A Gathering of Angels (3 page)

“A friend of mine owns a plane, and is making a pit stop out at Orange County. You know where the transient parking is near—”

“I’ll find it.”

His laughter tickled her ear, warmed every inch of her. “I never doubted it. Ask for Jeff Seers at the Atlantic Aviation office—they’ll point you in the right direction. He’s got a friend who works there. I have to go—Jeff’s waving at me.”

“Where are you?”

“Just outside Vegas. We have one more stop before we hit Orange County, so don’t kill yourself getting there. I can wait.”

“You better.” He laughed, and the joy that bubbled through Annie gave her a burst of energy. “See you there, handsome.” She ended the call and bounced up to her feet. “Eric is on his way.”

“So I heard.” He smiled, amusement sparking in those gold-laced green eyes. “It seems today will have some happy memories.”

“Oh—dinner. Marcus—”

“Go. I know how much you have missed him.”

“Oh, I love you—and don’t take that literally.” She ducked around the counter and grabbed her purse. “I’ll see you tom—”

“Take a couple of days. I will be fine here.”

“Okay.” She framed his face with her hands. “Take it literally. I
do
love you. Thank you, Marcus.” She kissed him, a quick, friendly peck, and still felt the familiar tingle. He had serious attraction mojo—that woman who fell for him was toast. All but skipping now, she headed for the back door. “I’ll call you!”

She threw the door open, feeling better than she had in months. Eric—that beautiful, patient man—understood her more than anyone she knew. Except Claire.

With a quiet sigh, she put the thought of her best friend away. Claire was gone, no matter what her dreams told her. And it was time to accept that.

Time to move on.

FOUR

C
laire took her time, navigating each step as carefully as if she walked a high wire. Though the food and the rest had helped, she still felt hollow.

Once she reached the kitchen door, she had to rest. And halfway down the gravel drive, she stopped again, hanging on to the fence that ran the length of the drive, her muscles quivering, her right leg aching. Marcus mended the bone Eric broke in their brief, violent battle, but she never had the time afterward for it to completely heal.

The oversized women’s tennis shoes she borrowed didn’t help matters, but they protected her feet, and gave her a more stable base than if she tried to walk barefoot.

Using the fence as a support, she kept going, feeling a bit better by the time she reached the unpaved road. She took a few deep breaths, clearing the last of the fuzziness, then checked both directions. Signs of civilization—buildings peeking through the oak trees, a billboard welcome—prompted Claire to head to the right. She could find a phone, call Marcus, and have him come and pick her up.

He would tell Annie for her. It was the coward’s way out, but Claire knew she didn’t have the courage yet to face her friend, and what she must think after finding out that Claire was a demon.

Swallowing, she pushed it aside, and started a slow but steady pace toward the distant town. A cool breeze helped dry the sweat on her face, tugged at the badly tangled ends of her hair; she used a bandana she found in the kitchen to tie it back, but she had a feeling she would lose more than a little to damage. The brisk air told her that summer was gone, or nearly so, which put her battle with Natasha at months.

No wonder she felt hollowed out.

Another thing she had to deal with was Azazel’s startling revelation. She had a soul. She was mortal. And to add to the already overwhelming—she had no power. Not even a wisp to bolster her fading strength. That made her completely and utterly human. She understood now the real meaning of vulnerable.

Just a few minutes into her trek she started to get lightheaded. Stopping next to a signpost, she leaned against it, wiped at the sweat that formed faster than the breeze could dry it. Her fingers shook, and she wanted to sink to the ground and sleep for a while.

With a mental slap she pushed off the post, and started moving again. She could sleep as long as she wanted once she was home. Once she was safe.

The sound of a car behind her turned Claire around. She halted when it pulled in front of her, the black letters on the side riveting her in place. Huntsville Police.

Since everything she wore was stolen, and probably easy to identify if this was as small a town as she suspected, the local cops were not going to be inclined to help her.

A woman stepped out of the car, tall, lean and blonde. Just like Annie. An ache spread through her before she could shut down the thought. Swallowing, she watched the woman approach her, wind catching the long, honey blonde hair.

“Afternoon, miss.” Pale blue eyes scrutinized her. “You in need of some help?”

“I—” Using her voice for the first time doubled her over as her throat clamped shut. Strong hands caught her, eased her to the ground.

“Easy, now. I’m going to get you some water. Stay put.” Claire clutched the ground when the supporting hands let go. One arm slipped around her waist a minute later, helped Claire sit. “Take a drink, there’s a good girl.” Fingers pushed back damp hair that had come loose from the bandana. “Who hurt you?”

“No one,” Claire whispered. She coughed, her throat inflamed. Another sip of water helped cool it.

“Then someone did something you don’t remember, or want to, left you out here naked. I know Joe didn’t lend you his favorite overalls—barely lets his own wife touch them. Now, you going to tell me what happened?”

“I don’t—remember.” That much was true. She had no memory of the journey back. “Where—” she coughed again, took another sip. “Where am I?”

“Gold Country. About sixty miles, give or take, above Sacramento. You have anyone here?”

“Not here. Orange County.”

“Good.” The woman helped her stand, one finger brushing across the triquetra on her left wrist. “Nice tattoo.”

Claire looked up at her—and stilled at the darkness that curled around the woman. Tendrils of shadow caressed the woman’s shoulders, her cheeks, then slipped out of sight, as if sensing Claire’s attention. And left behind a sense of horror, an icy touch that shook her.

“—name? Can you tell me your name?” The arm around her waist tightened, the cold that surrounded her fading. “Are you okay?”

“Yes—sorry. My name is Claire.”

“There, now, that’s a start.” She led Claire to the car. “We’ll just take you in, find you something to wear so Joe don’t have heart failure over his missing clothes, and see what we can find out about what happened to you. Someone’ll be missing you, so we’ll start with that.” Opening the back door, she settled Claire, fastened her seat belt. “I’m Heather.”

“Pretty name.”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “And my fellow officers never let me forget that. Relax, now. We’ll be there before you know it.” Leaning in, she curled her fingers around the back of Claire’s neck, that darkness coiling around her again. The iced grip burned into Claire’s skin. “And we will find out the truth, by whatever means necessary.”

It took every ounce of control Claire had not to recoil from the barely contained rage in her voice.

Heather let go and straightened, closing the door. By the time she slid into the driver’s seat the darkness and cold were gone, her voice the same easy drawl that first greeted Claire. “You’ll need to answer some questions when we get to the station. You up for that?”

Swallowing, Claire managed a single word. “Yes.”

“Good. Close your eyes, Claire, get some rest. I’ll walk you through everything myself.”

“Thank you.”

Heather watched her in the rearview mirror, so Claire closed her eyes, pretended to relax. Obviously satisfied, Heather pulled on to the road.

Leaning her head back against the seat, Claire studied Heather through barely raised eyelids. She looked normal, humming as she drove. But Claire felt the darkness that attached itself to the woman, the cold that still chilled her skin.

And when she looked beyond Heather as they drove past the billboard and into town, she saw the darkness, writhing like snakes over the church and the buildings that surrounded it, cloaking the town with an evil that froze her breath.

“Here we are.” Heather stopped in front of a square, brown, one story building, turned in her seat to face Claire. “You all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She smiled, a mocking smile that didn’t fit the face that made it. Shadows darkened the pale blue eyes. “You will understand the joke, Claire. Very soon.” Between one breath and the next, her eyes cleared, her smile became soft, genuine. “Let’s get you out of this cold, and inside. We’ll find out just what happened to you.”

She helped Claire out of the back seat, guided her up the two steps and into the station, settling her in a chair next to one of the metal desks.

“Heather.” Claire cleared her throat, her voice cracking over the name. “Heather.”

“Hmm?” She looked up from the file cabinet, frowning. “What is it, Claire? You not doing okay? I have to admit, you look awful pale.”

“I will take care of her, Heather.” The quiet, masculine voice wrapped around Claire. She wanted to look over her shoulder, look the owner in the eye, see if he wore the same mantle of darkness. He knelt in front of her, gave her a full and close up view of a lean, handsome face and very clear, very green eyes. “What can I do for you?”

Help me—get me out of here.
She wanted to scream the words, but she knew she had no proof, nothing but the fear clutching at her.

“If you can call my friend.” Claire swallowed, her throat still not used to talking. “She will come and take me home.”

“Now, you’re not going anywhere until we can ID you,” Heather said. “There are procedures. She can’t just leave, Deputy Asher.”

Claire kept her gaze on the man in front of her, silently asked for Annie’s forgiveness. “Please call her,” she whispered.

He closed one hand over Claire’s, a warm, calloused hand, his thumb brushing her tattoo. Surprise flared in his eyes, disappeared so fast she nearly missed it. “My name is Simon. Can you write down her number for me?” His voice was quiet, gentle, easing the fear. He reached past her, handed her a pad and a pen, waited while she did so, her hand shaking against the pen. Exhaustion still held her in its grip, and she expected it would for some time. “I will make sure you’re safe, Claire. You have my word.”

The intensity of his last words, spoken so only she could hear him, changed her fear to ugly, heart pounding certainty. Before she could say anything he stood, tapping the number into his phone as he walked out the front door. Leaving her alone.

She had stumbled right into the middle of what Annie would call a big nasty. And Annie was about to follow her into it, with no warning. But Claire didn’t have a choice. Marcus would ring every warning bell here—

God above, I can’t—I can’t put her in danger, not after what she has already been through because of me.

Claire pushed herself up, her legs shaking from the effort. She had to stop him before he talked to Annie—

“Where do you think you are going?” Heather stepped in front of her, the darkness that coiled around her so virulent it left Claire nauseous. Cold slapped her, instantly icing the sweat on her skin. “You are mine now. I can smell it on you, sense it, but I cannot reach it. I must be certain before I condemn. Sit.”

Claire obeyed, lowering herself to the chair, then stilled as Heather pulled a pair of handcuffs off her belt. Swallowing, she flinched when icy fingers closed over her right wrist, followed by the touch of cold metal as the cuff snapped shut. Heather attached the other cuff to the arm of the chair, effectively trapping Claire.

“Sit there like a good girl.” Heather leaned in, sniffing at Claire’s cheek. “It will not be long.”

She moved to the opposite end of the small office and sat at a desk, her smile chilling Claire straight to the bone. Claire lowered her head, both hands gripping the arms of the chair, and fought down the panic that wanted to choke her.

God above, Annie—what have I done?
Tears stung her eyes as she let the truth fill her mind.

I can’t protect you.

*

M
arcus had the back door of the shop open when he heard music.

After a moment, he recognized the ringtone. Annie’s cell; in her rush to meet Eric she must have left it behind. He headed to the front, and found her phone on the back counter, half-hidden under the stick incense she had been sort of unpacking.

Marcus smiled and picked up the phone.

“Hello—”

“Listen carefully. I don’t have much time.” Marcus stilled, hearing, feeling the fear behind the urgency in the man’s voice. “There is a woman here, a woman you know, who needs your help. I will hold them off as long as I can. She will die—everyone who is a threat to that power will die, and I have to stop it this time. She’s in Huntsville, the police station. I texted directions. Get here as fast as you can.”

“Who—” The line was dead. Marcus checked for the text message. The man with the cryptic warning was named Simon, and he had phoned from Huntsville, Northern California. Marcus knew Gold Country well enough, having spent several weeks in the hills, avoiding people, small towns, and deciding how to cope in a world he no longer recognized.

He took a moment to write a quick note for Annie, then stalked to the back door, running the conversation through his head. With difficulty he shoved down the one name that flashed into his mind. Annie’s dreams were not real, no matter how fervently he wished the opposite. Whoever had been caught up there, they needed help. Marcus would not leave them to their fate, not when he could offer that help.

Locking the back door, he slid into the Jag, and checked for the next flight out to Sacramento.

He could travel faster than any human, even by car—but manipulating the machinery took strength he did not want to waste. And a plane would get him there faster still. The urgency in the man’s voice told him he would need the strength, and he had little of the time to spare.