What Doesn't Kill You

by Cate Dean

  “Um, okay. Wait—” Anger flared in his eyes. “Did he—”

  “I have a feeling Annie took care of him. She just doesn’t remember. Any of it.”

  After a long moment, he nodded. Claire watched him walk over to Annie, sit next to her on the sofa, and take her hand. Tears stung Claire’s eyes; his care of Annie, his concern for her, showed Claire just how much he had grown.

  Warm hands closed over her shoulders, Simon’s quiet energy a balm on her ragged nerves. “You should be proud of him.”

  “I am beyond proud.” She looked up at him. “Your hair is longer. It makes you look—younger. Less jaded, more—”

  “Hippie?”

  She let out a choked laugh. “More at ease. You have an intensity, Simon. The type that can intimidate someone who doesn’t know you.”

  “It didn’t keep me from getting all kinds of advice while I was traveling.” He pushed the sun streaked brown hair off his forehead. “Stop frowning. Zach’s okay.”

  “You’ll tell me what happened to him? I don’t want him to have to relive it.”

  “I’ll be happy to. But he’s got something to show all of you.” Letting her go, he moved to her side, met her eyes. The fear in his had her heart racing. “This James is bad news, Claire. The power surrounding him is dark, and it’s old.”

  “Is it his?”

  “More like he belongs to it. The power surrounds him, but it’s not part of him. And don’t ask me how I know. It’s part of my talent I’ve never been able to explain. I just know.” He let out his breath. “Like I know something happened with you. It’s imprinted on your energy.”

  Claire opened her mouth to deny, to stall. Annie’s furious voice saved her.

  “He did what?”

  “Annie.” Zach inched away from her. “You promised not to be mad.”

  “So sue my hormones. Damn it, I want to wring his skinny little neck—” She grabbed Zach’s wrist. “Called himself J.J., the bastard. We need to nuke that tarot deck.”

  Marcus pushed off the wall. “He has been as elusive as a desert snake. We need to lure him. With irresistible bait.”

  “I might have just the thing,” Zach said. Standing, he reached down and carefully zipped open the thigh pocket on his cargo pants, his free hand hovering just over it. Claire understood why a moment later. The gilt edge of a tarot card appeared, sliding up to meet Zach’s waiting fingers. The thought of him touching that deck, of holding even a single card, sent panic up her spine. “He’ll be missing this. And if I’m right about that deck, it’ll be sooner instead of later—”

  “It was him,” Claire said, as the memory snapped into place.

  “Mom?” Zach touched her wrist. “What?”

  “I knew I had met James before. It was in London. The first time I saw that deck, the same night I met Houdini.” Simon raised his eyebrows. Claire knew she’d have to fill him in, but he got the main point. She gripped her amethyst heart, wanting to ground herself to the now, and the not the past she spent so long forgetting. “The woman, the fake medium who owned the deck. James was her nephew.”

  She heard a collective gasp. Simon moved to her side, and Marcus closed both hands over her shoulders. Simon picked up the card, flinching when his fingers touched it. “So, its longevity extends to whoever owns it.”

  Claire looked at him. “That seems to be the case. Which means that if we destroy it, James will suffer.”

  “Are you good with that?”

  She closed her eyes. “He gave us no choice.” Turning around, she looked at everyone in turn, and saw only support. “He will kill eventually, if he hasn’t already. I won’t allow it to get that far.”

  “Right.” Simon squeezed her hand; when she glanced over at him, he winked. “Time for a plan.”

  *

  Simon listened to his friends hash out possible scenarios. He’d missed all of this—especially the mix of voices and personalities. There had been so much silence, too much introspection.

  At first he needed that solace; the constant bombardment of power in a country so ancient almost flattened him. After a while the weight of it wore on him, and he sought out people to help hone his talent—including a demon monk, who showed him the meaning of compassion. He saw that same mix of energy in Claire now—the darkness tempered by love.

  Claire’s voice brought him back to the conversation. “We need to find him, now.”

  She pushed away from the table, and Simon saw the giveaway flash in her power. He grabbed her arm when she headed for the door, no plan in place, and anger pouring off her. He stomped down his own need to choke the life out of James, slowly, and stopped her with three simple words. “He’ll hurt Zach.”

  She turned on him, that anger jumping to rage before he took in a breath. Simon forced himself not to step back.

  “He won’t live long enough,” she said. He heard the violence under her deadly calm voice.

  “Mom.” Zach moved between her and the front door. Simon expected the rage to fade. Instead she let out a shriek, jerked free and launched herself at Zach. They slammed into the door, Claire scrabbling at his hand. The hand holding the tarot card. “Mom—no!”

  Before anyone else could react Simon grabbed her arms and yanked her off Zach. She clawed at him and got one good swipe in across his left cheek. He locked both arms around her, ignored the stunning variety of curses spewing out of her mouth. “Zach, put the card down. No one touches it.” He saw Zach drop it on the coffee table before he hauled Claire into the kitchen.

  She fought to free herself. “What are you wearing—I can’t breathe—”

  Simon looked down, and saw his crucifix pressed into her shoulder. He eased his grip, leaned her against the counter. “Claire. Look at me.” Her head snapped up, the silver of the demon bleeding into her blue eyes. “I met a demon, like you—a demon with a soul.” Her eyes widened. “He lived with both, Claire. He thrived, actually, and he taught me more about humanity than any human I’ve ever met. You can be in control. You just have to want—”

  She shoved him backward, snarling at him before she sprinted to the kitchen door. Darkness swirled around her, and Simon knew the demon had taken charge. He caught her left arm and yanked her back.

  “Claire.” His voice as gentle as he could make it, he spoke against her ear, hoping to calm her down. “Claire—please don’t force me to hurt you.” Searching the counters, he found his makeshift weapon—something he only wanted to use as a last resort.

  “Like you could. Let me go, damn it—”

  “Don’t release her.” Marcus stood in the doorway, blocking a frantic Zach, his face white. He met Simon’s gaze, nodded. “She needs to know. To see.” Grief edged every word.

  Simon hauled her over to the stove and trapped her against the front of it. Her snarling curses got louder, more furious. When he snatched up the salt shaker she let out a scream that would wake the dead, fighting desperately to free herself.

  “No—Simon you don’t have to—” He hurt, listening to her pleas. If not for the silver in her eyes he would have believed she pushed down the demon. “Please—I’m not—”

  He clenched his jaw and poured salt on her wrist. Right over the scarred triquetra.

  Claire screamed again, this time in anguish. It tore at him, the sheer hopelessness of it. Simon carried her to the sink, stuck her wrist under the faucet and flipped on the cold water. She sagged against him, and the angry burn on her wrist stopped climbing its way up her forearm.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Claire, I’m so sorry—”

  “Stop apologizing.” Her voice sounded raw, but more—human. She laid her head against his shoulder. Sweat soaked her skin, and she shuddered, like she still fought a battle with what tried to take control. “It’s safe for you to come in, Marcus.” A whisper of her humor edged the words.

  Simon looked up, saw everyone crowded in the doorway behind Marcus, in different stages of shocked.

  “What the hell, Claire.” A
nnie stepped forward—and Eric blocked her.

  “You don’t get near her,” he said. One hand rested on her stomach, the other cradled her face. “Not until I know she won’t hurt you.”

  “You’re talking about Claire! She’d never—even on her worst day—”

  “This is different, Annie.” Claire’s quiet, raw voice cut her off. “I am losing control. I feel it slipping, every time I get near those damn cards—” Simon felt the sob that choked her. “Please get me out of here,” she whispered. Marcus stepped forward, reaching for her. “No. You can’t heal this wound, and you know it.”

  He froze, the pain on his face more than Simon could handle. “Hang on, sweetheart,” he said. “We’re going outside, until we get this sorted.” He looked over at Marcus before he half-carried Claire through the back door and set her on the porch. “Sit.” He pulled a bandana out of his coat pocket and pointed at the chair. “I said sit. You can’t leave a burn like that exposed.”

  “It will be fine.” She obeyed, looking so fragile Simon wanted to scoop her up. He knew he’d get a healthy slap for that. “Give it a few minutes.”

  She held up her wrist, and he had to blink a few times to make sure he was seeing what he was seeing.

  What had been a third degree burn had already changed from an angry red to pink. The pink of healing. And the tattoo under it was unmarked. “Good God—how are you—”

  “As a demon, my healing powers were—exemplary.” She let out a sigh. “It looks like that is coming back, along with the less desirable personality traits.” Cradling her wrist, she stared out at the street, tears shimmering in her eyes. “Please tell them I’m fine, Simon, and to let me go.”

  “Sorry. No can do.” He crouched in front of her, took her hands. “You’re not on your own this time, Claire. And I’m not going to walk away from you again. I know what’s in your heart, and I know you can beat back the demon again. If that’s what it is.”

  “What—why do you say that?” She wiped at the tears sliding down her cheeks. “What do you see?”

  “Not what I should be seeing, if you were a demon. Your energy is—different.” He searched her face, looking for the indefinable something he always saw in the truly evil. She didn’t have it. “This isn’t going to be easy to explain, but I’ll try. What I see—what I saw in James—is a shadow on their soul. Almost a stain.”

  “And you—don’t see it on mine?” She sounded so scared. And Simon knew why. Her soul was new, clean, and acquired with great sacrifice.

  “Not even a whisper of shadow. But there is a change, in your energy, in your essence. What you think is the demon may be something else.”

  “Oh, no.” She gave him a ghost of her smile. “I know exactly what’s trying to claw its way free. You don’t have enough fingers and toes to count the centuries I spent as a demon. What scares me, Simon, is I’m not all that sure I want to fight it this time.”

  Fear shot through him, because behind the scared he saw resignation. “You have a family now, Claire. People who love you. Do you want to leave them behind? Leave them unprotected?”

  Fresh tears filled her eyes. The silver in her eyes had retreated, letting him know she was back in control. He learned to read such signs, from the demon monk he first met on a mountain in Tibet.

  He learned more about forgiveness, about himself, from a man who should have been evil incarnate. It gave him a new respect for Claire, for how deeply she must have buried her true nature.

  “Simon?” He blinked, met her eyes. She looked amused. “Where did you go?”

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  She nodded, giving him hope there would be a later, and brushed her fingers over his scratched cheek. “I am so sorry.”

  Simon brushed her off. “You weren’t quite yourself.”

  “About that—I want you to promise me something.”

  “No death pacts, Claire. Nope—not doing it.”

  This time she gave him a real smile. “I have missed you.” Squeezing his hand, she took in a shaky breath. “Promise me you won’t repeat this conversation. Marcus already worries too much. And Zach.” She closed her eyes, the ache she tried to hide flaring across her face. “He already carries too much of a burden.”

  “We had a conversation?” Claire’s laugh lightened the fear weighting him. “It’s already forgotten. But I do want to hear more about Houdini. He was a personal hero when I was a kid. You really met him?”

  “During one of my good periods.” She leaned back in the chair, the distraction working. “I spent a year in London, in a young widow who believed fervently in spiritualism.”

  “You can—read their likes, what they cared about?”

  Claire studied him. “You have changed. Before you left you would never have even thought to ask such a question.” She rested her head against the back of the wicker chair, exhaustion in every line of her face. “I took control physically and emotionally, but it was their body, and their mind. This young woman lost her husband, and desperately wanted to talk to him again. It left her vulnerable, and I always looked for the vulnerable, the weak of spirit. They were the easiest to possess.” When he raised his eyebrows she smiled. “They don’t fight back. Much.”

  “You haven’t talked about your past before.”

  “My life began the day I became Claire Wiche, on a cold night at the edge of a river. For me there was nothing before that.” She pushed to her feet, looking as fragile as she had the day he met her. “And as far as Zach is concerned—”

  “You already opened that can, Claire.” She frowned at him, so he elaborated. “You mentioned meeting Houdini, in London. Do you really expect him to forget?”

  “Damn.” She let out a sigh. “He holds onto things like an elephant. Maybe the tarot card and baiting James scenario will distract him—oh, who am I kidding? I’m going to be grilled the second he gets me alone.”

  Laughing, Simon took her hand. “I’ll volunteer to be your buffer.” He ran one hand through his hair, still not used to the length, after years of having it close cut. “But no guarantees that it will work. He’s a slippery one.”

  “Don’t I know it. You should see him try to weasel out of homework. Thank you, Simon, for listening. For getting me out of there. I couldn’t face them, not with my control so shaky.”

  “Any time, Claire. I mean that. You are important to me. It just took traveling halfway around the world to see what was right in front of me.”

  Tugging on his hand, she leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I missed you. Don’t stay away like that again.”

  “No worries. Now,” he led her back into the kitchen. “Want to go trap a nutcase?”

  *

  Claire looked at her friends, her son, as they stood around the coffee table, studying the tarot card.

  Simon broke the silence. “Zach, can you get me the salt shaker from the kitchen?”

  Claire couldn’t stop herself; she jerked away, one hand closing over her nearly healed wrist. “Why?”

  “I want to test a theory.” Zach ran back in with the salt shaker and handed it to Simon. “Thanks. Now, I want all of you to stand back. I’m not sure how it’s going to react.”

  Claire obeyed, taking Zach’s outstretched hand. Eric moved in front of Annie, stopped her sputtering protests with a single look at her stomach. Marcus moved to Claire’s side, one arm slipping around her waist. Her anxiety eased as soon as he touched her. Stepping closer to the coffee table, Simon opened the shaker and poured the salt on the card.

  An inhuman scream split the air.

  “Wow,” Zach whispered. He spoke for all of them. The card curled around the pile of salt, the gilt edges blackening.

  Claire felt the card’s hold on her snap. She looked at Simon. “How did you know?”

  “I ran across a similar—problem in college. A student in my dorm bought a book that had a spell on it, allowing the owner to use it to draw power, even if they didn’t have any. This James has some inherent power
—enough to keep the deck from controlling him completely. I saw it, and it wasn’t happy joy power.”

  Zach let out a laugh, muffling it with one hand. “Sorry.”

  “Comic relief is always welcome.” Simon let out a sigh. “Bottom line—we have to destroy that deck. It’s his source of power, and it’s eating whatever humanity he has left. As an addendum to the bottom line—destroying that book killed the student.”

  “So we go into this knowing it could kill him,” Annie said. “Are we supposed to feel sorry for him now?”

  Shock jerked Claire out of Marcus’ grip. “Annie!”

  She looked at Claire, both hands resting on her stomach. “He messed with me, knowing he could harm my baby. Tell me where the sympathy comes in.”

  Zach spoke before Claire could come up with an answer that didn’t make her sound heartless. “Annie’s right, Mom. He doesn’t care about anything but his next fix. I don’t know if we did any damage by taking just one card—Mom?”

  “His next fix.” Horror threatened to choke her. “If we can’t give him what he wants, he’ll find—”

  “Another victim,” Zach whispered.

  “He mentioned Agnes—and I told him she was a better reader. Oh, God—” Claire headed for the front door. “Stay here, Zach.”

  “I won’t let you face him, not alone.”

  Marcus stepped toward her. “I will—”

  “I’ll go with her.” Simon laid one hand on Zach’s shoulder, glanced over at Marcus. “If anyone needs to touch the cards, I can do it.”

  Marcus studied him for a long moment; so long, Claire expected him to object. Finally, he nodded, took Claire’s left hand, and kissed her wrist, just over the fading burn. “Watch yourself, my witch.”

  She simply nodded, her throat tight.

  Simon broke this silence, his voice brisk, no nonsense. Claire recognized it—his cop voice. “Where is your supply of salt, Annie?”

  “Cupboard over the stove. Or you can just take my ghostbusting bag.” She flashed him a smile. “Front hall closet.” Her smile faded. “Be careful, both of you.”