A Gathering of Angels (11 page)

Simon halted, checked the vicinity again. Standing next to him, Claire felt the tension in his clenched muscles. Nodding, he covered her as she unlocked the door with the key Lea gave her and pushed the door open. Simon backed in behind her, then shut the door, bolting it from the inside.

“Here.” He pulled a flashlight off his utility belt. “I’ll wait for you here. And hurry, Claire. We’re fast running out of what little luck we’ve been blessed with.”

Clicking on the light, she oriented herself, and headed for where Lea said the crystals were kept. She found the hematite, and took the basket off the shelf. Below it was a display of amethyst; she picked one of the pendants on a chain and slipped it over her head. She would ask Annie for a loan once they returned. The amethyst warmed against her skin, made her feel more centered. But it didn’t raise her power. Not even a spark.

Turning off the flashlight so it would not bounce off the front window, she moved through the shop—and halted when she saw movement just outside.

Simon backed away from the door, his free hand reaching for her. Claire touched his fingers; he gripped them, pulled her in behind him, and kept moving toward the back of the shop.

“When I say run,” he whispered. “You run. No argument.”

She opened her mouth to do just that when the front window exploded.

Simon threw her at the wall, covered her with his body. She heard him gasp when he swung around, keeping himself between her and the front of the shop.

The chief stepped over the low window ledge, the darkness snapping around him like angry snakes. Bitter cold slammed into her.

“Simon.” He put both hands on his hips, the gesture feminine and petulant. “I am so disappointed. But I will get over it.”

He flung one hand up. Simon let out a pained gasp and dropped to his knees. The gun fell to the floor as he clutched his throat, choking. Claire knelt beside him, jerked her hand back when she saw the tendrils wrapped around his throat.

“Stop it!” She lurched to her feet. “Let him go, and I will leave with you.”

The chief turned his head. “You are intriguing—an enigma I can’t quite work out. You might make a suitable vessel. A bit short for my taste, but I would so enjoy being as beautiful outside as I know I am. As I was meant to be.”

His hand dropped, and so did Simon, coughing as he took in a real breath.

“Thank you,” Claire said. She stepped back until she could touch his shoulder. “I will go with you—when you let him leave. Unharmed.”

“He betrayed me!”

“He did his job. He protected those he thought were innocent. Let him go, and you have me. I will not fight you, unless you hurt him. Do that, and I will kill you, whatever it takes.”

The darkness around the chief flared, the cold icing her skin. “Are you threatening me?”

“Absolutely.”

With a scream the chief lunged forward—and collapsed like a broken doll. The darkness coiled up from him, and took form, substance, until a tall, rail thin woman stood before Claire, hands on her hips. One look at her, and Claire understood her comment, understood the cruel nickname. Jane was unfortunately blessed with a long neck, and a prominent, narrow nose that overshadowed her thin lips. Waist length white blonde hair floated around her. Along with the black, close fitting shirt and the skirt that brushed her pointed boots, her entire look accentuated the lack of curves.

“I will not be threatened, and I will not be denied what is mine—what should have been mine. And you will be my first vessel.”

Claire shoved down her panic, met the predatory grey eyes. “It will not be as easy as you expect. I’m not what you think, and your power will not sit well with what I am.”

“Is that meant to frighten me? I am more powerful than you can imagine—death only gave me more, made me more. Your insignificant threat means nothing to me.”

Before Claire could react, Jane plunged her fist into Claire’s chest.

They both screamed—Claire in shock, Jane in agony. Jane tried to pull herself free. Claire’s legs buckled as the shock became pain, icy pain that spread out from her chest and snatched her breath away. She reached up to grab Jane’s wrist, knowing her hand would go straight through—and gasped when her grip held, the ghost’s skin real, solid against her fingers.

Darkness crowded her vision, her lungs screaming for the breath she couldn’t take in. Her fingers scrabbled on the arm that trapped her, her body jerking. She couldn’t escape, and this time her now mortal body would die—

Jane’s scream spiraled, and then cut off as she burst into fire and smoke and disappeared.

Something cold and sharp scraped across Claire’s right arm. Through the smoke she smelled iron—and recoiled, knowing it was already too late, that the contact would burn straight to bone—

“Claire!” Simon’s voice jerked her out of the panic, and she realized there was no pain. No acid burn, no blackened, smoking wound. Just the sting of whatever hit her. “Are you okay? I didn’t think I would be able to stop her in time—”

“What did you do?” Her voice rasped out of her throat.

He hefted the stretching cat doorstop still in his hand. “Iron—ghosts hate it. Add in some nice rock salt, and you have an arsenal they can’t fight. You were holding on to her wrist, like she was—”

“Becoming solid.” Claire took in a shaky breath. “She was. We need to get out of here, there will be others—God above, the chief—”

“He’s alive. I don’t want to leave him, but the only way we can help him now is by getting rid of her. For good. Come on.”

Simon hauled her upright, gathered the hematite scattered across the floor and shoved it in his pocket. He helped her over the window ledge, caught her hand and pulled her behind him, heading down the boardwalk at a fast clip. Claire gripped his wrist, fought to keep up with him as he rounded the corner—and  nearly ran into him when he skidded to a halt, inches from the shotgun aimed at his chest.

“What did you do to her?” The woman—who didn’t look much older than Lea—stared up at Simon, wearing the darkness and the cold that marked her as one of Jane’s. She shoved the barrel into his chest. “Answer me!”

“She was not harmed.” Claire stepped out from behind him, spoke quietly, in an even tone she reserved for her more skittish customers. “Simon was protecting me—no,” she held up one hand when the woman cocked the trigger. “Please. As deputy, he was doing his job. Just as you are, trying to protect your mistress.”

Simon glanced at Claire. She shook her head, slightly, keeping eye contact with the woman. Her other hand inched down Simon’s wrist, closing over the doorstop still in his hand. Part of her flinched at the cold touch of iron, waiting for it to burn. She just hoped her theory was right—otherwise one of them was probably going to get shot.

“Your loyalty is admirable,” Claire said, holding the woman’s attention. “I know she will reward you for it. And I am so sorry—”

She swung the iron cat up and into the woman’s right side.

The woman let out a choked scream. Simon grabbed the shotgun barrel, shoved it up toward the sky just before it went off. The blast echoed around them.

The darkness flinched, like it had been hurt by the touch of iron, then spiraled above her head and snaked around the building. Claire dropped the doorstop and caught the woman as she toppled, taking them both to the ground.

Leaning over her, Claire brushed tangled brown hair off the shock pale face. The skin under her fingers already began to warm. “She’s not possessed, Simon. I saw it leave her.” He lowered his gun, the shotgun still clutched in his left hand.

The woman stirred, opened her eyes—and jerked upright when she saw Claire. “Where—what am I doing out here? Oh, God—” Brown eyes widened as she remembered. “Deputy Asher—I didn’t—did I hurt you? I had no control—it felt like I was—oh God—I’m so sorry—”

“You are not to blame.” Claire laid one hand on her cheek, wiped away the tears that slipped down her face. “What is your name?”

“Theresa,” she whispered.

Simon filled in the rest. “She’s Bertram’s daughter.”

Claire pushed aside her sympathy. “We have to go, Simon—and I don’t want to leave her here.”

“I’m with you.” He helped Claire stand, held out his hand to Theresa. “Let’s get the hell out of here. We might as well have a huge neon sign blinking right over us after—”

They heard the shuffle of feet, and shouts coming from the far end of the street. Simon yanked Theresa upright. She didn’t need any prodding as they ran along the side of the building, slipping around the corner just ahead of the first gunshots.

Simon grabbed both of them by the hand, dragged them into a narrow alley across the street. His hand transferred to Claire’s waist when she stumbled. She held on, tried to keep up with him. Her chest still ached from Jane’s invasion.

She just had to make it to the cabin. They could mount a defense there if they had to—if they couldn’t shake their pursuit.

I only have to get to the cabin—to Marcus—

Even if she had to crawl.

ELEVEN

A
nnie paced, until Eric pulled her down to one of the chairs at the small farmhouse table. When she got too antsy to sit, she jumped up and paced more, taking a detour every few passes to check on Marcus.

He was sleeping, and not peacefully. Lea kept him from tumbling off the bed more than once that Annie witnessed, and probably at least a few that she didn’t.

When she didn’t check on Marcus, she stalked to the front window, staring out at the darkness, hoping to see—something. They had been gone too damn long, and if they didn’t show up soon she would—

The door burst open, and Mindy Kay rushed in, her red hair disheveled. Annie leapt forward—she’d been on patrol, watching for—

With a smile she stepped aside, revealing Simon, sweat streaked and carrying a weapon in each hand. He stumbled inside, and before Annie’s heart had a chance to plummet, Claire appeared, her arm around a woman that topped her height by at least three inches—and had a taint attached to her that Annie recognized.

“Son of a bitch—” Annie stalked forward, shut the door and bolted it, then yanked the woman away from Claire. “What are you thinking? She’s been—”

“Possessed. You’re seeing the echo, Annie. She’s clear—trust me, I would know.” Limping forward, she eased the woman out of Annie’s grip, led her to a chair. “Annie, this is Theresa. We—met in town.” She looked up. “The chief is her father.”

“Damn—I’m sorry.” She took the weapons Simon handed her, watched him stride into the bedroom, pulling a handful of hematite out of his pocket. “I’ll take care of her—Simon’s going to need you in there.”

Claire brushed hair off Theresa’s cheek. “Don’t let Annie scare you. She’s all bark. Thank you.”

She limped after Simon, looking like a survivor of some terrible accident, which wasn’t far from the truth. As much as Annie wanted to protect her, she knew Claire would have nothing to do with it until everyone she cared about was safe.

Still chewing on her anger, Annie turned on the woman. “You attack them?”

Theresa stared at her hands. “I wasn’t—yes, I did.”

“You want to make up for it?”

Wiping her cheeks, Theresa looked up at Annie. “Yes, I do.”

“Good. I hope you’re not squeamish, cause we’re about to walk into a big, ugly pile of nasty.” She took Theresa’s arm, pulled her up. “After you.”

*

C
laire stood at the end of the bed, watched Simon’s muscled figure bend over Marcus—and noticed for the first time the blood that stained his left shoulder. She remembered him gasping as he covered her in the shop, when the window exploded. He had been injured, and never bothered to say anything.

Moving to him, she touched his left wrist. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

“Busy.” He glanced over his shoulder. “It can wait, Claire. This can’t.”

Lea waited on the other side of the bed. When he nodded to her she handed over a piece of paper. “I think I got it right. It’s a language I’ve never heard before.”

Simon studied the paper, raised his eyebrows. “It’s Aramaic.” Claire peered at it, then looked up at him. “I studied ancient languages when I lived in Cairo. You did great, Lea. Has he been awake at all?”

Lea nodded, tears filling her eyes. “Just once. He’s been restless, fighting me and talking in his sleep. Every time I touch him he feels hotter.”

Claire stepped to her, one hand brushing her cheek. “You kept him with us. I couldn’t ask for any more.” With a sob, Lea turned into her. Claire wrapped both arms around her, knowing she was beyond exhausted, and probably scared. “Simon?”

“Ready.” He looked over at the doorway; turning, Claire saw Annie, Eric, and Mindy Kay standing there, all of them wearing the same mask of grief. “I’ll need all of you to hold him. The stones have to stay in contact during the blessing—and I’m pretty damn sure this is going to hurt him.”

They moved around the bed, each one silently taking a limb. Claire noticed Theresa, huddling next to the doorway. So did Simon, and he waved her in. She shook her head, backing away from them.

“I could hurt him,” she said. “Because of—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Annie stalked over to her and grabbed her hand. “You’re not poisonous. You can hold the paper for Simon, since I’m sure he has to be touching Marcus when he does the blessing.”

With a smile, Simon held out the paper. “You can, and I will.”

Claire looked over at Annie. “Thank you.”

Shrugging, Annie smiled. It faded when she took Marcus’ right ankle. “He’s burning up. We need to do this.”

Simon was already busy, laying hematite along either side of the injured arm. He looked up, nodded to them. “Hold him tight—it’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

He started chanting, his deep voice bringing the ancient language to life. When the first stone touched Marcus he bolted awake.

Claire gripped his right shoulder. “I’m here, Marcus. Look at me—focus on me.” He turned his head, and it took all her control not to flinch when she met his eyes. The once rich, striated green was laid over with grey, and shadowed by death.