Resurrection Read online

  Then he got married himself, and had a little girl. Named Holly.

  And I loved you, baby, and I didn’t want to put witchblood into your veins. I denied it; I never told you. I was so afraid, and then you started showing us your gifts. On the river trip your mother and I fought because I had never told her, either. I’m so sorry. I wanted so badly to give you a normal life that I didn’t prepare you. Didn’t reveal our family legacy. And then I died…

  Those who love a Cahors are doomed to die by drowning, and yes, I was a witch, but I loved you so much

  so much

  so much

  Holly…forgive me…if only I could turn back the clock.

  En route to Bombay:

  Holly, Armand, Pablo, Alex, and the Temple of the Air

  Holly sat up with a gasp. “Daddy?”

  The darkness pressed in around her, and as she came fully awake, she remembered. He was dead, drowned in the rafting trip long before she had learned who she was. He and her mother and her best friend had been the first people she’d lost in this hellish war. For a moment, though, he had seemed so near. It was almost as though she could still smell his aftershave lingering in the air around her.

  It wouldn’t be the first time she had had a dream vision of him. She lay back down and tried to still her thoughts, desperate to remember something, anything, of the dream, or visitation, or whatever it had been.

  Bits and pieces of it came back to her, but they didn’t all make sense. After trying for several minutes, she finally got up and decided to take a short walk outside the house where they had found lodging for the evening. She stepped carefully so as not to disturb anyone else. When she reached the front door, she found it unlocked. Someone else must be awake.

  She slipped outside and breathed in deeply of the cold, clear air. High above, the moon seemed to wink at her. She used to love staring at the moon. So much had happened, though, that it was hard to take joy in it. It just made her think of the Goddess to whom she had sacrificed so much, and who had in turn taken so many and who had eroded away parts of Holly’s own soul.

  She became slowly aware of the presence of another. Finally she turned to see Armand. He stood, tall and silent in the night like some harbinger.

  “You’re awake,” she said.

  “There was something in the house,” he said simply.

  “Near me?” she asked.

  “Sí.”

  “What was it?”

  “I thought perhaps it was a demon,” Armand said with an uneasy shrug.

  Holly nodded. Armand was the one who had freed her when she herself had been possessed by hundreds of demons in the Dreamtime. She knew that it had taken every bit of knowledge and strength he had to do it. He had always been quiet and thoughtful, but he had lately become more withdrawn. It had been easy to overlook because she knew she’d been more withdrawn as well. One of the reasons she had agreed to join this pilgrimage was because Alex had held out the hope of being able to heal the damage to her mind and soul from all the fighting, all the death, all the things that I sacrificed to protect my covenates.

  “And?” she asked.

  “It wasn’t. I think you were receiving a visit, although I know it wasn’t the Goddess.”

  Tears stung her eyes, and impulsively she threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you,” she whispered. “It was my father.”

  He put his arms around her and just held her for a moment. It felt good to touch another human being, someone who understood, someone who didn’t ask anything of her.

  Mumbai: Anne-Louise Montrachet

  Ten miles from my luxury hotel, and I’m in an unbelievable slum, Anne-Louise thought as she passed under the low threshold into the old warlock’s hovel. She was dressed in a sari of deep blue trimmed with gold, and she inhaled the pungent odor of sandalwood incense as she shuffled through a floral carpet of pastel bell weed petals and fragrant gardenias. Sitar music thrummed, vibrating against the potent magical emanations in the air. The earthy room hung in gloom, despite the beautiful twilight outside that washed the poverty-stricken alley with the promise of better days.

  Ever since waking from her dream vision that had told her that Alex Carruthers was an imposter, she had been searching for the Cathers witches in vain. The Mother Coven did not know where they were, and she wasn’t about to share her information with anyone other than the three girls. Whisper, the cat goddess who had guided her through her visions, waited in the hotel room while she ventured out in search of a man who might be able to help her.

  The wizened old man was sitting on a red silk cushion, wearing dozens of bead necklaces around his neck and nothing more than a dhoti, a traditional saronglike skirt. His feet were bare. His left eye was milky white; the lid drooped over his right eye. Although he was bald, his long white beard coiled in his lap like an albino snake.

  Anne-Marie knelt on the dirt floor at his feet, offering a hamper of dried fruits and fresh mangoes. I pray the Goddess has brought me to my answers. She pressed her palms together and dipped her head.

  “Great Swami, divine seer,” she began, “thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

  “Tipping the scales,” he whispered in heavily accented English. “Must be righted.” His shaking hand reached forward, trembling along the skin of the nearest mango like a spider. He grabbed it and cackled gleefully. “Balance.”

  She remained silent, waiting for more. He bit into the mango without peeling it; fragrant juice ran down his chin. He flashed her a toothless grin and rocked back and forth. Then he dropped the mango into his lap and reached for another.

  “Sir,” she ventured, “we were to speak of the witches I seek. Holly, Amanda, and Nicole.” They had exchanged written letters.

  “Bargain.” He wagged his finger at her as he sniffed at the mango. “Balance.”

  Il est fou. He’s crazy. Another dead end, she thought, disappointment flooding through her. She had been certain the runes had told her to travel to India—to Bombay, now known as Mumbai. Her crystal ball had led her to this man, Swami Mukherjee.

  And yet…magical power occasionally caused the appearance of madness. If she could get through to him, communicate with him…

  “Sir, these women are in terrible danger,” she said. “I must find them.”

  He nodded. “Temple of the Sun, you are looking there. But…balance, Frenchie!”

  Temple of the Sun? “As in Machu Picchu?” she asked him. “The Pyramid of the Sun, in Peru?”

  He burst into gales of laughter. Beneath her knees and shins the ground jiggled slightly. His doing? Earthquake? She tensed, and looked at him to see if he had felt it too. To her surprise he threw his arms around himself and began to whimper.

  “Silence!” he whispered, shaking his head. “Too much, too much!”

  He leaped to his feet; the two mangoes tumbled to the ground and bounced like tennis balls. The hamper of dried fruit tipped over. A strip of plastic webbing snapped from the roof of bamboo poles and matting, and flapped down onto Anne-Louise’s head like a pennant.

  “Swami Mukherjee,” she said, reaching for him as he backed away, shaking his head. “We should get out of here.”

  He began to babble. Unsteadily she rose, glancing up as a pole dislodged and almost hit her on the shoulder. Grabbing for his hand, she was thrown back to the floor as the hut shook hard. Another piece of plastic swooped over her face, obscuring her vision. The floor rolled like an ocean wave, and he screamed.

  “Swami!” she cried, pushing the plastic away as she sat up—

  —just in time to watch the floor split down the center, becoming two islands separated by a chasm boiling with smoke. With one final shriek Swami Mukherjee disappeared into the smoky void, and Anne-Louise teetered on the edge.

  “Ma Déesse!” she cried as she began to fall in after him.

  “Alors!” shouted a man as a strong arm wrapped around her wrist. Then someone dragged her backward as smoke billowed out of the pit, clogging her throat an
d searing her eyes.

  The man urged her outside, murmuring magic spells she recognized as that peculiar brand of Catholicism and White Magic favored by male European witches. She finally recognized his voice before her burning eyes could see him.

  “You are Philippe, of the Spanish Coven,” she said, doubling over and coughing hard.

  “Oui.”

  He dashed back into the hovel. She saw and felt the pearly luminescence of magic permeating the air. She heard him swear in guttural French.

  Then he reappeared. “Gone,” he said. He added his magic to hers as she cleared her lungs and eyes with a healing spell.

  “Are you searching for the Three as well?” she asked. “Holly, Amanda, and Nicole?”

  He ran his hands through his hair as he nodded. “For Holly originally. I had a message from my covenates that there was great danger. I went to find them but could not. And now I have lost Amanda and Nicole and the baby as well,” he said, the desperation in his eyes painfully clear.

  People in street clothes had begun running toward the swami’s hut. Together, Philippe and Anne-Louise moved into an adjacent alley, watching as each conjured restoration spells designed to aid the swami, if indeed he could still be helped.

  After an hour of futile searching, the locals gave up. Philippe led the way back into the hut, and they stared down at the place where the fissure had occurred. The dirt floor was sealed once more, and there was no evidence that it had ever split apart.

  “Nicole had a baby?” Anne-Louise ventured.

  “Oui.” His voice shook; he was distraught, barely keeping himself under control.

  “Perhaps the…father of that baby wove powerful magic around it, to protect it. Perhaps anyone who tries to find it is dealt with harshly.”

  He was silent for a long time. As she gazed at him, a muscle jumped in his cheek. His jaw was clamped, and his gaze was stony and troubled.

  “I have reason to believe that I am the father,” he replied.

  She wrapped her small hand around his larger one. “Then it might be Alex Carruthers who is keeping you from them,” she said. “I had a vision, and I know he’s an imposter. He’s not the cousin of Holly, Amanda, and Nicole.”

  He jerked. “He’s not? Then who is he?”

  She took a deep breath. “I don’t know.” Then she looked down at the remains of a mango, flattened into a pulp. “Obviously he doesn’t want us to find out.”

  “That won’t stop me,” he declared.

  “Nor I.” They smiled thinly at each other.

  Scarborough: Nicole and Owen

  Nicole was bored. She smiled as she realized how long it had been since she had felt that emotion. What once would have been annoying now seemed like a luxury. Amanda and Tommy had gone into town for supplies, and her dad was getting in some target practice—and, she suspected, double-checking the perimeter booby traps he had set in place. No matter how many wards, light or dark, were protecting a place, her dad always gave it a special real-world makeover too.

  That left her and Owen puttering around the house, and it felt almost normal. If she closed her eyes, she could almost make herself believe that she was a normal woman with a normal baby and a normal husband, who would be coming home from work soon. She would cook him dinner, spaghetti, one of the only things she could make that was edible. Then they would play together before putting the baby to bed. Maybe there would even be some time for cuddling in front of the television before bedtime. It sounded so deliciously boring that it made her want to cry.

  She scooped Owen up into her arms and even whispered to him “Daddy’s coming soon,” just to see how it would feel.

  Owen smiled at her. As he did, she felt her own smile slipping. Something didn’t seem right. Suddenly he opened his mouth wide and said, “Yes.”

  She gasped and nearly dropped him. He started to laugh, high and wild laughter, and she hastened to put him down on the couch. He just stared at her and continued to laugh.

  “Stop it, Owen!”

  He just laughed louder. She shuddered and pressed her hands over her ears. She tried to think of a spell that would mute his voice, but every bit of magical knowledge seemed to fly out of her head.

  Owen raised his tiny hands into the air and closed them into fists as though he were trying to catch her fleeing thoughts. And then his powder blue footsy pajamas shimmered and turned into black robes. Symbols that she couldn’t understand appeared in black smoke in the air around him, winking in and out of existence.

  “Stop it!” she shouted over and over again, terrified to touch him and not even able to remember how to throw up a shield around her or him.

  Suddenly behind her she heard a deep male voice boom, “Owen, no!”

  The moment seemed to shatter into a thousand pieces. The black smoke disappeared, his blue footsy pajamas were once again covering him, and everything Nicole had ever learned about magic flooded her mind. Owen scrunched up his tiny face and started to cry as Richard strode forward and picked him up.

  “Thanks, Dad,” Nicole said. “I don’t know—”

  He shook his head. “Let’s talk about it when someone’s asleep.”

  She looked at her son and couldn’t help but remember the way he had looked at her when he was laughing. “That sounds like a good idea.”

  An hour later Tommy and Amanda came home. Nicole called them onto the grounds as usual, and the two of them came into the house laughing and tickling each other. Tommy was singing “Scarborough Fair” at the top of his lungs.

  When Nicole looked at him oddly, he shrugged. “Hey, since we live here, I figure I should actually learn the words to the song.”

  “It’s not the national anthem,” Amanda said, rolling her eyes.

  “No, it’s like the town-al anthem.”

  “That’s not even a word,” Amanda said, punching him in the shoulder.

  “How do you know? Have you looked it up?”

  Richard came into the kitchen, his face grim. “Family conference.”

  The laughter died on Amanda’s and Tommy’s lips, and Nicole was sorry for it. As much as she sometimes wished she could have a normal life, she would have given anything for Amanda and Tommy to live in happiness and peace somewhere far from fighting.

  Tommy looked uncertain, and then began to edge toward the door.

  “Stay,” Richard commanded.

  Tommy moved back, face serious but eyes alight. If he’s not family at this point, I don’t know who could be, Nicole thought.

  “Owen’s upstairs asleep. A little while ago we had a bit of a problem with him,” Richard began.

  “Is he okay?” Amanda burst out.

  Richard held up his hand. “Near as we can tell, he’s fine…now.”

  “What happened?” Tommy asked.

  Nicole took a deep breath and then described everything she had seen and felt. The others listened intently. Amanda kept getting paler, and by the end of the recital her hands were shaking.

  “Wow,” Tommy said when she’d finished.

  “Yeah, wow,” Nicole echoed.

  “What does it mean?” Richard asked bluntly.

  None of the three magic users had an answer for him. They fidgeted uncomfortably under his gaze.

  Finally Tommy took a stab at it. “Well, the baby’s, like, manifesting magic early. And babies get all they need from their mothers…” He flushed and trailed off.

  “You mean like milk?” Nicole asked.

  “It makes sense if you think about it,” Amanda said, staring fixedly at the kitchen counter. “Everything he needs to live he leeched off you when he was inside you, and to some extent he’s still doing that.”

  “So, when he starts to do magic, he’s pulling it from her until he’s old enough to take care of himself in that regard?” Richard asked.

  Tommy and Amanda nodded, but Nicole wasn’t buying it. “I felt like he was sucking it out of me, but the things he was doing—I can’t do them. I can do small glamours, yes, but I
can’t change my clothes! And those signs and symbols in the air, I don’t know any of them and I didn’t get a happy feeling off them in general.”

  “Maybe they’re coming from his father,” Tommy ventured.

  The room went completely silent. It was so quiet the silence seemed to roar in Nicole’s ears. There was the question again. Who was the baby’s father? If those symbols really had been dark magics, and Owen really was getting them from his father, that ruled out Philippe. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she didn’t feel so sick inside.

  “Does that mean the father is nearby?” Amanda asked quietly.

  Nicole heard Owen’s “Yes” from earlier echoing around in her head. She silently prayed to the Goddess, Please, please, don’t let Daddy come home!

  “Maybe he’s not just pulling from his parents,” Richard suggested. “It could have come from another magic user close by.”

  Amanda shook her head. “I don’t think so. We weren’t that far away, and I didn’t feel a thing. Did you?” she asked, turning to Tommy.

  “Nothing,” he agreed.

  “What if he was getting it from the house?” Nicole asked.

  “That’s impossible,” Amanda blurted.

  Nicole stared at her twin. She had the feeling Amanda was hiding something. She thought about calling her out then and there, but she knew her sister. Amanda usually didn’t keep secrets without a reason. Nicole thought maybe she should wait and try to talk to her alone first. After all, they were the Ladies of the Lily. She just really wished she knew where the third lady was. If ever they could have used Holly, it was now.

  Suddenly Richard’s demeanor changed. “Meeting adjourned; he’s awake.”

  “I didn’t hear anything,” Tommy said.

  “I didn’t feel anything,” Amanda chimed in.

  Suddenly over the baby monitor on the far counter they could hear Owen start to coo.

  “Dad, you sure you’re not psychic?” Nicole asked suspiciously.

  He smiled. “Nope. Just years of practice with kids.”

  Nicole went upstairs to get Owen, and Amanda excused herself. She had to get away from the others so she could have some time to think. Could it be possible that Owen was somehow channeling the energies of the house? It made her sick just to think of it, but it made sense. The house seemed to be calling to her sometimes. If it was, couldn’t it also be reaching out to Owen?