by Cate Dean
“And why would we help this man?” Marcus stood, the annoyance turning into anger. “He clearly means to do harm. I will not have Claire near him again. Not after the damage caused by such brief contact with this cursed object.” He all but sneered when he said the last two words, clearly discounting Zach’s explanation.
“It will kill him.” Zach spoke quietly, but anger edged his voice. “Can you live with that? I know I can’t. He isn’t the one doing harm—it’s the tarot deck. He may not even know—”
“He knows,” Claire said. Just the way James used the deck as an ‘in’ told her he understood there was something different about it. “He may not realize how dangerous it is, but he knows what he carries holds power. Power he can manipulate.” She stood, heading for the kitchen. “We are going to eat, and take advantage of Annie covering the shop, and then we are going to figure out how to separate James from the deck, and keep him alive while we do it.”
FIVE
Annie thumbed through the baby magazine, bored and uncomfortable. Shifting on the high stool, she closed the magazine, slid it down the granite counter so she could lay her forehead on the cool stone.
She loved knowing the child she and Eric had created grew inside her. But she hated being pregnant. She didn’t get that beautiful new mommy glow, or float around in quiet joy. No—she got sick at the smell of certain foods, lumbered around like a clumsy elephant, and felt useless.
Eric did all the cooking, since she didn’t know what would trigger her nausea. Eric did all the driving, because he didn’t trust her holding to the speed limit. Eric did—damn, he took over everything, until she felt like a visitor in her own home. Only Zach’s presence the last few months kept her from going completely off the deep end.
He’d needed her when he first showed up, looking like a scared little boy, who had just lost everything precious to him. That need turned into a friendship she cherished. He became the little brother she never had, and her ability to be objective when he had to vent, give her opinion when he was brave enough to ask for it, created a bond she knew would last.
The chime of the front door bell had her sitting up. “Thank you, whoever you are.” A distraction—she really needed a distraction about now.
“Hi, there.” A thin, bald man walked up to the counter, with the strut that short men seemed to adopt around a tall woman. He exuded confidence, holding out one long, graceful hand. “I’m J.J., and you are gorgeous.”
Annie felt herself blush. Even Eric hadn’t given her a compliment for some time. She pushed aside the poke of guilt at her own reaction to his latest attempts—hormone-driven sarcasm. He most likely stopped to keep from being shouted at by a pregnant woman. Annie had discovered a sharp edge to her tongue, along with a mean that colored her usual smart mouth comments. A mean she couldn’t always control.
She smoothed her shirt, smiled at him. “How can I help?”
He pulled out the most beautiful tarot deck she’d ever seen. “I was looking for some lessons. I inherited this from my aunt, but she never taught me how to use them.”
“May I?”
He smiled, holding out the deck. “They are irresistible. Painted by some gypsy artist, according to their history. I always find the history of objects so fascinating. Don’t you?”
“It depends on the object.” She thought of the box she trapped a homicidal fire elemental in. No desire to know the history of that box. At all. “These really are . . .” Her voice faded when she touched the cards. They felt warm, and—welcoming. She learned tarot as a favor to Claire, so they could share the duty in the store. But this deck called to her, made her want to lay out a complex spread, just to see what it could do, what secrets it held. “Wow.”
“I felt the same.” J.J. gave her a charming smile. “There really is a pull with them. I never cared one way or the other about this kind of thing,” he waved at the store, “until I first received the cards. Now, I can’t seem to learn enough fast enough.”
“I know what you mean. I developed my power at a late age—why am I telling you that?” She looked over at him. “I never tell anyone about that.”
“Guess I just have one of those faces. People want to reveal all to me.” He smiled again, touching the edge of the deck. “You are a practicing witch.”
“Not at the moment, but yes.” Because she couldn’t stand the need, the itch in her fingers to work these cards, she started laying out a Celtic Cross. “Damn—these are gorgeous. Like portable works of art.”
Her wedding ring flashed at her, red flaring through the usually clear, rich blue. Just a trick of the light—it had to be. She caressed the card she just laid down. The Queen of Swords. A proud woman sat on the throne, blonde hair curling around her face. A face that looked like—
Like her.
“Annie—what is it?” The card blurred, then sharpened until it looked three-dimensional. Heat shot up her arm. With a gasp she jerked her hand away, panic choking her. It faded as soon as J.J. touched her. “Annie?”
“Did I tell you my name?”
“Of course you did. Let me help you down.” He moved around the counter, one arm on her waist as he got her off the stool and on her feet. Her giant stomach brushed him. “You are close to your time. Women are so beautiful just before they give birth.”
She shook her head, sure she didn’t hear such a ridiculous statement coming out of his mouth. Hormones—again. “I can’t wait. I feel like a refrigerator with legs.”
His laugh drove into her, warm and icy at the same time. “No one would ever mistake you for anything but a beautiful woman, in the prime of her life. Can you get the cards for me? We can set up at the table in the back, where you will be more comfortable.”
The panic returned. “How do you know there’s a table?”
“There is always a table in these places. It’s almost like a requirement.”
He sounded odd, angry and pleasant at the same time. Annie felt dizzy, trying to pull away even as he gathered her in closer. She had never been so vulnerable, and she did not like the feeling.
With a grunt she jerked herself free, stumbling against the counter. “Hands off.”
J.J. ignored her, kept reaching. “I only want to help you, Annie. To learn what you know.”
Now that he no longer touched her, she felt her head clear.
“I did not tell you my name.” Her fist shot out, caught him in the chin, snapping his head back. She took the seconds she had and ran for the door. His hand grabbed the back of her sweater.
Protecting her baby with one arm, she spun, elbowing him in the face. He let out a furious shout. Annie followed up with a sharp jab to his nose. Instead of dropping or covering his face, he lunged for the counter. For the cards.
Too late, sparks danced across her ring—a warning she didn’t need.
She pulled the door open, taking in a breath to scream. And he touched her back.
Pain and heat surged through her. She felt her power coil, and gathered it, ready to take him out.
“Annie.” Every thought of retaliation slipped out of her. His hand slid up, closing over her shoulder, turning her around. “Your power is so pure. So beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it. And there is this—spark. A tiny, silver spark. Your child,” he whispered, spreading his hand over her stomach. “She has your power in her.” He closed his eyes, swaying, a low hum hypnotizing her.
After taking in a shaky breath, he looked at her, his brown eyes glowing. “Gorgeous, just gorgeous.” He opened her hand, placed the deck in it. “Tell me my future, beautiful witch. Tell me our future.”
She nodded, clutching the cards like a lifeline. Dark, edgy power flowed through her, and she drank it in, feeling invincible, worthy, alive. For the first time ever. Red sparks gathered over her ring.
“I will give you whatever you want.” She felt tears sting her eyes. “Just don’t take this feeling away from me.”
“It is yours, Annie. Your power. It’s always been insid
e of you, waiting to be released.” J.J. sandwiched her hand, the deck pressing against her palm. “Come, tell me my future. The cards will sing for you now. Your power will—ouch!” He snatched his hand away. “What the hell—”
Her ring pulsed, the red sparks drowned by a brilliant silver. The darkness inside her retreated, leaving a sense of ugly she never wanted to feel again.
“No—” J.J. reached for her. The silver lashed out, slicing into his hand. “Shit—why are you fighting it? We could have anything we want, be anything we want—”
“Not in this lifetime, creep.” He screamed, a frustrated, furious scream that had her arm hairs standing on end. And pain ripping through her stomach. She doubled, clutching her stomach as she dropped to her knees. “No,” she whispered, as another pain threatened to tear her in half. “Please, no—”
She felt her left shoulder hit the floor, and the tarot cards fell out of her hand as she curled around her stomach. She barely heard the cursing, scrambling man when he snatched up the cards. The door chime told her she was alone. Safe from him, but alone with her pain.
“Claire,” she whispered, fingers digging in, trying to reach the pain. “Please hear me—God, please let her hear me . . .”
Her vision faded as the pain turned agonizing. With no breath to scream, she focused what strength she had left on the one soul, the one person who might feel.
Zach.
*
Zach did more listening than talking as Mom and Marcus considered and discarded plans to lure James. He had some ideas of his own, but he was pretty sure Mom wouldn’t go for any of them.
Slipping the uneaten half of Mom’s sandwich to his plate when she reached for more chips, he flashed a grin at her. She shook her head, laughing.
“My own personal bottomless pit. What am I going to do with—”
Agonizing pain blotted out the rest of her words. Zach doubled over, barely aware of the hands that caught him. He did feel the floor under him, heard Mom’s voice filter through the haze.
“Zach. I’m right here, sweetheart.” Mom’s low, quiet voice filtered through the pain. “He was fine a moment ago.”
Warm hands covered his, and he felt the familiar heat of Marcus throwing out his healing power. The pain loosened its hold, enough for him to roll on to his back without retaliation. Only one thought, one image filled his mind.
“Annie,” he whispered, his throat raw, like he’d been screaming.
“God above.” Mom took his hand.
Marcus stood. “Meet me there.” He ran toward the back door.
“Zach, sweetheart—can you sit?” He nodded, hoping it was true. Mom helped him, and he knew she wanted to leave him, go after Marcus. “Is it Annie? The baby?” Her voice came out a choked whisper.
“Yeah—but not that.” Touching her wrist, he let out some of the healing power he used to help Marcus save her in England. Healing he remembered having before he fell. “Her power is attacking her. Part of her power I’ve never felt or seen. It’s dark, Mom, ugly.” He couldn’t stop himself; he shuddered, the taint of it still inside.
“You could—feel her. See her power.”
“Ever since the fire elemental, I’ve been, um, rediscovering myself.”
She let out a sigh. “We’ll talk about this later. If you want to, of course.” Her sudden retreat hurt, more than he thought it would. Mom paced him as he stood, her face too pale. As usual, she was hiding her weakness from him. They’d talk about that, too. “I need to go to Annie. If you want to rest—”
“I’m fine, Mom. Go ahead—I’ll catch up.”
Zach waved her off, and she walked fast across the living room, running down the alley by the time he reached the back porch.
Leaning against the doorframe, he took in a shallow breath, shaky fingers gripping his amethyst. He remembered being able to sense someone’s pain when he’d been an angel, but he didn’t remember being dropped by it. Not like this. It felt like a hot knife shoved in his gut.
Because the pain was all but gone, he figured Marcus got to Annie. So he took his time walking to the shop, still feeling off. He moved through the back room and made his way to the front, halting as the three of them came into view.
Annie sat behind the counter, sucking on a glass of iced tea and reading a magazine. She looked like she’d been there a while. No pain radiated from her—not one ounce of what knocked him down.
“What the—”
“Annie’s fine, Zach.” Mom shook her head at him. “But I still want you to go home and rest,” she said, laying both hands on the counter. Zach noticed the lack of rings, which meant she’d lost weight again. She wouldn’t wear them, since they kept slipping off. Another thing they’d have to talk about; maybe it was time for him to come home. “With your due date so close, I don’t want you tiring yourself.”
“And when did you become the boss of me?”
Zach blinked, his mouth hanging open. Annie looked the same, but the anger spewing out of her made Mom take a step back. “That was not my intention, Annie.” She kept her own voice low and even. Zach recognized the tone she used when she talked to irate customers. “You are officially on maternity leave, and now that Marcus and I are back, you can go on home.” She moved around the counter, ignoring Annie’s cursing as she all but pulled Annie off the stool and guided her to the front door. “Thank you for hanging out here. Now go home.”
“Fine!” Annie jerked out of her grip. “Stop manhandling me, and I’ll get out of your hair. Better yet, let’s make that permanent, since you obviously don’t need my worthless, fat self hanging around anymore. I quit.”
She yanked the door open—so hard the bell over the door snapped off its ring and bounced across the floor.
“Annie—”
She turned on Mom, one clenched fist ready to lash out. Marcus stopped Zach before he could lunge forward.
“Stay away from me, demon. I don’t want you or those freaks anywhere near my family. Try and die.” She stalked across the sidewalk, almost knocking an old woman off her feet. “Stay the hell out of my way—can’t you see I’m pregnant? Where’s my respect as a mommy-to-be?”
“Damn,” Zach said. Both Mom and Marcus looked at him. “Hormones gone wild.”
Marcus raised his eyebrows. “Yes. That is exactly what it looks to be. But underneath—did you feel it, Claire? The same energy?”
Mom nodded, leaning against the door. She looked shocked, and defeated.
“Mom?” Zach moved to her, draped his arm across her shoulders. “You know she didn’t mean it. Annie wouldn’t—”
“Reject us? I know, Zach. And I would blame this James for her outburst. But she swears she had no customers, no one until we showed up, claiming that she broadcast some sort of ridiculous panic message. Her words.” She touched Zach’s cheek, a comfort he didn’t realize he missed, and stared out at the street. “The whole conversation felt wrong. I’m going to call Eric, give him a heads up just in case she’s still unstable when he sees her.”
Mom walked over to the counter, grabbed the portable phone and took it with her into the back. Zach glanced over at Marcus. “You don’t think it was just hormones.”
“Annie has always had an edge to her power. One she has easily suppressed, simply because her conscience would not allow her to travel that path. What I saw, what I felt from her was that edge, that darkness. Like your mother, she has somehow let it take her over.” Realization flashed in his eyes. “Only Annie did not push it back down. We cannot leave Eric vulnerable. Claire!”
He stalked to the back of the shop. Zach knew they would go after Annie, play protector, bodyguard, exorcist—whatever was required, because that was what they did, who they were to each other. Zach let the guilt he always pushed down prick him. Mom and Marcus stayed apart, even though a blind person could tell they were crazy in love, because Zach whined about not being the center of attention.
That stopped—now. Mom deserved to be happy. Marcus made her happy. And
maybe, just maybe, it was time to find his own place in the world. After the last six months he could never go back to just being Claire Wiche’s son. He had talents, skills—they may be unique, but he could use them, maybe help someone, make up for all that Mom sacrificed so he could become human.
Mom’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Eric is meeting us at the house. I need you there, Marcus, in case—”
“I will not let harm come to her, or the baby. I promise you, sweet.” He framed Mom’s face, kissed her forehead. Zach gave them as much privacy as he could.
“Zach.” Moving to him, she reached out, took his hand. “I want you to—”
“I’m going.” She raised one eyebrow, and gave him her I know what’s best for you look.
“We don’t know what we’re dealing with. I want you out of the line of fire until we do.”
“What if I can help?”
“Then I will call you on the cell phone you are never without. We are only a few blocks away, and I need someone to watch the shop while—”
“Fine.” He let out along-suffering sigh, made her smile. “Just keep me in the loop, okay?”
“You got it. I’ll stop by Lily’s, have her send you over a couple of her roast beef sandwiches.”
“Ah, bribery,” he said. She let out a burst of laughter. “I’ll take it.”
“Oh, I love you.” She cradled the back of his head, pulled him down for a kiss on the cheek. She really was short. “And I’ve missed you.”
“Me, too.” Before he could embarrass himself in front of Marcus he eased out of her grip and walked around the counter. “Can I get an extra-large sweet tea to go with those? Maybe some chips, a piece of carrot cake?”
“Why don’t you call in your bribe order?” Mom shook her head, still smiling. “Tell Lily I’ll be right there to pay the damages.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
She reached over the counter and patted his cheek. “Anytime, my son.”
