by Cate Dean
Claire nodded. “Stay put, lock the doors. A line of salt would make me feel better.” She pulled open the door, afraid if she looked back at them she would lose what little courage she had left.
“Mom—” Zach caught her hand, towering over her. “Don’t get dead.”
She let out a surprised laugh. “I’ll do my best, sweetheart.” Tears clogged her throat when he leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Get inside, and lay down that salt. It seems to work on the card. Maybe it will keep James out, or at least slow him down. Just in case.”
She eased out of his grip and joined Simon on the sidewalk.
“Agnes is Madam Serena, right? Owns The Witch’s Way?”
“She is also the only other tarot reader in town. She doesn’t have any power, Simon. She won’t be able to protect herself—”
He took her hand and started to run.
SEVEN
Claire’s breath hitched as they approached The Witch’s Way. The front window was dark, and it shouldn’t have been.
Simon let go of her hand, put himself between her and the door.
“Whatever happens, you stay behind me.”
She nodded, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. Simon would protect her, no matter what it cost him. Claire inched along the wall, prayed the cost wasn’t already too high.
Please let her be all right. Please, God, if you’re listening—let her be all right.
“I’ll go in first.” Simon’s quiet voice lifted her head. “You stay right behind me, no matter what. Tell me you understand.”
“I understand.” And she was too scared, too worried to think of an Annie-smart response.
Nodding, he moved toward the glass door, not making a sound. That quiet way of his always surprised her, though she knew it must have been from his days as a combat medic in the Army. The cop gig only reinforced the training, making him damn good at his job. Claire knew that training, and his gift for seeing power, saved her life.
His whisper yanked her out of the past. “It’s unlocked.”
Claire nodded, her dread notching up.
Simon eased the door open, and Claire couldn’t stop herself. She pushed past him, ignoring his whispered demand.
“Agnes?” Her voice echoed in the silent shop. There was no sound, not even the weepy New Age music Agnes normally had pouring out of the speakers. Dread spiraled to heart wrenching certainty. And then Claire spotted her. “No,” she whispered.
Agnes lay on the bright rug next to her velvet draped reading table, one arm outstretched, as if she were reaching for the door. Claire forced herself to move forward, and knelt beside the too-still figure. “Oh, Agnes.” Blood spread across the left side of her green silk robe, over her heart. Her face was grey, and relaxed in death as it had never been in life. “I am so sorry.”
“Claire—over here.” She followed Simon’s voice, needing to step away from the woman she hardly liked, but whose death could be squarely placed on her shoulders. “We may have a witness.”
“What are you—Mildred?” The old woman sputtered and coughed as Simon helped her sit. Her thin, white poodle curls stood up around her face, and blood streaked the front of her favorite flowered suit. “Are you all right?”
“Nearly had the life scared out of me, I’ll have you know.” She clutched Simon’s hands, her watery eyes gazing up at him with all the hero worship of a mooning teenager. “If you hadn’t shown up—why I’d probably be dead. He just went out the back. Devil.” She performed the sign of the cross, then yanked Simon’s hands forward, pressing them against her left breast. “Thank heaven you came, Father Simon!”
Claire let out a sigh. Same old Mildred. She doubted they would get much out of her beyond hysteria and grandiose exaggeration.
“Simon.” She touched his shoulder, hearing the grief in her voice. “We need to call this in.”
“I’ll do it. A friend on the force owes me a favor or two. He’ll keep the news from getting out. James killed this time, and he’s going to be panicked. I don’t want him going to ground. Not yet.” He glanced up at her. “Did Agnes have any family?”
Claire shook her head. “I want to take care of the arrangements. I owe her that much. Tell your friend I will take care of—” She covered her mouth, tears burning her eyes.
Simon gently freed himself from Mildred, framed Claire’s face with his hands, and kissed her forehead. “You have a beautiful heart, Claire Wiche. I am proud to call you my friend.”
He stood, pulling his cell phone out of his jacket as he moved to the front of the shop. Claire stared after him, her throat tight. She let Mildred grope at her, knowing the old woman must still be frightened.
“She’s dead, isn’t she? Madam Serena.” Mildred let out a deep sigh. “She was the best, you know. At reading the cards. Always had the answers I wanted.” Those dark brown eyes shot up to Claire’s face. “I suppose I’ll have to come back to you now. What a shame—we had such a good connection.”
“Mildred.” Claire forced herself to speak calmly, when all she wanted to do was slap the woman for being so damn self-absorbed. “Agnes is dead. I would like a quiet minute to mourn her. Perhaps you can do the same.”
“Oh—of course, dear. She was such a comfort, when my last love disappointed me. We were about to discover the identity of my latest admirer when . . .” Her voice faded as Claire simply looked at her. “You go on and pray for her, dear. I’m just going to have a peek at the cards she didn’t—”
“It’s a crime scene,” Simon said as he returned, crouching in front of the old biddy. “So I’m afraid your great revelation will have to wait. The police will take you home, Mildred, after they get your statement.” He held out one hand to Claire. “We don’t need to stay.”
Mildred grabbed his hand. “You’re not leaving me here?”
“You are a material witness, Mildred.” Simon sandwiched her hand, gave her his complete attention. “You are the most important part of this investigation.”
“Oh,” she whispered, her eyelashes fluttering. Claire had to look twice, but yes, they fluttered. Like a love struck teenage girl. Poor Simon.
“Now, you stay here,” he pried his hand out of hers, without looking like he wanted to desperately escape, and stood. “Answer all their questions, let them take you home. Claire and I will look in on you tomorrow.”
“Oh.” Disappointment pinched her thin lips. “Claire doesn’t have to bother, not with her business to run and that loud, obnoxious boy to keep in line.”
Claire’s temper spiked. “He’s not—”
“I will be happy to check on you myself, Mildred.” Simon smiled down at her, waving Claire to the door behind his back. “You catch your breath, now. They will be here soon.”
Sirens filtered through the shop, getting louder. Simon took Claire’s arm and headed to the front door, pausing next to Agnes. Claire lowered herself to Agnes’ side, Simon coming with her. “I am so sorry, Madam Serena.” She knew Agnes would have liked her farewell from Claire to be with her flamboyant persona. “We will find him, and he will pay. I promise you.”
“Come on, sweetheart.” Simon lifted her, and they reached the door just as the first cruiser pulled up, lights flashing in the brisk fall afternoon. The few locals still out in the cold weather gathered around, a maudlin audience for the morbid performance about to happen. “Stay here.”
He strode over to the cop stepping out of the passenger side, talked quietly for a minute before the cop nodded, glancing over at Claire. Simon moved back to her, and she spoke before he opened his mouth.
“He wants to talk to me.”
“You knew Agnes.” She flinched at the past tense. “He needs your help to track her routine.”
“All right.”
Simon held out his hand. Grateful for the warmth, the strength of his grip, Claire walked over to help put a colleague to rest.
*
Zach hunched down at the back of the growing crowd, his throat ti
ght as he listened to the rumors being passed around. Agnes dead. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it, couldn’t believe she wouldn’t come roaring out of her shop, shooing away the people blocking her potential customers. She’d intimidated him, but he respected her knowledge, and was a source he could go to that wasn’t Mom or Annie. A source who let him ask all the questions he wanted the last few months, without censor or judgment.
Mom glanced over at the crowd and he ducked down. Just being here was a violation of his promise to stay put. Zach knew she wanted him safe, but he had to take the blame for whatever rampage James was on. He took the card, knowing there would be consequences. He figured he would be the one to pay. Not an innocent bystander.
“I’m sorry, Agnes,” he whispered, ignoring the sidelong glances. “I’ll find the bastard, stop him for good—shit—”
He pulled his baseball cap down, shading his face. Mom kept looking over in his direction, as if she knew he lurked, breaking a promise he didn’t want to make. He breathed a sigh when she walked over to talk to the cops. Now he could sneak back to Annie’s, and she wouldn’t know he even left—
Fingers clamped over his arm, and the touch sent pain searing through him. “I need you to find something for me, seeker.” Zach doubled, the cap falling off as his legs buckled with the need to obey the request. James followed him down to the sidewalk, putting himself between Zach and the crowd. “I know you took the card, you stupid child. I want it back. And I will keep telling you to find it until I have it back in my hand.” His fingers dug in when Zach clutched the cement, the doubled request clawing through him. “Where is it?”
“You need to—stop.” He gasped out the words, pain tearing at him. “I can’t think.”
“Stand up. Now.” James grabbed him around the waist, hauled him up, all charm gone. He looked horrible, his nose bruised and swollen where Simon punched him. The coroner arrived, capturing the crowd’s interest. The distraction gave James an opening to drag Zach away without witnesses. “Walk.” He held up a long, narrow-bladed knife. “You attract attention, the poor sap who responds will end up like Madam Serena.”
“I’ll take you—to the card.” He fought for breath. “Just—stop telling me to find it.”
James smiled, sending a chill through him. “Find a seeker’s weakness, and you control them. Aunt Rachel told me all about your kind. I never thought I’d meet one. You are something of a legend, since you have to be a fallen angel to qualify.”
Zach closed his eyes. Part of him already knew, but hearing James say it drove despair through the pain. Stumbling, he held on to the supporting arm as James dragged him around the corner. Straight into Simon.
“Going somewhere?”
“I’ll hurt him!” James growled at Simon and pressed the tip of the knife into Zach’s right side. Pain exploded through him, clearing his head. Zach felt the power vibrating through the blade, power that could hurt the deck, maybe destroy it. He realized it was the only reason the deck hadn’t consumed James. If he survived this, maybe he could—“I’ll tear him apart inch by inch, and even your precious Jinn won’t be able to put him back together.” Fear poured off James, fear that hadn’t been there before Simon appeared.
Mom stepped out from behind Simon. “What do you want, James?”
Her calm voice set him off. “You know what I want!” Zach felt the knife shift, and the blade slid in deeper. Agony dropped him, only the arm around his waist holding him up. Mom lunged forward; Simon caught her, pulled her back. “Good choice, priest. Bring the card to your shop, and I will let him go, relatively unharmed. You have twenty minutes. Any longer, and you won’t even find the body parts.”
“You would not dare.” Mom’s voice came out a low, goose bump-raising snarl. Zach had never heard her sound like that before.
James smiled at her. “How about a demonstration of my absolute sincerity?” He inched the knife in, obviously enjoying himself. Zach couldn’t take in a breath to scream; he clawed at the blade, feeling it slice his fingers. James let go of the hilt long enough to slap his hand away, and pushed the blade in farther to punish him.
It worked. All Zach could feel was the steel in his side, hot pain spreading through him. The blade felt alive, its power brushing against his, testing. It took all his shredding focus to take in a breath.
Mom’s angry growl brought his head up. Simon tightened his grip as she lunged at them again.
“He’s hurting my son—damn it, let me go!”
“No.”
Zach opened his eyes long enough to see the anguish flash across Simon’s face.
She struggled like a wildcat. The part of Zach not fighting to stay conscious was impressed. “Damn you, let me—”
“I know what he is,” James said. Mom stilled, panic flashing in her silver-edged blue eyes. “Threaten me, and I will keep telling him to find the card until the need tears him up from the inside out. I won’t need the knife to finish him.”
“Not the shop.” Mom’s deadly quiet voice made James jump. And Zach paid when the knife jerked in his hand. “Somewhere in the open, where you can’t hide, or set a trap.”
James laughed—and Zach let out a choked cry, trying to escape as James shoved the knife all the way in, the hilt slapping his side. Mom clenched her fists, but Simon’s white knuckled grip held her in place. Her thought pushed through the agony clouding his mind.
Don’t fight him, sweetheart. Please don’t fight him.
He met Mom’s eyes, tears sliding down her face. She nodded, once.
“I will bring the card,” she said. “To the park by the cliff. Zach knows it. Open, but quiet this time of year. If he is not alive when I get there, you will wish you had never been born. Lord Bennett.”
James gasped, the arm wrapped around Zach’s waist shaking. “How—”
“You are not the only long-lived standing in this alley. I have lifetimes to hunt you down and torture you if he does not survive this day. Are we understood?”
“You just—” For the first time, James didn’t have a smooth comeback. “Get there fast! It’s up to you whether or not he bleeds out.” His breath scorched Zach’s throat. “Start walking.”
Zach stumbled when James moved, and the knife shifted. He felt himself drop, Mom’s gasp barely registering through the white-hot pain radiating from his side. It became unbearable, strangling his breath, every muscle cramping under the onslaught. He already hurt from the desperate need to find. A need he knew would be unfulfilled. Now he had to fight, to survive long enough. For Mom.
James yanked him up. “Fall and I’ll drag you, seeker.”
The word twisted into his wound. Zach doubled over the knife, heard Mom curse, fighting Simon’s grip. His only relief was knowing Simon would keep her safe. Focused on taking the next step, he moved away from Mom, not sure he would see her again; all the odds against him surviving.
EIGHT
“Claire!” Simon’s voice finally penetrated the rage. “Stop fighting me. We need to work together, or Zach will die.”
The last words got through, and she relaxed. “I’m fine. You can let go, Simon.”
After an endless hesitation, he turned her around. Those clear, sharp green eyes studied her. “I’m not falling for it, Claire.”
She let out her breath, forced herself to keep calm, to wait for the right moment. “You’re right—we have to do this together.”
Simon frowned. Claire thought she sounded normal. But the rage threatening to consume her was leaking out, and he heard it. Or saw it. She had to get away from him before—
“You’re planning to face him alone.”
And the gig was up.
“I am sorry, Simon.” Claire grabbed his arm and dragged him down to the end of the alley. Her free hand flipped the metal lid of the dumpster open like it weighed nothing. “No one else is going to be hurt. Not when I can stop him.”
“Claire—” She grabbed the front of his denim jacket, ready to toss him in the empty dumpste
r. His voice caused her to pause mid lift. “Let your friends help you.”
“Damn it, Simon.” She dropped him to his feet. “Go get Marcus and Eric. Tell them it’s the cliff where I fought Natasha—they will understand. Do not let Annie anywhere near me, do you understand?”
His eyes narrowed. “Claire, you’re not—”
“She can’t be put in that kind of danger—”
“You’re not the demon.” He gripped her shoulders and yanked her forward, forcing her to look at him. She could have thrown him down the alley—he had to know that. Why wasn’t he afraid of her? “I can see you—you, Claire. The same clear light I’ve always seen surrounding you. Do you get it? Whatever is giving you this power, it’s not dark, or evil. Believe me, I’d know.”
She stared at him, hope creeping in through the despair. “All the signs are there, Simon—what I’ve lived with, fought against, for centuries.”
He cradled her cheek. “Have you ever thought it may be the real you—the angel, finally finding a way out of the darkness?”
“God above—” She couldn’t—she didn’t have time for this. Unhooking the chain that held her amethyst heart, she took it off, turned Simon’s hand over and laid it in his palm. She pulled away from him, careful not to hurt. He would have enough bruises from her manhandling. “Get Marcus and Eric, meet me at the cliff. Zach will need Marcus to heal him, if I can—” She cut herself off, refusing to even think of the possibility. “Go!”
She sprinted down the alley, knowing she would have to stall James until they brought the card, trick him into thinking she had it. And pray for Zach to hold on until she got to him.
*
Pain threatened to consume him.
Every movement was white-hot agony. The blade shredded Zach’s strength, its power pushing at his, trying to find a way in. Only an instinctive barrier kept it from consuming him. Zach was sure he could thank his former incarnation for that.
He fought to breathe, and each breath hurt more than the last. The only advantage was that the pain overrode any need to find. He would have to remember that for later. If there was a later. Don’t go there—Mom’s coming. Just hang on.
