The Witching Hour (Lives of the Mayfair Witches 1)

"Here, come sit down and drink your chocolate, it's getting cold. Bea and Cecilia will be here any minute."

"I have to get on the road. Too many errands. Got to get to the shop, see if the boxes have arrived. Oh, I have to confirm with the caterers ... I forgot to call them."

"No need. Ryan's taken care of it. He says you do too many things for yourself. He says he would have sent a plumber to wrap all the pipes."

"I like doing those things," he said. "Those pipes are going to freeze anyway. Hell. This is supposed to be the worst winter in a hundred years."

"Ryan says you have to think of him more as a personal manager. He told the caterers to come at six. That way if anyone is early ... "

"Good idea. I'll be back before then. OK. I'll call you later from the store sometime. If you need me to pick up anything ... "

"Hey, you can't walk out of this room without kissing me."

" 'Course not." He bent down and smothered her in kisses, roughly and hastily, making her laugh softly, and then he kissed her belly. "Good-bye, Little Chris," he whispered. "It's almost Christmas, Little Chris."

At the door, he stopped to pull on his heavy gloves, and then he blew her another kiss.

Like a picture "she looked in the high-back wing chair, with her feet tucked under her. Even her lips had a soft rich color to them. And when she smiled he saw the dimples in her cheeks.

His breath made steam in the air when he stepped outside. It was years since he'd felt cold like this, so crisp. And the sky was such a shining blue. They were going to lose the banana trees and he hated it, but the beautiful camellias and azaleas were holding their own. The gardeners had put in winter grass, and the lawn looked like velvet.

He stared at the barren crepe myrtle for a moment. Was he hearing those Mardi Gras drums again in his ears?

He let the van warm up for a couple of minutes before he started. Then he headed straight for the bridge. It would take him forty-five minutes to reach Oak Haven if he could make good time on the river road.

Forty-seven

"WHAT WAS THE pact and the promise?" she asked.

She stood in the attic bedroom, so clean and sterile with its white walls, its windows looking out on the rooftops. No trace of Julien anymore. All the old books gone.

"Those things are not important now," he answered her. "The prophecy is on the verge of fulfillment and you are the door."

"I want to know. What was the pact?"

"These are words passed on from human lips through generation after generation."

"Yes, but what do they mean?"

"It was the covenant between me and my witch--that I should obey her smallest command if she should but bear a female child to inherit her power and the power to command and see me. I should bring all riches to her; I should grant all favors. I should look into the future so she might know the future. I should avenge all slights and injuries. And in exchange the witch would strive to bear a female child whom I might love and serve as I had the witch, and that child would love and see me."

"And that child should be stronger than the mother, and moving towards the thirteen."

"Yes, in time I came to see the thirteen."

"Not from the beginning?"

"No. In time I saw it. I saw the power accumulating, and perfecting itself, I saw it fed through the strong men of the family. I saw Julien with power so great that he outshone his sister, Katherine. I saw Cortland. I saw the path to the doorway. And now you are here."

"When did you tell your witches about the thirteen?"

"In the time of Angelique. But you must realize how simple was my own understanding of what I saw. I could scarce explain. Words were wholly new to me. The process of thinking in time was new. And so the prophecy was veiled in obscurity, not by design, but by accident. Yet it is now on the verge of being fulfilled."

"You promised only your service over the centuries?"

"Is this not enough? Can't you see what my service had wrought? You stand in the house which was created by me and my service. You dream of hospitals you will build by means of the riches brought to you by me. You yourself told Aaron that I was the creator of the Mayfair Witches. You spoke the truth to Aaron. Look at the many branches of this family. All of their wealth has come from me. My generosity has fed and clothed countless men and women of the same name, who know nothing of me. It is sufficient that you know me."

"You promised nothing more?"

"What more can I give? When I am in the flesh, I shall be your servant as I am now. I shall be your lover and your confidant, your pupil. No one can prevail against you when you have me.

"Saved. What had being saved to do with it--the old saying that when the door was opened the witches would be saved?"

"Again, you bring me tired words, and old fragments."

"Ah, but you remember everything. Trace down for me the origin of this idea--that the witches would be saved."

Silence.

"The thirteen witches would be upheld in that moment of my final triumph. In the reward of Lasher, their faithful servant, the persecution of Suzanne and Deborah would be avenged. When Lasher steps through the doorway, Suzanne shall not have died in vain. Deborah shall not have died in vain."

"This was the complete meaning of the word 'saved'?"

"You have now the full explanation."

"And how is it to be done? You tell me that when I know, you will know, and I tell you I don't."

"Remember your communication to Aaron--that I am living and of life, and that my, cells c

an be merged with the cells of the fleshly, and that it is through mutation, and through surrender."

"Ah, but that's the key. You are afraid of that surrender. You are afraid of being locked in a form from which you can't escape. You do realize, don't you, what it means to be flesh and blood? That you may lose your immortality? That even in the ransmutation, you could be destroyed?"

"No. I will lose nothing. And when I am created in my new form, I shall open the way for you to a new form. You've always known. You knew when you first heard the old legend from your kinsmen. You knew why there were twelve crypts and one door."

"You are saying that I can be immortal."

"Yes."

"This is what you see?"

"This is what I have always seen. You are my perfect companion. You are the witch of all witches. You have Julien's strength and Mary Beth's strength. You have the beauty of Deborah and Suzanne. All the souls of the dead are in your soul. Traveling through the mystery of the cells, they have come down to you, shaping you and perfecting you. You shine as bright as Charlotte. You are more beautiful than Marie Claudette or Angelique. You have a fire in you that is hotter than Marguerite or my poor doomed Stella; you have a vision far greater than ever my lovely Antha or Deirdre. You are the one."

"Are the souls of the dead in this house?"

"The souls of the dead are gone from the earth."

"Then what did Michael see in this room?"

"He saw the impressions left behind by the dead ones. These impressions sprang to life for him from the objects that he touched. They are like unto the grooves of a phonograph record. Put the needle into the groove and the voice sings. But the singer is not there."

"But why did they crowd around him when he touched the dolls?"

"As I have said, these were impressions. Then the imagination of Michael took them up and worked them as if they were puppets. All their animation came from him."

"Why did the witches keep the dolls, then?"

"To play the same game. As if you kept a photograph of your mother, and when you held it to the light, the eyes seemed to fire with being. And to believe perhaps that the dead soul could be reached somehow, that beyond this earth lies a realm of eternity. I see no such eternity with my eyes. I see only the stars."