by Dean, Cate
“You do know it’s not really the chief?” Claire nodded, and saw the relief in Lea’s hazel eyes. “Bertram is a good man. It hurts to see him like that. I’m so afraid he knows what’s going on, that he’s helpless to stop it.”
“Your fear is well-placed. I’m guessing that a ghost is possessing him.” Lea looked at her, obviously surprised. “The cold was a giveaway, though I’ve never felt such bitter, numbing cold from one. And I’ve never been able to see them before.”
“You—this isn’t your first ghost?”
She flashed a smile. “I have bumped into my share, over the years. It’s a woman, a witch, from what I could understand of her one-sided conversation.”
“I recognized her aura.” Lea blushed when Claire looked at her. “I can see them, yes. But only if the person has power, like you—but yours is weak, like you lost what you had—”
Claire flinched, held up her hand when Lea started to apologize. “You’re right. I did lose it, fighting someone who tried to hurt my friends.”
“I’m so sorry. But you didn’t let me finish.” Lea touched her wrist. “Your power is weak, because it’s hidden, behind some kind of barrier. I’ve never felt anything like it before.” Claire closed her eyes. Azazel. Protecting her from herself, no doubt. “Claire?”
She met Lea’s anxious gaze. “I’m all right.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I can’t touch it.” Tears stung her eyes. Lowering her head, she let Lea’s words sink in. “I thought it was gone.”
“Claire.” The concern in Lea’s voice brought her head up. “If that wall is permanent—you may never reach it again.”
“A small price, for what I gained. Please, go on.”
“Right.” Tucking pale brown hair behind one ear, she leaned against the bars. “Her name was Jane, and she grew up here. We called her Crane Jane—not nice, I know, but with her long nose, and those flat, cold grey eyes that studied you like you were dinner, the nickname stuck. When she turned twenty-one she went back east, claiming she belonged in Salem, that she was destined to right the wrong done there. Despite what she wants you to think, her death was pedestrian. She was hit by a car when she was jaywalking, after dark. Wearing all black, of course. It was her—thing. Because she grew up here, the local paper ran the story.”
“How long ago?”
“Three, four years. The chief called a town meeting two days ago—just after the grand opening of our annual harvest festival. It’s held at a farm more than a hundred miles from here, lasts a good week, and every witch in town is part of it. They all stay on for the duration, since most of them have vendor booths at the festival. I expect that’s the exact reason he chose the day he did for the meeting. A room full of witches would have been a real deterrent.”
Dread scraped along Claire’s spine. “You were the only witch there?”
Lea nodded. “I used to go to the festival with my mom, and I couldn’t . . .” She hugged herself and turned her head away. But not before Claire saw tears glinting in the hazel eyes. After a long moment, she cleared her throat, wiping at her eyes as she looked back at Claire. “It’s only been a few months since I lost her.”
Reaching through the bars, Claire laid one hand on her shoulder. “I am so sorry, Lea.”
She swallowed. “Thanks. Anyway—I went to the meeting, thinking it was another town vote. And I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw Jane, shining out of Bertram like a dark light. I know it sounds odd, but’s it’s the only way I can describe it. Are you hungry? I still have some of my lunch here.”
Claire’s stomach rumbled, answering for her. “That would be a yes.”
Smiling, Lea limped back to her cot, gathered some food on a napkin. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to sit.” She handed the napkin to Claire, then used the bars to ease herself to the floor.
“What happened, Lea?”
With a sigh, Lea leaned against the bars. “Bertram called us all his angels, announced that things were going to change, that we’d let evil run free for too long. Just for background—there’s a history of witches in Huntsville, goes back further than the Gold Rush.” She stared down at her lap, her voice so quiet Claire had to lean forward to hear. “I sat there, still stunned by what I was seeing, and that he—she—was hypnotizing everyone in that meeting.” She lifted her head, pain in her soft hazel eyes. “You saw the darkness, felt the cold, around Heather?”
Claire nodded. “Scared me senseless. But I was too worn out to do anything but let her bring me here.”
“That darkness just—attached itself to most of the people there. And the air changed—got so cold so fast I could see my breath. Some people seemed to resist her, constantly shaking their head, or rubbing at their face like they had a headache. I got out of there before she could spot me—I was young when she left, but my mom owned the local New Age shop, so she would have recognized me sooner or later. It’s mine now that my mom is gone, and one of the reasons I didn’t run that night. I should have, but I was in shock. I waited too long, and they caught me on the edge of town yesterday. Bertram—Jane has armed patrols everywhere.”
Her pain, her grief tore at Claire. Her courage gave Claire a sense of purpose she didn’t have when Heather led her into the station.
“Did the chief sentence you, Lea?” Claire asked it gently, already fearing she knew the answer.
“I’ve been condemned as a witch.” She looked up at Claire, tears sliding down her cheeks. Grief and terror tightened her face. “They’re going to punish me tomorrow morning,” she whispered. “By burning me at the stake.”
SIX
Marcus parked his rental in the gravel lot next to the single story police station and stepped out of the silver sedan. He wanted to drive something normal, and did his best to look as unthreatening as possible. By removing his earring, pulling his hair back into a sleek ponytail, and wearing the standard tourist uniform of jeans, button down shirt and jacket, he could blend in, if necessary.
The sun hid behind a stand of pine trees, lower than he expected. Glancing at his watch, he was startled by the time. Past seven, and he had yet to talk his way past local law enforcement. He did not want to spend the night here, where even in his subdued state he would be marked as an outsider. The simple solution was to do what needed doing and leave as quickly as possible.
Pulling out just a hint of charm, he pushed open the glass door and stepped inside.
The big room was deserted, save for a woman with long, honey blonde hair. She looked up—then jumped to her feet, smoothing her uniform as she walked toward him. Marcus faltered for a moment; when she smiled, he felt evil brush against him. New, raw evil.
Looking as harmless as he possibly could, he waited for her.
“Can I help you?” Her voice purred over the request.
“I received a call earlier today. A friend is here, and I’ve come to take her home.”
Panic flared across the woman’s face. “Sorry?”
Marcus brushed his fingers over her shoulder—and used every bit of control not to jerk his hand back. It felt as if he had been scorched. Smiling, he let a tendril of calm wrap around her. This time he didn’t merely get scorched. Pain seared straight into the center of his power.
He pulled himself in, put up the barrier he used to block the random emotions that bombarded him on a regular basis. “You did bring someone in today? A woman—”
“How—Simon.” She cursed, vividly. Marcus raised one eyebrow, knowing it tended to intimidate. Her voice faded, and she took a step back. “She’s not—wait, you can’t—”
Marcus ignored her and kept moving across the station, toward the door at the back. He suspected it led to the cells, where they would keep anyone suspicious, until they were satisfied the suspicious person would cause no harm. Unfortunately, he knew from firsthand experience.
He stepped through the doorway, facing a desk that was empty. A young woman stood up in the far cell, her face bruised, her pale br
own hair tangled, her jeans torn and stained with blood.
“Damn them.” He skirted the desk, headed for her. Whatever it took he wasn’t leaving without—
“Marcus?”
The quiet voice froze him. Heart pounding, he turned to the second cell. Shock pale, dirty, bruised, Claire stared at him from behind the bars.
“Gods—” He rushed forward, reached through the bars to touch her face. “Claire.” Warm skin met his shaking fingers. She closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks. His other hand laid over hers on the bar; when her breath hitched, he cupped her chin and waited for her to look at him. “I thought I lost you.”
“You nearly did,” she whispered. Pain sliced her voice. She tried to shield it from him, but he felt the raw edge of it. Examining her, he found the bloodstained fabric wrapping her left wrist, the red mark of a hand on her left cheek. “You have to go, Marcus. Please—before they trap you here.”
“Not without you. Not this time.” His decision made, he slid his hand up to cradle her cheek. “You have to trust me.”
Letting her go, he pulled his ring off his right hand, slid it on to his left, where it sat once before, long ago. Claire sucked in her breath.
“No, Marcus—please, you can’t do this—you have to go—”
His lips cut her off, gentled when a sob choked her. He brushed her lips one more time, emotions he never expected to feel again surging through him, then eased back. “Like I said, not without you. Officer!” He stepped back when Claire tried to stop him. The woman burst through the doorway immediately, as if she had been waiting just outside it. Skidding to a halt, she stared from Marcus to Claire and back again. “This woman is my wife. Her name is Claire Wiche, and she has been missing for months.”
The woman flushed. “There was no—”
“Did you ask her name? Check your records—a missing persons report was filed nearly three months ago.”
“I can’t—” Her gaze skated back and forth, hands clenching and unclenching. Marcus could tell she was losing control.
“Please, go run your check. But unlock this cell first. My wife is no criminal.”
“You don’t leave this room ‘til I run that check.” She stepped forward, pulled a key ring off her belt. After fumbling through the keys, she chose one, slid it into the lock and twisted. “And now you’re responsible for her. I’m not taking the fall if he gets mad. And he can get real mad, real fast.”
Her shoulder scraped the doorframe as she backed out of the room. The contact had her jumping. With a curse she whirled and ran.
Marcus swung the cell door open, and caught Claire around the waist when her knees buckled. Moving slowly, he led her to the cot, settled her, and sat beside her. “Let me see that wrist.”
“You are the most stubborn—God above, Marcus . . .” Her voice faded. Unable to stop himself, he pulled her into his arms. She sagged against him, one arm wrapping around his waist. His fingers slid down her hair. All that glorious, rich brown hair, touched with red, lay in ropy tangles down her back. “It’s good to see you.” Leaning back, she met his eyes. This close, he saw the exhaustion, the strain. “I expected Annie to come strolling in here, straight into their net. How did you end up here instead?”
He told her, and she smiled, shaking her head. “At least she’s out of danger.” Marcus cleared his throat, and her eyes narrowed. “What?”
“I phoned her, told her to meet me here. I thought I might need—backup.” He focused on her wrist, to keep from having to meet those eyes. “I had no idea when I did so that it would be—this.” Closing his hand over hers, he let tendrils of healing wrap around her wrist. His control had improved, to the point where he no longer needed to reveal himself to soothe smaller hurts. “I will get you out of here. I promise you.”
“I’m not going anywhere without Lea.” She gestured to the girl in the next cell, curled on the cot, trying to give them privacy. “Come on,” she said. “You’re part of this now.”
The girl joined them, lowering herself to the floor. Her injuries looked worse close up, and Marcus agreed with Claire—they would go nowhere without her.
“I am Marcus,” he said, keeping his voice quiet, even. “May I tend you?”
A smile brightened her bruised face. “He’s a polite one.”
“When it suits him.”
He glanced at Claire, and the humor in her eyes eased the ache he had carried around these last months. Reaching through the bars, he examined Lea’s fingers, halting when she flinched under his touch.
“I am sorry this hurts you—”
“Stop,” Lea said. “Stop apologizing for what you didn’t do. It’s going to hurt, because that’s what she intended.”
“She?”
“Just part of a long story,” Claire said. “And before you start making those promises, you need to hear what is really going on.”
*
Darkness pushed against the single window by the time Claire caught Marcus up. Once he finished with Lea, his healing much more subtle and controlled than before, he sat beside her, held her hand. His touch comforted her, in a way she didn’t expect. And all that curling black hair pulled back off his face made him look almost—normal. Which she guessed was the intent.
“Annie dreamed of you,” he said, his deep, sand rough voice quiet. “All this time, she has held on to the belief that you were alive.”
Claire let out a shaky breath. “I saw her, after Azazel healed me. I was hoping she wouldn’t—” A stifled gasp from the next cell cut her off. God above—what was I thinking— “Lea?” Pulling out of his grasp, she used his shoulder to help her stand and limped to the bars. Lea stood in the far corner of her cell, wide eyes staring at Claire. “I am so sorry you learned about me that way. I should have told you; my only excuse is that I’ve always held what I am close, kept it behind a wall of protection, until recently.”
“You’re—a demon?”
Claire gripped the bar, closed her eyes briefly. It still hurt, to have that thrown at her. “Do you know the story of Lucifer, and the fallen?” After a moment, Lea nodded. “I am one of them. I stood with him, defying the Father who created me, and was cast down for my pride. The tattoo on my hip is—was—a barrier, keeping the demon trapped, and the majority of my power along with it.”
“But you don’t have any power now, not that you can touch. Just an echo—and it’s not evil. Not evil,” she repeated, and stepped forward. “Which makes my reaction even dumber. Because I already knew you wouldn’t hurt me. Him, though.” She pointed at Marcus. “Him I can’t read at all. He reeks of power, but I don’t see it.”
Claire smiled. “Marcus is a Jinn. I’m guessing you’ve never come across one before now.”
“Get out. Seriously?” Moving across the cell, she studied him. “You don’t really grant wishes, do you?”
Marcus flashed a smile. “Now, that depends on the wish—”
“Rein it in, Jinn.” He turned to Claire, one eyebrow raised. “You know that doesn’t work on me. How long have you been able to heal without the show?”
“A while now. How is your wrist?”
“It aches, but not like before. When—”
“While you were berating me about Annie.”
“I don’t want her caught up in this—” Her right leg twisted under her, the flare of pain driving straight to her bone. “God—”
Marcus caught her when her knees gave out. “I’ve got you, now.” He picked her up and settled her on the thin mattress. “You are going to sleep, and I am going to figure a way out of this mess.”
She struggled to sit. “I can’t—”
“You look like death.”
“Well, thank you.” Marcus gently applied pressure until she was prone, and once her head touched the flat pillow, exhaustion swept over her. She gave in and closed her eyes. “Marcus?”
“Right here.”
“Annie knows about me—what I am.”
Warm, calloused fingers br
ushed across her forehead, continuous, soothing.
“Yes, sweet, she knows.”
“Does she—hate me?”
His fingers paused, slid down to cradle her cheek.
“She misses you.”
Tears stung Claire’s eyes, lodged in her throat. “And you?”
His lips pressed against her forehead, and he whispered, his breath warm on her skin.
“You left a hole in my heart.” She opened her eyes, tears slipping free. The gold-laced green eyes she remembered so well met hers. “An ache that refused to go away. I wanted to believe, as Annie did. But the hope hurt almost more than the grief. I never believed in miracles, Claire. Until I saw you.”
A door slammed in the station, and a raised voice filtered back to them. Claire gripped Marcus’ hand when she recognized it. “The chief is back.”
He eased himself out of her grasp. “Stay put. I will see how far I can get with him—her.” He shook his head and stood. “I will happily take a straight up demon over a dead witch bent on vengeance. No offense.”
“None taken, Jinn.”
Relief swept through her when he smiled, really smiled. “Ready yourself, both of you. If this ends badly, we may need to make a quick exit.”
“Marcus.” He paused just outside the cell. “Try not to piss him off.”
“Your command, milady.”
Claire watched him stalk through the doorway, six feet plus of simmering anger. She could no longer see the power that radiated from him, but his swagger told her he was going in guns blazing. Once he was out of sight she sat, easing her legs off the cot.
“Lea—I’m going to hunt down a spare key for that cell. Once you’re out, I want you to grab anything we may need. I have a feeling we’re going to be making a run for it.”
*
“I ordered you not to let anyone near her! Did I not tell you what would happen if—”
Marcus halted just inside the doorway, and the man whirled, one hand already raised. Dark energy burst out of his palm. Marcus dropped to the floor, feeling the heat of it scrape across his back. He crawled to the nearest desk, cursing all witches, and rolled on to his back. Pain flared at contact with the floor.
