Legacy & Spellbound by Nancy Holder Page B

a beat; she felt renewed and strengthened.
    I’ve been charmed,
she thought.
Someone did to me what they did to Tommy.
    With no time to take that in, she raced over toanother dead demon and picked up a sword for herself. She took a practice swing, confirming her guess that she had been magically enhanced, and raced back to Tommy’s side.
    He was battling the second and third skeletons, and they were beating him back. Amanda jumped in, her sword flashing, her movements so fast, she couldn’t even tell what she was doing.
    Bones flew everywhere as the two skeletons exploded.
    We did it!
she exulted.
    But then a fourth sprung up inside the portal. A fifth. A sixth.
    She quickly glanced at Tommy, who anxiously shook his head.
    â€œI’m tired,” he confessed.
    She took a deep breath.
    So am I.
    The skeleton warriors leaped through.
    There was screaming and fighting all around her, and Holly knew by the tremor in Joel’s voice that their side was losing.
    â€œBe well, heal,” Joel pleaded with Holly. “You’re our only hope.”
    I can’t be,
she wanted to tell him.
Please. Not me.
    She was in agony. She had been ripped and bitten in so many places, she had no idea how she was still in one piece. Before Joel had started performing magic on her, she had been so near death, she’d been numb; but with each renewal of his healing spell, her awareness of the pain intensified. She could hardly stand it.
    She tried to fight it, to let herself die, but he gritted his teeth and said,
“Damn it, save us.”
    â€œThere’s not much time,” the dark-haired man shouted, flinging magic at an oncoming demon. The demon screamed and fell. The man ticked his gaze down at her, then returned to his magic battle.
    Joel doggedly continued,
“Bi tarbhach, bi fallain, bi beò cath. Rach am feabhas creutar agus inntinn.”
    And Holly felt herself being pulled back inside herself, to the dark, cold place. Shadows hung like frozen curtains. As before, she was the only source of light. Was it her imagination, or was that light dimmer?
    A figure appeared on the landscape, and Holly shrank away. Was it Jean again? Or Jer?
    It was neither.
    Wearing black and silver, and holding a large spray of lilies, Isabeau floated toward her. Her hair tumbled loosely over her shoulders, and she looked wild and untamed.
“Ma fille, I have brought someone to help you.”
    She extended her arm, and another figure driftedslowly toward Holly, in the same slow-motion manner. This figure was dressed all in black, and heavily veiled. But her hands were visible; they held a gleaming dagger across her chest. Its hilt was brass-colored and encrusted with jewels.
    The dagger glowed. There was something very beautiful, very hypnotic, about it. The point shimmered.
    â€œYou are going to die. But that does not trouble you. You wish it,”
the figure said. Her voice was deep and heavily accented, like Isabeau’s.
    â€œYou are a coward.”
    Holly swallowed.
“Your friends are going to die. Think of that, soft young woman. In the next few moments, they will be dead.”
    â€œNo,” Holly whispered.
    â€œAll will be lost. And my bloodline will die out. Forever.”
    â€œYou’re Catherine,” Holly said, realizing. “Isabeau’s mother.”
    The figure raised its veiled head.
“The strongest witch who ever lived. Until you.”
    She raised the dagger and pointed it at Holly.
“You can save everything. But you must be willing to become the witch you were born to be.”
    â€œI … I …”
    â€œDon’t stammer, girl! It humiliates me so! The battle is being lost. They are dying.”
    â€œThen stop it!” Holly cried. “I’ll do anything! I—I will!”
    â€œSwear.”
Catherine held out the dagger.
“Swear by your own blood, which is mine, Holly of the Cahors Coven.”
    Holly reached forward and touched the