The Forbidden Read online

  Runes glittered in the low light of torches and candles, shining from chunks of granite comprising the walls. The Ogham. The Language of the Trees. Just the sight of the symbols urged wisdom, kindness, the keeping of tradition.

  What traditions would be kept this night?

  Silver shivered. The scent of juniper incense rose around her, filling her senses, making her dizzy on top of being so nervous she had to work to keep her teeth from chattering. The cauldron felt as if it was filled with lead instead of purified water.

  Even the pentagram in the dirt beneath Silver’s bare feet seemed to evaluate her, scrutinize her as brutally as the high priestess seated in her ceremonial dais at the head of her twelve D’Anu charges.

  Behind the ring of thirteen stood apprentices who would fill an open position in the Coven should one arise, like Mary had filled Copper’s. Each one had to serve as an apprentice for twenty years and a day.

  Silver and Copper were the youngest of the Coven, having been part of the D’Anu for only three years after their required two decades as an apprentice.

  Silver had been granted Mrs. Illes’s position when the ancient witch had passed to Summerland in Otherworld. Copper had taken a position vacated by another witch six months later.

  The years Silver had been part of the thirteen Coven members were three years that hadn’t been so smooth. Every stumble, every mishap had been held against her. If they discovered she practiced gray witchcraft, she would be banished. That held true for Copper, as well.

  Janis Arrowsmith, the high priestess, was one of the oldest witches in the country. She was far more than a hundred years old, yet she looked no more than sixty at best. D’Anu witches tended to age well, and Janis was no exception.

  Her dark gray hair was pulled back so tightly it stretched the skin beside her cold gray eyes. The Ogham was embroidered in gold along the sleeves and hem of her forest-green robe that shimmered in the candlelight.

  The high priestess leveled her aged, frosty gaze on Silver yet again. “I’ll ask you just once more, and this time, please try to make sense. Why have you called this emergency meeting?”

  Silver gripped the handles of the pewter cauldron tighter in her aching hands and kept her voice calm even though her heart seemed to race against time itself. “I believe this matter is urgent. If we don’t deal with the threat immediately, it may be too late.”

  In purple robes stood Mary, a tall, stolid witch whose dark brown hair flipped up at the ends. She had a sharp nose and her thin lips were twisted into perpetual disapproval. She’d been one of the thirteen for only a year, but she acted as if she was one of the elder witches.

  The witch glared at Silver. She fancied herself to be one of the most powerful of the D’Anu, and for some odd reason had always seemed to resent Silver. It could have been due to the fact that Silver had predicted Mary’s dog familiar would be hit by a bus. Silver had only been trying to forewarn the witch, but she hadn’t listened.

  Tonight Mary’s huff of disbelief was loud enough for all to hear. “I can’t believe you would have anything of value to bring to the Coven—especially on an urgent basis.”

  Ignoring Mary, Silver took a deep breath and forced herself to step forward, farther away from the ring of Coven members. The D’Anu dressed in a variety of colorful ceremonial robes, much like those the Ancient Druids themselves had worn. Only Silver wore white satin that rippled in the flickering light like liquid mother-of-pearl.

  Her thoughts continually strayed to Hawk’s warning, the warning that had prompted her to scry with her cauldron all day. Until she had Seen the warning that had shown her what she would try to convey to the Coven this same night.

  Silver came to a halt just feet from the dais where Janis Arrowsmith sat waiting—less than patient, judging by her drawn, frustrated expression.

  Ignoring the decided chill in the elder witch’s eyes, Silver at last set the cauldron on the floor. The priestess raised an eyebrow and Mary snickered. The other witches murmured softly or remained quiet. Silver felt their eyes on her, though, boring into her, judging her.

  Not waiting for approval she knew would never come, Silver slowly began her chant.

  “Ancestors, hear us and light our way.

  Show us the truth we must see today.

  By the power of water, wind, and tree.

  Warn us, save us. So mote it be."

  For a moment the silence returned, filling the basement like an insidious spell. Silver heard nothing but the faint rustle of robes, and even fainter, a scrabbling that seemed to come from far below the D’Anu Coven hall.

  From the cauldron, nothing.

  Not even a ripple.

  Silver caught Mary’s expression of satisfaction from the corner of her eye. Her own hopes began to fail as the water in the cauldron remained motionless.

  Then, as if to chastise her for her lack of faith, a wisp of white fog rose from the cauldron. Silver’s nose caught the unmistakable hint of meadowsweet.

  Soft murmurs penetrated the quiet as the fog grew thicker, rose higher.

  At least the Coven was taking notice.

  Silver released a breath of relief, yet fear of the unknown, of what would be revealed, shook her confidence. She backed up into the circle of witches until her hands clasped Rhiannon’s on one side and Mackenzie’s on the other so that all hands were joined as the witches circled the cauldron.

  Rhiannon was Silver’s best friend, one of her only true companions and supporters, and she enjoyed the company of Mackenzie and Sydney as well. Silver’s other two friends, Eric and Cassia, were still in training and both usually stood to the side of the ring with the rest of the apprentices, as Copper had. Tonight Eric was at home sick.

  Silver had the abilities to scry and to heal, but her local Elders still considered her powers juvenile at best. She rarely performed under the watchful eyes of her entire Coven, and they truly didn’t know how much her powers had grown.

  She kept part of herself restrained—as if the other Coven members would know. She certainly couldn’t allow them to have any idea she practiced gray magic.

  Fog began to coalesce above the cauldron, turning an eerie shade of green as it grew within the circle of witches until it became like a round view-screen. Images appeared, and gasps escaped the lips of some of the members of the D’Anu Coven.

  “The Balorites,” Mackenzie whispered. “They are growing in number.”

  Sydney shushed her while the rest of the witches remained transfixed on the scene before them. Silver’s heart pounded harder, faster, as she watched the scene unfold, the same one she had seen earlier.

  Three-dimensional images of the Balorite Clan crystallized.

  Full-color visions of ritual murder.

  “Goddess,” someone whispered.

  “Blood magic,” another witch said through clenched teeth.

  ‘That eye ...”

  So, they do see.

  Silver allowed herself a tiny measure of relief.

  Her Coven at least realized that the Balorites had crossed into new and more terrible crimes. Because of the God of Death. Because of Darkwolf.

  Silver started at the thought of the alluring warlock. She made herself stare at the vision to remind herself why Darkwolf was a monster, why she couldn’t allow herself to think of him in positive terms.

  In the image, the Balorites wore black robes with a large red eye embroidered on the back. They stood in a circle with their hands locked together. Thirteen warlocks. Their lips moved as if in a chant, but the words could not be heard. At the center of the Balorite circle was an inverted pentagram burned into the wooden floor.

  In the middle of the pentagram was a body slashed to ribbons. Blood flowed over a single eye carved into the floor next to the corpse. Silver could barely gaze at the body, and she almost couldn’t watch the horrid, lidless abomination on the floor as it moved slowly, back and forth, back and forth, blinking in the crimson fluid.

  The warlocks lifted their
joined hands and a hooded priest raised a black pitcher as he slowly walked the expanse of the circle. When he began to pour, more blood spilled from the pitcher and splattered on the wooden floor. Silver’s gut churned.

  So much blood.

  It was a massive ritual, a true overreach of human witching ability.

  A dark summoning.

  Sara, one of the apprentices, gave a soft moan.

  The men’s and women’s mouths moved faster and faster. Then, as one, the warlocks released hands and stepped back.

  The hooded figure continued to pour blood on the eye and the corpse. The fluid crept into the engraved outline of the inverted pentagram, almost obscuring the lidless eye at its center. Blood flowed from one groove and into the next until every channel was filled. When the pitcher emptied, she saw the high priest’s face and she swore he looked directly at her.

  Darkwolf.

  Silver swallowed.

  Once more, she remembered the strength of Darkwolf’s call when she had used her gray magic against his warlocks— the sensuality in his dark eyes and wickedly handsome face.

  Her heart clenched, feeling again that tremendous pull that she had to mentally fight to break away from. It was as if he were in this room right now, coming to her, wanting to be with her.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, then they snapped back open when she heard a scrambling sound again, louder this time. Was it the vision or reality?

  The priest in the vision gave a knowing smile and stepped away from the bloodied inverted pentagram. He handed the pitcher to one of the warlocks and it vanished behind a black cloak. Darkwolf lifted his hands and his mouth moved in a chant. The warlocks all raised their hands.

  Even though Silver had witnessed this when she used the cauldron earlier, she still jumped when the wooden floor at the center of the bloodied eye exploded upward in the middle of the warlocks. Shards of wood flew through the air, along with concrete and dirt and the corpse.

  Silver flinched, almost expected to feel something strike her.

  Some Balorite warlocks were flung to the floor of their chamber while others scrambled away. Only Darkwolf stood calmly to the side as if only an observer, but the eye hanging from his throat glowed an incredibly bright red.

  The D’Anu witches watching the images cried out in shock and stepped farther from the cauldron as demons flooded out of the hole in the vision. Horrible beings with tough-looking hides, bulging eyes, and odd-sized limbs. They were all sizes, shapes, and colors, with vicious maws lined with gnashing teeth.

  The Fomorii.

  Following them were two enormous, snakelike creatures.

  Basilisks.

  Silver wanted to turn away from what she knew was going to happen next, but she forced herself to watch. Several of the demons attacked the warlocks, ripping out their throats and dining on their flesh. Silver could almost hear the screams as blood spattered the warlocks’ meeting hall.

  One large malformed blue creature pushed its way through the hole in the floor, knuckles dragging against wood and concrete. From its horrible mouth came something that must have been a command, since the demons immediately stopped attacking the Balorites.

  The apparent leader of the Fomorii pointed to the remaining terrified warlocks, who were herded into a small group with their hands pinned behind their backs by demons.

  Arms swinging like an ape and walking on its knuckles, the blue demon reached one of the dead warlocks and touched the body.

  The demon slowly began to shape-shift into the dead warlock.

  Within seconds, the demon became the dead person. The gaping hole at the throat closed as if it had never been. Every scratch vanished. Only blood remained on the clothing. The man the demon had overtaken threw back his black hood and gave a calculating smile that froze Silver to her marrow.

  The fog of the vision dispersed in a rush, images fading at once, until the D’Anu witches were staring at one another with horror in their eyes.

  “Fomorii.” Sandy, a redheaded apprentice behind the ring of D’Anu witches, said with fear in her voice, “They summoned the ancient sea gods from the Underworld—demons.”

  “What would possess anyone to do something so insane?” Rhiannon’s auburn hair gleamed in the flickering torchlight and her green eyes sparked with fire. Silver’s friend glowered at the cauldron and clenched her fists, her multicolored robes flowing around her like a blended rainbow against dark sky.

  “This will upset the balance.” Mackenzie, a petite blonde, blue-eyed witch, hugged herself. Her royal-blue robes swished with her movements. “We’ll be revealed to society— overrun, overwhelmed. The power we draw from keeping our secrets will be lost forever.”

  “This is a vision of what has happened—or what could happen?” the high priestess asked, once more turning her gaze on Silver. This time, the woman’s eyes were wide instead of scornful. Most of her ceremonial stiffness had been swept away by the horror of what she had been shown. “Tell me, Silver. Have we time to prevent this?”

  “This is a vision of what has happened.” Silver held the high priestess’s gaze. “I am certain of it.”

  She swallowed hard and looked from one member of the Coven to the other before saying, “Evil is already among us, flooding into the non-magical world even as we discuss the problem. We must take action now to save the city and ourselves from these demons.”

  “We’ll begin banishing and protection spells immediately, and we must divine where they will strike next and attempt to block the beasts with spellshields,” Janis said with a nod of agreement. “May the goddess and the Ancestors bless our efforts.”

  Silver released Rhiannon’s and Mackenzie’s hands and stepped forward. “That’s not enough. Didn’t you see those things? Those were the Fomorii!” Silver gazed around the circle of Coven members, looking at them one by one. “We don’t have any choice. We’ve got to summon the Tuatha D’Danann from Otherworld. They are the only beings who have ever defeated the Fomorii.”

  Coven members gasped while others shook their heads. Mary sneered again, and Silver wanted to slap her. But it was the high priestess who commanded her attention.

  Janis took a deep cleansing breath, her shoulders rising and falling with the movement. “Absolutely not, Silver. That would be gray magic, and we practice only white.”

  The white. Druid magic. Several of the D’Anu could make plants grow immediately from seeds, fast enough that an enemy could be bound in an instant. They could “talk through the trees” using old oaks.

  Another talent was affecting tides and weather within the natural balance. Many had had the ability to deep-heal wounded animals and worked to keep species from becoming extinct, and most could heal minor wounds in human and witch alike.

  The white was anything that helped without disturbing the natural order, without causing direct or indirect harm to any living creature, or calling on energies outside the witch’s own abilities. Calling upon any beings from any Otherworld was considered dangerous for that very reason.

  Gray often came from the fury and power of storms and other natural things, like tidal waves, hurricanes, tsunamis, earthquakes, and volcanoes. Calling on a hurricane had been Silver’s worst mistake—she’d been dead to the world for a week. One time her sister had asked for help from an elemental and ended upside down in a tree, hanging by her ankle.

  Yes, calling on any beings from Otherworld could be very dangerous.

  But this time they had no choice.

  Silver thought she heard the scrabbling noise again as she clenched her fists at her sides. “The Fomorii ate those witches. They made the Balorites’ magic look like children’s parlor spells. Simple white witchcraft banishing and protections won’t save us or San Francisco.” She pushed her long silvery-blonde hair from her face in a frustrated movement. “We need the D’Danann.”

  “We do not.” John Steed’s deep baritone filled the room as his bushy brows narrowed. The D’Anu witch’s bearded face was set in a frown an
d his brown eyes were intense, penetrating. “The D’Danann are neutrally aligned beings.” He pushed away his earth-brown hood, revealing his dark hair interspersed with gray. “They will only serve a cause if they believe it will restore the natural order of things.”

  Silver opened her mouth to argue, to tell him about Hawk, but John cut her off with a dismissive wave. “The D’Danann could just as well believe it’s the Fomorii’s time to rule Earth.” His bearded scowl burned her insides. “For that matter, the Tuatha D’Danann could choose to align with the Fomorii. What would we do then, Silver?”

  “John is correct.” The high priestess’s lips thinned. “Bringing the D’Danann could allow even more dangerous beings and spirits into our world.

  “We’ll do everything we can,” Janis continued, as if speaking to a wayward child. “But we’ll do it our way, within the tradition of the D’Anu.”

  “It is our tradition—our duty—to fight against evil wherever it manifests.” Silver’s voice rose. “We can’t just sit by and pretend the Fomorii haven’t come, or that they’ll go away by themselves.”

  “Silence.” Janis’s ice-blue eyes held finality. “We will not summon the D’Danann.”

  “We have to!” Silver wanted to kick over her cauldron, but she managed to restrain herself.

  Janis stood. On her dais, her natural height and power seemed magnified. “Are you challenging my authority?”

  Silver’s mouth went dry. Her temper, her knowledge of right and wrong, made her want to scream “yes, yes, yes!”

  But her better sense held her in check.

  For hundreds of years, the thirteen American D’Anu Covens had functioned without rift or fissure, keeping their secrets. They used white witchcraft in battling sorcery behind the scenes, under the surface, in forgotten places outside the awareness of the modern world.

  If even one of the D’Anu Covens lost its full strength, the balance of good versus evil—the fate of the world itself—might tip in favor of chaos and darkness. Silver didn’t want to be the one to bring about that disaster.