by Dean, Cate
If he only knew.
“We have to find a way to neutralize her,” Claire said, ignoring her food. She seemed oblivious to the tragedy of losing her hair, which Eric thought was magnificent. But she did look—lighter, softer, the short strands waving around her face. “I don’t know anything about ghosts, beyond the usual lore. But I’m pretty certain they are not supposed to become corporeal.” She looked over at Simon.
“Nothing I read even hints at it. But she is a witch—maybe there’s a spell, a way to tie herself to this plane.”
“If that’s the case,” Annie put the scissors on the table, brushing one hand over Claire’s shorn hair. “Then we better figure out what and where fast, because it sounds like she’s already well on her way to the whole tying herself to this plane part.”
“Theresa.” She jumped at Claire’s voice, dropping her spoon. “I know this is asking a great deal of you, and too soon, but do you remember being taken to a particular place? Somewhere Jane considered hers?”
“I can’t help you,” she whispered, staring at the table. “Jane will kill my dad if I help you—”
“Theresa.” Her head snapped up when Simon touched her hand. He didn’t look like any priest Eric ever met. A cop, yes. But a priest—how that happened would be an interesting story. Cradling her cheek, he brushed at the tears that slipped down her face. “I am sorry about your dad, sweetheart. He’s a good man, and that will help him get through this. I promise you, we’ll yank him out from under her influence as soon as we can.”
Beautiful, wide brown eyes stared at Simon. Eric watched emotions parade across her face as she struggled. Finally, she let out a shaky breath.
“There’s a history museum—it’s outside of town, and I didn’t even know it existed. She has been raiding the room with the witchcraft displays . . . she has an altar set up, Simon.” Theresa clutched his hand, clearly terrified. “I’ve never seen anything like it before—and the power surrounding it is cold, ugly. She won’t let anyone near that room, but I snuck in one night, when I knew she was gone. I wish I hadn’t.”
“Can you find your way back there?” She nodded. “Up for taking a little field trip?”
“I—” She swallowed, then gave a quick nod.
“Good girl.” Leaning in, he kissed her forehead. “Thank you.”
Eric braced himself, ready to argue. Annie was not going anywhere near that place, or that—woman. Even if he had to tie her up and lock her in a closet.
“Claire.” Simon moved around the table, held out his hand. She took it—and Eric realized what Simon was going to do a second before he made his move.
He whipped out his handcuffs and had Claire attached to the arm of her chair before she could open her mouth to protest. Eric caught Annie mid-punch and hauled her out of range. “Let them work this out.”
She struggled in his arms, her breath hitching. “I can’t lose her again.”
“I have a feeling Simon will do everything in his power to keep that from happening.”
When she stopped fighting him he pulled her into his side, and waited for the outburst.
Claire didn’t disappoint.
*
“Take these off me.” Claire snapped out the demand. If she had her power still, Simon would have been a quivering heap on the floor. “Now.”
“We negotiate, I let you go.”
“There is nothing to—damn it, Simon. I need to see that altar, to know exactly what we are up against.”
“No.” His denial was flat. And final.
Panic tickled the back of her throat. They had to end this, and fast, if Marcus were to have any chance—
“You’ll never find her without me.”
“I saw her just fine when she dropped Bertram.”
“She’ll kill you.”
“She had the chance once before, and she walked away with me still breathing.”
“It hardly means she’ll leave you that way a second time—not when she has so much at stake.”
“Claire’s right,” Mindy Kay said, pushing to her feet. Red hair brushed her shoulder as she tilted her head, gaze on Simon. “I’ll go along with whatever plan you devise, but I won’t stand by and watch you throw your life away in a snit of stubborn.”
Claire couldn’t stop herself—laughter burst out of her. Simon crossed his arms, stared at her, one eyebrow raised. “Sorry,” she said, fighting to control it. “Sorry. But that is exactly what you will be doing, if you refuse my help. If you try to face her on your own.”
“I won’t lose anyone else to her.”
“Then we come up with a plan that keeps it from happening. We, Simon. You’re not alone this time. You don’t need to do this alone.”
He closed his eyes, but not before she saw the grief flare in their depths. After a long minute, he looked at her.
“And you have something in mind.”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
TWELVE
They crouched behind the bushes that lined the gravel driveway, watching an impossible number of people come and go. Claire nodded every time Simon glanced at her. All of them wore the darkness that marked them as possessed—and the entire place snapped with an unnatural cold that pierced to the bone.
Claire could smell the iron in Simon’s duffle, and the rock salt in the rounds loaded in his shotgun. She still wanted to cringe away from it, centuries of instinct pushing at her. To distract herself, she moved to Theresa, laid one hand on her shoulder.
Theresa looked at her, eyes exhausted, her face drawn and too pale. Leaning in, Claire whispered, her voice more breath than sound.
“I want you to stay close—”
“My dad—”
“I need you to stay focused. If we find him in there, we will do what we can.”
Her face paled even more. “But—”
“Time to move.” Simon’s whisper jerked Theresa around, and before she could do something foolish, like run, he gripped her wrist, glancing at Claire. “Remember our deal. You stay—”
“In your sight, at arm’s length, in spitting distance. Do I have all of them?”
His smile flashed, lighting the clear green eyes. “Good enough. Let’s get this done.”
He led the way, keeping a grip on Theresa. Claire followed them, one hand clutching the amethyst through her sweatshirt. She wore a long black coat, borrowed from Mindy Kay. It brushed the ground, but it kept her warm, and helped her blend into the darkness. Something brushed her cheek—she slapped at it, and realized it was her hair. That would take time to get used to.
Simon found a break in the hedge, gestured for them to wait, and slipped through. He returned a moment later, holding his hand out for Theresa. Claire figured he would keep her close. They didn’t have a choice in bringing her, since no one else had heard of the museum, or knew its location. She was the unknown, emotional and volatile, and could get them killed.
Shotgun ready, he led them to what looked like the back entrance to the museum. They didn’t run into anyone; all the action seemed to be focused out front. He opened the door, and power slammed her.
“Claire.” Strong hands pulled her off the ground, his skin as cold as hers. “Talk to me.”
“She’s in there. I can’t—” Claire took in a shaky breath. “I can’t see for the darkness.”
“Stay here.”
She jerked out of his grip, pushed hair off her face. “Not a chance. She wants me. You, she’ll just kill for the entertainment.”
He loomed over her, trapping her against the wall. “Please—tell me how you really feel.”
Despite herself, she smiled. “Smartass.”
“Guilty.” He cupped her chin, all humor gone. “We get one thing straight, right now. I feel even a hint of danger and we run. No argument, no heroic sacrifice. Got it?”
“Crystal clear.”
Simon reached out and caught Theresa by the wrist. “The same goes for you, sweetheart. I want to help your dad as much as you, but I
won’t pay a life to get him free of her.”
Swallowing, she nodded.
“All right.” Claire eased out of his grip. “Now that the threatening portion of the evening is over, let’s get this done.”
*
“Sit down, Annie. They’re in good hands—Simon will keep them safe.”
She made another pass, rubbing at her ring. It felt uncomfortable, like an itch she couldn’t reach. Tears blurred her eyes as she stared down at it. She didn’t even have the chance to tell Claire yet, to share the joy and the future this ring represented. Annie wanted her to be around for all of it—the planning, the thousands of decisions, the shower. She wanted Claire to stand with her, as her friend, the sister of her heart, when she married the man she wanted to grow old with—
Pressing her fingers against her eyes for a second, she managed to keep from bursting into tears. Mindy Kay walking in from the bedroom made it even easier.
She wanted to hate the lanky redhead, with those knockout gorgeous eyes and killer figure. But her obvious care for Marcus and Claire, and the pure, nurturing power that radiated from her had Annie liking her, trusting her.
“He’s sleeping.” Mindy Kay dropped into the nearest chair, scrubbed at her face. “Lea’s staying with him.” She glanced over at Eric. “She asked if you’d check in on him in a bit.”
Eric nodded. “Why don’t you crash in the other bedroom? It’s going to be a long night.”
She stood, yawning. “Wake me in a couple hours. You two will need some sleep by then.”
Annie stopped long enough to let her pass, then started pacing again.
“Okay.” Eric pushed out of the chair and stepped in her path. “Enough, blondie.”
“Out of my way.” He simply took her hands when she tried to move past him. “Damn it, Eric—let me go—”
“Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to—God—” Burning pain flared up her arm. Eric caught her as her knees buckled, lowered her to the closest chair. She clutched her left wrist, stared at her ring. Black burned in the center of the sapphire—and for the first time, images flared through her mind. “It’s Claire—oh God, Eric—she’s in danger.”
*
Claire crept behind Simon through the narrow, dark hallways. She kept a tight grip on Theresa, feeling her tremble every time they rounded a corner. Claire understood perfectly; aside from the brutal cold, this warren left plenty of room for ambush.
Braced for attack, her anxiety built every time they didn’t run into anyone. There had been at least twenty people roaming around the building. Where the hell did they go?
The answer waited for them in the heart of the house.
It must have been a ballroom at one time—the long rectangular space, and the smooth wood floor that was made for dancing reminded her of another time, another place. Another life.
In the center of that open space, Jane stood, the outline of her body wavering, surrounded by kneeling supplicants. The darkness crawled along the floor, up the walls. Its icy power squeezed the breath out of Claire. Simon grabbed her as she swayed.
Taking in a shallow breath, she nodded, and closed one hand over her amethyst. Just having it on her helped ease the grip of Jane’s presence.
Jane raised her hands, and Theresa jerked against Claire when she started to speak.
“My angels—you have been my greatest support, my eyes and ears where I cannot go. But there are those who have evaded me, who would see me harmed. I want them found—I want them burned! Will you do this for me?”
Nausea burned up Claire’s throat at the sight of innocent people groveling, completely trapped by her. An ugly sound came from Simon, just before he pulled her and Theresa to their feet and all but dragged them back down the hall.
“Simon—we can’t let her—”
The anguish in his eyes cut her off. “Find the damn altar. Stop her.”
“I can show you,” Theresa whispered. Shaking in Simon’s grip, her face shock white, she met Claire’s eyes, and nodded. “I don’t want to, but I remember how to get there. I remember all of it.”
Pulling Simon forward, she led them deeper into the museum. Claire smelled myrrh and patchouli before they reached the doorway. “Stay here, both of you.”
“Damn it—”
She turned on Simon. “I will not allow you to be yanked into some backwash of a spell because I didn’t check first. Now stay put.”
Before he could object she limped through the doorway, halting just past the threshold. Her skin tingled, the amethyst pulsing against her skin, and she understood why the altar scared Theresa so badly. Hate stained even the air around it.
Gripping the amethyst through her sweatshirt, she moved slowly, certain she would run straight into some kind of protective circle. That she didn’t told her more than a little about Jane’s arrogance.
And the altar told her volumes about the path Jane chose to walk.
She refused to touch a single item. The evil surrounding the altar surpassed anything she had ever faced. Nothing tempered it, or balanced the ugly taint of the dark magic used to create it. Even without her power she could sense that evil. Claire never used binding spells, and with good reason—they spoke to the demon she had kept buried, so deeply she almost forgot her own past.
With an unsteady breath, she studied each component, horrified as she understood what Jane had done. To tie herself here, she corrupted her own power. Claire backed away from the altar—and spotted the crystal point she had seen Jane wearing.
Smoke roiled inside, as if fighting to free itself. Just the thought of touching it made her break out in a sweat, and she knew the moment she did Jane would be on top of them. But this was the source—she could feel it. Somehow, Jane locked the twisted spell inside the crystal.
She turned around, found Simon just inside the doorway, staring at the altar, the revulsion she felt on his face. Swallowing, he moved forward, took her hand.
“Destroying the altar won’t stop her,” he said. “Damn it—this is just window dressing.”
“The pendant.” Claire waited until he saw it. His grip on her hand tightened. “It will stop her, I think. If we can find a way to get it out of here.” She glanced past him. “Where is Theresa?”
“I let her go.”
Claire’s heart tripped. “Simon—”
“She was rabbit scared, Claire. And no use to us in that condition. Besides, the second you touch that, she’s going to be the bottom problem on Jane’s list.”
“I’m afraid I agree. You didn’t send her out on her own?”
He looked insulted. “I told her to go back to the cabin. Whether she does or not will be her choice.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Easing her hand out of his, she scrubbed at her face, exhaustion blurring her mind. “I don’t know how long we’ll have until Jane shows once I touch this, so be ready.”
He put himself between her and the door. She flinched when he pulled an iron fireplace poker out of his duffle.
Bracing herself, Claire closed her fingers around the pendant.
Nothing happened.
The crystal and gold burned hot against her skin; as quickly as she could, she looped the long chain around her neck. Simon all but yanked her off her feet as he grabbed her arm and headed for the door.
“Let’s get out—”
Cold slammed into them a moment before Jane appeared. With a flick of her hands she tumbled Claire across the floor, and slammed Simon against the far wall. He hit with rib-cracking force, slid down the wall. The front of his shirt had been slashed. Through the rents she saw the bloodless gashes on his chest.
Jane hovered above the floor, colorless waist length hair blowing around her. “Give the crystal to me now and I won’t kill him.”
Claire pushed herself up, every inch aching. The amethyst pulsed against her chest, its heat spreading through her as it shoved back the numbing cold. She met Jane’s flat grey eyes.
“I will w
alk into Hell before I give this to you.”
“And you just signed his death warrant!”
Jane spun, flung out her hands.
“No—” Claire lunged forward.
The shotgun blast echoed in the small room, soundtracked Jane’s furious scream just before she burst into a cloud of smoke and flame.
“Claire! God—Claire, are you okay?”
Annie sprinted across the room, Eric on her heels. Ignoring her, Claire moved to Simon, sucking in her breath when she saw the damage up close. Shaking fingers brushed his cheek, and he opened his eyes. “How bad?”
“Still breathing,” he whispered.
Eric eased her aside, crouched over Simon. Scared and more than a little angry, she turned on her friend. “What the hell are you doing here? I told you to stay put.”
Annie flinched, pushed damp curls off her forehead. “I saw you, Claire. Dead. Next to that abomination of an altar.” She crossed her arms, throwing back some anger of her own. “Damn it, I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.”
“Oh, Annie.” Claire couldn’t fault her for rushing in—not with an image like that in her mind. “You’ve never done that before, have you?”
“Ever since I put on this ring, it feels like my power is out of control. Not in a scary way, more in an ‘it’s about damn time you found me’ way.” She took Claire’s hand—and jerked away like she had been burned. “Holy hell—what is that?”
Claire glanced down. The crystal rested against her sweatshirt, the smoke trapped inside it like a dark stain. “Jane. Or at least part of her.”
“The nastiest part. How can you stand to have it touch you?”
“Because I can’t feel it.” Her voice was gentle, but Annie still flinched.
Eric provided a welcome interruption. “I’ve never seen anything like this. The gashes must hurt like a bitch, but they’re not bleeding. I can bandage you when we get back to the cabin—I don’t like the thought of you walking around with open wounds, bleeding or not.”
He pulled Simon up, kept one arm around his waist as they headed for the door.
