Michael didn’t want to believe that what Summer felt for either of them was influenced by anything but her own emotions, but the similarities between the memory and their situation could not be ignored.
“Why would she try to relive her mother’s life with us?”
“I have no idea, but there’s something else you need to know,” Troy said. “On the way here we argued about this little triangle she has going with the two of us. She told me the strange things that have happened when she was with each of us meant that the three of us are supposed to be lovers. As in the three of us having sex together.”
Michael recalled the dream he’d had of making love to Summer with Troy.
“So it is possible she is trying to recreate her mother’s ménage à trois. Perhaps even unconsciously.”
“Her maman’s lovers certainly looked a lot like us.” Troy’s attention was drawn back to Summer’s face as her eyelids fluttered. “Hey, pretty lady. How’s the head?”
“I’m fine,” she said curtly. She sat up and climbed over Troy to get off the bed, and then turned and faced them with her hands planted on her hips. “I also heard everything you just said. Do you always talk about me like I’m a deluded nutcase while I’m unconscious?”
“Sometimes,” Michael said before Troy could answer. “But mostly we wait until we are out of the room, or you are.”
She made an exasperated sound and threw up her arms.
“I’m not crazy. I’m also not trying to be my mother. I can’t remember my mother.”
“You were doing an excellent job of it a few minutes ago,” Troy said. “And any time you want to remember her again like that I’d be happy to go along for the ride.”
“Stop kidding around.” Summer began to pace. “There is no way I watched my mother have sex with two guys. In case you didn’t notice, there was no one else in the room but them. I wasn’t there.”
“She’s right,” Michael said. “And I sensed that her mother was mortal, didn’t you?”
When Troy nodded and heaved a sigh, Summer glared at them.
“What does that have to do with it?”
“Your mother was Wiccan, Summer,” he told her. “If she was still human, then she couldn’t have conceived you yet. To do that, she would first have to be initiated by her lover, or lovers, as the case may be.”
Her anger faded as she digested this.
“So how could I possibly remember something that happened before I was even born?”
“I don’t think you did,” Troy said slowly. “I think what we saw are your mother’s memories.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“BLOODY USELESS THING.”
Gideon Edmunds climbed out of the battered florist’s van and stalked around to the front where a white, oily smoke gently wafted out of the grill. The van that he had appropriated for himself back in New York City had turned into a dragon on him at some point during his journey, and slowed from a steady speed to a slow crawl before it had belched and shuddered and coasted to a stop.
It seemed to Gideon that it was also a female dragon, for it had died on him, as nearly all females were wont to do. One would expect more from an immortal reptile, but there was nothing to be done about it now. He should skin it and wear the hide as a trophy, but there didn’t seem to be flesh to the damned thing. Before dying it must have enchanted itself to appear as nothing more than an empty vehicle.
He kicked one of the front tires with his boot. This new problem annoyed him almost as much as forgetting the words to all the cheerful ditties he had been singing along his latest crusade. He was also weary of driving himself.
“Am I not an immortal knight?” he shouted at the heavens. “Do I not deserve a chauffeur at the very least? How am I to focus on my quest if I am trudging about like a fucking serf?”
Snowflakes drifted down to land on his face, but curiously the frigid heavens themselves did not reply. The Almighty must be mightily preoccupied with how to smite Gideon’s countless enemies, or properly reward him for his suffering.
What Gideon really needed was a mortal to serve him again. They were all very good at driving, and could be quite handy for other middling chores. He considered walking back to New York City to find Augustin Colbert, who had been tolerably acceptable as a servant, except that he couldn’t remember whether or not he had killed Augustin. Also, it was too far away now.
He was in New Hampshire, according to the sign he had passed some miles back. Welcome - Bienvenue to New Hampshire “Live Free or Die” it had read. At the time he’d thought that a particularly touching sentiment, but now it seemed like a false promise, or perhaps even a threat. Did these New Hampshiremen truly intend to kill anyone who did not live according to their directive? He did not fear mortals, but they could prove quite bothersome. Perhaps as a cautionary measure he should just kill every human who crossed his path. After sitting and driving for hours he could certainly stand the exercise.
A moment came over him, breaking through the endless dance of his thoughts like a pail of cold water, and Gideon leaned against the van. The madness receded and rational thought returned to him. He had to find the green witch, and force her to take him to the Emerald Tablet, or he would be trapped in the prison of his own insanity for the rest of eternity, or until one of his Templar brothers caught up with him.
Headlights appeared, and grew larger as a big car approached and then slowed to a stop beside the florist’s van. Gideon squinted in the glare at the thick-bodied man behind the wheel of the old Cadillac. He had the usual idiot expression every mortal seemed to wear as he studied the van and then peered back at Gideon, but at least he had a functioning vehicle. Gideon walked over to the driver’s window and tapped politely on it.
“Good of you to stop,” he said when the window rolled down.
“Gotta watch out for each other on the road.” The human grinned, showing very white teeth. “Need a jump?”
He would have to be crafty now, so that he didn’t end up driving again, and this time with mortal brains splattered all about him.
“Actually a ride to the next town would be most helpful, sir.”
The human nodded. “Sure, hop in.”
As he went around to the passenger door Gideon wondered why the man was so obsessed with jumping and hopping. Was he a rabbit, disguised as a man, or a warlock, hinting at some sort of evil enchantment he intended to inflict? Since rabbits could not speak it was likely the latter. Warlocks were too damn much trouble to train as proper servants, too.
Stop thinking of such things. Focus on your purpose. You must find the witch.
“Good thing I stopped,” the human said. “Not a lot of traffic this time of night. I’m Nick, by the way. What’s your name?”
Gideon thought of the Templar who had led the conspiracy against him. “Michael.”
Nick grunted his approval. “I gotta a cousin in Newark named Mike. You try calling anyone to come and get you, Mike?”
“I don’t have a phone with me,” Gideon said. He could smell something foul coming from the back of the vehicle, which at first he attributed to his madness. Unfortunately focusing didn’t make it go away, so he began breathing through his mouth. “Is anyone expecting you in town?”
“Nah. I’m from Jersey. Had to drive up here to take care of some business.” Nick eyed him. “You got people up here?”
“All my people died a long time ago.” He rubbed his nose. Why should he tolerate such a stench? Was he not the Almighty’s most beloved warrior? “What is that smell?”
“Oh, I hit a raccoon coming out of Boston. Huge fucker.” Nick flashed his too-white teeth again. “Got all mashed up in the wheel well. Guess there’s still some shreds hanging on. I’ll have to scrub her down good before I head home.”
The smell was coming from something dead, but it had to be much larger than a raccoon. Still, to be polite Gideon nodded, and to distract himself from thoughts of using the gun in his pocket to blow Nick’s brains all over the wind
shield he began humming the tune of one of his happy songs under his breath. The happy songs kept him calm, and humans alive.
Nick began to hum right along, and toward the end even sang some of the words.
“All I can remember from that one is ‘Head, shoulders, knees and toes,’” he told him. “Sang the shit out of that one back when I was a kid. So you’re a florist, right?”
“Yes,” Gideon lied. “I love flowers, don’t you?”
The mortal stopped smiling. “Do I look like a pussy to you, Mike?”
Gideon studied him. “No, but you could be wearing a disguise. What’s wrong with flowers?”
“Nothing, if you’re a chick, or a fruitcake.” Nick slowed and pulled off the road, putting the car in park and turning off the engine before he turned to face him. “You a pansy, Mike? You get in my car thinking we got a possible love connection going here?” He grabbed his crotch and fondled it. “You thinking about sucking on this, you fruitcake?”
Gideon frowned at him. “You’re really very confused, aren’t you? Even more so than I am. That’s rather incredible, under the circumstances.”
“Yeah?” Nick produced a small, snub-nosed gun and pointed it at Gideon. “Let’s see if you understand me now. You’re going to grab the shovel out of the back seat, you pansy, and walk out in the woods over there, and dig me a grave. A nice, deep, unmarked grave. If you do a good job, I might not even put you in it. Now get out of the car.”
The mortal was a killer, Gideon thought with the last of his reasoning. When it faded away behind his madness, joy flooded him.
Oh, we’re going to have so much fun now.
Gideon beamed as he opened the door and climbed out, and would have burst into song if only he could have remembered one. He had to settle instead for humming something bright and happy under his breath as he came around to the driver’s side, and took a bullet in his chest when Nick got out and fired at him, and then another before he could wrest the weapon out of his pudgy little hand.
As Nick scrambled backward, Gideon glanced down at the holes in his shirt.
“That wasn’t very nice.”
He shot Nick in one kneecap and watched him drop, swearing and rolling and clutching his wounded leg, before Gideon reached inside and removed the keys from the ignition. He used the lock fob to pop open the trunk, and then went back to survey the source of the smell.
“Oh, dear.” He lifted the edge of a very bloody sheet to have a better look at the pile of body parts. “Blind me, how did you get it into so many little pieces? Not with an axe, surely. These cuts are too neat.”
Nick answered him with a sobbing screech of rage.
Gideon searched around until he found the little gas-powered chain saw, and grinned as he pulled it out of the trunk.
“Well, Nick, I’m quite impressed. What a shame you’re not a Templar. I think we might have been the very best of friends.”
He shook off some of the blood and gore still sticking to the chains before he went to stand over the writhing mortal and pulled the chainsaw’s starter cord.
“So where did you begin with your victim, exactly?” Gideon had to shout for the mortal to hear him over the whining buzz of the tool. “Head, shoulders, knees or toes?”
#
Just before dawn Erica Buchanan finished brewing her calming valerian tea, and brought it with her out into the divination garden. Since she had planted the lavender borders the rest of the coven recognized it as her private spot and stayed out of it. It was the only place on the mountain where she could be sure to be left alone with her thoughts.
The mugwort and yarrow were growing well. The rising sun cast its first rays over the neat circular beds, and gilded the spiky leaves and clusters of tiny golden flowers. She would soon need to prune the star anise trees, which were growing overly woody. Then she would trim the basil sprigs growing in the pots she had placed against the back wall. Basil was a snobbish herb that refused to grow indoors or next to any other plant. Her coriander and dill, on the other hand, seemed drawn to each other, twining in delicate green embraces wherever their broad and feathery leaves grew close. A ghostly patch of white sage had begun creeping over the stone borders of its bed toward the rue, but it would not choke the life out of rue’s bluish leaves. Even in the garden there were lovers.
Sometimes her coven reminded her of herbs. Abel was definitely coriander, strong and peppery, an herb of Mars, either loved or hated, and never simply liked. Aileen was the embodiment of lavender, sweet and pure, a flower of Mercury, comforting and soothing. Both were filled with love and yet struggled with it, thanks to her.
Because I am basil. Erica sat back and closed her eyes. I am just as stubborn and lofty, refusing to share myself with Abel or Aileen or anyone.
Like the basil in the garden she might forever be alone, but she would serve the same purpose as the strong, fierce herb. She would protect her people, and exorcize the evil dwelling within the coven. Just as soon as she could calm herself, and accept that one of those evil bastards now slept under the same roof, and would be sharing their table, and looking upon her with his damned eyes. And she would not scream and throw things at him, for he could not have the same eyes as that monster, those dark, flat, lifeless eyes that had so avidly watched hers as he inflicted his brutalities on her, over and over and over, until she had begged him to kill her.
“May I join you?”
Erica opened her eyes and sat up to see Summer standing on the other side of the lavender border.
“Is anything wrong?” Erica asked. She began to rise. “I should start making the morning meal–”
“There’s no need yet, High Priestess.” The younger woman’s voice was as soft and serene as her gaze. “Everyone is still asleep.”
Erica wanted to resent the intrusion. She wanted to hate Summer, and shout at her to leave the mountain, and take that brute with her. All Summer had done since she’d first come to Silver Wood was cause trouble and turmoil. Erica wanted her peaceful, uneventful life back, so she could go on pretending it was just as real as every other Wiccan’s. But Erica knew it wasn’t the young witch’s fault. She’d done nothing but try to help.
“Please,” Erica said, nodding to the bench next to her. “Come and sit.”
“This is a lovely spot,” Summer said as she took a seat, and looked around at the lush, thriving beds. “It looks a bit like a compass.”
“It’s how one plants a divination garden.” Erica noted the shadows under the other woman’s eyes. “You look tired. You should go back to sleep for a few more hours.”
“I couldn’t. I had another vision last night, of my mother with two men.” She grimaced, and her voice was strained. “It was something that happened before I was born, so Troy thinks I may have my mother’s memories.” She spread her hands out in a helpless gesture. “How is that even possible?”
“There are spells that can transfer thoughts from one person to another,” Erica said. “Coven leaders sometimes use them to teach their apprentices practices which cannot be spoken or written down.”
Summer nodded, seemed as though she would say something, but paused. Finally she plunged on.
“Would her memories influence me in any way?” Her opal eyes searched Erica’s. “For instance, would I do the same thing I remember her doing?”
Erica thought for a moment, and then shook her head.
“Memories have power only over the emotions. They might influence your mood, make you sad or happy, but they can’t control you or force you to do things, if that’s what you mean.”
“Thank you,” Summer breathed, closing her eyes for a moment. “That’s a relief to know.” She was a moment before she opened her eyes again. “Did Troy talk to you and Abel about what we learned in New York?”
Erica nodded. “Abel intends to relocate the gathering so the Templars cannot find us. I imagine Troy will handle determining who among the coven is passing information to them.” She paused. “For some time now I ha
ve felt the presence of evil within the coven. Yet no matter how often I scry, I cannot see who it is that betrays us.”
“I’m beginning to learn there aren’t any easy answers,” Summer said. “You can’t blame yourself. Whoever has been passing information has obviously been doing it for years. They’ve learned how to conceal their treachery from everyone. When it involves something terrible, I think people become very good at hiding what they’ve done. You have to see the evidence of it in other things.”
Erica frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t just dislike Templars, you hate them,” Summer said calmly. “You despise them. When you looked at Michael last night, I saw that in your eyes, and heard it in your voice. Even now, when I say his name, you’re digging your fingernails into your skin.”
Erica glanced down and saw the oval ends of her nails about to cut through the skin of her palms. She immediately relaxed her hands.
“The Templars have been our enemies for centuries, my dear. My reaction is the same as any Wiccan would have.”
“You mean any Wiccan woman who had been raped and tortured by a Templar,” Summer said gently.
Erica didn’t realize she had slapped the younger woman until she felt the sting of it on her palm, the sound still ringing in her ears. Horrified, she shoved herself to her feet and stumbled away. Without warning, hot tears began to fall. She wiped furiously at them, unable to make them stop. A sob welled up from somewhere deep inside, and escaped before her hands could clamp over her mouth.
Before Erica knew what was happening, Summer’s arms gently wound around her. Without thinking Erica slumped against her, weeping uncontrollably on her shoulder.
“It’s all right,” the younger woman murmured, holding her.
They stayed like that for minutes as Erica struggled for control. A part of her life she thought she’d put behind her hovered closer than she’d thought. As her crying stilled, Summer led her back to the bench. They sat in silence, Summer not demanding to know anything, not doing anything but being there with her.
United (Book Three of the Silver Wood Coven Series): A Witch and Warlock Romance Novel Page 4