by Nancy Holder
Next, she heard a strange sound that she took to be her own heartbeat, a rhythmic whum-whum, whum-whum. She listened, pressing her palm against her chest. The two sounds were out of sync. Her heart was beating much faster, and she realized the sound was coming from outside of herself.
She stared at the vast flying field of birds. It’s their wings, she realized, terrified. The birds were soaring in unison, each one’s wings undulating up and down, up and down, in the rain; as she stared, a picture formed in her head of galley slaves chained to tiny benches below the decks of a great barque, raising and lowering massive oars to the steady beat of the oar master.
Whum-whum, whum-whum … and then the sound slowed and blurred; she felt her head fall back against the seat. Though her eyes remained open, she no longer saw birds and night sky and the moonlight. Her field of vision shimmered; colors ran like rain on a chalk painting, and then a new place burst into her reality; and a new … or very old … time.
A very old time.
France, the 13th Century
“Allons-y!” cried the splendid man on horseback. It was the heir of the House of Deveraux, Jean, and this was the Great Hunt that would provision his wedding feast. He was to be married this very night to Isabeau of Cahors, daughter of the Deverauxs’ witchly rival in the region.
And then he will think of me no longer, Karienne thought dismally. She rode her horse astride like a man, at a discreet distance. Though most in the Hunt retinue knew her to be his mistress, they also knew that she was being cast aside. He must save his manly virtues for the marriage bed, and get a child on Isabeau as soon as possible. It was the unspoken bargain between the families.
As always, Jean was astonishingly handsome. His ermine-tipped cloak fanned over his saddle and the cropped tail of his warhorse. The rider raised his left gauntlet into the air, and the magnificent falcon, Fantasme, which had been perched there, hurled himself into the golden sky and flew toward the dense thicket just ahead.
A cheer rose from the hunters, mixing with the steady rhythm of the drummers who walked ahead. Whum-whum-whum, their measures bold and merciless. Catch and kill, catch and kill … For the moment, they sought birds, and hares, and bucks.
But soon they would begin to flush out the serfs who would be sacrificed to the Horned God this very night.
Whum … whum …
Karienne lifted her chin and sternly denied tears from welling in her eyes.
I have pride. I am still beautiful.
But had I the chance, I would kill that bitch of the Cahors, and magick him into taking me to wife …
Had I the chance …
Had I the chance …
Whum-whum … whum …
With a sharp gasp, Kari opened her eyes and raised her head off the back of the seat.
Whoa, was that a dream? It was so real. Did I actually go back in time? Was I … was some part of me actually Jean’s mistress? Because, in a very weird way, that would make sense given what’s been going on with all of us these days… .
She had no time to consider it further. The car tipped downward, floating at an angle toward the ground. The birds’ wings continued to flap steadily, and the car was surrounded with the same blue glow as before.
Frightened, she put her foot on the break, then realized how silly that was, and took it back off. She forced her breathing to slow down—she had begun to hyperventilate—and whispered to herself, “Karienne.”
With that, the rain stopped abruptly, as if someone had turned off a faucet. One moment the sky was clashing with the storm, the next … peace.
The metal of the car ticked-ticked-ticked as the engine cooled down. Kari caught her breath again, and slowly exhaled. Her heart was throbbing in her chest; she could hear it roaring in her ears.
The car continued to descend. To her right, a soft yellow light glowed through the darkness, and she made out the low-slung angles of a New Mexican– style adobe building. A path wound its way toward the structure. Otherwise, the landscape was barren.
As she gazed at the building, she saw over its silhouette the gauzy images of trees and lush under-growth. It was the forest of her dream.
The wings of the birds echoed the drumbeats of the Hunt.
Slowly, one by one, the birds began to fade, and then disappear. The forest vanished as well. Soon, only the car and she remained in the sky, and the dimly lit building below.
It appeared to be the front entrance to a house. The ends of large logs extended from either side of the entrance, and there were three steps leading up to a front door, which appeared to be made of wood.
It’s got to be Michael’s house, she thought. He’s brought me to him.
She made no sound, only stared hard at the door, bracing herself for it to open. On impulse she made sure all her car doors were locked—they were—and then she smiled grimly at how ridiculous that was. The futility of it. Whoever was behind that door had made her car fly, for heaven’s sake.
Her unhappy smile had not yet faded when the lock on her door unclicked by itself.
Then it swung open.
“No way,” she murmured. She didn’t touch it, didn’t move. Her heartbeat grew even more rapid, and she began to breathe so shallowly that she began to get dizzy.
The door remained as it was, insistent that she get out.
Fresh tears welled in her eyes, and her face prick-led with fear. A dizzying wave washed over her; she hadn’t realized how exhausted she was from fighting the storm, and she had no reserves to deal with her terror.
After a few more seconds, she tried to move, but she remained strapped in place. She still had on her seat belt. It took a supreme act of will to unfasten it, her shaking fingers pressing uselessly until she grimaced and pulled herself together, jabbing it so hard, she broke her nail. The belt slithered back into the retractor like a serpent.
The lights on the porch glowed. A cold wind whipped sand against her thigh, and Kari finally stirred. As if leaping from the car, she swung her left leg out, found her footing on loose gravel, and scooted the rest of the way out of the car.
Unsteadily, she straightened up. Her gaze fixed on the house, she shut her door and made her way around the front of the car, her hand extended as if she were admonishing it not to turn itself on and run her down.
Then the rain started again, drenching her from head to toe. She cried out and shielded her head. In the frigid torrent, she felt her makeup sluice down her face, all in one piece, as if it had been a mask.
Despite the rain, she didn’t hurry her pace—she couldn’t—but walked unsteadily across the gravel, inching toward the three steps that led to the porch.
She climbed them, remembering that, back in Seattle, there had also been three stairs to the porch of the Deveraux home. Three was a magical number, and Michael Deveraux was an architect. If he had built this house, he put those stairs there for a reason.
On the porch, she stepped onto a hemp welcome mat decorated in red and green—the Deveraux Coven colors—featuring a silhouette of a black bird, a falcon, in the center. She was careful not to step on the bird, and then she thought better of it and ground her boot heel hard into its face.
I won’t let him intimidate me, she promised herself, then nearly laughed out loud. Okay, I will let him intimidate me.
I just won’t let him kill me.
She reached forward toward the door. The moonlight cast a glimmer on a door knocker in the center of the carved door, which was a brass rendition of the Green Man, an aspect of the God as a nature deity.
She took a breath, and knocked.
She wasn’t surprised when the door swung open.
Summoning every last vestige of her courage, she took a step across the transom. She was standing inside now, in the pitch-black darkness, in a cocoon that muffled the steady patter of the rain on the gravel.
I’m going to betray them all to their worst enemy: Michael Deveraux. The man who’s been trying to destroy all of us.
Yes, and
he’s going to succeed … if I don’t find a way to stop him. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of this. From day one, they bullied me and made me go along with them.
Cold and fear penetrated her bones. She was trembling, and her knees were beginning to give way; her tears of frustration ran down her cheeks, salty and warmer than the icy rain.
Then a soft golden light bobbed in front of her eyes, and she blinked, startled.
Michael Deveraux stood less than a foot away from her. His palm was outstretched, and above it, a ball of fire the size of a golf ball floated, casting shadows from beneath his chin onto his features, giving him an incredibly sinister aspect. He had long black hair, a black beard, and heavy lashes. His eyes were quite deep set, and his brows were angled slightly back from his nose. When he smiled, she shrank back involuntarily.
He reminded her of the Devil.
“Come on in,” Michael Deveraux said jauntily, taking a step back to allow her entry. His heel rang on the stone floor. “Kari, isn’t it? We’ve never formally met, even though you’ve been sleeping with my son for years.”
Her lips parted, but she didn’t know what to say in response, so she kept silent.
He was dressed all in black—black sweater, black jeans, black boots—and in his other hand he held out a heavy earthen goblet. She didn’t remember it being there before. “Hot buttered rum,” he said, smiling. “It’ll warm you up. Nasty night out.” He raised one brow. “Not fit weather for warlock or witch.”
She hesitated. “I’m not a witch. I just know a few spells.”
His chuckle alarmed her. “Oh, I know what you are, Kari, and what you’re not.” He gestured at her with the rum. “Come. Drink.” When she still hesitated, he added slyly, “It won’t kill you.” As if to prove his point, he took a sip, sighing contentedly before he lowered it from his mouth.
She said unsteadily, “I-I made a mistake coming here.”
“No. You did exactly the right thing. Believe me.”
He turned and glanced at her, indicating that she should accompany him. When she stepped toward him, the area around them suddenly lit up and she stumbled, startled. There was track lighting overhead, and on the wall in front of her, a mirror framed in beaten silver. She winced at her own reflection. Her makeup had collected under her eyes. She looked like a zombie.
“No magic,” he said airily. “Just motion detectors.”
He led her through the hallway, the soles of their shoes noisy on the hard surface. The walls were crowded with images of fantastic, swirling birds of red and green flying through a verdant forest, the designs painted directly on the white plaster walls. Even the low ceiling above her had been painted with heavy foliage and crazed, vicious birds. Their dark beady eyes seemed to follow her as she walked past them.
At the end of the hallway, Michael opened a set of wooden double doors, revealing a shadowed room illuminated by the glow of flame inside the distended belly of a stone statue of the Horned God. The God’s goat-face gleamed cruel and lusty, its taloned hands raised and extended slightly forward as if it were about to pounce on the next hapless person who dared to walk into the room. It sat back on haunches that ended in goat hooves. Kari shivered, looking away.
Other statues stood in the flickering darkness, none of them very distinguishable. All she saw was a vast array of fangs, talons, and horns. Everything sharp, everything ready to cut and wound.
The room was as cold as a meat locker. Her soaked clothes wrapped around her like ice packs.
“Warm yourself,” he invited, gesturing to the statue.
She wished she could refuse, but there was no other source of warmth. She edged uneasily toward the figure, stretching forth her left hand as she took another sip of the rum. This time it tasted good, its alcoholic heat spreading through her chilled veins.
“Where are they?” he asked without further preamble.
She licked her lips. What was I thinking?
“W-who?” she managed to say.
“Kari, dear,” he said kindly, “there’s no other reason you would come to me than to strike some sort of bargain. From what I know of you, I’m guessing that you want to give me the Coven in exchange for my saving my son.”
“You … should save him, anyway,” she replied. She bit her lip and stared into the fire. “He’s your child.”
“Did you come here to argue with me?” He sounded amused. “I don’t think I’ve met anyone as brash as you since my wife left me.”
She licked her lips. “You might be able to turn him, make him be … like you.”
He shook his head. “Years of trying puts the lie to that, Miss Hardwicke. Jer’s bound and determined to make my life difficult. Trust me: I’d be much, much better without him.”
He came up beside her and watched the fire. She was aware of how closely he stood next to her; she could smell expensive soap and aftershave, and his body heat mingled with her own. She was shocked to realize that she was becoming aroused.
He’s making it happen, she told herself. Because I would never … he’s so evil.
So powerful, another voice whispered in her head.
“Talk to me,” he invited. “It’ll only be difficult at first.”
Still, she kept her silence. Her heart was pounding again, and she was beginning to worry about having a heart attack. Or that she would faint and he would … would do something that he shouldn’t… .
I’m getting really excited. She glared at him. “Leave me alone,” she blurted.
He burst into laughter. “It’s a little late for that.” He grinned at her and added, “Kari, you made the right decision.” He grabbed her hand and wrapped both his hands around it, blowing gently on her knuckles.
“Just tell me,” he urged. “Tell me where they are. I’ll save Jer—if he can be saved.”
She took a breath. “They’re in Winters.”
He nodded. “Tell me about this new male witch from the missing Cahors line. Alex Carruthers.”
Her eyes widened. She felt the blood draining from her face and she wished she could stop feeling his skin against her own. “You know about him?” She didn’t know why she was surprised. She cocked her head and looked at him. “If you know he exists, you should know everything else about him.” Her fear emboldened her, and she added, “Don’t you have scrying stones? Haven’t you been spying on us?”
A careless shrug was the only answer he gave her. He took her goblet from her and raised the rim to her lips. Then he tipped it forward, forcing her to take a sip or let the rum and butter splash down her chin.
She let the alcohol warm her veins and give her a measure of courage. Then she cleared her throat and said, “He’s very powerful.”
“Really.” He sounded intrigued. “He’s their cousin, correct?”
She wondered then if he had tricked her, making her assume he knew more than he did. It was too late to go back and repair the damage, if she had caused any.
“If”? I’m destroying them all.
“He’s a distant cousin, at best. I’m not sure exactly how they’re related.” She moved her shoulders. “It’s all so complicated.”
He looked unconvinced. “And yet, you’re getting a PhD in anthropology. I would think you’d be extremely well-versed on kinship systems.”
“I’m getting a doctorate in folklore,” she corrected.
“Ah. My mistake.” He eased her goblet of rum from her hand and took a hefty swallow. Sighing with contentment, he handed it back to her. “You came here of your own free will,” he reminded her.
Did I? she wanted to ask him. Now she wasn’t so certain… . “His powers are strong,” she continued.
“They would have to be, to defeat Holly.”
There was a strange clattering on the stone floor, like the nails of a dog, followed by a high-pitched cackle. The cackling echoed around the room as the clattering skittered toward Kari; she whirled around, glancing at the floor, then cried out when something flashed past her and lan
ded on Michael’s shoulder.
It was an ugly, troll-like creature, almost reptilian in appearance, with long, pointed ears and sharp features. It was unclothed, and leathery-skinned, and it hissed merrily at Kari, then cocked its head and began to babble at Michael.
“She’ssss trying to break free, free she issss,” it announced, jabbing a long finger over its shoulder. “Going crazzzzzy.”
“Thank you. It’s not a problem,” Michael said, patting the thing on its head. “Go find a dead rodent to eat, will you?” He swept the thing off his shoulder. It soared through the air and landed on the floor, then scrabbled away into the darkness.
Kari’s knees buckled.
“Oh here, here, how thoughtless of me. You must be exhausted.”
Michael snapped his fingers. An overstuffed chair upholstered in brilliant crimson materialized behind Kari, bumping against her calves. She fell backward into it, sinking into the softness, which was also very warm. Her drink sloshed onto her wrist, sending the scent of nutmeg into the air.
She took a drink to steady herself and leaned back. To her amazement she realized she was about to fall asleep. He must be casting a spell on me. I was a fool to come here. I was so scared… .
“You did the right thing,” he assured her. “This is really the only reasonable choice you could make. I’m going to kill the rest of them. And I’m going to begin with Holly.” He looked pleased with himself.
“Jer … ,” she murmured.
“I haven’t decided.” He leaned over her, smoothing her wet hair away from her forehead. His eyes were compelling; his smile, a terrible thing.
“I have Holly here,” he told her. “Did you realize that? And in two nights, I’m going to kill her. On the Wind Moon, and when I do it, I’ll absorb her power. No one in the history of Coventry will be stronger than I will become.”
He lifted his chin and focused his eyes toward the ceiling. “Your timing couldn’t have been more perfect, Kari. For coming to me, I’ll spare you. By that, I mean that I won’t kill you.” After a beat he added, “That’s a good thing, honey.”