Rest For The Wicked (11 page)

Natasha waved her hand, and the car shot forward.

Claire lost her footing, hit the gravel. Ignoring the sharp pain in her scraped hands, she pushed upright and ran, grappling for a handhold. The car had rounded curves, a too-wide bumper—nothing for Claire to grip. And she left the keys in the ignition—

“Lisa!” She hung on to the door handle, no running board for her to stand on. The girl still clutched the steering wheel, staring at the fast approaching water. Her head swung around when Claire banged on the window, her eyes wide and blank with horror. “Turn the car on! You can put it in reverse—damn it, turn the car on
now
!”

Lisa stared at her, then snapped out of her paralysis. She turned the key. The engine roared into life. Claire flinched as the gears ground, but the car shuddered to a halt and started to back up.

“That’s it!” Claire smiled at her and let go of the door handle. “Now punch it!”

Lisa did, spitting up gravel and dirt as she swerved back across the lot. Claire sprinted after her. She grabbed the passenger door handle, ready to yank it open and pull Lisa out. Her fingers froze, then her arm. Before she could start a protection spell, hands closed over her shoulders and jerked her away from the car.

Claire froze in the grip, a nightmare come to life as she understood who—what—held her. What had taken over Natasha, and used her body, her power for its own ends.

“You do not get to win this time.” Those hands slid down her arms, leaving a trail of icy pain, then closed Claire in a hug that trapped her against Natasha’s chest. Something pressed into Claire’s shoulder blade, small and hard. “But you do get to watch.”

Natasha whispered, and the Latin poured over Claire, ancient, surreal. Heat burst from the object against her shoulder. Familiar heat, familiar power that ratcheted her panic.

“Don’t do this. Please—I’ll go with you now. Just don’t do this—”

“I need her soul.”

Freeing one arm, she pulled the object off Claire’s shoulder, cradled it in her palm. The panic slithered through Claire as she recognized the talisman. A talisman that she never thought she would see again. It shouldn’t be here—the darkness that rode Natasha shouldn’t be here—

Claire let out a hoarse gasp when the talisman touched her again. It sucked at her power, left her shaking and weak. With a smile, Natasha tucked the talisman out of sight, out of reach.

“She never guessed about you,” Natasha whispered, her breath warm on Claire’s cheek. “I can hear her, screaming inside this body, screaming at me to finish the useless witch. She certainly does hate, but she has no idea what you really are, hiding behind your pretty face and this petty life. Why do you choose this, when you could have such power—”

“Take me,” Claire said. “You can have it all, the power, the rank, everything. Just let her go—you don’t need—”

“I want more than what just you will give me. And I am done with your damn compassion for these humans.”

One hand covered her mouth, the arm around her like iron. She watched, helpless, as her car skidded forward and drove straight into the water. The last thing she saw before it sank was Lisa screaming through the window.

*

“
W
e have to find her.” Annie stalked around Claire’s living room. She had been stuck here for hours—for
hours
, because Claire was too stubborn to trust, and left them out of the loop to try and protect them. Now Claire was out there, somewhere, alone, maybe hurt. Or worse— “She’s in no condition to face her cousin—”

“I agree with you, Annie.” Eric leaned against the wall next to the kitchen, looking as tired as she felt. “Claire isn’t up to facing anyone—thanks to me.”

“What did I say about that? Claire doesn’t blame you—”

“But she does blame herself,” Marcus said. He sat on the sofa, a blanket around his shoulders. His face looked like someone had worked him over. But she could have sworn he had more bruising an hour ago— Marcus jerked her back to their conversation. “And I would go after her in a heartbeat, Annie. If I knew where she had gone.”

Annie wanted to slap him for reminding her that they were essentially helpless. Fear crept in and twisted around her anger. She shoved it back down. Again.

“Her phone is going straight to voicemail. I know where Natasha lives, but she would hardly keep a screaming victim in her tiny row house. So that still leaves us with a big fat bupkis.”

She paced to the end of the living room, then swung back around and headed for Marcus. To his credit, he sat still on the sofa, waited for her attack.

“What did you say to Claire to make her lose her temper? She
never
uses her power on anyone. It’s rule number one.”

Marcus looked up at her, his eyes solid green and exhausted. Annie had to tear her gaze away; she swore she saw gold in his eyes the last time she—no, she was just tired. And scared—really scared.

“We had an argument.”

“Really, Sherlock? Watson’s dog could have told me that.”

Eric raised his hand. “Did Watson have a dog? I don’t recall—”

“Okay, funny boy.” Annie smiled. His flippant question eased the tension between her and Marcus. The fact that he cracked a joke made her feel better. Maybe it was finally getting through that he didn’t need to dump all the blame on himself. “If we can’t call Claire, maybe—wait, she has GPS on her phone. Stupid—God, how could I be so stupid, I should have thought of this—” Annie ran into the bedroom, unplugged Claire’s laptop and carried it out to the living room. “I think she downloaded some tracking software—”

“Let me,” Eric said. He took the laptop and fired it up, tapping his fingers on the coffee table while it hummed through loading, then the welcome screen. Claire’s wallpaper finally popped up—her and Annie, dressed to kill for the annual artist’s festival Christmas dance. Annie swallowed. Claire looked happy, healthy, different. It shocked Annie to see that smiling face, compare it to the drawn, pale one she had greeted every morning for the last few months. Once Eric had access, he opened up her program and started typing. “I’ve got her.”

They crowded around the laptop, watched a blip on the map—a blip that moved, steadily, heading past the Monopoly-sized building. Straight toward the large body of water that stretched behind it.

*

C
laire wrenched out of Natasha’s grip and ran, stooping to pick up a rock before she splashed into the water. She gasped at the icy embrace, then took in a deep breath and dove under.

The car still floated, heading toward the bottom, at least twenty feet down. Kicking hard, Claire made it to the back of the car, grabbed the spoiler, then maneuvered around until she could reach the closest door handle.

There was an air pocket near the ceiling, and Lisa had her face pressed into it.
Good girl.
Claire got her attention by pounding on the window. She gestured that she was going to break it. Lisa nodded, moving as far as she could get while still having air.

Claire pushed through the resistance of the water and smacked the sharp edge of the rock into the window. It cracked, a small, insignificant line tracing out from impact. Claire’s lungs ached, screaming for oxygen. She pushed off the car with her feet, broke the surface of the water, took in a few breaths, then a final deep one and slipped back under.

This time she held on to the door handle, smashed the rock against the window in the same spot. And again. The third time her hand went through, catching on the jagged glass. She ignored the burst of pain and kept pushing until the window finally gave way.

Lisa floated near the steering wheel, her dress spread out around her, eyes blank, her face already grey. Claire grabbed her wrist, wrestled her out of the car. Her body begged her to take in a breath. She ignored it, ignored the burning in her lungs, and pulled Lisa up toward the light.

She broke the surface, sucked in a gasping breath as she lifted Lisa’s head clear. Her cut wrist burning, she hauled the limp body through the water, dragging her once they touched land. As soon as she cleared the water’s edge, Claire lowered Lisa, dropped down beside her and checked for a pulse. Nothing.

She started CPR, following the instructions she knew as well as the layout of her shop, the rooms of home. Lisa felt icy under her hands, her lips blue, her chest still.

“Come on—” Claire breathed into her, waited for a response. “Come on, damn it—don’t you give up on me—”

She worked over Lisa until her arms ached, and kept going. She refused to lose her; she couldn’t lose her, not again—

“I am afraid your efforts are for nothing.” Claire ignored the taunting voice, kept trying to resuscitate her. “Claire, stop—her soul is already mine.”

With a gasping breath, Claire sat back. Lisa lay under her hands, pale and still. Dead. Leaning forward, Claire gently pushed the soaked blonde hair off her face, then gathered the cold body into her arms and rocked her, tears sliding down her face. She thought nothing could hurt as much as that first loss, so long ago. She was wrong.

Natasha knelt beside her. If Claire had the strength left, and the death wish to go with it, she would have smacked the woman.

“Go to Hell.”

“I will be happy to—as long as I can take you with me. I want to go home. I am so tired of pretending, tired of playing human. Look at me.” Claire obeyed, knowing that this creature may not be Natasha, but she had Natasha’s memories. And not one of those included anything even remotely sympathetic when it came to Claire. “I am going home. But I mean to return in style, and for that I need souls.”

Panic swamped Claire—along with am emotion she had not felt for a long time. Terror. “Take me now. I am worth more than any human soul—”

“You are my boon, my bonus, my ticket in the door.” Natasha stood, her eyes flashing. “I will come for you, make no mistake. But I have more work to do here.” She smiled. “Much more. Goodbye, Claire.”

“Natasha—”

Claire spoke to empty air. Natasha had disappeared. Literally. Closing her eyes, Claire fought the panic surging through her. Natasha had been possessed by one whose power Claire may not have the strength to challenge.

Carefully, she lowered Lisa to the ground, looked around. Her cell phone was in the water, and she doubted there would be a land line in the deserted warehouse. Aching everywhere, she stood, cradled her bloody wrist, and limped toward the main road to call for help. Help that was no longer needed.

S
ince Claire refused to tell her what time she would be arriving at the airport, Annie sent a taxi to get her, with specific instructions to wait until Claire showed, not take no for an answer, and bring her back to the store.

Annie waited outside when her taxi pulled up. The Art Nouveau streetlamps came on as she stepped off the sidewalk.

“Thank you so much, I’ll take her,” she said to the driver, who helped Claire climb out of the back seat. “Thank you for bringing her home.”

“Pleasure, miss.”

He pocketed the envelope of cash Marcus insisted on providing, then drove off.

“I’m taking you home, Claire, and staying. No argument.” Claire didn’t argue, didn’t say a word as Annie wrapped one arm around her waist and led her to the car. A bruise stood out on her left cheek, nearly black against her too pale skin. Dark circles smudged the skin under her eyes. She looked—broken. “In you go—take your time, honey, I’m in no hurry.”

Claire moved slowly, like she was in pain, but she didn’t make a sound. When Annie grabbed her right arm to help her into the passenger seat, she saw the heavy bandage on Claire’s wrist, the scrapes and bruises on her fingers. Oh, she was getting answers, all right. But she would let Claire sleep for about twenty hours before she went on the attack.

*

“
I
can’t tell you any more, Annie.” Claire’s throat was raw, every muscle aching. She hardly slept, and finally gave up trying just after sunrise. “I need to know you are safe—”

“And the less I know the better, blah blah blah.” Annie settled beside her on the sofa, touched her left hand. “I’m not leaving until you tell me why you’re so damn scared for me.”

With a sigh, Claire closed her eyes. She had already lost too much time, and if she did not get rid of Annie soon, it would leave her little time to pack what she needed and return to finish what she started with Natasha. With what Natasha had become.

“Natasha is killing people. I have to stop her. Any other questions?”

“Yeah.” Annie crossed her arms. “What army you planning on taking with you?” Claire looked at her, suddenly afraid that her friend already knew more than she should. “A sergeant called from the police station, Claire; you put my number as your emergency contact on the police report. I know what you did to save that girl. Whatever’s wrong with Natasha, you can’t take her on alone.”

“She is—”

“Your family. Yeah, well, so am I.” Tears stung Claire’s eyes. “And I’m taking the right as family and saying hell no. You won’t do this on your own.”

Claire didn’t know whether to laugh or panic.

“Annie—”

“Nope. And you try to sneak out like that again, I’ll sic two big, strong men on you. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you owe one of those men an apology.”