Rest For The Wicked (6 page)

“Yeah—yech.” She took the water Claire handed her, drained the glass. “Thanks. Will you stay with me? Just for a little while?”

Claire heard the fear under her quiet plea, and knew she had learned her lesson. It almost cost too much. “Of course.”

Claire sat with Annie until she fell asleep. After closing the bedroom door, she moved back into the living room. It stank of power.

“How did you do this, Annie?”

She touched everything on the small altar. Annie’s energy wrapped around the small jeweled athame Claire had given her for Christmas, the bowl of herbs, the bottle of oil, the photos of Mildred and her beloved. Claire smiled and shook her head. The woman had chutzpah—her love spell was for the seventeen-year-old son of her next door neighbor.

She set down the photo, frowned at the charring around its edges, touched the inscribed pink candle—and jerked her hand away, her fingers burning from contact.

“What the—” Using the edge of her sweater, she tilted the candle, and spotted the mark on the bottom. The mark of a particularly nasty demon. And she understood how a simple spell went horribly wrong.

Claire used her sweater to wrap the candle, then found a canvas tote bag in Annie’s tiny front closet to hold it until morning.

She set it by the sofa, close to hand, and drained the last of her strength laying a ward over the bag to trap any residual mischief inside. Her head pounding, she made herself a cup of tea, pulled the blanket off the back of Annie’s sofa, and settled in. It was going to be a long night.

W
ith the offending candle neutralized and carefully wrapped in one of her altar cloths, Claire left her shop half an hour before opening and marched over to the only other shop in town where Annie could have bought it.

She halted in front of The Witch’s Way, took a deep, steadying breath, forced down her temper, and knocked on the door.

Madame Serena—whose real name was Agatha Mosheim—glared at her through the glass, her bulky frame draped in a purple robe that matched her turban. When Claire calmly met the glare, she unlocked the door and jerked it open. Anger snapped in her brown eyes.

“I thought I told you I no longer wanted you in my store.”

“I wouldn’t be here, Agatha, if it weren’t important.” The woman flinched at her name, then crossed her arms. “Please.” After a long, uncomfortable silence, Agatha waved her in, locking the door behind her. Claire followed her to the velvet draped reading table. “You sold this candle to a friend of mine.” Claire removed the wrapped candle from the tote bag, careful not to touch the bottom. She laid it on the table, unwrapped it, and turned the bottom toward Agatha. “Can you tell me how that mark ended up on a love candle?”

Her nostrils flaring, Agatha bent over and looked at the candle—and all the color drained out of her face.

“What the—I did not mark that candle.” She stumbled back, one hand clutching the pendant around her neck. “I swear to you, Claire. I may enhance my readings, but I don’t mess with dem—with them. Period. Please get that tainted thing out of my store.”

Claire flinched, then rewrapped the candle and slipped it into her tote.

“Did you see anyone, sense anyone, who may have done this? I narrowly prevented what could have been a fatal spell because of this mark.”

“There have been so many people in here, with the festival—I didn’t see anything suspicious.”

“We need to check the rest of them.”

“Goddess protect us—yes. I shudder to think that I may have sold one to an unsuspecting—what is it?” Claire halted feet from the candle display. She could
smell
the marks from here, the stench of sulfur and hate. “Claire?”

“You’ll find a mark on all of them. Please put them in a bag for me, Agatha. I will pay you for them and get rid of them myself. Don’t touch the lower half of the candle.”

White-faced, her fingers shaking, Agatha did as she requested.

“This is my entire stock. Goddess, I can’t believe someone came in my store with such evil intent.”

“I have extras I can give you, so you aren’t caught short.”

Surprise crossed Agatha’s face. “Thank you—I appreciate that. Do you—did you recognize the mark on the candles?”

Claire paused at the door, looked over at Agatha, dread clawing her.

“Yes, I did. And I will not speak its name. If you look up the symbol, take the same precaution. A door has already been cracked, and even the name itself has power to widen that crack. Thank you, Agatha. I will have the replacement candles sent over.”

Claire shut the door behind her, then leaned against the nearest wall, trembling so badly the candles clunked against each other.

Who could have done this? And did they know her, recognize her behind the walls she spent decades building?

Shoving the despair, the dread into the back of her mind, she headed to her shop. She would melt down the candles, use every protection ritual she could think of, then destroy the wax. No one would touch the evil they held. Not again.

*

E
ric watched her walk down the street and fought to control the fury roaring through him. She only had hours left to live, and he needed to be patient. Under cover of darkness, after the festival was over, he would take her. And she would die, slow, agonizing, with Katelyn’s name on her lips.

He headed back to the beach, the sound of the ocean calming him. Lowering himself to a bench on the boardwalk, he watched the waves curling in, let the smell of the ocean, the cool breeze soothe his battered soul. Here he felt almost normal again, his mind, his heart letting go of revenge, anger, bitterness. Here he could unclench without the rage consuming him.

Closing his eyes, he let thoughts of Katelyn fill his mind. Days spent horseback riding or splashing in the lake outside the small California city where they grew up. Her smile flashing every time she beat him at a challenge, her quiet voice proud when she told her friends about—

He jerked awake, clutched the bench as he tried to find his balance. It took a long moment before he felt the presence behind him. Turning his head, he looked into narrowed green eyes. The man leaned against one of the trees that lined the twisting path behind the boardwalk, dressed in black, arms crossed. He didn’t look away when Eric met his eyes—instead he raised one eyebrow and smiled.

Dread swept through Eric, hot and chilling. He whipped his head around, knowing the man as an enemy, an obstacle that would have to be broken, if necessary. When he turned back, the man was gone.

Heart thudding in his chest, Eric stood, headed to the street to find a cab. There would be no more solace for him here. He felt the rage building again. He let it in, knowing he would need the strength, the resolve, to do what needed doing.

*

A
nnie poked her head inside the door, looking embarrassed, ashamed and hopeful all at the same time.

Claire smiled at her before returning her attention to the young couple wanting a set of matching bracelets.

“Yes, the rose quartz is for love, but looking at you two, I’m thinking you don’t need any enhancements. The bracelets will simply strengthen what you already feel for each other.” Claire carried them from the display case over to the counter, the giggling couple following behind her. “Yes, I do have honey dust, in answer to your question.” They stared at her, awe in their eyes. “It’s in the back, next to the Kama Sutra.”

She hid a smile behind her hand when they both blushed and all but ran to the back of the shop.

“Stop waiting for permission to enter, Annie. You never need that.”

Head bowed, Annie stepped inside. Claire met her halfway and wrapped both arms around her. With a shaky breath, Annie sagged against her.

“I’m so sorry—God, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“The candle you bought at The Witch’s Way.” Annie flinched, and pulled away, nodding at Claire’s statement. “It was marked.” Annie gasped, clutching Claire’s arms. “And when I confronted Agatha this morning, we discovered that every candle in her shop had been marked as well. I already destroyed them—but that doesn’t change the chilling fact that there is someone in town who knows just how dangerous that mark is.”

Claire eased herself out of Annie’s grip, rubbed her face, suddenly exhausted. Annie caught her around the waist.

“How little sleep did you get last night?”

“None. And stop, Annie, right now. I don’t want you blaming yourself. It should have been a harmless love spell—which I told you not to do. But that mark enhanced your power, twisted it. Did you know Mildred’s latest target is a seventeen-year-old boy?”

Annie blinked.

“The photo she gave me was a man in his sixties—”

“Which was layered on top of the real photo. The one on your altar had the edges burned away.”

Annie cursed under her breath.

“That conniving little—”

“Which is one of the reasons I never deal with her beyond the occasional reading. She has a touch of the power, enough to fool someone not looking for it.” The couple walked out of the back room, the girl clutching a tin of honey dust in her hands, grinning up at her boyfriend. “And here are my young lovers. Don’t go anywhere, Annie—I still want to talk to you.”

Claire rang them up and hustled them out of the shop, trying not to look like she was doing just that. When she turned around Annie retreated.

“Claire—”

“Sit down. We are just going to talk.” She gestured to her reading table, waited for Annie to move, then followed her. Once they sat she reached across the table, took Annie’s hand. “It’s decision time, Annie. Take your power seriously or let it go. For good.”

Her friend stared down at the table.

“I’m afraid of it, Claire. But the way it makes me feel when I use it—I don’t think I can give that up.” She let out her breath and met Claire’s eyes. “I don’t want to give it up.”

“Then we start working. Together. No more late night spells on your own.” She tightened her grip as Annie cringed, then Claire let go and held out both hands. Swallowing, Annie took them. “And no more love spells. Ever. I will give a customer whatever they want to enhance themselves, but I don’t fool with emotions.”

“Okay.” Annie tightened her fingers around Claire’s and leaned forward. “Now it’s my turn. What the hell are you hiding from me?”

Claire tried to jerk away. Annie just held on, the concern in her eyes weighting Claire’s heart.

“I’m sick. And I don’t think I’m shaking this one off.”

“I know you’re sick—you’ve done a great job hiding it from everyone else, but I know you too well. Tell me what’s really going on.”

“Annie—” Claire closed her eyes, wanting to trust. And knowing, if she did, she would lose everything. “I—”

The bell over the door rang, and Claire tugged at her hands. Annie leaned in, whispered to her. “We’re not finished.”

She let go. Claire stood, tucked her hands in the front pockets of her pants so the customers couldn’t see them shaking, and went over to greet them.

*

E
ight o’clock finally showed itself. Claire had never been so happy to close the shop. She was just about to flip the lock when someone knocked on the window.

A man stood there, the evening breeze ruffling his dark blonde hair, looking apologetic and hopeful. With a smile, Claire opened the door and waved him in. She clutched the latch as a shock of pain jolted her when he walked past. It faded, left her shaken. Closing the door, she managed a smile as she turned around.

“You caught me just in time,” she said. “I was just about to lock up.”

“Sorry for the last minute sale. But I saw a necklace in here the other day, and I know my sister will love it.”

Anger snapped at her through the pleasant words. Another jolt of pain followed behind it—and she realized the source was him. She covered her reaction, led him over to the jewelry counter, put it between them.

“Let me guess—you’re in town for the festival, and leaving tomorrow?”

“Something like that.” He bent over, pointed. “That’s it. Can you wrap it for me?”

“A lovely choice.” Claire unlocked the case, took out the rope of lapis and silver. “Any particular color?”

“What?”

She looked up, caught him staring at her, that same anger in his eyes. Though she was ready for the pain this time, it still made her stomach clutch.

“Is there a color she favors—for the wrap.” Her voice sounded breathless. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Oh—blue will be okay.”

“Right.” Claire stepped behind the counter. “I will just be a minute with this.”

“Take your time.”

She moved as quickly as she could without being conspicuous, her hands shaking. He kept shifting, his anger at odds with the pleasant manner, and she could not get a clear vision of it. The pain leached at her power, left her feeling oddly defenseless—

Then, like a switch turning on, she saw it.

He was spelled.

The darkness of it surrounded him, pulsing, feeding on his anger. He wasn’t the source—simply the unfortunate messenger.