examining the unwholesome glow that now shone from its sharp point. Fleur’s mind insisted that it was the blade itself glowing, but her intuition told her that the blade had instead become an insatiable devourer of light. The glow like the event horizon of a black hole. She fought the urge to take it away from him. To destroy it before he could put it to its intended use.
“What exactly do you plan to do with that?” Fleur finally asked. Daniel seemed surprised by her concern.
“What do you think I’d use it for?”
“I’m beyond guessing games.”
“To protect Alice, Hugo, and myself.” He traced the blade across his palm, creating a gash. A bright and beautiful white light shone from the wound. Fleur’s ears picked up whispers in a language she was sure no one still living spoke, though somehow she understood every utterance. The blade, she realized, was rejoicing. “I’ve modified this old bit of scrap metal based on the formula presented in The Lesser Key. Now it can be used to destroy an entity conjured using the book. If the need arises, I can use it to remove Babau Jean.” He closed his hand. When he opened it, the wound had disappeared.
“Or he can use it to ‘remove’ you,” Lucy said.
“I shan’t let him get his sharp claws on it,” Daniel responded, then stuck his tongue out at Lucy and blew a raspberry. “Don’t worry, love, I’m tougher than any of you would guess.” He shifted his focus back to Fleur and winked at her. “Any of you.” Only then did Fleur realize how deep her concern for him ran.
“Hugo?” he called.
Hugo laboriously pushed up from the ground and made his teetering way to Daniel’s side. He took Daniel’s hand.
“Like we discussed?” Daniel asked. Hugo mumbled a response that Daniel seemed to take as an affirmative. “Be patient,” he addressed Fleur once more. “This may take a while.” He led Hugo to the pentagram, then knelt at the circle’s edge, tugging Hugo’s arm as a signal to join him. Hugo, addled, gazed down at him for a moment before sinking to his knees. Daniel nodded to the Twins, who’d drawn close to the pentagram. They began singing, a wordless melody that struck Fleur as the antithesis of the athame’s chant.
“I’m coming for you, my little one,” Daniel said, then drove the blade into the soil. An electric current shot out, running along the exposed earth like a track, then shooting up and connecting the stones Daniel had placed in and around the design.
A throbbing like a drum or a wild heart sounded around them. An excruciating, high-pitched whine caused Fleur to throw her hands over her ears. The Lesser Key burst into flame, the images of the Queen and King curling up and blackening in unison. A spark shot from the burning grimoire and struck Eli. He rocked back and forth, placing his hand over his forehead and weaving from side to side. For a moment it seemed he, too, would topple to the ground, but he righted himself. A deep rumble shook the earth, and Nathalie was flung from the circle.
A flash of blinding light swallowed the circle whole. Fleur, her eyes dazzled, turned away from it.
A scream, Alice’s scream—wild and tortured—rose up out of the circle. Fleur
turned back to the now dark pentagram. She tried to approach the design, but her feet felt as if they’d been turned to stone.
“He isn’t breathing,” Lucy cried. Fleur turned to see her daughter kneeling at Hugo’s side. Lucy began compressions and then leaned over, pinching his nose and blowing into his mouth. She positioned her palm over his sternum, about to press down again, when Nathalie scrambled over to them.
“Move,” Nathalie commanded. She shoved Lucy aside, raised her own fist, crackling bright with electricity, and brought it down against Hugo’s heart. She raised her fist again to repeat the gesture, but Hugo rose up gasping.
A cry drew Fleur’s attention to the Twins, who still stood at the edge of the pentagram. Eli knelt beside them, reaching in toward Alice. Alice was crawling, struggling to escape the pentagram as the earth behind her began to crumble and fall into a growing chasm. A dark figure rose up from the earth. A brief shimmer caused Fleur to perceive the form as a beautiful young woman, but the illusion was short-lived. The creature crawling up from the depths was no woman. It was a demon that shrieked as it clawed at Alice’s ankles, attempting to pull her back down into the darkness.
“Take my hand,” Eli called. Alice lurched forward, but her reach fell short. The demon caught her foot.
Fleur flung herself toward the circle, but she, too, fell short. A flash of movement passed before her. It was Nathalie.
Nathalie rushed into the pentagram, earth crumbling beneath her feet, and caught Alice by the shoulders, lifting her, but the demon would not be denied. It tightened its grip on Alice, even as Nathalie fought to pull her from the disintegrating circle.
With a loud cry, Nathalie pulled with all her might, landing herself outside of the circle. She’d managed to pull most of Alice past the boundary, but the demon still clutched her ankle in one claw, shrieking and tugging her.
“Oh, hell,” Nathalie growled. “A little help here.” Fleur scrambled to her side and caught hold of Alice’s calf, even as the Twins aimed their combined powers at the demon’s claw. Its grasp was weakening, weakening. As Alice’s ankle crossed the edge of the circle, the demon’s claw burst into flame.
If all the hatred and rage in the world could be condensed to a single sound, it was the cry that met Fleur’s ears as the demon fell back into the void. The next moment, the yawning cavern disappeared, the pentagram and its bounding circle erased. The earth had returned to the state it had been in upon their arrival.
Lucy ran to her side and, falling down to her knees, threw her arms around Fleur’s neck.
Fleur caressed Lucy’s forearm, but her attention was fixed on Alice and Nathalie. Nathalie remained tense and ready for a fight, her arms still hooked beneath Alice’s. Their eyes were locked.
Lucy released her and stood, making a full turn. “Guys,” she said, “where’s Daniel?” She cupped her hands around her mouth, calling out “Daniel,” stretching the name out. “Daniel.” This time the name came out short and sharp, edged with a growing panic.
Fleur pushed up to her feet and began scanning the area, her eyes locking on the tree against which they’d rested Daniel’s portrait. She caught hold of Lucy’s arm. Before the tree lay a pile of smoldering embers. The painting had been destroyed.
TWENTY
Lisette couldn’t even bring herself to speak, so no way she’d be able to eat. It was the middle of the damned night, but Isadore needed his dinner, and she needed something to keep her from killing five-dollar-coffee boy.
Lisette glared at Michael and made a point of not looking at Manon, both sitting across from Isadore at the kitchen table. The three of them sat in utter silence, casting questioning glances at each other every odd minute or so.
Lisette had plenty to say, but she couldn’t find the words. That didn’t stop her from letting them know how she felt. Her sharpest, most impressive knife in hand, she’d already sacrificed an onion to her anger, and was in the process of disemboweling a pair of bell peppers when the boy piped up.
“Can I help you with any of that?” Michael asked. Lisette lifted the knife and slammed its sharp edge down on the cutting board in response.
“Mama,” Manon said, using her name in an attempt to chastise her.
Her daughter’s disapproving tone loosened Lisette’s tongue. “Don’t you ‘Mama’ me.” She wagged the knife at Manon.
“He was only offering to help.”
“Oh, I think he’s helped enough already.” The rice had come to boil, and so had Lisette. Snapping and popping came from behind her as water bubbled up over the edge of the pot. Lisette turned back to the stove and lowered the heat. She assaulted the pot with its own lid. Her eyes landed on the colander of shrimp in the sink, so she grabbed it and the deveining knife and crossed to the table. She slammed the colander down before Michael hard enough that a couple of shrimp jumped out and landed beside the strainer. Tilting her head, she squinted down at him in challenge. His eyes fell to the table, and he reached out to capture the wayward shrimp and return them to the sieve.
Before she could make it back to the stove, Michael started up again. “So, what’s up with this Doll House thing?” Not one for silence, this fellow. A smarter man would know to keep his mouth shut until spoken to.
Isadore shook his head and rubbed his hand over his tired face. He shrugged. “Took me an hour to convince the cops I didn’t know a thing about that Demagnan guy. And it took me another two hours to convince the reporters. Seems some folk don’t really believe in coincidence.”
“You do have to admit it’s odd,” Michael dared. Lisette knew what he was doing, all right. Keep them focused on the damage done to their business, and maybe they’d get used to the idea of him and Manon, skip right over the damage he’d done to their family. “It’s crazy, isn’t it? That all your trucks would be like ninja stealth vandalized at once, and one of them would crash through the gates of a psycho funeral director.” Did he really think anything, even spontaneously shattering glass or murderous morticians, was going to make things go easier for him?
Manon placed a cautioning hand on Michael’s forearm. He ignored it and charged on. “I mean, what happened with your trucks anyway?”
“Damned if I know,” Isadore said, seeming to take the boy’s bait. “The windows in every single one of them shattered at the same time.” Isadore looked back at her. “Two of my guys blamed what happened to their truck on some crazy redheaded woman who picked a fight with them in the middle of the street, but nobody else had anything weird happen today, until . . .” He held up his hands. “Boom. Crack. Crash. Todd jerked the wheel and went through that freak’s fence. And he wasn’t even the worst wreck we had. Santos and Antoine were coming down Alvar Street and went off the road. They rolled over twice.”
Lisette’s heart skipped. This bit was news even to her.
“Are they okay?” Manon said. Santos was her favorite. He used to sneak her and Remy sweets when they were little.
“Santos is fine. That one has an angel looking out for him.”
“And Antoine?” Lisette pressed him.
“Antoine got banged up pretty good. They’re keeping him overnight at Tulane, but they say he’s gonna be okay. They wouldn’t let me in to see him. Too late and not blood. But I had to try. I had to check on him.”
“Of course you did,” Lisette said. “Antoine’s as good as family.”
“What do the police think?” Michael steered them in the direction he preferred, which—surprise, surprise—was away from family.
“Hell, nobody knows what to think. They asked if I had any enemies, and if I had any idea how these theoretical villains managed to pull it off. They’re checking into the redhead story, but they seem to think one of my guys is a mad scientist with a grudge. Or maybe a magician.” Isadore studied her with tired eyes. There was something rolling around in his head that he wasn’t sure should make it to his tongue. “Demagnan,” he said, diving in. “Wasn’t that the name of the funeral home that buried Fleur Marin’s fat
her?”
“I wouldn’t know,” she said, her words coming out sharp and fast. “It was you and Daddy who attended the service.” Truth was, she didn’t know, but she understood the connection he was making. Lisette’s daddy was probably sleeping it off somewhere right now, or he’d have already come knocking. She felt bad for snapping at Isadore. His question was his way of warning her of what would happen when her father caught wind of this.
It was a sure thing her daddy would consider the strange event proof positive that associating with the Marins was as dangerous as ever. Lisette hated to think her father might be right, but, well, even Isadore was creeping up on the same assumption her father was gonna jump to. Some folk really didn’t believe in coincidence.
“Then there is a connection between you and Demagnan—a tenuous one, maybe, but still,” Michael said, sounding like he’d just won fifty dollars from a buck scratch ticket.
Lisette was done with his shepherding them around the elephant in the room. She pinned her husband with her gaze. “What are we going to do about”—she waved her hand in the kids’ direction without looking at them—“this.”
Isadore was far too calm about this mess. He looked up at her and raised both hands palms up, shaking his head. “I don’t think there is anything for us to do about this,” he said, choosing the wrong damned time to sound reasonable, “other than maybe welcome Michael to the family.”
Lisette stood there in a white-hot silence, staring him down. Of course they’d welcome the boy to the family. After she got good and ready to. Right now, she wasn’t even in ready’s neighborhood. Those two had made a fool out of her for years. Well, okay, maybe she’d made a fool out of herself, but they’d knowingly let her do it.