explain all our cuts and bruises? But Waite nodded, turned toward the house, and Phelon stooped down to drag me closer to the pool’s edge.
I began to fight again, but I knew it was a losing battle.
On the edge of my vision, I saw Waite stop in his tracks. He was not having a change of heart, however.
He said in a very strange voice, “What in the name of the Goddess is that?”
Phelon instinctively turned—as did I——to gaze at the white mist slowly taking shape before our eyes.
Waite whispered, “Is that…”
“Of course not!” Phelon said fiercely.
And he was right. It was not the Goddess. Not even close. Ambrose’s grand-mère floated in the night air, between our little tableau and the house.
“Waah dis evil?” she asked.
Phelon and Waite exchanged looks. Past their initial shock, they seemed more confused than alarmed.
“Is she a ghost?” It wasn’t so much a question as Phelon thinking aloud.
Waite looked at me. “Is she?”
“No.”
“Who is she?” Phelon asked.
I shook my head.
“You must have brought her with the wand,” Waite told Phelon. His tone was accusing.
“That’s not the Marquise de Montespan.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve seen paintings.”
GramMa drew closer, sniffing the air. The night smelled of chlorine and woodsmoke and wet grass, but her wizened face grew tighter and angrier.
“There dark powa here,” she whispered.
My scalp prickled. For once she was right. “Don’t antagonize her,” I warned them.
Phelon threw me a look of disbelief and laughed. “Are you serious? Are we supposed to be afraid of a vagrant crone who drifted in on the night wind?”
“Me a guh end dis now.” GramMa raised her hands and, to my horror, began to cast her spell.
Four separate things happened then, though in my mind, they blended into one endless moment.
John silently rounded the side of the house, running in a half-crouch, with a gun held low.
Waite raised his hands and also began to spellcast.
Evil crone of unknown breed
End your spell or—
GramMa completed her spell and sent a bolt of green that sliced through Waite like a lance.
Phelon raised the Marquise de Montespan’s wand, pointed it at GramMa, and cried, “End eam nunc.”
“No!” I shouted.
The tip of the Marquise de Montespan’s wand glowed blue, and instantly, GramMa was encased in an unearthly blue halo.
I don’t think she noticed. I don’t think she even noticed that Waite had crumpled to the cement. She had already started a new spell, her whisper taking on volume and strength as her fingertips flickered green, then red, then green.
The blue glow around her seemed to darken and sparkle, and the entire cloudy mass exploded in thousands of glittering stars that died out before they touched the ground.
The sky was empty of all but a trace of blue smoke.
I had never seen Craft used to kill before. Now I had seen it twice in as many minutes.
John brought his weapon up. “Don’t move,” he said in a voice I had never heard before.
Phelon didn’t even hesitate. He turned the wand toward me.
“Conte—”
I swept my legs forward, trying to knock Phelon over, which I managed to do. But as Phelon pitched forward, he grabbed for me, and we both tumbled into the pool. Before the water closed over my head, I heard John fire. I opened my eyes and saw red smoke twisting through the bubbles streaming past.
Phelon was screaming. I could hear his muffled shrieks, feel the wash and push of water as he flailed beside me.
We had plunged into the deep end. When my feet did not touch bottom, I felt a rush of pure panic.
Don’t breathe in.
Don’t breathe in.
Remember…
“Not being able to swim is a vulnerability, but a greater vulnerability is being this fearful.”
I rested my face in my hands, breathing in the smell of salt water and chlorine. “I know.”
He pulled me over to him, so that my face rested in the curve of his neck and shoulder. He said against my ear, “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I promise.”
I nodded. I knew what he was saying—and what he wasn’t saying. I drew away from him, turned my face. He gently squeezed the back of my neck, stroked my back, waiting.
As I stared at the blue and green squares of “moonbeam” tile, I suddenly noted a break in the pattern. Every few squares, there was a silvery blue tile with a five-point star design. I scooted away from John to peer more closely at the nearest silver tile.
Yes. It was a star…
I did not breathe in.
I hadn’t had many swimming lessons.