"You've ruined everything. Everything!” the woman with the cane shouted. Kate couldn't see her from her hiding place. “You just couldn't keep your dick in your pants, could you? That's how you ended up in this mess to begin with."
Kate could see Paul, and she never wanted the cold, angry look on his face directed at her. “You're just jealous I wouldn't take it out for you."
The young man came out of his chair. “Stop it, both of you. Just stop it!"
"You stay out of this,” Paul said, at the same moment the woman with the cane said, “You've no right to speak to me that way."
The kid pushed Paul toward a chair. “Sit down.” He pointed out of Kate's line of sight. “And you sit down before you fall down, for Goddess’ sake."
Goddess? Witches they must be, but Kate thought that only women were witches.
The woman with the cane hobbled into view and sat down in a chair beside the one Paul still refused to take. “He's right, Paul. Sit down. We'll find an answer to all this."
When she spoke, Kate saw the paper-thin skin of her face shift over the planes and angles of her skull. Whoever she was, she was losing to an illness. She wore a scarf tied around the top of her head, and Kate saw no wisps of hair escaping from under the silk. Chemotherapy, she guessed. Cancer.
Paul still refused to leave his feet. “You said you had another way,” he said to the kid. “You told me you'd figured something out."
"What?” Now the woman came out of her chair and the kid took two steps back, his hands up defensively.
"I didn't tell you,” he said to the woman, “because you don't think rationally about Paul."
Kate saw the outrage explode across the woman's ravaged face.
"It's true, Laurie. I'm sorry, but it's true.” The kid crossed his arms and planted his feet. “Neither of you think rationally about this."
Laurie. It was the name for a carefree girl, someone with braids and gingham dresses. It didn't fit the woman in the kitchen, so obviously stalked by death.
"I don't think rationally? Well pardon me,” Paul said, his voice thick with sarcasm. “After a hundred years it gets harder to keep one's eye on the ball.” He plunked into the chair.
A hundred years?
"Tell her your other way, Vern."
Vern? Laurie and Vern? Those were witches names? She'd expected something more mysterious and grand: Rhiannon and Cuthbert. No wonder Sander didn't take them seriously.
"Yes, tell us this other way,” Laurie said, an edge in her voice that could scar diamonds.
Vern had his back to Kate. She saw his shoulders rise as he took a deep breath. “I don't know if it would work now. We've lost any element of surprise. He's going to be expecting something."
"Vern.” Laurie's tone mixed warning and command.
Vern obeyed. “You took the wrong track, the last time. With Gloria."
Kate's head began to spin with data overload. Who was Gloria?
"You tried to use your power against Sander,” Vern said to Laurie. “Sander is stronger than all of us combined."
"We know that,” Laurie snapped, clearly not happy to be reminded of it.
"You were right in the idea of disrupting the ritual,” Vern said.
Ritual?
"But we'll never match Sander's power. So we should use his own power against him."
Kate saw Laurie's face go from angry to thoughtful. She blinked rapidly, three times, and then her eyes drifted into a thousand yard stare. “His own power against him..."
"How?” Paul asked.
Vern shrugged. “There's a way we could set a person up like a battery waiting to be charged. All Sander would have to do is touch them. Touch them, and not kill them."
"Yes...” Laurie whispered. “Yes, I see.” A smile broke across her face. She seemed delighted by the idea and proud of Vern for thinking it.
"But who would be your magic battery person?” Paul asked, and Kate could see the fear and anger in his face.
"Well, I thought me,” Vern said.
"No,” Laurie said instantly.
Vern nodded. “It can't be me now. Sander would sense my magic immediately. He'd never let me get close. He'd assume I was a threat."
"No,” Laurie said again. “You can't risk yourself like that."
Whoever the kid was, he was important to Laurie.
Vern turned his back on Paul and Laurie and his face towards the bay window. Kate froze, trying to sink into herself. Vern ran his hand through his scraggly hair, eyes rolling around as he seemed to search for words. His eyes rolled around until they found Kate's peering in the corner of the window.
Shit! Kate didn't dare to breathe.
Vern's eyebrows climbed up into his badly cut bangs.
Kate put a finger to her lips, shook her head ever so slightly.
Vern made an ah-ha face. Very distinctly he said, “I can think of one person who could pull it off now. Only one person."
The kitchen went silent.
The realization sliced into Kate like lightning. He means me. Holy shit, he means me!
It must have shown on her face, because Vern nodded before he turned back to face Paul. “Sander will never expect it of your Kate."
"No way!” Paul exploded out of his chair. Vern took a hopping step back. Even Kate jerked away from the window pane. “Absolutely not. Never. Never! Sander already wants to kill her. He wants to kill her to break me!"
"All the more reason he'll let her into the ritual,” Laurie said softly. She looked up at Vern admiringly. “It's perfect. It's brilliant."
"It's not going to happen!” Paul paced the kitchen, back and forth out of Kate's view. “I won't let her be risked like this. I won't put her in danger, and I won't let you do it either."
Kate prickled. If there was a way she could rescue Paul from whatever it was, she'd do it. The choice was hers, not Paul's.
"You stay away from Kate.” Paul pointed at Vern, then at Laurie. “You definitely stay away from her. You'd probably get her killed out of spite."
Laurie gasped in outrage.
"Just stay away from her, both of you!"
He moved out of Kate's line of sight.
"Where are you going?” Laurie demanded, rising from her chair and leaning heavily on her cane.
"I'm leaving. I'm never coming back."
"Paul, wait! What are you going to do?"
If he answered, Kate didn't hear it through the window glass. She did hear the front door slam, and then, a moment later, the Mercedes start.
"Vern, go after him,” Laurie urged, grasping his wrist.
"No need.” Vern turned around, bringing Laurie with him.
Kate stood up from her crouch, gave a little wave through the window. “Hi,” she said to the staring, slack-jawed Laurie. “I'm Kate."
* * * *
The witches did not welcome Kate into the bright, airy kitchen to talk. Instead, they led her into the finished basement that seemed to serve as an office. An office with pentagrams. Neither Laurie nor Vern had spoken to her on the way down. If they were trying to intimidate, they were doing a good job.
Laurie flicked her hand at an armless task chair on casters. Kate sat. Laurie took the position of power behind a massive oak desk. Vern stayed on his feet. Kate felt waves of anxiety washing from him, preferable to the waves of hostility radiating from Laurie.
"So.” Laurie dropped the word like a bomb. “How much didn't he tell you before he..."
"Laurie,” Vern said softly. The mild tone didn't mitigate the criticism, though, and Laurie's face flushed bright red. “We need her for the spell."
"He can rot like that for another hundred years for all I care,” Laurie said between clenched teeth, and shot Kate a glare that set her teeth on edge.
"I care,” Kate said. “And since you need me for your spell,” how ridiculous even to say that word out loud, “I believe that someone should do me the favor of explaining what the hell is going on."
"You see, he didn't t
ell her anything,” Laurie said to Vern. “He just picked her up and used her."
Kate came out of her seat. “He did not."
Laurie stood just as quickly. “Oh, please. You're as clueless as a snowdrop."
"And you're about as friendly as a Venus Fly Trap."
"Why should I be friendly to you? Poor little girl, out of her depth, no idea what she's stepped into."
Kate leaned across the old oak desk. “I don't know what your problem is with me, or with Paul, but I'm going to save him."
Laurie smirked. “You, save someone?"
The inside of Kate's head reverberated with the shot of Ellie's gun, and she slammed her fists down against the desk's hard surface.
Laurie jerked back, leaning heavily on her cane for balance.
"Ladies!” Vern appeared at the side of the desk. He put one hand over Kate's, and took Laurie's hand with the other. “We really don't have time for this."
Laurie's gaze wavered, then her eyes dropped. “You're right. We don't."
Kate flickered her glare from Laurie to Vern. “We don't?"
Vern gently guided Kate away from the desk and back to the task chair. “We don't. The ritual is tomorrow night."
Kate lowered herself into the chair. “The ritual. Of course.” She flicked a look at Laurie. Her jealous anger had drained away. Now she looked mortally tired, physically and spiritually. “Um ... what ritual, exactly?"
"Let's begin at the beginning,” Laurie said, her voice flat with resignation. “You will see why I want to hate you, Kate. After that, you can decide to forgive me or not."
Kate felt the anguish of the woman's approaching death. Her own voice came out softer, too. “If you explain what's going on, I'll be grateful."
Laurie acknowledged the graciousness with a tilted brow and faint smile. She opened a desk drawer and pulled out a manila file folder. “Let me tell you a story."
Vern unfolded a metal chair and sat down next to Kate.
"There once was a girl born to a wealthy and well-connected Parisian family. A bit of a rebel, this girl, she insisted on marrying a penniless Irish heretic. She insisted so firmly that she bore him a son, and named him Paul Dumond."
Kate interrupted. “I've heard this story. Her father shipped her to America, but because she was her grandfather's favorite, she lived well. Paul's father didn't."
Laurie took a deep breath. “Paul was born in 1868."
1868. Kate felt her eyebrows rise.
"When Paul was forty-two..."
Kate did the math in her head. 1905.
"—he met a woman at one of his mother's parties. His mother was famous for her parties.” She opened the file folder, extracted a plastic protective sheet, and offered it to Kate.
The news clipping inside it was yellow and cracked, but Kate could make out that it was a gossip column. In bold, a paragraph began La Parisienne Welcomes the Frost on the Pumpkin. There was a blurry black-and-white picture. Even through the decaying image Kate could see that the woman photographed in her peacock-feather hat was Paul's mother. The resemblance was unmistakable. The date on the clipping was October 17, 1905.
"The woman Paul met at his mother's autumn party was named Alina. And her husband's name was Sander. Sander Wald."
Cold fear trickled down Kate's spine. “I met him."
Laurie gave Kate another newspaper clipping protected by a plastic sheet. The headline, bold and assertive, declared Wife of European Noble Takes Own Life. She scanned through the article. ... just married one year ... Cinderella story turned tragic ... husband missing, feared dead, too. There was a picture with this article, too. A tall, stunning woman who seemed to breathe light, even captured in the old newsprint. And in Paul's drawings. Alina Wald was the image of beauty repeated over and over in Paul's studio.
"Paul told me some of this story,” Kate said. She thought of the honey-smeared sky over Mapleton. It seemed so long ago. “He said that Alina had been abused, and she came to Paul for help. He said he failed her. He said she died.” She snapped out of the memory. “Did she really kill herself?"
"She did,” Laurie said. “After Sander discovered her with Paul."
Kate looked at the newspaper clippings. “All this happened in 1905,” she murmured, to remind herself. If she hadn't already spent time in a closet with a demon, it would be hard to believe.
"Women were still bought and sold in Europe at the turn of the century,” Vern said. “Suffrage was years away in America. Women like Alina had little hope then."
"Or now.” The irony tasted like rusty metal in the back of Kate's throat. “It's what I do. Or used to do. Did he tell you?"
Vern shook his head, and Laurie cocked hers to one side curiously.
"I was a victim's advocate. I worked with survivors of rape and domestic violence. Up until yesterday, at any rate. When my client..."
The hair along Kate's arms and around the nape of her neck sprang straight up. The air in the office went still. It was as if Kate could almost hear the far-off ringing of bells, if she strained the limits of her senses.
"What?” Laurie prompted.
"My client committed suicide last night. Right in front of me. I couldn't stop her. I didn't save her."
Hope broke like sunrise across Laurie's ravaged face. “Oh blessed Goddess, the wheel is turning.” She looked at Vern, and the slow grin spreading across his face. “The wheel is turning!"
Kate never expected the news of her professional disaster to be greeted with such delight. “What wheel?"
"This world,” Vern said, “is all about balance. What Sander did messed up the balance of the world."
"I've been waiting most of my life for the scales to tip back,” Laurie said.
"What exactly did Sander do?” Kate asked, knowing that finally this had to be the key.
Still smiling like an idiot, Laurie gave her another newspaper clipping from her folder, a sidebar to the story about Alina's suicide. It was a biography of Sander Wald. Born in 1853 into the Hapsburg Court, the younger son of someone called a landgrave, he was a well-known figure in Europe's esoteric circle.
"What does that mean, esoteric circles?"
"Sander Wald is a ritual magician,” Laurie stated simply.
Kate was still mystified. “Magician. Like, watch me pull a rabbit out of this hat?"
Vern laughed, a short sudden burst of surprise, and Laurie dropped her head into her hands. “Thank you, Goddess, for your mercy in this our time of need."
Vern laughed again, and Kate realized that she had said something very, very stupid.
Vern explained. “Sander Wald was a student of Rasputin, and a secret teacher of Aleister Crowley."
Kate stared at him blankly.
"He was expelled from the Temple of the Darkened Moon in 1899. You've never heard of it?"
Kate shook her head.
"Never mind.” Laurie pulled her head from her hands, rubbing her knuckles over her eyes. “Trust me when I tell you that Sander Wald is a very dangerous and very capable man."
Kate remembered the malicious energy that had poured from Sander. “I believe you."
Laurie picked the story back up. “Paul agreed to meet Alina in his mother's garden folly, on the night of the full moon, when Sander would be busy with his magical workings. The house Paul lives in now is built where the garden folly once was."
Kate sensed the beginning of a pattern, like the weaving of a spider's web.
"Paul only told me this part of the story twice in all the years I've known him, and both times, he was drunk,” Laurie said flatly, “so my details are sketchy. When Alina thought that she'd have no choice but to go back under Sander's power, she slit her own throat. Sander worked a spell over her body, a very unholy, very evil spell.” She paused and looked directly into Kate's eyes. “A curse."
"A curse?"
Disbelief must have shown on Kate's face. A hint of anger showed on Laurie's. “Don't doubt now, Kate. Not after everything I've shown you."
Kate looked down at the newspaper clippings. The woman was dying. Why would she go to the trouble to fabricate such a wild tale as this?
She looked back up at Laurie, then at Vern. Neither of them would make fun of her. “There's a demon in this curse, right? Because I've met it."
Laurie smiled, and Vern let out his breath.
"Sander conjured a demon over Alina's dead body, and melded it somehow with Paul,” Laurie explained. “They share the same space in the universe. Paul exists during the day, with the demon trapped inside him. And Paul is trapped inside the demon every night, while it lives in his place."
A chill shook Kate right down to her bones. It hadn't been Paul touching her last night, trying to communicate, urging her to sleep. It hadn't been Paul who pushed her into the closet, tried to save her from Sander. She'd thought Paul turned into the demon. But the demon was its own thing, not under Paul's control. She'd befriended a demon. The thought chilled her to shivers.
"Sander fashioned the curse so it would go on forever. Every October full moon he has to recast the spell and bind Paul and the demon. Neither one of them will die as long as every year the spell is cast. They aren't vulnerable to disease or regular injury, just violence done one to the other."
"So that's why Sander's here, to...” she floundered for the word.
"Re-bind the three of them together for another year: Paul, Sander, and the demon. Unless...” Laurie looked to Vern.
"Unless someone uses Sander's own magical energy to disrupt the ritual."
"Someone like me."
Vern nodded, and Kate felt the sticky strands of fate tie her up.
Chapter Fifteen
Apparently assured of Kate's help, the witches took her into the kitchen and plied her with tea. Kate felt compassion for Laurie, so obviously close to death, and a shared sense of adventure with Vern after the episode at the window, but she didn't trust either one of them. They hadn't given her the whole story yet.
Cupping her hands around the warm mug and its fragrant contents, Kate leaned against the counter. Laurie sat in the chair nearest the window, directly in the weak sunlight. Vern sat nearby.
Bonds of Darkness Page 16