Legacy & Spellbound (37 page)

When the plane landed, she felt sick inside and
out. It took fifteen minutes to reach the gate, and when the FASTEN SEAT BELT sign was finally turned off, the girl beside her leaped from her seat and headed toward the front of the plane. The door opened, and the air from the terminal rushed inward, mixing with the air from the plane, and Luna felt her stomach twisting with nausea. She glanced around her; everyone else seemed unaware of the change as they struggled with their bags. She sighed deeply and closed her eyes.
Sometimes it's hell to be a witch.

She made her way through the airport as quickly as she could. Even here the seedy underbelly of the city flourished. Beggars walked around selling stickers and other trinkets, pushing their presence into the faces of all. Luna shook her head slowly at one of them. The young woman made more in a year from her begging than most of the families trying to escape on vacation who threw guilty dollars her way.

When the woman pressed up to her, Luna stared into her eyes. “I think you should go home. Stop being a burden on society, work to better it.”

Dazed, the young woman nodded slowly and turned to go. The mesmerism would wear off within a few hours, but at least she had purchased a few moments of peace for the young couple from Ohio who would have been the woman's next mark.

Luna continued on to ground transportation, her overnight bag held tightly in her hand. Los Angeles was a dangerous place, even for a witch. And somewhere, amid all the chaos and insanity, was a young man she needed to find. She only prayed that his heart had not been twisted by the evil around him. She prayed that he served the Goddess. She prayed that at least he did not serve the Horned God …
or something worse.

Outside, the tangled cars vied with one another for positions at the curb. The honking horns and shouting voices mingled with the shrill whistles of the parking police to form a cacophony of sound that was deafening.

She hailed a taxi and stepped inside. It took all her powers just to communicate with the driver the name of the hotel she wished to visit. The Wilshire Grand Hotel was one of the most prestigious hotels in Los Angeles. She didn't know why, then, she had such a problem explaining her destination. She sighed and sank back into her seat. It was not going to be an easy trip.

Half an hour later, the taxi pulled up to the hotel and Luna pulled her nails from the seat of the car.
I must have lost ten years of life,
she thought bitterly. The drive had been enough to turn the most hardened warrior green with motion sickness and pale with fright.

She checked in and was shown to her room. She did not have much to unpack. Still, she took the time to ward the room and place various magic arcana around.

She ordered a light dinner from room service and ate it leisurely. Once finished, she dressed for the evening. She donned a simple white gown that she decorated with silver moon-shaped jewelry. She took one look in the mirror before heading for the door. It was time to go the theater.

Within minutes she was at the Ahmanson Theatre. She accepted her program and found her seat about ten minutes before the show was to start. She took the time to read her program.

The historic Ahmanson Theatre had been the site of the West Coast premier of
The Phantom of the Opera.
Now the musical was back, with a fast-rising young star playing the role of the Phantom. She read his bio with an amused grin. Alex Carruthers had been mesmerizing audiences across the country with his portrayal of the tortured Phantom. Alex had been acting since the age of seven, when he played Winthrop Wallace in a local theater's performance of
The Music Man.
He had attended a prestigious acting school in Los Angeles after high school. At twenty-three, he was the youngest actor to star in
The Phantom of the Opera
.

The lights in the theater dimmed briefly, signaling theater patrons to take their seats. Five minutes later, the curtain lifted. By the time the first act ended, Christine, the beautiful heroine of the story, was not the only one under the Phantom's spell.

Alex Carruthers had mesmerized the entire audience.

Alex Carruthers played the crowd and they ate it up. Luna watched him as the Phantom. By the time he was singing “The Point of No Return,” trying to seduce the young actress playing Christine, the sexual energy flowing off every woman in the room was overpowering. And at the end of the final act, even the grown men were weeping.

Five curtain calls later, the house lights came up and the rush to leave the theater began. Luna sat for a moment, waiting for her row to empty out.

The young man was powerful. If he had any other skills that could match his ability of mesmerism, he would be a formidable force indeed.
Now it's time to find out whom he serves.

She rose and made her way toward the stage. “Cloak my passing from all eyes, make invisibility my guise,” she murmured. She smiled at herself. When she had become High Priestess, she had ceased needing to speak her spells aloud. All of the upheaval in the
coven must be upsetting her more than she'd realized.

She took the stage and slid behind the curtain, walking past stagehands already putting things away for the next evening's performance. As she drifted by one of the dressing rooms, the actress playing Carlotta glanced up suspiciously.
She's a witch and she can feel me. She does well to be worried; she has a lot to hide
. In a twist of irony, the actress playing the diva that the Phantom despised couldn't actually sing well. She glamoured her voice so that it would appear passable. Luna paused for a moment as a new thought occurred to her:
Or perhaps someone glamoured her voice for her.

She moved on; the woman was not the one she sought. When she stopped outside the men's dressing room, Alex was waiting for her. He rose from his seat and glided toward her. He alone saw her; the rest were still blinded to her presence.
Walk with me.

She fell into step beside him. Within moments they had reached his private dressing room and entered. Once in the room, she allowed her invisibility to drop from her, so that he could see her clearly.

He was tall, just over six feet. He had white-blond hair, and blue eyes that crackled with energy.
He looks nothing like a Cahors, and yet I can feel their blood coursing through his veins
. There might not be a physical resemblance, but the psychic one was undeniable.

He sat down and motioned her to a seat as well. She took it and began probing his mind even as he was probing hers. She freely opened areas of her mind where she wanted him to go, and reinforced her mental blocks around the things she was not ready to share with him. He did the same, and they danced back and forth, thrusting into each other's minds and parrying the other's attacks.

At last, a truce was called, and just in time; he had nearly torn down her defenses.
By the Goddess, he is strong!

“Why have you come?” he asked simply.

“To see you.”

“Whom do you serve?” he asked.

“I belong to the Goddess. I am Luna, High Priestess of the Mother Coven.” She lifted her chin. “And you?”

“I am Alex Carruthers, of the Coven of the Air. I serve the Goddess as well.”

She narrowed her eyes as she studied him. Somehow, she didn't think that that was entirely true; it didn't feel like the first response that had come to his mind. She glanced around the room. On the back of a door hung a dark blue silk robe with a large moon on the back. A small statue of Aphrodite rested on the dressing table. Other than that, the room was bare of magic symbols.

She forced herself to relax slightly.
These are both Goddess symbols. If he has not benefited from formal instruction, there might be some slight variations in the way he worships, and that might be what disturbs me.

She smiled grimly. Just as the Goddess had many forms, there were many ways to worship her, different ones adopted by different cultures. In the end they were more alike than different, and they worshiped the same being.
It's like Protestants arguing over whether they're Lutheran or Methodist.

Alex smiled disarmingly at her. “I believe we worship the same Lady?”

She nodded. “The others in the troupe—they are your coven?”

“Some of them,” he admitted. “We of the Craft must stick together.”

“And the actress playing Carlotta—you were the one to glamour her voice?”

He sighed in a frustrated manner. “Yes. She's a marvelous actress, and she's always been like an aunt to me. She just can't sing.”

“No one in the audience would know that.”

“Except for you,” he pointed out.

“Except for me,” she admitted.

He gazed at her for a long moment. “You said you
came to see me, Luna of the Mother Coven. What is it that you wanted?”

She smiled and leaned forward. “I want to reac-quaint you with your roots.”

He frowned, and she could tell that she had truly surprised him. After a moment, he spoke: “I discovered at the age of five that I was different, that I could make things happen. When I was ten I realized I was a witch and that my mother had been one. I joined my first coven a year later, and by the time I was fifteen I was the head of my own. I am a witch and have had to hide this fact from a society that really has not moved much past where it was during the Salem witch trials. What more could you possibly have to tell me?”

She chuckled softly. “Everything.”

Tri-Coven: Seattle

Holly, or what was left of her, stood outside the hotel room where the others were hiding. She cocked her head to the side, listening to the multitude of voices within. Something was being said about death.

There were barriers around the hotel, but they were weak—at least they
felt
weak. She raised her hands, whispering, “Kill them, kill them all.”

Fireballs appeared in the air before her, hundreds of them, shining and pulsing with deadly energy. They
quivered, eager to be unleashed upon their target.
“Aggredior!”
she cried, and the fireballs whizzed through the air like flights of arrows.

The first wave exploded against the wards, weakening them. The second wave punched holes through the wards, and they shimmered briefly before vanishing. The third wave assaulted the building, setting it instantly ablaze.

There were shouts from within and doors flew open, the covenates burst from the building, lobbing fireballs of their own as they scrambled for some kind of cover. Holly laughed and raised her arms to send another volley their way.

Before she could, something tackled her from behind and knocked the breath from her. She lay on the ground for a moment, stunned.
Get up, get up,
a voice hissed in her mind. Was it hers? She didn't know.
Run quickly. No! Stand and fight, destroy!

She clamped her hands over her ears and screamed. The voices were arguing, urging her to do one thing, then another.

“What do you want from me?” she shrieked. “Leave me alone!”

“Holly!” she heard a voice cry, far away and muffled, as though it were underwater. “Holly, look out!”

What do they want from me?
she thought, angrily
raising her head and turning to look. What she saw made no sense. A giant man-beast of gray hovered over her.

She rolled to the side as a massive fist crushed the earth where she had lain. She breathed, and fire exploded from her fingertips, engulfing the creature.

The fire didn't phase it, and it just reached for her again. It picked her up and began to squeeze, crushing her ribs. She let her head fall to the side as her vision dimmed.

The end at last … thank the Goddess.

No! Kill it. Destroy it.

I don't know what it is.

Golem. Erase the first symbol on its forehead.

Holly reached up with her hand and jabbed her thumb into the
e
of the word
emet
on the thing's forehead. She ground at it. It howled in anguish and dropped her, hands flying to its head.

She scrambled to her feet, ready to finish what she had started. Another voice inside, more insistent, screamed,
Run!

She did.

Amanda stood panting, watching helplessly as Holly ran off, pursued by four great lumbering creatures.

“What, what are those things?” she gasped.

“Golems,” Sasha answered solemnly. “Creatures made of clay and imbued with the will of their creator.”

“Who made them? Michael?” Philippe questioned.

Sasha shook her head slowly. “To make one of those takes years of serious study in the Kabalistic teachings. It is one of the most difficult and dangerous pieces of magic one could ever do. Michael doesn't possess the knowledge of such teachings to have done it.”

“You're sure of that?” Richard questioned sharply.

Sasha nodded. “His magic isn't based on that, and from all that I know, he has never reached into other religions with enough zealousness to learn such things.”

“If not Michael, then who?” Philippe asked.

“I don't know, and that's what frightens me.”

“The leader of the Supreme Coven,” Pablo whispered, so softly that they barely heard him.

Armand nodded. “You said these Golems were imbued with the will of their creator?”

Sasha nodded.

Armand turned to Pablo. “And it was the leader of the Supreme Coven that you felt when they were here.”

Pablo shuddered lightly. “Yes. And they were searching for Amanda.”

“If they were after me, there are probably more
looking for Holly and Nicole,” Amanda groaned.

Sasha put an arm around Amanda's shoulders. “We'll look after you, sweetheart. Your father is right, though: We're not safe now; we have to go.”

“Where?” Amanda asked, her heart heavy with worry.

There was silence for a long minute. It was finally broken by Kari, who had said nothing since the attack. “I know a place.”