Legacy & Spellbound

by Nancy Holder

A chill wind whipped suddenly through Holly and the others, cold enough to take her breath away. Then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone. The Goddess has spoken.

  Sasha held out her arms and sent beams of magical energy into the center of the triangle; they filled the space between Holly, Jer, and Philippe, until Holly sensed Jer’s magical essence, and Philippe’s, too, and allowed hers to mingle with theirs. The result was an increased magical presence, much greater than the sum of its parts, and she wondered, Is this what thrall is like? Is it even better? Because this is pretty wonderful.

  As if in answer to her question, Philippe glanced lovingly at Nicole, and she at him, and the moment was so private that Holly began to cry.

  Sasha whispered in her ear, “Someday, Holly, I promise.”

  But Jer overheard her and looked at his mother steadily, offering no such words of encouragement. Holly had not felt so alone since her parents had died on the river … at the hands of a Deveraux.

  Maybe he is his father’s son, she told herself, which was a foolish thing to think, but she knew what she meant: Maybe he was more Michael’s son than Sasha’s, more evil than good.

  “It is done,” Sasha declared, and the energies that crackled in the middle of the triangle dissipated. Holly let her hands fall off of Jer’s and Philippe’s shoulders and she stepped back, shaken.

  “We need to get back to the States,” Nicole proclaimed. “We have so many people to protect.”

  Holly nodded. Then she reached out a hand to Jer.

  But it started to snow, and he took advantage of the curtain of white to pretend that he didn’t see her outstretched hand.

  * * *

  As before, the Mother Coven offered their private jet, but no other support. No soldiers, no weapons, nothing in the battle against evil that was raging in Seattle.

  As soon as they alighted from the plane, the Tri-Covenate was under siege. The weather was horrible— thunder and lightning, incredibly heavy rains that turned the streets to frothing seas, chaotic with an undertow of cars, newspaper kiosks, street signs, and even streetlights. As the waters poured down the hills of Seattle, they began to drag wide-eyed bodies with them, and the corpses of innocent animals caught in the magical onslaught.

  Worse were the fires raging all over the city, which the rain couldn’t dampen. The flames soared into the sky like demonic aurora borealis; the tongues of fire scorched vast skyscrapers and entire city blocks; there was so much devastation that the news stations had stopped taking count, apparently deciding that they might as well wait until it was all done, and the death and devastation would no longer be a moving target but a quantifiable tragedy.

  As Holly and the others tried to grab a cab or even a bus to the Anderson home, they couldn’t believe the throngs of panicked crowds trying to catch flights out of the city. The airport was jammed, and people were so terrified that they put their humanity on hold: They lost their sense of accountability, and forgot that once this was over, they would have to live with their own actions. No one could think that far. No one could think at all.

  “We’re all going to Hell!” a collared priest informed Holly as he pushed past her and the others as they went down an escalator.

  Another man said, “We’re in Hell, brother!”

  Staring at the others, Holly walked through the automatic sliding-glass door and stepped into the storm.

  Wind and rain pulled at her, the air howling like a banshee. She caught at her coat, huddling against the elements as Alonzo struggled to hold his umbrella over her. She thought of her parents’ funeral—how lightning had struck a tree—and she felt a thick, cold loathing for Michael Deveraux that she knew would only be lost upon his death.

  By the Goddess, I will kill him before the next moon, she vowed, her hands clenched.

  And then the loathing grew, and Holly thought she would lose another shred of her humanity, another piece of her soul. She knew it, and she was glad.

  Witches in my position can’t afford the luxury of softness. I have to be hard, so others don’t have to be. Jer’s worried that he’s too dark, too evil to ally himself with me. He doesn’t even know evil, the things I’ve done to protect my people.

  And in that moment, Holly allied herself with the darkness. She felt herself yield to it, go over to it, and there was one last instant of regret.

  I will never know the pleasures of ordinary people again, she realized.

  Jer must have sensed her capitulation. He glanced at her and murmured, “Holly, no.”

  “You could have saved me,” she flung at him.

  Then she turned her back on him and began looking for a taxi.

  They grabbed two minivan cabs, and the drive into Seattle was like a nightmare. People ran in mindless terror. Buildings burned. And the torrents of water washed down the streets and gutters, floodwaters such as God had called down when Noah had built the ark.

  “Look, Holly,” Amanda said, pointing upward through the cab’s front window.

  Huge flocks of birds flew across the fiery, rain-soaked skies. They were falcons.

  “All this can’t be because of Michael,” Holly murmured. “He’s not that powerful.”

  “He’s one of the most powerful warlocks who ever lived,” Jer countered, seated in the cab beside Holly.

  She turned and glared at him. “You sound proud of him.”

  “I don’t mean to,” he told her honestly, “but maybe I can’t help it.”

  The cab driver was courageous, winding through the city at a snail’s pace because there was so much chaos and danger that he couldn’t have gone any faster if he had wanted to. He muttered from time to time, stroking an icon on the dashboard of the vehicle as though its presence could protect him. “You must be the only people coming into the city,” the driver noted.

  “We have business to take care of,” Holly answered.

  They were lucky to have gotten the cab, let alone two. Indeed, these were the only two taxis that had been willing to drive as far as the Anderson home. The price for the courage of the two drivers was not coming cheap, though. Holly had paid each driver five hundred dollars before they would leave the airport terminal.

  Behind them, the other cab, transporting Nicole, Philippe, Alonzo, Armand, Pablo, and Kari, blared its horn as a whitish-blue figure lurched in front of its headlights.

  The walking dead, Holly noted. Michael has created himself an army.

  Thus it was that she wasn’t surprised that when the taxis dropped them off at the Anderson home, it was under attack by zombies. The two minivans roared away, careening wildly down the street.

  Huge sections of the covered porch had been pried away, and the large chunks of wood boards and posts were in the hands of the dead, who were destroying the ground-floor windows and doors in an effort to get in. She saw in the moonlight and firelight their slack faces, their unseeing eyes, and she thanked whatever manifestation of the Goddess that had inspired her and the others to send Richard, Tante Cecile, and Dan Carter out of town. As it was, it was almost more than Amanda and Nicole could bear, watching their home being taken apart piece by piece.

  Like crazy whirligigs, falcons careened overhead, squawking and chorusing a cacophony of triumph. Their blank, beady eyes bored into Holly’s as she began to lob fireballs at them, making her mark more often than not. Jer and Armand joined her; still, the birds flew, increasing in numbers, until the night sky was filled with them. They buzzed the house, swooping down on the Tri-Covenates, their talons gleaming and their beaks sharp as they attempted to rip and tear at the humans on the ground.

  Then, directly in front of Holly, the earth began to quiver, and as she watched, hands and heads emerged from the mud, and the dead began to walk. Movement caught the corner of her eye, and she turned to look down the street. “Oh, my God, Nicole, don’t look!” she begged her cousin, but it was too late.

  The emaciated corpse of Nicole and Amanda’s mother dragged itself into view. There was so little flesh left that the
skeleton lurched awkwardly like a puppet on strings, a creature whose arms and legs were far too large for its body. Her face was half-eaten away by worms, and one eye was missing. The other was milky white.

  Nicole began screaming. Philippe grabbed her to his chest and held her. Tommy did the same to Amanda.

  Then Philippe lobbed a fireball at the hideous thing and, despite the buckets of rain, it ignited like a piece of paper and burned down within seconds. The bones were charred; there was nothing else left, and the remains fluttered to the mud and rested there.

  There is no reason to be here, Holly realized. Nothing to be gained.

  Then a man she didn’t know ran up the street. He waved his hands wildly over his head; he was bellowing with terror. He zoomed over to Alonzo and flung his arms around the man, shouting, “You’ve got to help me! It’s my daughter! She’s in trouble!”

  And Holly understood that Michael Deveraux was going to make it very, very difficult for them here … and perhaps even more important, it was going to be nearly impossible for them to leave.

  The waters of Elliott Bay churned and frothed as monsters came forth. Giant squid, schools of large, biting fish, and more of the enormous sea creatures that had ripped Eddie to shreds emerged from the restless waters. News helicopters and Coast Guard boats combed the area with searchlights; no one could believe what they were seeing.

  Holly stood beside Jer on the cliffs, watching the unfolding nightmare, and she wanted more than anything to lean against him and feel his strength. But he held himself aloof from her, and she had to handle it all on her own. She remembered how the last time she had stood on these cliffs, she had commanded a phantom army. But now, she was drained; there was nothing in her that could command anything. And Isabeau was not with her.

  She looked up at Jer, who was wearing a ski mask, and said, “Is Jean with you?”

  Wordlessly he shook his head. His eyes were dull, and she thought she detected an air of shame about him. After all, his father was responsible for everything that was going on around them.

  “I don’t know why he isn’t,” he said finally. “The Deveraux love this kind of insanity.”

  “So do the Cahors,” she said miserably.

  He began to reach out to her—she saw the gesture plainly—and then he pulled back his hand. They stood side by side, yet they couldn’t have been further apart.

  He said, “I’m sorry, Holly. That my father is this kind of man. That I’m …”

  “You’re not,” she said, laying a hand on his forearm. Though he wore a thick black sweater, he shifted under her touch, as if she could see how hideous he looked. “Jer, you’re good.”

  “I’m not.” She saw the pain in his eyes. It was the only part of his face that she could see. She realized it was a miracle that his eyes hadn’t been burned out of his skull. “And,” he said slowly, “neither are you. Are you, Holly? You’ve paid a price to keep these people alive.”

  She sagged. “Yes,” she admitted. “I have. Can you tell, Jer? Can you see it?”

  “I can feel it. There’s a coldness around you that didn’t used to be there.”

  It was her turn to apologize. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not.” He paused and added, “You’re not so untouchable, so innocent. Before, you seemed out of my reach.”

  “But not now?” she asked, her voice husky.

  He shook his head silently.

  That gave her pause. I wonder if Isabeau influenced me to lose part of my soul, she wondered, because she had already lost part of hers. Murdering her husband took away a large chunk. But she had committed many other sins. Murder for her and her mother was a way of life.

  “You know why he’s doing this, don’t you?” he asked her.

  “Because he’s an evil bastard?” she replied.

  “To distract you. To keep you here.”

  She caught her breath. “To keep me from going to San Francisco?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Cecile, Dan, and your uncle.” He shook his head at the carnage unfolding before them, then looked back at her. “Divide and conquer. That’s an old Deveraux game.”

  “I should go there,” she realized.

  “Some of us should. And some of us should stay here,” he told her. “He’ll keep the stakes high, try to take advantage by destroying all of Seattle if he has to.”

  Holly caught her breath. “Is he capable of that?”

  Hidden in the ski mask, Jer pursed his lips together. “Oh, yes,” he said solemnly. “He certainly is.” Then his mouth curved into a sharp, bitter smile. “But I’ll give him a run for his money. What’s the saying? ‘The apple never falls far from the tree.’”

  “Please, be careful,” she breathed.

  He shook his head, and his eyes burned into hers. “No way.”

  Then he was reaching for her, pulling her close. His lips were crushing hers. She groaned in her soul and clung to him, needing him more than she had ever needed anyone or anything.

  Then, just as she began to lose herself, he let her go and stepped back. “Leave me,” he said roughly.

  She opened her mouth to protest and realized it was useless. She choked down a sob and turned away.

  This might be the last time I ever see him alive, she realized.

  She looked over her shoulder.

  He was staring at her.

  She caught her breath and half raised her hand. Then he deliberately turned his back and walked in the opposite direction, toward the bay. Kari saw him coming and held out a hand to him, defiantly glancing in Holly’s direction.

  Jer took her offered hand; his own hand was gloved. They fell to talking earnestly, gesturing toward the bay. Planning strategy, perhaps.

  Stuffing her hands in her pockets, the most powerful witch alive slunk away, feeling as ridiculous as a lovesick twelve-year-old.

  EIGHT

  WHITE OPAL

  We dance beneath the sun-drenched sky

  And worship the day as it passes by

  The sun renews and gives us life

  And guides us through our daily strife

  Cursed sun, go away

  Arise, oh, Goddess, and kill the day

  Take the light’s wretched lies

  And hide them within midnight skies

  Holly and Silvana: San Francisco

  Silvana insisted on coming with Holly, and she consented. Frankly, she wished they could have brought more of their coven members with them, but they had more than enough to do in Seattle, and Holly wanted to try for a surprise attack if and when they needed to.

  Getting a flight out of Seattle had been an act of the Goddess. Magic alone had gotten them through the crowds, who were turning on one another like caged animals. And when the rest of the flights were grounded because the weather became just too severe, magic convinced the air traffic controllers and the pilot that their flights could take off safely. And, thanks to magic, it had.

  On their flight to Oakland, which was a more convenient airport, Holly performed a finder’s spell in order to locate the house where Dan, Tante Cecile, and Uncle Richard had been living. By tacit agreement, she had not tried to find them before now. Ignorance would serve as their protection.

  But now, on the plane, she saw their house and she was alarmed at what else she saw: imps and falcons descending on them, tearing out their hearts and setting the house on fire.

  Goddess, prevent this, she begged. Prevent this, Hecate, and I will do and be whatever you want.

  They landed, and she magically arranged for the woman at the car rental to “see” that Holly was twenty-one on her driver’s license, thus making her old enough to rent a car. She also “provided” herself with enough funds to cover the fees, even though she had used up all her money securing the plane tickets. She saw Silvana’s small reaction of displeasure and silently challenged her to protest. Many witches would condemn her for creating wealth—it wasn’t done— but she didn’t care.

  This is about survival, not manner
s.

  While Silvana stared at the map and tried to guide them, Holly prayed to the Goddess to give her a sense of direction. The fog was thick as soaking wet wool, and she realized that in the year she had been away, she had forgotten how to drive in San Francisco weather.

  A year, she thought dully as they crept along. I feel like I’ve never lived here. I feel like a stranger.

  Seattle has become my home.

  Silvana sat beside her, murmuring spells, and to Holly’s relief, the fog thinned. She looked over at Silvana and said, “Thanks.” She flushed and said, “I’m not thinking clearly. I could have done that, lifted the fog.”

  Silvana tried to smile, but she couldn’t manage it. “Just get us there, okay?” She looked out the window. “Oh, God, Holly, what if something’s happened?”

  Holly pursed her lips together. There was no good answer to that, and she didn’t feel like mouthing some meaningless words of comfort.

  Dismayed, Silvana glanced at her, then back at the window. “Hang on, Tante,” she whispered.

  Holly thought, I’ve grown so cold. Am I cold enough to cool the blood of a Deveraux?

  As she drove on, the pale moon trailed after them in a sky of clouds and mists.

  Then she turned to Silvana and said, “I forgot. We have to cross the Bay Bridge.”

  Silvana regarded her steadily. “You’re thinking about the curse. That those close to you die by drowning.”

  Holly nodded. She looked to the side of the road, narrowed her eyes, and pulled over. They sat in front of a Burger King. “Get out,” she said. “I’m not taking you.”

  “What?” Silvana frowned at her.

  “I’m not taking you across the bridge.” Holly pulled on the emergency brake and crossed her arms, the engine idling.

  Frowning, Silvana reached for the brake. Holly flicked her fingers in her direction, zapping her with a tiny bolt of magical energy.

  “Ow!” Silvana cried. “Holly, stop it!”

  “Get out.” Holly raised her chin. “I mean it, Silvana.”

  Something in her look persuaded the other girl that she was all business. Silvana pulled back slightly and said, “Holly, we’re talking about my aunt; she’s like my mother.”