Magick Rising (45 page)

woman. A woman, who by her own admission, had killed him.

“Erik, you were drawn here by a power—a magic—more dangerous

than any battle or enemy you’ve faced in any of your remembered lifetimes.”

Celeste looked at the older woman whose slight nod seemed encouragement

for her to continue. “Victor is the dark one, the one we mistakenly helped

gain great dark power the night you . . . died. He is somehow part of you

now. Each time I look at you it is as though each of you fights for control of

this body.”

Pain throbbed in his temple, nearly keeping him from focusing on the

witch’s words. The pain that had been with him for centuries. His fingers

pressed against both temples.

“More, tell me more quickly before I can’t hear you.” Erik fought back

the nausea the pain always brought.

Celeste walked to him, touched his arm. “What is it?”

Erik focused on the pads of her fingertips against his fevered skin. It

helped him to not sink deeper into the spiral of pain. “At times the pain

inside my mind is worse than a death. Can’t fight it. Trying.”

“Look at me, Erik.” Celeste placed both hands cautiously on his raised

forearms. “It is the other. You don’t remember yet, but he is the one you

gave your life to suppress in your vision. Fight. Listen as long as you are

able.”

Shaking away the darkness that crept into his peripheral vision, Erik

stared into Celeste’s eyes, lowered his hands to hold her shoulders, careful

not to let the pain drive his grip to the point of painfulness on her delicate

skin.

His body responded to the flesh beneath his hands. It seemed to push

the pain away for a moment.

He nodded. “Go on.”

“I don’t know why Victor attacks you so relentlessly, why we were able

to accidently empower then suppress him before.” Her head tilted to brush

her cheek against the knuckles of his hand holding her shoulder. “We must

work together again to rid this dimension and you of him. I fear if we don’t

accomplish it this time Victor will achieve whatever his ultimate goal is. We

were both willing to die before to stop him . . . you made it happen before I

could. You chose to die to save me. I thought you died that night.”

Erik acknowledged her words with a quick nod, all he could manage

with the pain returned and nearly blinding. Releasing her shoulders, he

stumbled toward the archway where Rose had gone before, not wanting

them to see his weakness.

“Rest.”

Celeste and Rose came to him, the older woman leading him to a

doorway just beyond the arch while Celeste walked before him. He placed a

hand on her shoulder as the darkness began to steal his eyesight.

The women led him to the edge of a bed draped in white, seconds

before the darkness pulled him into its suffocating embrace.

Somewhere in the part of his mind that still comprehended, Erik knew

that this was Celeste’s bed.

He’d been here before.

Then he knew no more.

CENTURIES OF learning how to survive in each new time, of fighting to

keep Montbleu, even with the will left by the brotherhood that left it to her,

felt like nothing compared to the reality that now gripped Celeste.

She stared blankly about the kitchen, unsure how to settle her thoughts.

Erik lived
. She thought she’d brought it about with magic, but now

Celeste wasn’t sure. Something else was at work here. Somehow, Erik had

lived lifetimes since she’d killed him. But, how?

It was all maddening in its never ending circles. But for now, reality had

to be dealt with.

They needed to get to town, bring in more supplies before the next

storm hit. The next one was predicted to be the first snowstorm of the

season, according to the weatherman talking on the radio in the background.

“You must eat.” Rose chided Celeste. “I fear you will need your

strength even more now.”

“How can having what I worked for so long be the farthest thing from

what I believed it would be?” Celeste pounded the dough on the counter in

frustration. Making bread to occupy her mind while Erik slept had seemed a

good idea, but now it did anything but keep her attention.

“Things are strange, that is true.” Rose puttered at the counter, seeming

to want to say more but being unable to bring herself to put something into

words.

Celeste watched her, noting the tremble in her hands that was more

pronounced than usual. She needed to protect her dear friend. What had

Victor meant by, “Dear, Rose, so helpful”? Did he know Rose? If so, how?

À thought crossed Celeste’s mind. “Rose, what happened to Erik’s

body the night he, um, died? I passed out beneath him. When I came to, he

was gone, and I was on a bed.”

The mug Rose cradled slipped. It shattered into a million pieces on the

stone floor. Both women jumped. “Oh my, I’m so sorry. My old hands.”

“Never mind, Rose. The cup doesn’t matter. Tell me, please.”

Rose stared at her for long seconds. “When I came upon the two of you

on the floor of the great room, Erik’s blood covered you and the floor. For

a moment I thought—” Rose began to cry. “I thought you were dead, but

then I heard you make a sound. I couldn’t see Erik breathing. So much

blood. I had one of the houseboys help roll him off you, and then we got

you to a room, your room, where I changed your bloodied gown and

cleaned you up. I sat with you until I heard your breathing steady and knew

your unconsciousness had become gentle sleep. I roused you just a bit, knew

you were fine, and I went back to notify someone and have Erik’s body

moved. It was already gone. I assumed the houseboy had fetched the priests,

and they’d taken care of it. After cleaning the blood stains on the floor, I

simply sat with you until you woke.”

Celeste forced her thoughts and heart from the anguish and memories

the mental images produced. “And the skull? How did it come to us? Seems

we’ve had it forever, but I know that isn’t possible.”

“Does it matter?”

“I don’t know, Rose, I just don’t know what is important anymore and

what isn’t.” Celeste shook her head, mourning the skull that now lay in

pieces in the anteroom cupboard.

“It was delivered to us, years later, with a note saying it was . . . Erik’s.”

Rose sighed. “I nearly kept it from you since your grief never lessened, and I

feared it would make it all fresh again.”

Celeste smiled at the woman. “Dear, Rose, how long you have watched

out for me and taken care of me. Why?”

“‘Tis my honor and privilege, Celeste, to be with you each time.

Remember that always.” Rose repeated the answer as if she’d memorized it

lifetimes ago and would never deviate, couldn’t deviate. She cleared her

throat and added something she never had before. “Means more to me than

my own life.”

Brushing her hands down the front of her rough shirt, Rose motioned

toward the window above the sink with a nod of her head. “We’ll be getting

weather. You should get to town before it hits.”

The attempt to change the subject was obvious, but Celeste let Rose

have it.

“You know I’m not leaving you alone with him, Rose. I don’t know

when Victor will take over again.” Celeste wiped the dough and flour from

her hands onto a dishtowel. “I’ll keep an eye on things here if you’ll run to

town for us.”

Rose seemed torn, but she’d known Celeste long enough to know she

wouldn’t budge. “All right. But, I’ll be quick, and you’ll call my cell if

anything happens. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

Watching the old truck pull away, minutes later, with Rose inside with a

solid list of groceries and supplies in her pocket, Celeste felt only a

moment’s fission of doubt and fear.

Now, for the first time, she was alone with Erik . . . and Victor. Both of

them.

It was time to find out why.

After placing the loaves of bread in the warm oven and checking to be

sure Erik still slept in her room, Celeste made her way to the cabinet by the

fireplace and pulled out the Grimoire. Its weight was familiar, like an old

friend. Though there were times when she wondered if it wasn’t more like

her worst enemy.

It had allowed them to give power wrongfully to Victor, showed them

how to bind him with Erik’s life as the sacrifice, and then helped her to bring

Erik back. Or had it? Would it be better for all if it was destroyed?

The book twitched in her hands, growing warm. It sensed her thought

and didn’t like it.

“You know better. I couldn’t destroy one with as much knowledge as

you within its pages; it is not my place to make that decision.” Celeste placed

the book on the podium, carefully opening the cover to the inscription page.

This book was not the original “Sworn Book of Honorius,” but was

somehow descended from and a part of that medieval Grimoire. This one

was a possible translation, but there was no way to verify it for sure. “Let’s

see what you will reveal this day.”

The main priest in charge of training in the ways of white magic,

Sebastian, had made sure she and Erik understood the responsibility that

came with the magic they each carried. He’d taught them that the power that

came from the Grimoire must be respected and protected. The keepers of

the Grimoire were carefully chosen and understood that it was to be their

lives’ focus. Erik and Celeste accepted all it entailed.

Celeste was aware of the importance being chosen by the book

represented and the great weight that went with it. Only she and—in

another lifetime—Erik had been able to see what the book revealed. Rose

had been accepted by the book in her last lifetime.

Somewhere in the pages of instructions on talismans, spells, charms,

divinations, curses, and summonations, there was a key to what had

happened to Erik. And the key to how to separate Victor from Erik and

bind Victor and his power forever. But, where?

An hour later, a crash sounded from the direction of her room. Celeste

quickly roiled her fingers over the book and rendered it invisible.

Who waited in her room?

Erik or Victor?

Celeste hurried down the hall and pushed the heavy door wider before

stepping into the room darkened by the velvet drapes pulled across the

windows. In the dimness she could see that the man still lay on her bed,

though the bedside lamp lay on its side.

Erik must have knocked it over in his sleep
.

“Celeste.”

A gasp escaped before Celeste could silence it. She’d thought Erik still

asleep. She knew the voice and feared it.

Calm down, don’t let Victor know you recognize him.

“I’m here. Sorry I woke you. I heard a noise.” Celeste moved to the

edge of the bed. She forced concern into her tone. “How are you feeling? Is

the pain better?”

“Much. Sit by me?” Victor asked.

Celeste turned to pull a chair to the side of the bed.

“No, here.” His hand rested on the spread.

Celeste wished she could see his face. The covered windows and

canopied bed made it impossible.

She perched on the edge of the mattress but made sure to stay just out

of reach.

He groaned and raised both hands to his head.

Immediately, Celeste moved closer and placed a hand on his forehead.

What if Erik felt the pain still? If only she could make the pain go away.

“Sweet, Celeste. Why do you care?” Victor whispered. “Is it guilt . . . or

something else?”

Celeste’s hand stilled its stroking of the hair from his face. Victor

couldn’t know. The one night she and Erik had shared in this very room, in

her bed, was the memory of their time together she cherished above all

others. The night they’d finally revealed their feelings . . . and themselves.

She didn’t want Victor to have that memory.

“Whha . . . t do you mean?”

Instead of answering, Victor covered her hand with his and moved it

from his head to his lips.

Every muscle in her body clenched in disgust at the intimate gesture.

She could feel the warmth from his breath on her palm, worked to separate

the physical mouth that was Erik’s from the man controlling him now . . .

Victor. His tongue darted to touch the skin of her hand against his mouth.

Yanking her hand away, Celeste stood and moved away from the man.

Pulling a curtain open, she turned to face the man who was not Erik.

“Nice try, Victor, but you are not Erik.”

“Ah, sweet Celeste, always on the defensive. Are you telling me our

Erik never tried such parlor tricks?” Victor sat upright and laughed

derisively. “He is even less a man than I thought.”

“He is more a man in ways you have not imagined.” Celeste stood her

ground, physically and psychologically. This man would not best her again.

Victor stood and stretched, acting as though he hadn’t a care. But,

maybe he didn’t. This possibility bothered Celeste more than she would