What Doesn't Kill You (7 page)

Zach raised his head, and studied Simon, frowning. “What’s different? Oh—you let your hair grow.”

Simon ran his hand over the hair that now hung past his ears. “Not many hair salons in Tibet.” He gripped Zach’s elbow. “Let’s get out of here and find your mom. Do you have a key?” Zach nodded, hanging on to Simon and the wall to help him stand. “Please tell me she knows about this asshat.”

Zach snorted out a laugh. “Did you learn that in Asia,
Father
?”

Smiling, relieved at the normal emanating from Zach, Simon led him through the shop, picking up the takeout bag on the way to the door. He figured Zach would need it. “Sarcastic former cop first, priest second. Which is why I left the church.”

Zach stared at him. With a start, Simon realized he stood eye level, matching Simon’s six foot plus height. “Wow. You have some splaining to do.”

“Yes, Zach.” Simon let out a sigh. “I do.”

*

C
laire argued until she was hoarse, but Annie refused to go upstairs to rest.

Marcus settled her on the huge sectional in the family room. He tucked a blanket around her, Annie sniping at him—normal sniping, Claire noted with relief.

“Last I checked, Jinn, my arms still worked.”

“Last I checked, you were all but foaming at the mouth. Allow someone to care for you, Annie.”

Tears filled her eyes, and to Claire’s surprise she gripped Marcus’ hand. “Stop being so nice to me. My emotion filter is broken.”

Smiling, he sandwiched her hand. “I know.”

A choked laugh escaped her. “Stop wasting your charm.”

“It is never wasted on a friend.”

“Damn it.” The tears spilled over. She leaned in, kissed him full on the mouth. “Don’t get any ideas from that. I’ll blame my hormones if you ever try to blackmail me with it.”

“So noted.”

He stood, let Eric take his place. Annie took his hand, laid it over her stomach. Eric let out a shaky breath, wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and pulled her in. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Me too,” she whispered. Lifting her head, she looked at Claire. “I remember who came in the store.” Crouching in front of Annie, Claire laid one hand on her knee. “There was a man . . .” Her voice faded.

“Short, bald, brown eyes?”

Claire felt her shudder. Eric tightened his grip on her. “How did you—he’s the reason you needed an emergency store-watching.” She studied Claire; without warning, her left hand captured Claire’s, and the sapphires in her wedding ring flared a deep blue. “Tell me what happened—and don’t lie, because I know it was something ugly.” Annie glanced at her ring, the blue sparks gathering around Claire’s hand.

Shame washed through Claire. What she had done to her own son, that complete loss of control—what if it meant the demon still lived inside her? That, instead of being abolished by Azazel and her new soul, it had simply crouched in the dark, waiting for a chink in her still vulnerable armor. James created that chink, letting out just a small part of what she had been—

“Claire.”
The impatience in Annie’s voice told her it hadn’t been the first attempt to get her attention. “Stop crawling into that hole. You’re not alone this time.”

“Annie.” She jerked free, terrified that her proximity to the baby might flick a switch she couldn’t turn off. “I shouldn’t be near you.” Standing, she backed toward the front door. “I shouldn’t be near any of you, not until I know what is happening to me.”

Marcus moved forward. “Claire—”

“Stay away.” She felt the old need, tingling, gathering, wanting to unleash. “Please—I need to—”

“Mom! Annie!” The kitchen door slammed closed. “Guess who I—” Zach froze in the doorway, obviously sensing the tension. “What?”

Claire retreated, caught between the two people she loved most, and could hurt the most. It was the reason she never made emotional connections as a demon, until she met Annie. Any attachment left her victim wide open, trusting—and finding out too late they shouldn’t have trusted.

Marcus stepped to her. “You don’t need to be afraid, sweet. Not here. Not with us.”

“I feel my control—slipping.” Swallowing, she kept moving away as they tried to close the distance. Her brave men. God help her, she loved them so much. And it would destroy her if she caused any permanent harm. “I don’t want—”

“Hello, Claire.” That low, quiet voice had her heart pounding. Simon moved into sight, stepping around Zach. His appearance surprised her so much, so didn’t have a chance to escape before he took her hands. “Your energy is different.” He studied her, those clear green eyes troubled. “You were touched by him as well.”

“Who?” Panic shot through her. “Did James come back?” She yanked out of Simon’s grip and rushed over to Zach. “Did he hurt you?”

“He tried.” Zach avoided her eyes, scuffing the carpet with his tennis shoe, which signaled loud and clear that whatever happened was not good. “Simon helped get rid of him. But I was about to—”

“Zachariah,” Claire said. He flinched at the use of his full name. She didn’t do it often, and hadn’t since he discovered the truth about himself. “I want you to tell Annie about James.” He looked up, clearly surprised. Claire was surprised as well. She meant to browbeat, but her mind had another agenda.

“Um, okay. Wait—” Anger flared in his eyes. “Did he—”

“I have a feeling Annie took care of him. She just doesn’t remember. Any of it.”

After a long moment, he nodded. Claire watched him walk over to Annie, sit next to her on the sofa, and take her hand. Tears stung Claire’s eyes; his care of Annie, his concern for her, showed Claire just how much he had grown.

Warm hands closed over her shoulders, Simon’s quiet energy a balm on her ragged nerves. “You should be proud of him.”

“I am beyond proud.” She looked up at him. “Your hair is longer. It makes you look—younger. Less jaded, more—”

“Hippie?”

She let out a choked laugh. “More at ease. You have an intensity, Simon. The type that can intimidate someone who doesn’t know you.”

“It didn’t keep me from getting all kinds of advice while I was traveling.” He pushed the sun streaked brown hair off his forehead. “Stop frowning. Zach’s okay.”

“You’ll tell me what happened to him? I don’t want him to have to relive it.”

“I’ll be happy to. But he’s got something to show all of you.” Letting her go, he moved to her side, met her eyes. The fear in his had her heart racing. “This James is bad news, Claire. The power surrounding him is dark, and it’s old.”

“Is it his?”

“More like he belongs to it. The power surrounds him, but it’s not part of him. And don’t ask me how I know. It’s part of my talent I’ve never been able to explain. I just know.” He let out his breath. “Like I know something happened with you. It’s imprinted on your energy.”

Claire opened her mouth to deny, to stall. Annie’s furious voice saved her.

“He did
what
?”

“Annie.” Zach inched away from her. “You promised not to be mad.”

“So sue my hormones. Damn it, I want to wring his skinny little neck—” She grabbed Zach’s wrist. “Called himself J.J., the bastard. We need to nuke that tarot deck.”

Marcus pushed off the wall. “He has been as elusive as a desert snake. We need to lure him. With irresistible bait.”

“I might have just the thing,” Zach said. Standing, he reached down and carefully zipped open the thigh pocket on his cargo pants, his free hand hovering just over it. Claire understood why a moment later. The gilt edge of a tarot card appeared, sliding up to meet Zach’s waiting fingers. The thought of him touching that deck, of holding even a single card, sent panic up her spine. “He’ll be missing this. And if I’m right about that deck, it’ll be sooner instead of later—”

“It was him,” Claire said, as the memory snapped into place.

“Mom?” Zach touched her wrist. “What?”

“I knew I had met James before. It was in London. The first time I saw that deck, the same night I met Houdini.” Simon raised his eyebrows. Claire knew she’d have to fill him in, but he got the main point. She gripped her amethyst heart, wanting to ground herself to the now, and the not the past she spent so long forgetting. “The woman, the fake medium who owned the deck. James was her nephew.”

She heard a collective gasp. Simon moved to her side, and Marcus closed both hands over her shoulders. Simon picked up the card, flinching when his fingers touched it. “So, its longevity extends to whoever owns it.”

Claire looked at him. “That seems to be the case. Which means that if we destroy it, James will suffer.”

“Are you good with that?”

She closed her eyes. “He gave us no choice.” Turning around, she looked at everyone in turn, and saw only support. “He will kill eventually, if he hasn’t already. I won’t allow it to get that far.”

“Right.” Simon squeezed her hand; when she glanced over at him, he winked. “Time for a plan.”

*

S
imon listened to his friends hash out possible scenarios. He’d missed all of this—especially the mix of voices and personalities. There had been so much silence, too much introspection.

At first he needed that solace; the constant bombardment of power in a country so ancient almost flattened him. After a while the weight of it wore on him, and he sought out people to help hone his talent—including a demon monk, who showed him the meaning of compassion. He saw that same mix of energy in Claire now—the darkness tempered by love.

Claire’s voice brought him back to the conversation. “We need to find him, now.”

She pushed away from the table, and Simon saw the giveaway flash in her power. He grabbed her arm when she headed for the door, no plan in place, and anger pouring off her. He stomped down his own need to choke the life out of James, slowly, and stopped her with three simple words. “He’ll hurt Zach.”

She turned on him, that anger jumping to rage before he took in a breath. Simon forced himself not to step back.

“He won’t live long enough,” she said. He heard the violence under her deadly calm voice.

“Mom.” Zach moved between her and the front door. Simon expected the rage to fade. Instead she let out a shriek, jerked free and launched herself at Zach. They slammed into the door, Claire scrabbling at his hand. The hand holding the tarot card. “Mom—no!”

Before anyone else could react Simon grabbed her arms and yanked her off Zach. She clawed at him and got one good swipe in across his left cheek. He locked both arms around her, ignored the stunning variety of curses spewing out of her mouth. “Zach, put the card down. No one touches it.” He saw Zach drop it on the coffee table before he hauled Claire into the kitchen.

She fought to free herself. “What are you wearing—I can’t breathe—”

Simon looked down, and saw his crucifix pressed into her shoulder. He eased his grip, leaned her against the counter. “Claire. Look at me.” Her head snapped up, the silver of the demon bleeding into her blue eyes. “I met a demon, like you—a demon with a soul.” Her eyes widened. “He lived with both, Claire. He thrived, actually, and he taught me more about humanity than any human I’ve ever met. You can be in control. You just have to want—”

She shoved him backward, snarling at him before she sprinted to the kitchen door. Darkness swirled around her, and Simon knew the demon had taken charge. He caught her left arm and yanked her back.

“Claire.” His voice as gentle as he could make it, he spoke against her ear, hoping to calm her down. “Claire—please don’t force me to hurt you.” Searching the counters, he found his makeshift weapon—something he only wanted to use as a last resort.

“Like you could. Let me go, damn it—”

“Don’t release her.” Marcus stood in the doorway, blocking a frantic Zach, his face white. He met Simon’s gaze, nodded. “She needs to know. To see.” Grief edged every word.

Simon hauled her over to the stove and trapped her against the front of it. Her snarling curses got louder, more furious. When he snatched up the salt shaker she let out a scream that would wake the dead, fighting desperately to free herself.

“No—Simon you don’t have to—” He hurt, listening to her pleas. If not for the silver in her eyes he would have believed she pushed down the demon. “Please—I’m not—”

He clenched his jaw and poured salt on her wrist. Right over the scarred triquetra.

Claire screamed again, this time in anguish. It tore at him, the sheer hopelessness of it. Simon carried her to the sink, stuck her wrist under the faucet and flipped on the cold water. She sagged against him, and the angry burn on her wrist stopped climbing its way up her forearm.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Claire, I’m so sorry—”

“Stop apologizing.” Her voice sounded raw, but more—human. She laid her head against his shoulder. Sweat soaked her skin, and she shuddered, like she still fought a battle with what tried to take control. “It’s safe for you to come in, Marcus.” A whisper of her humor edged the words.

Simon looked up, saw everyone crowded in the doorway behind Marcus, in different stages of shocked.

“What the hell, Claire.” Annie stepped forward—and Eric blocked her.

“You don’t get near her,” he said. One hand rested on her stomach, the other cradled her face. “Not until I know she won’t hurt you.”

“You’re talking about
Claire
! She’d never—even on her worst day—”

“This is different, Annie.” Claire’s quiet, raw voice cut her off. “I am losing control. I feel it slipping, every time I get near those damn cards—” Simon felt the sob that choked her. “Please get me out of here,” she whispered. Marcus stepped forward, reaching for her. “No. You can’t heal this wound, and you know it.”

He froze, the pain on his face more than Simon could handle. “Hang on, sweetheart,” he said. “We’re going outside, until we get this sorted.” He looked over at Marcus before he half-carried Claire through the back door and set her on the porch. “Sit.” He pulled a bandana out of his coat pocket and pointed at the chair. “I said sit. You can’t leave a burn like that exposed.”

“It will be fine.” She obeyed, looking so fragile Simon wanted to scoop her up. He knew he’d get a healthy slap for that. “Give it a few minutes.”