by Nancy Holder
“When are you due?”
“The night of the Wind Moon.”
“That’s just a few days from now!” he exclaimed, beginning to panic slightly.
She gave him the sweetest smile he had ever seen, and he began to calm. It could be my child, he thought, a sense of wonder filling him. Almost before he could stop himself, he started to stretch out his hand. He stopped, though, and stared her in the eyes.
She nodded ever so slightly and took his hand, pressing it to her belly. He could feel movement within, life stirring in her, and something more: a slight tingle of electricity.
“The baby has power,” he breathed.
“Yes, he does.”
“You know it’s a boy?”
She nodded. “I can feel it.”
“And he might be mine.”
“He might be.”
He began to shake uncontrollably. Nicole wrapped her arms around him and held him close as he began to cry.
Nicole felt like crying herself. She was moved by the softening in Eli. He’s been changing, right before my eyes, she thought. I used to think I could tame him, maybe I was right.
What she had told him was true: Eli could be the father; she really didn’t know who was. She hoped it was Philippe, though they hadn’t been together very long. The funny thing is, I don’t remember much about being pregnant. I know it’s a boy and when it’s due, but other than that, there’s not much there . She shuddered. What if it’s James’s child? She suddenly felt sick to the bottom of her soul. The truth was, there was magic of some kind being done. Nine months ago she hadn’t been with anyone in order to become pregnant. She and Eli had broken up before that. She and Philippe had been together only a short while, and James had—done what he had done to her—relatively recently as well.
Another thought whispered through her mind:
What about the thing in my room? Could it have done this to me? She began to cry as well, her tears mingling with Eli’s. The truth was that neither of them was likely to make it out of this alive. She had loved him once, and if it brought him comfort to think he was the father— and she really didn’t know if he was or not, then it could not hurt to let him think he was.
Jer and Eve: New Mexico
They had stopped across the border at an all-night truck stop for food. Jer’s attempts to get more information out of Eve had been met with resistance. They had eaten in silence, and Jer didn’t even remember what he had ordered. All he knew was that the food was tasteless and that he didn’t care. There was too much to worry about to care.
He waited in the van while Eve used the rest room. He could sense his father’s presence, feel his stench even from here. He’s like a plague. His evil spreads, infecting those near him, even the land around him and the sky above. He has to be stopped while there’s still some light in the world, some good that is as yet untouched by his hand.
He turned to look at Eve as she climbed into the minivan. She had changed into black jeans, a black turtleneck, and a black leather vest. The vest looked thick, more like something he would have expected to see used as a bulletproof vest by a police officer rather than used as a wardrobe accessory for the occult-minded. She also wore black leather boots that came up to her knees.
“I feel underdressed,” he commented dryly.
“Isn’t that like a man,” she tossed back at him. “Forever wearing the wrong thing.”
He was about to make a snappy retort when something crashed into the windshield, or rather, crashed through the windshield. It was an imp and it chortled wildly before stabbing at Jer’s eyes with its wicked nails. With a shout, he twisted his head to the side just in time. Eve backhanded the creature, sending it flying back through the windshield.
She started the engine and threw the car into reverse in a single motion. She hit a car parked in a stall behind her and threw the car into drive. Anguished tires screamed as she peeled out.
“I guess they’ll be taking away my international driver’s license,” she noted grimly.
Jer braced himself as she made a hard turn to exit the parking lot. He flew forward, though, when she came to a screeching halt. There, lined up in front of the car, was a row of demons standing shoulder-to-shoulder. They ranged in type and size.
Eve gunned the engine as Jer stared at the demons. One extended a casual arm, waving them forward. Red Rover, Red Rover, send Jer on over, he thought. If we break the line, we live, if not, we get to join the dead.
Eve pulled her foot off the brake, and the minivan leaped forward. He wanted to close his eyes, to look away, but something wouldn’t let him. Together, he and Eve shouted as the minivan hit the line of demons. Body parts went flying everywhere. A hand came soaring through the broken windshield and landed in Jer’s lap. With a scream of revulsion, he picked up the twitching appendage and threw it in the backseat. Meanwhile, demons had leaped onto the van, clinging by hands and feet and tentacles.
One put his fist through the passenger-side window, and a shower of glass flew into Jer’s face. He instinctively squeezed his eyes shut. The shards of glass almost felt like rain pelting his skin until the pain began to register.
The demon suddenly demanded his full attention by wrapping his hand around Jer’s throat. He desperately grabbed the creature’s head with both of his hands and started banging it against the frame of the door. The creature tightened his grip, and as Jer’s lungs became oxygen-starved, his actions became more frantic. At last he headbutted the creature. Pain exploded along his temples, but the demon’s grip loosened for a moment.
Jer grabbed the creature’s fingers and tore them from his throat. It was momentarily off balance, and he took advantage of that to push it backward. It fell to the ground, and the minivan bounced as a rear tire drove over it. An unearthly scream ripped through the night air, and Jer clamped his hands over his ears, gritting his teeth in pain.
It passed in a second, and the van swerved wildly to the right. He turned his attention to Eve. She was fighting a small, scaly red demon for control of the steering wheel. Another demon was hanging half inside the door, clawing at her head.
Jer lobbed a fireball at it that whipped right past Eve’s head. It exploded in the demon’s face, toppling it backward with a cry. Jer could smell the stench of burning hair and realized that he must have clipped Eve.
“Depart!” he roared at the little red demon, too agitated to think of the Latin word for it.
The creature turned and cackled toothlessly at him, bouncing up and down on the dashboard. It ceased laughing, though, when Eve hit the brakes and it went sailing through the air to land on the ground several feet in front of them. She floored the van, and it ran over the demon with a sickening crunch. Bits of yellow blood and goo sprayed in through the open windows, covering them both.
Eve got on the freeway doing ninety and didn’t slow down for half an hour. Jer charmed their passage so that the three police cars they passed didn’t see them. They were only an unexplained blip on the radar. At last she pulled off the road at a small town and parked in front of a motel. “Someone knows you’re in town,” she remarked.
“It would seem so,” was all he could say, trying not to vomit as he tasted the demon blood on his lips.
Kari and Michael: New Mexico
The imp jumped up and down in front of Michael, in a state of great agitation. “We tried to kill him, but he had someone with him, a girl,” the thing hissed.
It was so upset, Kari could barely understand what it was saying.
“Die, die, he wouldn’t die, and neither would she. Warlock she is, powerful one.”
“He has a warlock with him?” Michael mused. “That can’t be a good thing. Let me guess, that weak-ling Sir William has finally decided it’s bad PR to keep me around?”
“She is strong, stronger than he.”
“That wouldn’t take much, would it?” he asked with a dismissive wave of his hand.
Kari stood up slowly, her knees shaking. She didn’
t remember much about the last twenty-four hours. Everything was hazy. It still felt that way, but she needed to know who they were talking about. “Who?” she asked, her throat dry and her voice barely a whisper.
Michael and the imp ignored her. Instead, the creature just continued to jump up and down, blathering on and on about something. Michael was stroking his chin and looking thoughtful.
“Who?” she asked, her voice cracking but sounding slightly stronger.
They continued to ignore her, and for one wild moment she thought she might be a ghost. Michael Deveraux has killed me, and now I’m trapped here, seeing but unseen, hearing but unheard. She picked up a lamp and hurled it to the ground. It crashed and broke.
Michael turned and stared at her. “What’s with your coven and breaking lamps?” he asked in an almost amiable tone. “That’s all Holly wanted to do at first too.”
“Who?” she shouted.
He lifted an eyebrow. “The woman, I don’t know— though there are very few female warlocks in the Supreme Coven, so it shouldn’t be too hard to figure that out.”
“The man, who is the man?” she asked, speaking slowly and enunciating each word.
He smiled bemusedly. “Oh, it’s just Jeraud.”
“Jer?” she asked, afraid she hadn’t heard him right.
He nodded.
“He’s alive?”
“Apparently so. He seems to have made it back from the Dreamtime, and now he’s on the way here.”
She grabbed a chair and sat down before she could faint. He’s alive! Her heart lifted for one glorious moment before crashing back down again. “You’re trying to kill Jer,” she accused.
“Why so surprised?” he asked with an evil smirk.
“He’s your son!”
“And I’ve tolerated his antics long enough. Every parent hopes that their children will grow up to make them proud, to do better than they did, to be a glorious branch on the family tree.”
“But?”
“Well, as any good gardener knows, every tree needs pruning from time to time. Jer, unfortunately, is just an unproductive limb that I’m going to trim.”
“But you promised.”
“No, my dear,” he said, moving closer to her. “If you think back, you’ll remember that I never did promise you anything. That’s one thing my son and I share in common,” he ended with a sneer.
“He’s coming here?” she asked, her head still fuzzy.
“Yes.”
She lifted her chin high. “Then he’s coming to rescue me. You’ll be sorry.”
Michael laughed, an honest, surprised-sounding laugh. He knelt down next to her so that his face was on a level with hers, and stared deeply into her eyes. “My dear, are you so deluded as to think that he’s coming here to rescue you?” He clucked his tongue. “Let’s be real, pet. He’s on his way to rescue Holly.”
His words cut her to the quick. He stood slowly as he drove the final nails into the coffin that contained all her dreams. “Not you. It was never you.” He turned and walked away, his imp trotting beside him.
Kari sat on the chair, overwhelmed with grief. Jer is alive and he is coming here to die.
Let him die, another voice inside her head whispered. Look what he’s done to you.
He hasn’t done it. It’s Holly, it’s all her fault. Jer would still love me but for her.
Holly should die in his place. After all, you would die for him. If she loves him, she’ll sacrifice herself. Or, you could kill her and then Jer wouldn’t have to risk himself, and you could have him back.
You deserve more.
With that, she crumbled and began to sob. “No, I don’t!” she cried aloud. “I don’t, I don’t deserve anything. I’ve betrayed them all.”
Mother Coven: Santa Cruz
Anne-Louise had spent hours on the Internet doing genealogy research. Every time she had thought she was about to break through, though, she had come upon another dead end. Sometimes you just had to do things the old-fashioned way.
She locked her room and set wards up at the door and window. She burned some incense and lay down on her bed. She had taken a herbal mixture, potent, the equivalent of what a shaman would take when preparing to embark on a vision-quest.
That was what Anne-Louise was on. She had a special quest in mind, though, and she would need the Goddess’s help. Whisper jumped up and lay beside her, purring.
Anne-Louise breathed deeply and closed her eyes. Show me all of the Cahors family.
Part Three
Water
I drown in thee which gave me birth
From within my mother’s girth
The tides alone we all must bear
Witness of the Goddess fair
Within the tides, within their flow
We learn to breathe and then to slow
To savor that which we now claim
For tomorrow is never the same
TEN
RHIANNON
Round and round the sun wheel goes
As we vanquish anew all our foes
We revel and dance while they mourn
Cursing the day that they were born
In visions now we seek the truth
Secrets that were lost in youth
For there is evil we cannot hide
Lurking now deep inside
Holly: New Mexico
In a small corner of her mind she sat upon a little stool and watched all the commotion. There are demons big and small and creatures I don’t know at all. They’re making such a mess, jumping all around and breaking things, so many things. If I sit very still, though, they won’t notice me. They won’t look. They won’t see. But I’ve been sitting so very still for so very long, and it is hard to sit up so straight.
She wiggled a toe, just a toe, and the pinkie one at that. This little piggy cries wee— and a big, hairy demon with bloody stumps for hands slapped her with one of his bloody stumps. And there was blood on her dress. Is it my blood or his? It didn’t matter, nothing did, except for sitting very, very quiet and not moving, not even a toe.
And now the dark-haired man was moving outside of her mind. He was there, in another room and he was talking. She really should pay attention; he liked that. When she paid attention she could hear him and for a moment no one else, not even the beautiful woman demon with the long hair who brushed it a thousand times every day but had the face of a snake when she was angry.
What is he saying? She grew even more still, listened even harder, stopped her heart so that it wouldn’t roar and drown out the sound of his voice. Pesky demons kept restarting the heart, though. How am I supposed to hear if they keep doing that?
“… Jer … kill … London … good Holly.”
Does Holly get a biscuit? He wants something, now. I’m supposed to do something. Maybe talk. I’ll try.
She opened her mouth, and they all turned to look at her. An old imp with wrinkled gray skin who smelled like formaldehyde limped over to her. He held out a bullhorn for her to shout into. She leaned, spoke. “Kill.” She could hear herself, it echoed around in her head.
And the dark-haired man smiled.
I got the right answer. A plus, gold star.
Then the imp took away the bullhorn, and they all went back to talking among themselves. And I’ll sit really quietly and they won’t know I’m here.
Michael straightened. He wasn’t entirely sure that Holly had understood what he had asked of her. She had at least repeated “kill,” so that was a good sign.
He had spent the past hour in contact with his demonic spies and using his scrying stones. Sir William had indeed ordered him killed, and New Mexico was soon going to become a lot hotter than it already was.
He had thought briefly of appearing before the Supreme Coven with Holly’s head on a silver tray, but had quickly rejected the idea. It may or may not have served to appease the leader of the Supreme Coven, but appeasement was no longer Michael’s goal.
It’s time the Deveraux
took back what is rightfully ours, he thought. He had learned that Eli was on the island of Avalon, trying to rescue Nicole Anderson. He always did have a soft spot for that witch. It was something Michael could use to his advantage.
He went about packing his bags. Jer and his war-lock friend would arrive in the morning, but he would be long gone. Instead, they would find Holly. If his luck held, the three of them would kill one another. If it didn’t, well, at least one of them would die, and that was good news for him.
If Holly was the one left standing, Sir William’s Golems would make short work of her. When he had realized that the Golems had been sent to find and kill her, he had worked to cover her psychic signature. Like bloodhounds, Golems could be thrown off the scent if you knew how.
It had not been easy, though. Her aura was normally so powerful that it would have been impossible to conceal her had it not been for the possession. Yes, Holly definitely wasn’t herself.
What to do with the Judas, Kari, was another question. Normally his first instinct would have been to kill her, but he had a feeling she had not outlived her usefulness. He made a decision quickly: She would be coming along.
Finished, he shut off the light in his bedroom with a twinge of sadness. It was a shame, really. It was a beautiful place. He was also more than a little sorry that he’d miss the fireworks. He had pressing business, though, overseas, and now was the time to go.
He found Kari huddled in a chair in the living room. For a moment he thought the girl had gone catatonic. He waved his hand in front of her face and snapped his fingers, but she didn’t flinch. He picked up a suitcase and dropped it with a thud and she turned her eyes. Good.
She looked at him. “I killed all of them.”
“Yes, sweetie, I’m afraid you did. We have to go now, so be a good girl and help me out.”
She stood listlessly. Ah, the quandary of those who like to think themselves moral! How it hurts them when they discover the truth about themselves.
“Where are we going?”
“To the airport.”
As he closed the door he called out, “Holly, remember what we talked about.”