Magick Rising (44 page)

dreams—Erik. Then, Victor would claim Celeste and her power as a true

white witch, the seventh daughter born to a seventh daughter. Their joining

would render them invincible.

Then, when he had no further need of her, Victor would kill her, too.

Slowly.

She would pay for her interference. He would enjoy every second of

Celeste’s agony and pain.

Walking to stand in front of her, Victor imagined the torture he would

relish inflicting before ending her life as he watched Celeste sleep.

“Wake, witch!” Vincent kicked the chair.

Celeste jumped to her feet, nearly knocking into him.

“What’s wrong? Erik, are you in pain?”

She reached out to touch his arm. Victor knocked it away. He knew the

instant she looked into the eyes of the one she believed she knew and

encountered him instead. Victor.

Celeste moved to keep the chair between them. “I knew I saw you.

What do you want?”

Victor liked the mix of fear and defiance on the woman’s face. Enjoyed

the scent of it as it grew and filled the air between them.

“Everything.” He saw the confusion on her face. “Did you not offer

yourself in exchange for the return of a life?”

“Yes, but—”

“There is no but. You offered, I accepted.” Victor stepped closer to

Celeste. She stood her ground.

“Erik, where is he?” Celeste stared into him. “I offered myself in

exchange for his life.”

“Yes. And he lives. For now.” Victor absorbed the horror that flickered

across her face. “There was no stipulation that only he return. We are both

here. Thanks to you, witch.”

Turning, Celeste walked to the fireplace, never taking her gaze off of

him. “But Rose and I performed the ceremony exactly as the Grimoire

demanded. The only change was my offer.”

“Ah, yes, dear Rose.” Victor liked having that unknown in his arsenal.

“Your offer was the final piece needed.”

“What does that mean?” Celeste asked.

“None of your business. You offered yourself with the limited

information at your disposal.” Victor stepped next to the woman, staring

down into her eyes. “I wonder what else you might be persuaded to offer in

exchange for the man you murdered.”

Victor enjoyed the pain that crossed her features at the reminder.

He reached out and touched a strand of hair that lay across the top of

her breast. When she would have pulled away, Victor grabbed it and

viciously yanked her closer and forced her to look up at him with only the

space of a breath between them. Subservient in physical position, defiance

still radiated from her.

Victor lowered his head toward her mouth. He would teach her who

was master. She would declare it before he was done with her.

Celeste darted a glance toward the iron fire poker only inches from

where they stood. She strained away from his mouth, pain etched on her

face from the force of his hands, both of them now entwined in her hair to

hold her still.

Victor laughed without mirth. “Ah, Celeste, so transparent. You’d kill

Erik again?”

“No! Only you.”

“Right now, that is not an option. We are the same.”

The horror of the situation flickered in the witch’s eyes as he claimed

her mouth.

Excitement surged through Victor as he ground Celeste’s closed lips

against her clenched teeth until he tasted the salt of her blood.

ROSE WOKE DRENCHED in sweat, twisted in the sheets from the

nightmare that had assaulted her. Celeste had been in danger, and she’d been

unable to help. The memory of it caused a sob to surge into her throat. She

quickly suppressed it before it became a reality.

Not now, Rose. You’ve been strong this long
.

The feeling of dread wouldn’t leave even with sleep banished.

Grabbing the robe from the foot of the bed, Rose shrugged into it as

she pushed her cold feet into slippers. Something wasn’t right.

Trembling now, she hurried to find Celeste. To reassure herself that all

was well and that an ancient evil was not walking amongst them as her night

terror foretold.

Stopping short in the archway between the hall and great room, Rose

felt foolish at seeing the two silhouetted by firelight in an embrace.

No nightmare. All was as it should have been before.

She turned to slip silently away but stopped short at a muffled word

from Celeste.

“No.”

Rose moved back into the room and could see that Celeste was pushing

against Erik’s chest, and he had her hair in his hands. It was not passion

visible in Celeste’s gaze, but disgust and fear.

A trickle of blood was at the corner of her lip.

Rose moved as quickly as her aged frame would allow and gripped

Erik’s nearest hand. “Stop. You are hurting her.”

The man shoved against Rose with his forearm, knocking her against a

low table. “Off of me, old woman, or you shall pay for now what you did not

before.”

Rose shuddered. The voice was not Erik’s, nor was the look on the

man’s face.

Victor was here.

The nightmare was real.

Shoving Celeste away from him, Victor glanced toward the nearest

window then faced the two women. “Now is not the time. I will claim your

power when you offer it freely”

“Never!” Celeste said.

“Be careful of your words, witch. You have learned they have power.

Power you will live to regret.” Victor moved to stare out a window at the

sunrise tainting the eastern sky. The jagged bare limbs of trees stripped of

life reached toward the growing light. He gripped the marble sill in a death

grip, fighting the inevitable.

Erik grew stronger.

Temporary surrender, nothing more.

ROSE MOVED TO Celeste, dabbing her bleeding lip with a tissue from

Rose’s robe pocket. The younger woman trembled as they watched to see

what Victor might do next.

The man merely stared out the window, stumbled a couple of steps

back toward them before staring about him in bewilderment. He raised a

hand toward Celeste.

“Don’t touch me again.” Celeste put herself between Victor and Rose,

grabbed the poker and prepared to fight if necessary.

“What? Again?” Shaking his head, the man sat in the nearest chair,

holding his head in his hands. “How am I dressed?”

Celeste moved a step closer, retaining the poker. “Who are you?”

“I don’t know. Why are you bleeding?”

Celeste touched her tongue to the split in her lip. “You know. You did

it.”

An anguished gaze turned to her, the man looked into her eyes.

Erik
.

“You can’t let me sleep.” Erik shook his head. “The nightmares . . . I

don’t understand.”

“What do you remember?” Celeste lowered her weapon but maintained

her hold on it. For now.

“Questioning you about the vision of you stabbing me. Then nothing.”

Erik sat straighter. “It has been like that for too long. War is the only thing

that helps.”

Celeste moved to sit on the table in front of him. “Do you remember

getting dressed? Waking me? Kissing me? Hurting me?”

Each question caused shutters to close over Erik’s expression.

“Nothing.”

Celeste turned to Rose. “Please, may we have some tea? We have much

to discuss.”

“Are you sure ‘tis safe to be with this one?”

Looking for a moment into the eyes of the man before her, Celeste

nodded.

Rose stared at Celeste gravely before leaving the room.

Celeste turned back to Erik after watching Rose leave the room; for a

moment she wanted to call the older woman back. Her presence always

offered calm and security. But Rose had just endangered herself by trying to

intercede for Celeste when she’d been held by Victor. Celeste wanted to be

sure that didn’t happen again.

“What did you mean by ‘War is the only thing that helps?’”

Erik stood and paced in front of the fireplace. Celeste feared he would

refuse to answer.

“I don’t understand it, have told no one since they’d think I’m crazy.”

Erik stopped. “But my visions make me believe you will not doubt.”

Celeste stood. “I will trust anything you choose to tell me.”

A look of doubt crossed the face of the man before her. His features

were at once familiar and foreign. She’d believe in him based on the love she

still felt. Separating this man from the one who’d hurt her just moments

earlier was a struggle, but Celeste focused on doing so.

“Sometimes I’ve not known who I am. But, fighting seems to be

something I’m born to do.” Erik watched her face closely. He moved to

stand in front of her. “I’ve done it for a long time. Lifetimes it seems.”

Her breath caught on an inhale. Lifetimes? How was that possible when

he’d been dead? She’d seen him die. Had killed him. Hadn’t she brought him

back with the magic of the Grimoire and ceremony?

“Knowing my name is not the same as knowing who I am. Nor does

knowing my name help with understanding why I keep finding myself living

new lifetimes, not dead.” Erik shook his head. “It sounds crazy.”

Celeste pushed her own fears about Victor reappearing aside to offer

comfort. “Not crazy.”

“Why not?” Erik demanded.

“Because I have spent lifetimes fighting for something.” Celeste feared

sharing too much, too soon.

“For what?”

Deciding truth would be met with truth, Celeste took a deep breath and

cautiously reached up to place her palm against his whisker roughened

cheek. “You.”

ERIK SEARCHED THE woman’s expression. To see the lie behind her

words. They made no sense. He’d remembered her stabbing him, killing

him.

The softness of her hand contrasted with the tenseness he held in his

jaw. He fought an urge to turn his head and place his mouth against Celeste’s

soft hand. A hand that held a touch familiar, a touch his body responded

to . . . a touch he wanted more of. Now.

A sound from the doorway alerted them that Rose waited, tray in hand.

She moved further into the room and put the tea tray on the coffee table.

Erik took a step back from Celeste, and her hand slipped back to her

side.

“She speaks the truth, Erik. I have been there each time.” Rose moved

to sit in a nearby rocker, seeming to sense that the conversation was between

Erik and Celeste now that Rose had offered her assurance as to the validity

of Celeste’s claim.

“Tell me.” Erik motioned Celeste to sit.

Celeste moved to the chair he pointed to, and once seated, Erik sat

across from her. The small split on her slightly swollen lip bothered him,

especially since she claimed he’d caused the wound.

“This is my fourth lifetime.” Celeste paused as though waiting for him

to dispute her statement.

Erik waited.

“In my first, we knew each other. We trained under the same high

priest. Each of us was sent by our families to live with this man once our
gifts

were noticed and they realized we would be safer there.”

“Why safer?”

“People at that time feared magic of any kind. We’d just left the

seventeen hundreds behind, but not the fear. It actually grew, escalated.”

Celeste did not look away from his gaze, seeming to will him to understand.

“Many like us, those born with the magic within, were killed by those who

didn’t understand. Usually in infancy. We were safe here, within the walls of

Montbleu. Our families knew that.”

Erik looked around the great room, familiar yet not, out the windows,

then back. “We were in this building?”

“Yes.” Celeste hesitated only a moment before continuing. “Here we

learned from our teacher and the Grimoire. It was here . . . you died. I have

spent centuries holding onto this place in order to bring you back.”

Erik laughed mirthlessly. “You mean here is where you stabbed me? In

this room?”

Celeste closed her eyes, pain crossing her features. “Your vision is true

but not complete.”

Standing abruptly, Erik knocked the chair to the ground. “Why believe

you? Everything I’ve done has been based on the treachery of others. Other

cultures, other men. Why believe you are different?”

“Because your soul and both of our lives depends on you being able to

trust me.”

“You ask too much, woman.” Erik’s anger only increased at the sight of

sadness on Celeste’s face and the silent tears running down the older

woman’s face. “Why am I here? For days I was drawn to drive to the east

coast from my base in New Mexico. Had to ask for leave based on the

migraines. I couldn’t admit to the insanity and dreams . . . or rather,

nightmares.”

Celeste stood, cautiously, as though fearful any sudden movement

would alter the atmosphere of the room even more. She walked to the

window and looked out for long moments before turning.

Helplessness coursed through Erik. He hated not knowing what

happened while he slept, hated that he was drawn so powerfully to this