Rest For The Wicked - The Claire Wiche Chronicles Book 1

by Cate Dean

  She was so close, just on the other side of the glass. Laughing, talking, breathing, when she was supposed to be dead.

  His head pounded as he watched her, rage burning through him like acid. She wrapped one arm around an old woman’s shoulders, led her away from him, out of sight. His gut twisted, and before he could stop himself, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  The scent of lavender froze him. Katelyn wore the scent—he grew up with it permanently in his nostrils, and every girl he dated always told him he smelled so pretty for a jock—

  Grief threatened to double him. He reached out to grab a wall, a counter, anything to steady him. Strong fingers caught his outstretched hand.

  “Hello, handsome. We meet again.” His head whipped around at the voice, and he looked into warm brown eyes. Their owner almost matched him for height, and looked familiar. She smiled as he struggled to make the connection. “Billie’s Pub, yesterday. You look better than you did then, when I—”

  “Put me in a cab. I remember.” This time her touch, her light soothed instead of burned. In retaliation, the rage coiling through him snapped out. She jerked away, staring at him as she shook out her hand. “I’m—sorry. I have to go.”

  He nearly ran over the young family walking into the store in his rush to be free of it. Free of her.

  “Eric!” She followed him outside, touched him again. He wanted to warn her, hurt her, keep her away from him before he did something he could never take back— “I know you’re not okay, so don’t lie. But is there anything I can do?”

  “Stay away from me. Please, Annie—just stay the hell away.”

  She let go of him, took the light with her.

  “Fine.” Crossing her arms, she stood her ground. “Just tell me why.” She didn’t even flinch when he swore. “Not the answer I was looking for.”

  He almost smiled. Her humor made him feel; not the grinding hate, or the bursts of rage, but an echo of what he remembered from his life. Before he lost everything.

  “I can’t give you that answer. Just stay clear of me. For your own—” Pain stabbed him. He clenched his fists, rode it out. He knew the pain was a warning, that he shouldn’t even be talking to her. “Goodbye, Annie.”

  “Eric.” He paused, his back to her. “Whatever it is that’s hurting you, I hope you find your way past it.”

  Swallowing, he kept walking. And let her words fill him, for just a minute, before the rage claimed him again.

  *

  “You can do this,” Annie said to herself, her fingers shaking as she pushed her hair back. “You can do this.”

  Opening the notebook, she skimmed the love spell she’d composed that morning—and ignored the guilt scratching at her conscience for lying outright to Claire.

  She had learned so much more since that first unfortunate—incident. And she had been practicing. Another little detail she failed to mention after Claire’s last lecture on the dangers of using magic when she wasn’t ready.

  She adjusted the cloak on her shoulders and checked everything on the makeshift altar. One pink candle, bought at Claire’s competitor—another scratch at her guilt. A small bowl, holding the herbs for her love powder. A bottle of rose oil, also bought at the competitor. A lighter for the candle, and the photo Mildred had given her: a charming man who looked like he was in his late sixties. A bit young for Mildred, but at least they were born in the same part of the century.

  She carved his name into the side of the candle with her athame, and set it in the center of the cloth, next to his photo. Mildred’s photo sat on the other side of the candle. Mixing the herbs, she rubbed them on the candle, then anointed it with the oil. She also rubbed both the powder and oil on his photo, then Mildred’s, to create a connection.

  Feeling a little silly, she picked up Mildred’s photo, lit the candle, and held the photo up in front of her, Mildred’s face looking down at her intentioned target.

  Taking a deep breath, she started the spell.

  “As this candle burns, so does your love for me,

  As this wax melts, so does your heart for me,

  By the power of three times three,

  As I will, so mote it be!”

  After the third time through the table began to shake.

  “Uh-oh—” Annie let out a scream as the candle flame shot up and spread across the ceiling. “Oh God!”

  She stumbled backward—and fell when she tripped over the stool she’d set behind her just in case. Crawling toward the hall, she tried to call up a counter spell. The fire merely cackled at her and kept coming.

  “Where the hell is the extinguisher?” Smoke swirled around her. She coughed, using the velvet of her cloak to keep from breathing in more of it. The same cloak hindered every movement, tangling around her arms, her legs, a living creature bent on stopping her. “Come on—”

  She could no longer see through the smoke, her lungs on fire, her eyes blinded by tears. Flattening herself against the floor, she focused on moving. She refused to die here, to let a stupid love spell kill her in the one place she felt safe—

  “ANNIE!”

  Claire burst through the smoke like an avenging angel.

  Grabbing Annie, she dragged her in the opposite direction. Right past the fire extinguisher.

  “Claire—”

  “Stay here.”

  Huddled next to the corner of the door, breathing in the small amount of fresh air seeping in through the uneven bottom, Annie watched Claire as she stood up, both arms raised. The smoke seemed to recoil, and when she started to chant under her breath, the fire whirled away from her.

  She closed her hands into fists and the fire screamed, fleeing across the ceiling, followed by the smoke. Claire moved with them, hair flying around her as she raised a wind from nothing. That wind whipped her skirt around her legs, then surrounded the smoke, tore it into dark, writhing shreds until it let out a dying gasp and faded. Then she turned on the fire.

  The wind disappeared, left only Claire. Small, defenseless, she stood inches from the burning column, trapped in the far corner of the living room. She spoke a single word.

  “Leave.” The fire bulged. Annie screamed as the fire swallowed Claire—then cut herself off when the fire wrapped around Claire, like it hit an invisible shield. “You were not summoned. Now leave before I vanquish you.”

  The fire screamed at her. And Annie watched, her mouth dropping open, as it folded in on itself until it finally disappeared.

  Claire lowered her head, swaying. With a shaky breath, she pushed hair out of her face and headed for Annie.

  “Claire—”

  “Hush. Let me check you out.” Hands brushed over her, one settling at her throat. “How bad?” Annie coughed, her eyes tearing up. “Okay, then. Arm around me; we’ll get you over to the sofa.”

  Claire half-dragged her across her small living room, lowered her to the sofa, and disappeared into the kitchen. Blinking through her tears, Annie scanned the living room. It looked like nothing had happened. No smoke damage, no scorch marks. Claire returned with a glass of water, handed it to her. “Drink.”

  Annie obeyed. It felt like heaven as it slipped down her throat, soothing every raw inch. It also gave her a chance to stall, to try and sort out the thoughts flying around her mind. She knew Claire was powerful, but seeing it, seeing her in action— Annie wasn’t sure she could ever look at her friend the same again.

  Finishing the last of the water, she took more time to stall, carefully set it on the floor next to her, and finally met the waiting gaze. Relief left her lightheaded. It was still Claire standing in front of her, exhausted and probably pissed off, but it was Claire.

  “Claire, I’m—”

  She held up one hand, cut Annie off.

  “Not yet—I’m still far too angry.” Pulling her tangled hair back, Claire twisted it into a messy knot, then moved to the table. She studied Annie’s altar, picked up her notebook to read the spell. “A love spell. You created this havoc out
of a simple love spell?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Mean to do anything wrong.” With a sigh, Claire closed the notebook and set it down. “You never do, Annie. But you don’t understand your power. Worse, you don’t respect it. You raised an elemental.”

  Horror flashed through her. “An—I—how could I—holy shit, Claire.”

  Annie lowered her head, shaking so badly she thought she was going to throw up.

  “Crude, but well said. Look at me, Annie.” One hand pressed to her stomach, Annie obeyed. Claire stood in the middle of the living room, her face white and exhausted. “You tried to cast a love spell, but instead you opened the door for a fire elemental. If I hadn’t been on my way here and felt the elemental slip through—damn it, Annie, you could have killed everyone in your building.”

  Tears tightened her throat, blurred her eyes. Annie tried to blink them back—she hated crying in front of anyone, but especially Claire, since it always tore her apart emotionally. But she couldn’t stop them, knowing how close she came to disaster.

  “I’m sorry—” The tears broke across her voice.

  “Oh, Annie.” Claire lowered herself to the floor, her hands shaking against the hardwood. “I almost lost the battle. And if I had—”

  Annie tumbled off the sofa and crawled over to her, panic overriding her tears.

  “You didn’t—Claire, you beat it.” She closed her eyes, the tears stinging again when Claire wrapped one arm around her waist. “I’m so sorry—”

  “Hush.” Claire pulled her in, and Annie dropped her head to Claire’s shoulder. “Cry it out, sweetheart. Just let go, Annie.”

  She did, and Claire held her, rocked her, whispered comfort while she fell apart.

  *

  “It’s time for you to either take your power seriously, or put it away for good.” Claire handed Annie a cup of green tea, doctored with a good bit of chamomile. She sat down on the sofa, watched Annie sip the tea, then make a face. “I know you don’t like chamomile, but drink it anyway. It will help.”

  “I screwed up big time.”

  Claire sighed, rubbing Annie’s back.

  “You did what you shouldn’t have been able to do; not with that simple spell. I’ll backtrack through it, see what I can find. But I want you to finish that tea, then go to bed.”

  “I want to help—”

  “Not this time, sweetheart. Just your presence will interfere with what I plan on doing.” Claire brushed hair off Annie’s forehead, checking her temperature at the same time. She felt a little feverish, but not more than Claire would expect after such an expenditure of energy. Never mind being trapped by a fire elemental. “Finished?”

  “Yeah—yech.” She took the water Claire handed her, drained the glass. “Thanks. Will you stay with me? Just for a little while?”

  Claire heard the fear under her quiet plea, and knew she had learned her lesson. It almost cost too much. “Of course.”

  Claire sat with Annie until she fell asleep. After closing the bedroom door, she moved back into the living room. It stank of power.

  “How did you do this, Annie?”

  She touched everything on the small altar. Annie’s energy wrapped around the small jeweled athame Claire had given her for Christmas, the bowl of herbs, the bottle of oil, the photos of Mildred and her beloved. Claire smiled and shook her head. The woman had chutzpah—her love spell was for the seventeen-year-old son of her next door neighbor.

  She set down the photo, frowned at the charring around its edges, touched the inscribed pink candle—and jerked her hand away, her fingers burning from contact.

  “What the—” Using the edge of her sweater, she tilted the candle, and spotted the mark on the bottom. The mark of a particularly nasty demon. And she understood how a simple spell went horribly wrong.

  Claire used her sweater to wrap the candle, then found a canvas tote bag in Annie’s tiny front closet to hold it until morning.

  She set it by the sofa, close to hand, and drained the last of her strength laying a ward over the bag to trap any residual mischief inside. Her head pounding, she made herself a cup of tea, pulled the blanket off the back of Annie’s sofa, and settled in. It was going to be a long night.

  SIX

  With the offending candle neutralized and carefully wrapped in one of her altar cloths, Claire left her shop half an hour before opening and marched over to the only other shop in town where Annie could have bought it.

  She halted in front of The Witch’s Way, took a deep, steadying breath, forced down her temper, and knocked on the door.

  Madame Serena—whose real name was Agatha Mosheim—glared at her through the glass, her bulky frame draped in a purple robe that matched her turban. When Claire calmly met the glare, she unlocked the door and jerked it open. Anger snapped in her brown eyes.

  “I thought I told you I no longer wanted you in my store.”

  “I wouldn’t be here, Agatha, if it weren’t important.” The woman flinched at her name, then crossed her arms. “Please.” After a long, uncomfortable silence, Agatha waved her in, locking the door behind her. Claire followed her to the velvet draped reading table. “You sold this candle to a friend of mine.” Claire removed the wrapped candle from the tote bag, careful not to touch the bottom. She laid it on the table, unwrapped it, and turned the bottom toward Agatha. “Can you tell me how that mark ended up on a love candle?”

  Her nostrils flaring, Agatha bent over and looked at the candle—and all the color drained out of her face.

  “What the—I did not mark that candle.” She stumbled back, one hand clutching the pendant around her neck. “I swear to you, Claire. I may enhance my readings, but I don’t mess with dem—with them. Period. Please get that tainted thing out of my store.”

  Claire flinched, then rewrapped the candle and slipped it into her tote.

  “Did you see anyone, sense anyone, who may have done this? I narrowly prevented what could have been a fatal spell because of this mark.”

  “There have been so many people in here, with the festival—I didn’t see anything suspicious.”

  “We need to check the rest of them.”

  “Goddess protect us—yes. I shudder to think that I may have sold one to an unsuspecting—what is it?” Claire halted feet from the candle display. She could smell the marks from here, the stench of sulfur and hate. “Claire?”

  “You’ll find a mark on all of them. Please put them in a bag for me, Agatha. I will pay you for them and get rid of them myself. Don’t touch the lower half of the candle.”

  White-faced, her fingers shaking, Agatha did as she requested.

  “This is my entire stock. Goddess, I can’t believe someone came in my store with such evil intent.”

  “I have extras I can give you, so you aren’t caught short.”

  Surprise crossed Agatha’s face. “Thank you—I appreciate that. Do you—did you recognize the mark on the candles?”

  Claire paused at the door, looked over at Agatha, dread clawing her.

  “Yes, I did. And I will not speak its name. If you look up the symbol, take the same precaution. A door has already been cracked, and even the name itself has power to widen that crack. Thank you, Agatha. I will have the replacement candles sent over.”

  Claire shut the door behind her, then leaned against the nearest wall, trembling so badly the candles clunked against each other.

  Who could have done this? And did they know her, recognize her behind the walls she spent decades building?

  Shoving the despair, the dread into the back of her mind, she headed to her shop. She would melt down the candles, use every protection ritual she could think of, then destroy the wax. No one would touch the evil they held. Not again.

  *

  Eric watched her walk down the street and fought to control the fury roaring through him. She only had hours left to live, and he needed to be patient. Under cover of darkness, after the festival was over, he would take her. And she would die
, slow, agonizing, with Katelyn’s name on her lips.

  He headed back to the beach, the sound of the ocean calming him. Lowering himself to a bench on the boardwalk, he watched the waves curling in, let the smell of the ocean, the cool breeze soothe his battered soul. Here he felt almost normal again, his mind, his heart letting go of revenge, anger, bitterness. Here he could unclench without the rage consuming him.

  Closing his eyes, he let thoughts of Katelyn fill his mind. Days spent horseback riding or splashing in the lake outside the small California city where they grew up. Her smile flashing every time she beat him at a challenge, her quiet voice proud when she told her friends about—

  He jerked awake, clutched the bench as he tried to find his balance. It took a long moment before he felt the presence behind him. Turning his head, he looked into narrowed green eyes. The man leaned against one of the trees that lined the twisting path behind the boardwalk, dressed in black, arms crossed. He didn’t look away when Eric met his eyes—instead he raised one eyebrow and smiled.

  Dread swept through Eric, hot and chilling. He whipped his head around, knowing the man as an enemy, an obstacle that would have to be broken, if necessary. When he turned back, the man was gone.

  Heart thudding in his chest, Eric stood, headed to the street to find a cab. There would be no more solace for him here. He felt the rage building again. He let it in, knowing he would need the strength, the resolve, to do what needed doing.

  *

  Annie poked her head inside the door, looking embarrassed, ashamed and hopeful all at the same time.

  Claire smiled at her before returning her attention to the young couple wanting a set of matching bracelets.

  “Yes, the rose quartz is for love, but looking at you two, I’m thinking you don’t need any enhancements. The bracelets will simply strengthen what you already feel for each other.” Claire carried them from the display case over to the counter, the giggling couple following behind her. “Yes, I do have honey dust, in answer to your question.” They stared at her, awe in their eyes. “It’s in the back, next to the Kama Sutra.”