Rest For The Wicked - The Claire Wiche Chronicles Book 1

by Cate Dean

  She had always been a pro at avoiding.

  “Damn it, Claire, I’m not going to let you—”

  “We meet again.”

  Annie jumped, then slowly turned on the high stool. And looked into the most spectacular pair of green eyes.

  “Hey—I don’t know . . .” Her voice faded as she stared into his eyes, watched them change from green to gold when he smiled. Her heart started doing somersaults when he sat down next to her and took her hand. “Hi.”

  “Hello, Annie.” His deep voice had a rough edge to it, like he smoked a little too much. Or a lot too much. She didn’t care—she just wanted him to keep talking. “Do you remember me?”

  “I—” If she said the wrong thing, gave the wrong answer, he might leave— “Do I have to?”

  His laugh curled around her. “We can become reacquainted. You’re not meeting anyone here?”

  “Not anymore. A friend,” she added, to keep him from thinking she had a date. Or worse, that she’d been stood up. “She had a long day.”

  “The festival.” He nodded, his gaze on her. “It can be taxing, so many people in such a small place. You were kind to let her rest without guilt.” He looked away, and it felt like she had been snapped out of a trance. “Will you walk with me?”

  Annie swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

  “Sure.” Oh great, Annie—scintillating conversation. She better step up her game, or he would think she was a drooling idiot. “The beach is quiet this time of night.”

  “Come, then.” He settled one hand at her waist as she slid off the stool, and guided her through the shimmying crowd to the door. “I don’t believe I had the chance to introduce myself when we met earlier.” He led her out the door, then stopped under one of the Art Nouveau streetlamps. The soft light set off shimmering strands of gold in his dark hair, drew shadows under his high cheekbones. He tilted her chin up and smiled. “I am Marcus.”

  “Hi.” Her throat felt as dry as a desert. The same desert gold she saw swirling in his eyes— Annie blinked, and warm, jade green eyes studied her, concern in their depths. “Sorry—did you just—never mind.” She took his hand and moved to the crosswalk. “The beach is waiting.”

  *

  Claire bolted awake, her left wrist hot and throbbing.

  She fumbled for the switch on her bedside lamp, cursing when she almost knocked it over. Finally turning the lamp on, she checked her wrist, afraid that the newly healed tattoo may have become infected. It looked fine, but it hurt, just like it did when—

  “Jinn—” She snatched her phone off the bedside table and speed dialed Annie’s number. “Come on, pick up, Annie, don’t be—”

  “Claire?”

  Relief swamped her. Annie sounded normal.

  “Where are you?”

  “Walking on the beach. Billie’s was packed. I had to get out of there—why are you calling me?”

  Claire wanted to ask, wanted to warn her off—

  “Bad dream. I just wanted to make sure you were—” A masculine laugh froze her voice in her throat.

  “I’m fine. I’m here with a new—stop it, she won’t mind. Sorry, honey, what were you saying?”

  “Who—” Claire had to take a drink of the cold tea on her bedside table before her throat would unlock enough for her to speak. “Who is your new friend?”

  “His name is Marcus. He said you met earlier, at the—”

  Annie was cut off, and Claire gripped her phone, waiting to hear the deep, sand rough voice.

  “I will not harm her, witch.”

  “Get the hell away from her. Now, Jinn. Drop the phone and walk away or I will—”

  “Hex me? Nothing you can do will be worse than what I have already brought on myself. I wanted to see that she was safe. There is a threat here, a threat to you, and Annie is part of you.”

  Claire’s heart skipped. She trusted him, though she knew she shouldn’t. His concern for Annie tightened her throat.

  “Thank you for checking on her. But she has already opened herself to your considerable—charm. I don’t want her to become attached, only to be hurt when you leave.”

  Amusement edged his deep voice.

  “She may be young, and impetuous, but she seems too sensible to become that attached. I will do as you ask, because I understand your love of her. She may not cooperate.”

  Claire closed her eyes, shaking with relief. “Rude always turns her off.”

  She could almost see the smile cross his face.

  “That I can do. Take some rest, Claire. Good night.”

  The connection broke. Dropping the phone on her bed, Claire curled around her throbbing wrist, and wished she still had farsight. Instead, she would have to take him at his word, and believe that her trust was not misplaced.

  *

  “She can’t be serious.” Annie took a deep breath. It didn’t help. She was still furious. “I am not going to just leave you here because she had a bad dream. I’m a big girl, last I—”

  “And she is worried for you.” Marcus tipped her chin up. “She cares, and that is a gift not to be lightly pushed aside.”

  “Oh, God—where did you come from?”

  She closed the distance between them and captured his lips. Heat flowed through her at the contact. Her body melted into him. His arms closed around her, strong and gentle, and she twisted both hands into the front of his shirt to keep herself from becoming a puddle on the sand.

  Then between one breath and the next, he changed.

  Those arms yanked her forward. Annie gasped against his lips, started to pull away. Then he somehow grew several more arms, because his hands were everywhere. The gentleman disappeared, replaced by the slimy octopus. Rage built, and when she couldn’t escape the multi-hand grip, when that grip slipped under her dress and found bare skin she bit the closest body part. Which happened to be his tongue.

  He let her go and retreated, one hand pressed against his mouth.

  “What the hell was that?” Annie spit out blood, felt her rage coil. She only had to snap out her hands and he’d be hunched in agony over his favorite appendage. It took every ounce of control to keep her hands clenched at her sides. “Never mind. I don’t want to hear another word come out of that lying mouth. And if you don’t get lost in, oh, the next two seconds, I’m calling the cops.”

  He carefully wiped at his mouth, looked down at the blood staining his fingers. Those mesmerizing eyes met hers, pure green and full to the brim with contrite charm.

  “Annie—”

  She unclenched one hand, and the sand in front of him exploded into a geyser. When she could see him again he stood several feet away, his shirt torn open to the waist, blood on his chest.

  “I said get lost. Now.”

  With an archaic bow, he turned and moved to the boardwalk, a sudden wind whipping his hair around his shoulders. That wind brushed across her cheek, smelling of sand and sun. He climbed the stairs and lost himself in the shadows of the trees lining the path.

  Annie took a shaky breath, let go of her rage, and dropped to the sand. Blinking, she clutched her head, every inch pounding like she’d had far too much to drink. Only she didn’t remember drinking that much. She closed her eyes, holding her head up, and tried to figure out how she got to the beach.

  *

  Claire knew who stood on her doorstep before she touched the latch.

  Leaning her forehead against the cool wood, she tightened the belt on her robe, prayed for patience, and opened the door.

  “Hello, Mar—heaven above, what did you do to yourself?” She crouched beside his hunched figure, carefully lifted his chin. Blood stained his face, his chest. Buttons hung from the ragged placket of his shirt. “Can you stand?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Give me your hand.”

  He obeyed, and Claire helped him up. He made it to the door, stumbling as he stepped over the raised threshold. Claire tightened her grip on him, led him to the chair in her small foyer. She b
rushed the curling hair off his cheek, startled by the sweat coating his skin.

  “Your Annie hates me,” he said. “Is that sufficient for you?”

  “Marcus . . .” Guilt scored her. She crossed her arms, noticed that her tattoo no longer hurt. “Tell me.”

  He did, in eye-opening detail. By the time he finished his voice was scratched raw.

  “I presume I made the correct move.”

  “Oh, yes. She despises players—especially when they change their play midstream.”

  Marcus pushed sweat soaked hair off his forehead.

  “I have been forced to heal myself twice in one day. I no longer have—” Swallowing, he stared past her.

  Claire had never met a Jinn who showed any vulnerability—never mind admitting it.

  “What happened to you?”

  He closed his eyes, silent for so long she didn’t expect him to answer her. He did, finally, his voice heavy.

  “I was—cast out, when my wife died in my place.”

  Heaven help me. She wanted nothing to do with this, with him. But she had been the cause, the reason for his suffering. Twice now.

  “Marcus, look at me.” After a long moment he did, his eyes dark with grief. “When did this happen?”

  “I hid myself away, Claire. I found the deepest, coldest cave, and buried myself in it. The cold leached my power, just as I had hoped. But it kept me alive as well. I meant to die in that cave—I should have, hidden away from the sun, unable to touch the sand. When I returned to the world, more than three hundred years had passed.”

  “That explains a few things. How long ago?”

  “Three months now. I had to leave—the home, the life I once knew no longer exists.”

  His hands shook, fists clenched until his knuckles pressed against skin. Claire covered his hands with her own, jerked when heat flared up her arms.

  “You’re still—”

  “Tapped in, to my power. It takes time for me to let go. A result of my self-imposed imprisonment. The reason healing is difficult for me.” She moved her hands, not wanting to drain him further—and Marcus caught her fingers, studying her. “I am not the only one carrying such a burden.”

  Claire pulled her hands out of his grasp and backed out of reach.

  “It’s nothing.” When he raised an eyebrow, she sighed. “An old illness. No one can do anything for me, so I don’t talk about it.”

  “Yet people have noticed.”

  “If by people you mean Annie—yes. I don’t want to worry her, but I don’t want her to think it’s worse than it actually is. Can I get you something?” The other eyebrow went up. “It’s my fault you ended up accosting my best friend—”

  “Claire.” She met his eyes. “She won’t remember. I gave her that much before I left her.”

  “Thank you.” Relief flooded her. “You know it may not stick. She has a good bit of power. It’s raw, but she can control it if she focuses.”

  “She showed me.” He described what she had done. Claire shook her head, not surprised. “Your Annie has quite the temper.”

  “You simply pushed her hottest button. Stay here—I’ll get you some water. And something for that headache.”

  A smile touched his mouth. “I will not ask how you know. And thank you for your hospitality.”

  “This is all conditional, Jinn.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “Stay away from Annie.”

  Marcus closed his eyes. When he looked at her again, his eyes were a hazy green, brushed over with regret.

  “If it means staying away from you, I can’t make that promise.”

  “Damn it—”

  “I am still trying to understand what led me here, Claire. The only clear answer I get is you. So, no, I will not stay away from Annie. I will, however, keep from engaging her in any way. Is that satisfactory?”

  Oh, yes—here was the Jinn she remembered. Stubborn and charming at the same time. A lethal combination, for most women. Claire was not most women. But even she couldn’t fight straight up stubborn; not when it came in a six foot plus package wrapped in power, however diminished.

  “I’m not getting rid of you, am I?”

  “Claire.” Marcus stood, laid both hands on her shoulders. She tensed, but he simply looked down at her, no manipulation. “I will not let another person come to harm. Not when I can prevent it. And there is something coming at you, something I can’t yet see clearly. Until I can, you are staying in my line of sight.”

  With a sigh, she eased out of his grasp.

  “Fine. But you’re going to be doing it from a distance—or not all,” she added when he opened his mouth to protest. “That’s my final offer.”

  “Acceptable.”

  “Good.” She crossed her arms, a smile tugging at her lips. “Because it’s the only one you get. Are you okay to get home? I’m assuming you have a place to stay here.”

  “Yes, to both questions. Thank you for your concern, witch.” Before she had the chance to avoid it, Marcus kissed her forehead. He left an imprint of heat behind, reminding her just how chilled she felt. He must have felt it as well—he frowned down at her, laid one hand against her cheek. “You need to turn up the heat, or that chill may turn on you.”

  “Good night, Jinn.”

  He smiled at her petulant tone. “And a good night to you, Claire.”

  She closed the door behind him, flipped the deadbolt, and clutched the latch when another explosion of pain ripped through her.

  Her legs buckled and she lost her grip on the latch, crumpling to the floor. A fist pounding on the door above her intensified the agony.

  “Claire! Let me in—damn it, you already locked the door. Claire—”

  “I’m—okay.” She managed to make her voice sound close to normal. “Go away, Marcus.”

  “Claire.” His sand rough voice slipped through the crack between door and sill, right next to her. “Next time I will not walk away.”

  She waited until she heard his footsteps fade, then doubled over, riding out the knife-sharp pain.

  When she could breathe without wanting to throw up from the effort, she pulled herself up, and inched along the wall until she reached the comfort of her bed.

  FIVE

  Annie stomped into the shop just moments after Claire unlocked the door.

  “I hope your night ended better than mine.” She plopped her oversized leather purse on the floor next to her, slumped against the counter, poked at the crystals Claire had been sorting. “Because mine sucked. The worst part is, I don’t remember why.”

  Thank you, Marcus. Claire patted her hand, then gently lifted it off the crystals that Annie absently arranged in a heart.

  “Maybe it’s better that you didn’t, if it ended on such a sour note.”

  “Yeah.” She stared at the counter. “It would have been fun, except you bailed on me.”

  “I’m sorry for that, Annie. I just wasn’t feeling up to more crowds; not after spending the day in the shop surrounded by them. I’ll make it up on Sunday night, I promise. I’ll buy.”

  That perked her up. “All night?”

  Claire smiled. “You got it. So, no classes today?”

  Annie shrugged, fiddling with the crystals again.

  “Melissa figured no one would want to take a full yoga class during the festival. Her highness didn’t even want to listen to my idea for demos, or yoga snacks—”

  “Which I thought was a fun way to bring people in.”

  Annie smiled.

  “Thanks. So did I—until she shot it down. I need to find another studio, before I end up incarcerated for strangling her.”

  Laughing, Claire gave up on sorting the crystals and came around the counter to give Annie a hug.

  “I have some friends I can call. The studio won’t be in walking distance, but they would be happy to have such a skilled instructor.”

  “Are you kidding me? That would be fantastic!”

  Annie started to
dance around the shop, her tiered skirt flaring out as she whirled past. Her enthusiasm was infectious—several customers who came in smiled at her, and one little girl joined in, her laughter ringing in the air.

  Claire leaned against the counter and simply enjoyed. She lived for days like this—when sheer happiness outshined everything else, and the air sparkled with it.

  Annie danced back to Claire, grabbed her hands and swung her around. Laughing, Claire held on. They both collapsed against the counter, smiling at each other. Then Claire straightened, adjusted her sweater, brushed her hair over her shoulders and approached her customers.

  “Good morning. How can I help you?”

  The woman smiled. “You can give me some of what she’s having.”

  Annie draped one arm around Claire’s shoulders.

  “It’s elixir of best friend ever. I think she’s got some over on the shelf with the oils.”

  The woman clasped Claire’s hand. “Your shop is the reason I come to the festival every year. I love the feel of it, and my husband mocks me for it, but I believe there is real magic here. And I get to take some of it home with me.”

  Claire felt heat rush into her cheeks.

  “Thank you. I’ve seen you in here before—can I ask your name?”

  “Regina.” She squeezed Claire’s hand, then let go. “Now I’m going to buy myself some magic—for me and my daughter.”

  She herded the little dancer with her to the back of the shop, laughing at the excited voice.

  “That’s why you’re successful, best friend ever.” Annie kissed her cheek. “Uh-oh.”

  Claire followed her line of sight—and her smile froze on her face when she spotted Mildred in the doorway, waving a flyer that gave her a free tarot reading.

  “Heaven help me. Stop laughing, Annie, or I’ll make you do her reading.”

  With a sigh, she moved forward, bracing herself for a long appointment and an earful of gossip.

  *

  Eric stood on the sidewalk, in front of her store, thwarted for the second day in a row by the crowds swirling around him.