Magick Rising (42 page)

from its resting place in the ceiling as Celeste continued reading the ancient

words aloud before adding her request.

“
Mea culpa
. The fault is mine. Give back to this place the one who was

wrongly sacrificed.
Reddere vitam
. Restore his life. Accept
me
as the sacrifice.”

At the last words, Rose stopped short, stunned into breaking her chant

of offering. “No!”

Celeste hadn’t shared the plan to offer herself. She’d known Rose

wouldn’t help. The anguish in that one word reminded Celeste of the finality

of what she offered. But Celeste would not retract it.

The shutters flew open though there was no wind. Silence fell again. A

trembling shook the stand where the ancient book of spells rested alongside

Erik’s skull. Before Celeste could react, the skull she’d protected for

lifetimes tipped from its stand and split in two as it hit the stone floor.

Frozen, Celeste stared at the pieces, felt a stab through her heart that

brought back the memories, forcing her to relive the moment her dagger

had pierced Erik’s heart between his third and fourth rib. Watching his lips

as he whispered, “Thank you, my love” on his final exhale. Seeing the pain

and forgiveness in his eyes before the light in them darkened. Feeling his

life’s blood spill onto her cursed hand, flowing down her arm before his

lifeless body fell onto her, forcing her to the same cold, stone floor beneath

his weight. She welcomed the heaviness, wishing it would crush the breath

from her body, she wanted to die with him but knew that would negate his

choice, his sacrifice.

Celeste had known in that moment when the metal pierced his flesh

that Erik had forced her hand with a purpose born of love. Had asked the

unthinkable of her in order to save her. A gift unbearable in its magnitude. A

gift she was not given the choice to receive or refuse. Forced upon her out

of his selfless love.

The bite of her knees hitting the rough-hewn stone as she pulled the

two halves of the skull to her breast didn’t register. Celeste ignored the pain.

Rose dropped the silver goblet, spilling the blood offering, and rushed to

wrap spindly arms about Celeste. Holding Celeste and what remained of

Erik. Sheltering them both. Protecting them.

Again.

“What have you done?” Rose’s voice seemed heavy with despair.

“Even I cannot undo this thing.”

Celeste tasted warm salt as the suppressed tears of centuries coursed

down her face, across her lips to flow onto the pieces of the skull. Tears of

rage knowing she’d failed. Tears of anguish as though Erik had died by her

hand moments ago instead of centuries earlier.

“It doesn’t matter, dear Rose. It doesn’t matter.” Celeste raised the

brittle pieces. “Nothing is changed. What is there to undo? He is still lost. I

failed him again.”

The candles sputtered and died as the wind returned, passing over the

unprotected window sills. An electronic bell sounded from the front door.

Both women jumped, startled by the reminder of reality and the present-day

world they lived in, a lifetime away from the past they had tried to recreate.

“Quickly, Rose, put these things away . . . Damn. Who is out there this

time of night? I can’t face anyone now.” Celeste’s arms felt heavy with

failure as she carefully wrapped the skull’s pieces in a cloth and carried it

with the book toward a cabinet flanking the fireplace, her heart in more

pieces than the beloved skull. She tucked the cloaks in with them to offer

more cover.

The bell sounded again.

“Go. I’ll clean this.” Rose continued wiping up the blood.

Celeste smoothed her hair to regain some semblance of calm. Walking

the length of the dim entry hall felt like more than she could manage.

Autumn evenings darkened early, especially with the storms that built

throughout the day. A visitor at dusk this far out of town was unusual.

Celeste hoped it was no more than Brogan, their groundskeeper. He was

always quick to conclude his business.

Finding ways to maintain possession of the family estate through

several lifetimes had proved an education in modern law and inheritance.

The hours spent studying the law had more than paid for itself in the peace

of mind in keeping Montbleu, the place Erik had died.

Plastering her best “I’m a friendly neighbor smile” on her stiff lips,

Celeste grasped the cold metal of the knob and pulled the heavy, wooden

door inward.

Brogan shivered on the stoop, dwarfed by the ornamental evergreens

on either side of the door.

Thank God it’s only Brogan
.

“Brogan, you’re soaked. Come in. Why are you still here? I thought

you’d gone hours ago.” Celeste motioned him inside.

He shook his head and looked back at his pick-up. “Came back to make

sure all was well after the lightning storm. I found a man by the front

entrance.”

“What man?”

“Don’t know, miss. He’s bad off. I had a hard time getting him in the

truck.” Brogan looked toward the truck.

Celeste was thankful for the leather knee boots she’d tucked her jeans

into earlier as she followed Brogan into the rain-soaked night. She ignored

the chill of slashing rain and sleet. A form slumped against the dash in the

passenger seat. The driver’s door remained open, a casualty of Brogan’s rush

to get to the house. The truck’s interior light offered little illumination, just

enough to see the man’s hair was drenched against the back of his head, his

clothing just as wet and covered in mud. The jacket stretched taut across his

shoulders was worn and in disrepair.

A homeless man this far out of town
?

“Is he hurt?” Celeste watched through the passenger window as the

man took a deep breath. At least he was still alive.

“Can’t say, Miss Celeste. No blood far as I can see, only a bump on his

forehead and a bit confused. Maybe he’s been drinking, wrecked his car, and

wandered away from it in the storm.” Brogan motioned to the house. “I’ll

have Rose call the police and an ambulance to be sure.”

At that moment, the man shifted and turned his face toward the

window, inches from Celeste. His eyes popped open.

Celeste bit back a startled cry. The face was Erik’s. Pale and slightly

different, but the eyes—the eyes were not his. For a split second she’d

thought Erik stared at her, but then he was gone. Had the incantation

worked?

A silent cry died in Celeste’s throat. Instead she said, “No. No, Brogan,

I think he’s fine.”

A different man looked out at her from the face of the skull she’d spent

lifetimes trying to resurrect.

Victor.

ERIK COULD SEE the woman through a thick fog, as though she were far

away. Yet her voice forced his nerve endings to a painful wakefulness. He

could smell the essence that was hers alone. She was close. But who was she?

Nausea hit him again. A weight pushed him downward. Down into the

blank darkness he’d finally broken through. Erik fought, but it made no

difference. He hadn’t nearly enough strength. He could feel that. What was

wrong with him? Rest, he just needed rest.

Celeste
.

The name echoed through his body.

Always Celeste.

VICTOR FELT HIMSELF expand with intoxicating power at the shattered

look on the witch’s face, the woman who’d enabled him to breathe again. As

stifling as this dimension’s air was, at least he had another chance. A chance

to gain what had been denied before, full and complete control—all the

power he needed to rule this meager reality and its inhabitants.

The spirit of the body he possessed struggled in vane against Victor,

weak after nearly two centuries of two wills battling to possess the same

body. Victor suppressed Erik, the one who had inadvertently released

Victor’s full powers and then immediately condemned Victor to darkness so

long ago. To being bound inside this body. The physical body was easy to

control, but suppressing the mind and fierce passion driving Erik took more

power. But Victor would relinquish nothing until he had achieved his goals.

Erik would pay.

And so would the woman.

Then, this dimension and the souls within it would belong to him.

Including theirs.

Victor battled to stay alert, to be in control, but unconsciousness won.

For now.

CELESTE STUMBLED two steps back from the vehicle. A mixture of

elation and horror gripped her throat, making breathing painful. The man

she’d spent centuries mourning was within an arm’s reach, yet not. The eyes

looking at her, into her . . . through her . . . were Erik’s. Same shape, color,

and eyelashes. But whatever force was behind the dark gaze was pure evil

and hatred. Pure Victor.

Where are you, Erik?

“What’s happened?” Soft, shuffling footsteps heralded Rose’s

approach. She gasped audibly when she saw Erik’s face, his eyes now closed.

“‘Tis him. How?”

“I don’t know.” Celeste approached the car door wondering whether to

open it or not. “It is, yet I don’t believe it is him. Not all of him.”

Brogan looked from one woman to another. “You know the bloke,

miss?”

Recovering, Celeste attempted to remove all trace of what she was

thinking from her expression. “Only that I recognize him from town, but

not sure exactly where. Would you help move him to the couch, so Rose and

I can make sure he won’t need more medical care than the first aid we can

give him? He seems to be coming around.”

The three of them maneuvered the half-conscious man into the house.

The living room looked normal after the interrupted ceremony. Erik, or

whoever he was, lay motionless on the couch, a blanket beneath and over

him.

Brogan dripped on the carpet. “Are you sure I shouldn’t call anyone?”

“No!” Rose took a breath, embarrassment coloring her cheeks. “I mean

he is no danger to us as he is. We know he’s from town. We’ll see if he needs

help. Probably ought not to move him again if he does. We’ll call the

hospital ambulance if need be.”

Celeste laid a gentle hand on the older man’s arm. “You’re drenched

and will catch a chill if you don’t get home and take care of yourself. We’ll

call you if we need help.”

The man appeared torn by indecision but nodded at Celeste’s calm air

of assurance.

If he only knew
. Celeste wanted to scream, to shake the unconscious man

awake and demand he tell her who he was and how he had arrived.

The heavy front door closed behind Brogan. Silence swelled to fill the

room, seeming to steal the air from the space, replacing it with dark fears.

Rose and Celeste looked at each other then back at the sprawled man.

“Whatever, whoever he is, we must dry him. Tend to any wounds he

might have.” Celeste moved toward Erik—she could think of him by no

other name. Would not. She ached with the need to reach out to touch him.

“I’ll bring what we need.” Rose hurried down the hallway.

One foot still rested on the carpet, the man’s other foot was under a

blanket. Kneeling, Celeste began to work the mud-caked laces of the man’s

boot while Rose returned with a basin of steaming water and towels. Over

one shoulder hung a fresh blanket.

Once they removed the boots and sodden socks from the man’s feet,

Celeste pulled the blanket from him. Erik moaned restlessly in his sleep.

Both women froze, waiting to see if he’d wake.

“What did you mean that it is him, but not?” Rose asked. “Is the face

not his?”

Celeste stared at the man’s profile, his eyes closed, lashes dark against

his skin. A faint shake of his head echoed the shadowed lines of worry that

tortured his forehead.

Who is this? Why is he so like Erik, yet not?

Had her magic plea been answered in the best way possible, or had it

unleashed a darkness she’d thought long buried? She didn’t want to believe

that. Didn’t even want to think it.

“I don’t know, Rose. Do I want it to be him so much that I’m seeing

what isn’t there?” Celeste worked with Rose to remove the wet jacket then

started on the buttons of his worn shirt trying to keep her attention on the

shirt and not the skin beneath. Celeste didn’t want to worry the woman but

knew she had to tell her everything. She couldn’t ignore the possibility.

“It is hard to describe.” Celeste struggled to find the words to explain

what she’d seen in that brief moment before the man had lost

consciousness.

Rose lay the sodden clothing they had already removed into a pile on

the floor. “I don’t understand.”

Sighing, Celeste pushed the shoulders of his shirt away, trying not to let

her fingers linger against his chilled skin. She noted the strength evident in

the muscles exposed in his torso. “For a moment I saw Erik, then he looked

at me and . . . it was not Erik. It was Victor.”