Part 7 (1/2)

Some argued that the code had been transcribed improperly, and that the true words were these: ”An it harm none, do what thou must.”

She would protect the world. She must.

And when she had shed her last tear, she tumbled down onto the earth and closed her eyes. Mist-or maybe dreams-rose around her, and she could almost see Holgar's face. Almost hear his voice murmuring, Skye, merrily met.

Then she realized that someone was talking to her. She opened her eyes. There, standing over her, were her old friends Soleil and Lune, their palms extended toward her. Soleil had grown; she was nearly as tall as Lune now. Both looked much older than when they had last met.

Skye didn't know why, but she felt no surprise at seeing them, just sudden, overwhelming gladness. She rose.

”It's about time,” Soleil said softly.

”The Circuit welcomes a sister,” Lune murmured.

They raised their left hands-the hand of magick. In each palm was a henna pentagram. Then Skye's sisters in the Art pressed their left palms against each of Skye's bleeding hands and threw their arms around her, and the healing began to take place.

Soleil and Lune wouldn't tell Skye exactly how they had found her, saying only that ”a friend” had alerted them that she was in England. They had cast a finder's spell to pinpoint her location. Skye wondered if that friend was Melody, or Summer's husband.

The two gave her a chance to wash up in the bathroom of a pub, then fed her a savory mushroom pie. Lune had brought her a change of clothes; Skye dressed in a pair of brown leggings, an olive pleated miniskirt, and a cream-colored sweater. Everything was a little loose on her, but Skye rather liked Lune's choice of earth tones. Soleil wore jeans and a ruffled yellow blouse, befitting her name, which meant ”sun.”

Then they drove her to the beautiful castle of Leeds. Part of the castle was built on land, and part extended into a lakelike moat. It was after hours, and all the tourists had left. The three crept to the water's edge, where a small white rowboat waited, and Soleil and Lune guided the boat with magicks onto the water, using no oars to power it. A small, arched gate provided them entrance. They glided in, climbed out, and pulled the boat onto a stone landing.

”So this is the headquarters of the Circuit?” Skye whispered as they went through a small door and up a narrow, circular staircase.

”Just one of many,” Lune replied.

”Did you know that a medieval princess, Joan of Navarre, was imprisoned here for using witchcraft? Her magicks have soaked into the stone. Do you feel them?” Soleil asked as they entered a gently illuminated room.

Skye nodded. Deep, powerful vibrations were thrumming through her. A statue of the Virgin Mary crushed a serpent beneath her feet. What had been lost to White magick was that the Lady had taken evil on, and won. The Mother had not stayed neutral, and Skye now believed-no, she knew-that in the battle to come, the G.o.ddess would actively fight.

A single candle glowed on a table in front of the three, and she focused on the light. The Circuit was a loose alliance of witches who had decided that going underground was the wrong choice in a world gone mad. Skye had been in and out of contact with them for a while, but she wasn't an actual member. She was a hunter, and they viewed her hunting team as her coven. Skye couldn't help but smile slightly as she wondered what Jamie would have to say about that.

”We'll be back soon,” Lune told her, as the two disappeared through a door. A few minutes later they reappeared in long white hooded robes embroidered with silver crescents and golden pentagrams. Lune carried an identical robe in her arms.

”They'll see you now,” Lune said. ”Put this on.”

Together Soleil and Lune helped Skye into the heavy robe. Her friends raised their hoods over their hair; Skye did the same, and followed them slowly across the threshold.

Six or seven hooded women ringed the stone altar, which was covered with pink roses, rose quartz, and five white candles arranged in a pentagram. An illuminated Book of Spells lay open before a statue of Diana, G.o.ddess of the Hunt. Her bow was notched with an arrow; the string was pulled back tightly. Diana had sighted her quarry.

The High Priestess spread her arms in greeting. The woman's papery skin was heavily lined, but her bright blue eyes crackled with energy. She regarded Skye for a moment. A charge skittered down Skye's spine, and she felt as if the other witch were reading her soul.

”Skye of Salamanca, blessed be,” the High Priestess said.

”Blessed be,” the other witches-including Soleil and Lune-echoed.

”Blessed be,” Skye said. ”Merrily met.”

The High Priestess shook her head. ”Not merrily, little one.” She waved her hand above the altar. A clutch of carved stones materialized in front of the Book of Spells. ”The runes have been cast thirteen times thirteen for the last fortnight.”

”What do they foretell?” Skye asked, gazing at them.

A deep sigh echoed throughout the room. It seemed to Skye that, in the flickering flames, the statue of Diana raised her bow slightly, as if to refine her aim.

Then the statue loosed her arrow, and it arced toward the ceiling. A shower of bright white stars burst into flame, then a.s.sumed a shape- The shape of a bat.

Then larger stars appeared, exploded, and formed a larger bat that consumed the smaller.

”The Vampire Nation will fall. And the Vampire Kingdom will rise,” said the High Priestess. ”Every human death, every vampire victory-these are merely portents for what is to come later. And it will be worse.”

”So we have to stop it,” Skye said. She looked at the hooded women. ”We have to stop it now!” Her voice came out as a bellow, and echoed against the stones. The torches flickered. And a low wind wound its way through the room.

She hunched her shoulders, cringing at the way she had just spoken to the High Priestess. She was about to apologize, when the old woman spoke again.

”We have a question,” the High Priestess said. ”And you are here to help us answer it.”

”Me?” Skye said. ”How?” But she had a feeling that she already knew the answer.

”We here have worked in secret, behind the scenes. We've seen much, but not all. But you have been on the front line of this war.”

”You've been a symbol of inspiration,” said one of the other witches.

”Or d.a.m.nation,” said another.

”We've cast spells to strengthen and protect humanity. But we must use our magick to fight shoulder to shoulder with humanity,” said a third.

”An thou harm none,” a fourth argued.

Skye flared with irritation. ”I'm sorry, but this is a war. The only way to win against the vampires is to kill them. There can be no peace.”

”A truce,” someone said. ”A truce with Solomon, and then-”

”Crikey, are you mad?” Skye cried. ”The vampires want to destroy us, and we cannot let that happen. You've been working behind the scenes, but the time for that is past.”

”Perhaps. Perhaps not,” the High Priestess said. ”The Cursed Ones wage war against the nonmagickal, not us.”

And there it was, the arrogance, the denial, and the fear that allowed people to stand by and do nothing while others were slaughtered. It doesn't concern me.

Skye had spoken to Antonio many times about his experiences during World War II. Millions had been murdered because people thought Adolf Hitler could be reasoned with, bargained with. But bombs had fallen on Britain, and still nation upon nation stood by, because their countries hadn't been attacked. Let Hitler kill the Jews and the Gypsies; what concern was it to them? And now Skye's people, the witches, were willing to sacrifice nonwitch humanity because they believed that the Cursed Ones wouldn't come after them.

”It won't end with ordinary humans,” Skye said. ”The vampires fear us and our powers. But that won't stop them from wiping us out too.”