Rest For The Wicked - The Claire Wiche Chronicles Book 1

by Cate Dean

  Natasha knelt in front of the altar, lifted the talisman and the blood drenched knife. The ancient Latin raised the hair on Claire’s arms. She dredged up the last of her strength, pushed herself up, and stumbled to Natasha.

  Wind blasted her, knocked her off her feet—and she watched with horror as a gate opened in front of her. It swallowed the sun, fire licking the edges of the gaping, unnatural hole that hovered at the edge of the cliff. Keep moving—I still have time—

  She crawled forward. Lost in the spell, Natasha didn’t sense her. Until Claire ripped the talisman out of her hand.

  “NO!” Natasha’s scream followed the talisman as it flew into the mouth of the gate. Back to Hell, where it belonged.

  Claire faced her—and her heart stopped when she saw three figures appear out of the shadows.

  Natasha felt them. Her head whipped around, a smile curving her burned lips.

  “I will have at least three more to offer, along with you.”

  Natasha raised her arms, began a different chant—one that had all three of her friends dropping to the ground in agony.

  Claire pushed herself to her hands and knees, breathless and lightheaded from that single move. Please, Father, if you ever listen to the prayers of the damned, hear me now.

  Claire gathered herself, got to her feet, and moved behind Natasha. “You are done here, demon,” she said. Natasha whirled. The chant cut off, and Claire felt life, strength flow back into her friends. “Time to start paying for your sins.”

  “You first.”

  Claire gasped as Natasha plunged the knife into her, the hilt slamming against her ribs. Beyond the rage of the pain she heard Annie scream. Be well, my friend. Both arms wrapped around Natasha, a true death grip. Her cousin fought wildly to free herself, terror replacing the smug in her silvered eyes as she realized what Claire meant to do. Claire smiled at her, dragging her to the gate. Every step jarred the knife, agony blurring her vision. She turned to face the ocean, Natasha still fighting and clawing in her embrace.

  “Let’s go home, cousin.”

  Closing her eyes, she stepped off the cliff.

  SIXTEEN

  The two women tumbled into the fire-edged void. With a sound like a giant taking in a breath, the void collapsed in on itself, leaving behind a low hanging sun in a twilight sky.

  “CLAIRE!” Annie’s scream echoed in the sudden silence. She leapt forward. Eric caught her around the waist, held on to her when she kicked and clawed. “No—we have to go after her—we can’t let her—Claire . . .” Sobs tore through her voice, doubled her over.

  Eric lowered her to the ground, gathered her in his arms. She clutched him, refusing to believe, to think, to feel.

  “Hush, Annie. One breath at a time; take it one breath at a time.” Eric rocked her, running gentle fingers through her hair, then down her back in a continuous, soothing rhythm. “She’s gone, honey—no,” he said when she struggled to free herself. “You need to hear this. She deserves for you to listen.”

  Annie raised her head, hearing the grief tear at his voice.

  Tears slipped down his face, but he gave his attention to comforting her. “You’re right,” she whispered, her throat so tight she could barely squeeze the words out. “Marcus—where’s Marcus?”

  Eric eased his grip, gestured with his chin. Annie turned her head and found him. Standing at the edge of the cliff, Marcus stared out past the water, the wind blowing hair around his shoulders. Grief etched lines into his face—lines that hadn’t been there before.

  As if he felt their gaze on him, he turned and moved to them. Lowering himself to one knee, he cradled Annie’s cheek.

  “Are you all right?” She shook her head, fresh tears blurring her vision. Marcus leaned forward, kissed her forehead. “She sacrificed all for us, took the demon to Hell to keep us safe. Remember that, remember her, and she will never be truly gone.”

  “Oh, bullshit.” His eyes widened. Annie wiped at her cheeks, anger whipping through the grief. “She’s gone, damn it. Dead. I don’t want to hear any pretty speeches about keeping her alive in my heart. I want to scream, and pound something, and rage about how much it absolutely sucks.”

  Marcus raised one eyebrow. “You do have a way with words.”

  She let out a hollow laugh. “Thanks.” Looking at each of them, she saw the pain, the exhaustion she felt stamped on their faces. “We were dying, weren’t we.”

  Marcus let out his breath. “Natasha was chanting an ancient spell. If she completed it, she would have ripped our souls out and carried them with her to Hell.”

  “God.” Annie sighed, let in what she had been pushing away since she had been told. “Claire was a—demon.”

  Eric tightened the arm around her waist. “I’m still trying to wrap my mind around that, and I saw her—change.”

  “She’s the kindest person I’ve ever known.” Annie eased out of Eric’s grip, pushing to her feet. “And that’s how I’m going to remember her. How everyone is going to remember her. Got that?” Anger shoved down the grief, made it easier to breathe.

  “No argument here,” Eric said. “I owe her my life.”

  Marcus stood. “We need to dismantle the altar, make certain there is nothing left behind for someone to stumble into.” He looked at her. “Can you help me with that?”

  Annie lifted her chin. “Bet your ass.”

  He laughed, a real laugh. It eased the cold fist clenching her heart. “Come, then. Once we take some time, I will show you a trick or two. Your power can be nurtured or neglected. I am of the mind that Claire would want it nurtured.”

  Annie looked over at Eric. “Now you know—I’m a witch.”

  He studied her face, and she felt heat flush her cheeks.

  “Yeah, now I know.”

  She let out her breath, not sure if she was disappointed or relieved by his bland reaction. “So, are you up for helping?”

  “I don’t—I won’t be any use—”

  “Of course you will,” Marcus said. “You can wash out the bowls.”

  The comment pulled a smile. To Annie’s surprise, Eric took her hand as the three of them walked to the edge of the cliff, kneeling in front of the altar. Annie swallowed when she saw what was assembled on the length of velvet.

  “Natasha was going to do some big nasty, wasn’t she?” She glanced up at Marcus. “I heard enough to know she meant to take more than Claire with her.”

  Eric spoke, his voice low. “She was going to buy her way home.” Annie looked at him, the anguish on his face twisting into her. “Katelyn was the first offering. Claire was supposed to be the last—God, why didn’t I remember that before now? I could have warned her—”

  “And she would have done the exact same thing.” Annie twined their fingers together. “Because she protects the people she loves. God, I’m going to miss her.” Her voice broke over the last words, fresh tears blurring her eyes. “Damn it—let’s get this done.” She rubbed at her eyes. “I want to get the hell out of here.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Annie spent the next few days in a haze of grief. She had a sign printed for the store to announce that it was closing for good, and didn’t have the heart to put it up.

  She wandered around the streets of Santa Luna, not seeing anything but the last moments of Claire’s life, blaming herself. Claire ended up on that cliff because of her. Because she was stupid enough to let Natasha catch her.

  When that didn’t tear her up, the fact that Claire had been hiding who she really was, what she really was, ate at her. Why didn’t Claire trust her enough to tell her? The list of reasons kept her up at night.

  She reported Claire as a missing person to the local police when enough time had passed. She moved into Claire’s house, gladly giving up her apartment, not wanting the house to sit vacant, vulnerable.

  To compensate for the fact that she could no longer wear an earring in her right ear, she had her left ear pierced again, and wore two simple amethyst studs, because they
helped her feel closer to Claire.

  Slowly, she started picking up the pieces of her shattered life. And set them aside, because she couldn’t bear the pain of putting that life back together.

  Eric stayed, moving to a hotel in town, spending more nights with her than in his hotel room. She cried in his arms every night, and refused to talk to him the rest of the time. Annie knew he worried about her, but she didn’t have the strength or the heart to talk about Claire.

  Until two weeks into her self-imposed penance, Marcus showed up on her doorstep.

  *

  “Still hiding, are we?”

  “Go to hell, Marcus.” She started to close the door. He caught it with one hand, pushed it back open. “Damn it, I want to be left alone—”

  “Do you?” His voice was low, gentle, and it broke through the wall she managed to build against the world. She backed away from him, tears lodged in her throat. He followed her, closing the door behind him. “Is this how you want to honor Claire? By hiding away and trying to forget her?”

  “I’m not—”

  Grief and fury choked her. She whirled away from him, staring out the window at the darkness. He was right. But she wasn’t trying to forget Claire—just the life she had when her friend was alive. How could she live, day to day, with the weight of the guilt on her heart?

  “By living one moment at a time.” She spun to face Marcus when he spoke, her heart pounding.

  “How did you know—”

  “It’s a gift. Come here, Annie.”

  He held out one hand, and with a choked sob she threw herself into his arms. His low voice wrapped around her as she cried, the words soothing her grief. When her knees buckled he picked her up and carried her to the sofa, cradling her until she came up for air.

  “Sorry.” She used the sleeve of her robe to wipe her face. “I really didn’t want to cry all over you.”

  “I am flattered you trust me enough to do so.”

  A laugh escaped her. “Yeah, I guess I do. Eric told me you reopened the store.”

  He shrugged. “It—hurt me, to see it sitting empty. I can answer questions well enough.”

  “And charm the money right out of every female’s wallet.”

  A smile crossed his face. “Charm was not needed.”

  She smacked his arm. “Egomaniac.” But he made her smile, something she hadn’t done since that night. “So, people are coming in? Are they—do they—”

  “Ask about Claire?” She nodded, tears stinging her eyes again. “Every day. But they seem to be getting used to seeing me there. I came here tonight to ask you to join me.”

  Panic threatened to close her throat. “At the store? I can’t—”

  “Your knowledge of the finer points of the craft would be appreciated. And I know you did the occasional tarot reading. I am hopeless at that, and there are regulars who keep asking when it will be possible—”

  “Okay, stop nagging. I’ll do it.” Instead of feeling more panic, a weight lifted off her heart. “Besides, Claire would kill me if I let all her hard work go under.” Leaning against the back of the sofa, she pushed lank curls off her forehead. “Can you give me one more day? I’m not stalling,” she said when he opened his mouth. “I need to take care of some business.”

  Marcus took her hand. She couldn’t believe she thought he was an ass. No man had been more patient, or kicked her butt when she needed it.

  “You take all the time you need. As long as you are in the shop bright and early, let us say . . .” A smile crossed his face. “The day after tomorrow.”

  “Slave driver. Thank you, Marcus. Eric is leaving soon, and I need—hell, you don’t want to know all the boring details.”

  “He told me. I am sorry, Annie.”

  She waved away his apology. “I already cried enough over that, thanks. I know he needs time, and he needs to be away from the reminders of—well, everything. Working will help. So, boss.” She gave him a shaky smile. “I’ll be in bright and early.”

  *

  “I’ve got you down for tomorrow morning, Mildred.” Annie herded her toward the door, plucking the love candle out of her hand. “We’ll see just how he feels about you then.”

  She closed and locked the door, then leaned against it, letting out a sigh. Marcus smiled at her, but she was too tired to curse him for sticking her with the old woman. They had another manic day. It had been that way for the past two weeks—for some reason, Claire’s disappearance increased the number of customers walking through the door. Morbid curiosity, Annie figured. She resented the reason, but she couldn’t resent the money they brought with them. Claire’s legacy would flourish, and that was all that mattered—

  A knock on the door yanked her out of her thoughts. She turned around and saw Eric standing there, hands in his pockets, the breeze tousling his sun streaked hair. Her heart jumped in her throat. She managed to forget during the madness of the day that he was leaving tonight. Unlocking the door, she let him in.

  “Hey.” He leaned in and kissed her. The touch of his lips left her tingling. “Another busy day?”

  “Insane. I’m wiped out.” She grabbed his hand. “Come and sit. My feet are killing me.”

  Annie led him to the reading table in the back, left Marcus to close out the register. She sank into the padded chair, slipped off her shoes and let out a sigh. Eric lifted her legs and settled both feet in his lap, fingers massaging her aching arch. She leaned back in the chair.

  “Oh, that feels fantastic. I love you.”

  His hands paused, then kept massaging. “Right back at you, blondie.”

  Her heart stuttered, then hit fast forward. She pulled out of his grip, swung her legs to the floor.

  “Do you mean that?”

  He met her gaze. “I don’t say anything I don’t mean. You should know that by now.”

  “And you don’t care—” She forced herself to continue, because she had to say it. He had to hear it. “That I’m a witch?”

  Eric cradled her cheek. “I’m thinking it will just make my life more interesting.”

  Tears stung her eyes. “Oh, damn. How did I get so lucky?” She crawled into his lap, buried her face in his shoulder. “Can you say—”

  “I love you, Annie.”

  Letting out a sigh, she tightened her grip on him. “Great way to say goodbye.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “You know I would stay, but I need time—”

  “Eric.” She lifted her head, framed his face. “We’ve been through something that would break down a strong person. I’d be worried if you didn’t need the time. God knows I’ll miss you, but I understand, and I’ll try not to embarrass myself when we say goodbye.”

  “I’m going to miss you, more than I expected to.”

  Annie smiled. “Good.”

  She kissed him, like they had all the time in the world, forgetting Marcus, forgetting everything but the feel of his lips, his tongue, the warmth of his breath. When they came up for air, a discreet cough turned her head around.

  Marcus leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

  “What?” she said.

  “It is time.”

  “Right.” She kissed Eric one last time, slid off his lap. “You’re all packed?”

  “Bags are already in his car.”

  “Okay.” She took his hand. And held her other hand out to Marcus. “Come here.” He obeyed without asking why. Annie looked at each one of them, managed a smile. “I want us to make a promise, right here. No matter what happens, we stay connected. Wherever we happen to be.” Her gaze moved to Eric, and tears filled her eyes. “We will always—”

  “Promise,” Eric said, pulling her into his side. He let go of her hand, wrapped his arm around her waist, kissed her cheek. “What about you, old man?”

  Marcus bent over her hand and kissed it. “You have my word.”

  “I think Claire would approve—not of you running her store,” she said to Marcus. “Though she may hate it less than she
thinks. And there I go again, talking about her like she’s in the next room.” Annie took in a shaky breath, tugged Marcus forward. “She’d be happy, knowing we aren’t alone. Okay.” She let go of Marcus’ hand, swallowed past the tears lodged in her throat. “Get out of here.”

  Eric turned her in his arms, slid both hands in her hair, and kissed her until she couldn’t think straight.

  “I’ll call you when I get there,” he said, his breath warm against her still healing ear. Then he kissed that ear, making her shudder. “God, I’ll miss you.”

  He pulled away and walked to the back of the store, glancing over his shoulder before he stepped through the door. Annie let out a sigh, turned away. Marcus pulled her into a quick, welcome embrace.

  “I will be back soon. Dinner?”

  “Sure. I’ll wait here for you.”

  She watched them get into Marcus’ Jaguar, the engine purring like a big cat before it roared out of sight. Rubbing her eyes, she dropped into the chair and rested her forehead on her crossed arms.

  She almost told them, wanted to tell them so badly. But she wasn’t sure how to put into words what she knew in her heart. What the dreams that woke her in a cold sweat kept telling her.

  Claire was alive.

  ~*~

  Reader’s Guide to the Claire Wiche Mythology

  As a fiction writer, I do take liberties, but I always start from a point of truth, or mythology, depending on the subject. Because I pulled from so many different sources, I decided to add a reference guide. Now you can see where I started, and where the mythology for the book took off. Happy reading!

  Azazel – there are several stories about Azazel, depending on the religion. In the Hebrew Bible, in the rite of the scapegoat, a goat was sent “to Azazel” in the desert, with the sins of Israel on its back. This rite was performed every year on The Day of Atonement. Azazel was the desert demon, the spirit of desolation and ruin, and the source of all impurity. In the Book of Enoch, Azazel is listed as one of the leaders of the Watchers, the angels who bred with women and created the Nephilim. They taught men the art of warfare in the time before the flood, and taught women to beautify and adorn themselves. For these sins, he was bound hand and foot by the archangel Raphael, and cast into darkness. He is also referenced as one of the three leaders of the fallen angels.