Resurrection

by Nancy Holder

  Holly still didn’t move. Jer grew still, gazed at her. “Holly?”

  “I…” She started crying. Burying her face in her hands, her shoulders moved as she shook her head. “Can’t.”

  “Holly, I know I hurt you,” Jer said, “and it was awful for you, being with Laurent. But I’m ready, and our side needs it. I love you. And I know you love me.”

  “Jer,” she said.

  “She’s something called a Blind Justice,” Amanda said. “She can’t ‘interfere.’” She made air quotes.

  “What? A what?” Jer asked. Holly could feel his gaze on her.

  “You have to join in thrall with my cousin. We need Eli,” Eve stated flatly. “We’re going to conjure the Black Fire.”

  “No. You don’t know if you can control it,” Richard argued.

  Holly lowered her hands. Jer stood before her with his blood and his scars, and he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Everything in her wanted to be with him, to be in thrall, to know that joy with her one true love.

  Anguished, she put her arms around herself and wept. “You have to forget me, Jer. All of you,” she managed. “Forever.”

  Jer blinked, staring hard at the spot that Holly had been standing in. She had just vanished. Was he hallucinating? Was he dead?

  “What happened?” he asked.

  Armand came up beside him. “She is a Justice. She is not allowed to help.”

  Three huge beings stepped forward. Their clothes, their very faces radiated light.

  “She may not help, but we will,” said the tallest of the three.

  He clapped his hands, and in a swirl of light the cathedral, the battle, everything was gone.

  And once more they were in the Great Room in the house of their enemy in Scarborough.

  twelve

  PEPPER

  Turn back the clock, turn back time

  If you expect any reason or rhyme

  For what we’ve been told is not true

  The feud is old, older than new

  Scrying, searching for the truth

  We seek to reclaim beauty and youth

  For there a secret dormant lies

  That will free us all or else all dies

  Scarborough

  Sasha was relieved when the others appeared, but she soon joined them in mourning the loss of Philippe and Holly. She, Anne-Louise, and Amanda set about trying to heal Eli. The damage was extensive, though, and she wasn’t sure that he would live out the night.

  The only word Nicole spoke through it all was to invite in lawyer Derek when he showed up at the front gate.

  Derek entered the room and stopped in his tracks when he saw the ragtag assembly. “Jeraud Deveraux? How…What happened?” he asked.

  His eyes flitted nervously between Eve and Anne-Louise.

  “Good and evil, life and death, you know, the standards,” Jer informed him sarcastically.

  Derek ignored Jer and instead turned toward Eve. “Are you okay?” he asked, and from the way his voice and face softened, Sasha could tell that Derek was in love with Eve. Of course, they must have known each other. They both served the Supreme Coven.

  Wistfully she remembered a time when Michael had looked at her that way. Something told her, though, that Derek was a far better man, warlock or no, than Michael could ever have been.

  Anne-Louise was uneasy in her skin. The beings, angels maybe, that had helped them escape had not traveled with them to House Moore. Or if they had, she couldn’t see them. Armand and Pablo sat together, grieving the loss of Philippe and praying for his soul.

  She worked late into the night trying to stabilize Eli, and as dawn broke, he began to heal. She wandered into the kitchen for some coffee and found several others also awake—including Eve. The warlock seemed so familiar to her but she couldn’t decide why.

  Eve’s gaze was hooded, uneasy. “There’s something about you,” she said.

  Anne-Louise nodded. “You feel it too?”

  There was a beat.

  “So, you two still don’t know?” Derek asked.

  Anne-Louise turned to him, somewhat surprised that he was still there.

  “Know what?” Eve asked.

  “You’re twins,” Nicole said from her perch on a kitchen school.

  “Twins?” Eve and Anne-Louise echoed at the same time.

  “Yeah, I got that from the Justices. Apparently the two of you together would be way too powerful so for the sake of balance they split you up at birth.”

  “What?” Anne-Louise cried. “Our parents—”

  “They were Deveraux,” Eve said, interrupting.

  Anne-Louise felt sick. Deveraux. “You’re wrong,” she said. Then, as Derek sat unmoving, she added, “How do you know all this?”

  Derek shrugged as if the answer were obvious. “When Michael Deveraux died, we were able to track down and see all the Deveraux family.”

  “Family finder’s spell,” Amanda muttered.

  Jer straightened. “Guess I must not have been in dear old Dad’s will, or else I would have heard from you guys.”

  Derek smiled. “He left everything to Eli.”

  Jer nodded.

  “You’re my sister?” Anne-Louise blurted out suddenly.

  Eve nodded slowly. “Apparently.” She moved first, and a moment later they embraced.

  The Ruins of Castle Cahors, France

  Merlin still had to be dealt with.

  The Coven of the Survivors had all agreed that the final battle should not take place in Sir William’s ancestral home. It was too much of a home field advantage. After a lot of discussion they all settled on the ruins of the Cahors Castle, where Merlin had re-entered their world. They would take the battle there.

  Richard still wasn’t entirely clear what had happened in Cologne. One minute they had been in the thick of battle in the city, and the next they had been transported to Scarborough. There they had been for three days, resting, healing. Eli had made a complete recovery, as had everyone else who had been injured.

  But Philippe stayed dead.

  With Sasha’s help, Jer and Eli created a portal to arrive at the ruins of the Cahors Castle. The three figures—angels?—were waiting for them, and they helped Anne-Louise erect a protective barrier that would cloak their presence until they were ready.

  Dawn broke. Richard knew it was the last one most of them would ever see. He stood apart from the others, savoring it, committing each color and hue to memory. After a few minutes Pablo joined him, and together they watched and breathed and tried not to let the coming ordeal take the moment from them.

  “You think of fishing often,” Pablo said.

  Richard looked surprised, and then he smiled. “I suppose I do.”

  “I have never fished.” Pablo looked very young, and very alone. Richard felt a rush of sympathy for him.

  “We’ll go when this is over.”

  “Gracias. I would like that,” Pablo told him.

  At last they turned and rejoined the others. Another final battle. It seemed ironic. Maybe there was no such thing as final battles, just ever more overwhelming ones. Richard feared that compared to the assault on the Supreme Coven headquarters in London this was going to be a nightmare.

  Some who had stood with them then were dead now, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. He smiled at Kari encouragingly. Others had fought against them the last time. He shot a steely-eyed look at Eli, who returned it without flinching.

  He wished Holly were with them. She was dangerous, unpredictable, but she was also powerful and completely devoted to his daughters, who could not be the three Ladies of the Lily without her.

  It was almost time. Jer could feel it, hear it as though the ruins of Isabeau’s home were speaking to him. He walked the front line, inspecting his troops.

  Tommy and Amanda stood hand in hand, the lady to the lord. Nicole stood beside her sister, and beside Nicole was his brother, Eli. Witch and warlock, female and male, their magic would work well
together. Eve and her twin, Anne-Louise, stood together, one a master of offense and the other a master of defense; the power the two of them were already generating was incredible.

  With a call from Anne-Louise, Luna, high priestess of the Mother Coven, had been shamed into coming, and bringing witch fighters with her. Rose had come too. Even now they stood at attention, waiting for Jer’s signal. Luna, Sasha, and Rose formed another trinity.

  Still others were summoned from covens of the Goddess around the world, standing by as a second wave if needed. Though Jer believed if they were called for they wouldn’t make it in time to do anything but bury the bodies.

  Derek, having confessed to a closeted fascination with Catholicism, stood with Pablo and Armand. They all wore crosses, even Derek, and Armand was adorned from head to toe with symbols from every religion Jer had ever heard of, and then some. If history held true, most of the demons would attack him first.

  Behind these three men stood the three angels. It creeped Jer out, and he regretted his unkind thoughts about the European witches and their worship of the Christian God. The lead angel inclined his head slightly to Jer, not out of deference but indicating readiness. Jer wasn’t sure how he knew the difference, but he felt it in his very bones, just as he felt how inhuman they were.

  I guess there has to be a flip side to demons. After all, it’s supposed to be about balance. There was naked fear in Derek’s eyes as he, too, stared at the angels. Pablo and Armand had their heads bowed in prayer, and the angel nearest Armand seemed to be whispering in his ear.

  Jer turned and kept walking, forcing his thoughts back to the rest of his people. When the time came, he would stand with Kari. They had cared for each other once and they should be able to work some powerful magic, even if one of them was dead. Who knew? Maybe it would create a fierce, unexpected kind of magic. On his mark, he, Eli, and Eve would manifest the Black Fire.

  Cats wound their way in and around the line and the groups. Jer didn’t know how, but it seemed that every cat who had once loved or aided one of the ladies was there. Bast, Freya, and Astarte all appeared to be alive and well. Hecate and Osiris were well, though certainly not alive. Whisper, the Goddess cat, watched over them all.

  In the sky above, Fantasme and Pandion circled each other warily, but kept watch for danger. The two wished nothing more than to kill each other, but the will of their masters kept them from joining together in battle.

  Owen was safe enough with Nigel Temar. The man gave Jer the creeps, but he was a fine doctor, and he would act as base camp and surgeon, though Jer doubted his services would be needed until after it was all over. Jer had told Nigel to heal only, but not to resurrect. He saw how Kari was and he wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

  That left only Richard. Jer had been watching him all morning. The man was a marvel. As the only fighter who couldn’t perform magic, his courage was that much more astounding. He had an ample supply of weapons, and Derek had helped him by enchanting all his weapons and ammo, then warding them with extra magic so that only Richard could fire them. Jer thought that last part had been especially brilliant.

  Richard turned as though sensing he was being watched and gave Jer a tight smile. He’s ready, maybe more so than the rest of us. It was almost time to summon the dead. He shivered involuntarily and wished again that Holly were there. She was a lot more comfortable with leading ghost armies than he was.

  “Jer?”

  He turned and saw his mother smiling at him. The Goddess herself could not have looked more beautiful. He reached out and hugged her tight, knowing it might be the last time.

  “Yeah, Mom?”

  “There’s a gift I wish to give to Richard, but I need your help.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  Richard rechecked his guns for the last time and then settled in to wait. As much as he wished Holly were there, he was pleased with the way Jer Deveraux had stepped up. The boy had finally become a man, and it was good to see. He had never thought much of him, all those years that Amanda had pined after him. All he’d been was a selfish, brooding child. Richard was glad to see that things had changed. He would have been happy to see one of his girls end up with this Jer.

  “Richard?”

  He jerked as he heard the soft voice speak his name. As one in a dream, he turned around. His dead wife, Marie-Claire, stood behind him, a soft shimmer in the morning light. His chest tightened; his throat closed up. She was a ghost, but far more than just a memory.

  “Marie,” he whispered.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I am sorry, Richard, so very sorry.”

  For cheating on him with Michael Deveraux, she meant. For not realizing that beneath his peaceful exterior the warrior lurked.

  He shook his head. “Don’t waste time, sweetheart.”

  She nodded. “There are so many things I wish we could have shared. It was my fault—”

  “No, it was mine. He was a warlock.”

  She caught her breath. “I loved you. I still love you. I will never stop.”

  “I love you, too, Marie.”

  “The girls…”

  “I’ll get them through this. They’re amazing women. Like their mother.” His voice broke.

  “You have to live,” she begged him. “You have to. Richard, come here to me.”

  He closed his eyes and felt the softness of her lips, smelled the fragrance of her breath, and let himself believe she was really there. Something passed between them, and suddenly he could feel electricity racing across his skin.

  “What’s happening?” he asked her after she pulled away.

  She smiled. “I’ve given you my magic. I didn’t know how to use it while I was alive.”

  “Marie,” he said, and he felt different. Stronger.

  “I’ll be with you in the battle and afterward. When I have to go, I’ll take it back.”

  He had no words, and so he watched as she turned and joined an army of ghosts assembling on the flat grass shadowed by the castle ruins. He recognized some of them—Dan and Kialish, from Seattle—but there were dozens who were unfamiliar.

  He looked down at his hand, pictured a fireball erupting from it, and it did. He smiled as he hurled it at one of the old castle stones and watched the flames dissipate. In many ways this was going to be like the Australian Dreamtime that he had once had to rescue Jer from. What he could imagine, he could create. He shifted his machine gun to his left hand.

  “This should be fun.”

  Nicole’s hands shook. She stood between Amanda and Eli and held hands with them both. It felt like her world was collapsing around her and time was fluid. The Nicole who shared so much with her sister now was not the Nicole who had dated wild Eli. It was as though her past and present were colliding and she was caught in the middle, praying not to be crushed.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Eli said.

  “Easy for you to say,” she whispered.

  “Not really.” He grinned sadly at her.

  She turned so she could see his face. “What does that mean?”

  “I’ve been afraid every day of my life.”

  She started to laugh, but then realized he was serious. “You do a good job hiding it.”

  He shrugged. “It doesn’t pay to show weakness when your last name is Deveraux. That’s the quickest way to an early grave.”

  “One of them, at least,” Nicole said, thinking about what lay before them.

  He caught her gaze, held it. “Philippe was a good man.”

  Fresh tears stung her eyes. “Yes, he was.”

  “I’m not a good man.”

  “No. But I think you could be.”

  His features softened, and he looked almost…gentle. Almost kind. Almost…like Philippe.

  “I’m beginning to think that with your help anything is possible.”

  A blush she didn’t think she was capable of anymore warmed her cheeks. “I loved Philippe. You get that, right? I loved him and I still do.”

&nb
sp; “I know. Did you love me?”

  “Once,” she admitted. “I wanted you.”

  He turned to face her and put his hand under her chin. “Do you still?”

  And just like that she was fourteen again. She licked her lips as she gazed into his dark eyes. What she had once loved in them she had grown to fear. Now both had been tempered by time and hardship. “I don’t know.”

  He nodded his head slowly. “Fair enough. If we live through this, Nicole, I’ll regain your love.”

  She smiled. In some strange way she felt that Philippe had somehow rubbed off on Eli. There would be time enough later to think about that, though—about them.

  She felt Amanda squeeze her hand, and she returned the pressure, realizing her twin couldn’t have helped but overhear the conversation.

  Jer turned his attention to the rest of the forces that had gathered during the night. Jer’s army knelt before him as he finished his incantation of protection. They wore battle armor, forged from the memories of the Middle Ages and the magic of the modern world. Silvery black clung to their bodies like catsuits, and breastplates and helmets of alloy protected their brains and vital organs. They carried machine guns, and lances, and pistols and crossbows. Armand and Pablo held crosses, and Jer had to suppress a snort of derision at their quaint, superstitious belief in the Christian God.

  Magical mists undulated among so many familiar faces as they rose and saluted him as their supreme commander. The ghosts of fallen warriors flickered in and out of being: Kialish, Eddie, Dan, Barbara, Tante Cecile, Silvana, Alonzo, Jose Luis, Josh, Marie-Claire, and Holly’s father, Daniel. Cahors down the centuries, some with their minds intact, looking confused as they regarded their leader—a hated Deveraux. He couldn’t be certain of their loyalty. He had created hundreds of golems and placed the names of Merlin, Laurent, and Catherine in their mouths. Three dragons circled overhead, casting silhouettes against the moon. He heard the baying of hellhounds, favored familiars of warlocks.

  The ground thundered as terra-cotta warriors from China and zombies from Haiti joined Jer’s massed troops. Lions, griffins, and manticores took up their battle stations.