What Doesn't Kill You (8 page)

She held up her wrist, and he had to blink a few times to make sure he was seeing what he was seeing.

What had been a third degree burn had already changed from an angry red to pink. The pink of healing. And the tattoo under it was unmarked. “Good God—how are you—”

“As a demon, my healing powers were—exemplary.” She let out a sigh. “It looks like that is coming back, along with the less desirable personality traits.” Cradling her wrist, she stared out at the street, tears shimmering in her eyes. “Please tell them I’m fine, Simon, and to let me go.”

“Sorry. No can do.” He crouched in front of her, took her hands. “You’re not on your own this time, Claire. And I’m not going to walk away from you again. I know what’s in your heart, and I know you can beat back the demon again. If that’s what it is.”

“What—why do you say that?” She wiped at the tears sliding down her cheeks. “What do you see?”

“Not what I should be seeing, if you were a demon. Your energy is—different.” He searched her face, looking for the indefinable something he always saw in the truly evil. She didn’t have it. “This isn’t going to be easy to explain, but I’ll try. What I see—what I saw in James—is a shadow on their soul. Almost a stain.”

“And you—don’t see it on mine?” She sounded so scared. And Simon knew why. Her soul was new, clean, and acquired with great sacrifice.

“Not even a whisper of shadow. But there is a change, in your energy, in your essence. What you think is the demon may be something else.”

“Oh, no.” She gave him a ghost of her smile. “I know exactly what’s trying to claw its way free. You don’t have enough fingers and toes to count the centuries I spent as a demon. What scares me, Simon, is I’m not all that sure I want to fight it this time.”

Fear shot through him, because behind the scared he saw resignation. “You have a family now, Claire. People who love you. Do you want to leave them behind? Leave them unprotected?”

Fresh tears filled her eyes. The silver in her eyes had retreated, letting him know she was back in control. He learned to read such signs, from the demon monk he first met on a mountain in Tibet.

He learned more about forgiveness, about himself, from a man who should have been evil incarnate. It gave him a new respect for Claire, for how deeply she must have buried her true nature.

“Simon?” He blinked, met her eyes. She looked amused. “Where did you go?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

She nodded, giving him hope there would be a later, and brushed her fingers over his scratched cheek. “I am so sorry.”

Simon brushed her off. “You weren’t quite yourself.”

“About that—I want you to promise me something.”

“No death pacts, Claire. Nope—not doing it.”

This time she gave him a real smile. “I have missed you.” Squeezing his hand, she took in a shaky breath. “Promise me you won’t repeat this conversation. Marcus already worries too much. And Zach.” She closed her eyes, the ache she tried to hide flaring across her face. “He already carries too much of a burden.”

“We had a conversation?” Claire’s laugh lightened the fear weighting him. “It’s already forgotten. But I do want to hear more about Houdini. He was a personal hero when I was a kid. You really met him?”

“During one of my good periods.” She leaned back in the chair, the distraction working. “I spent a year in London, in a young widow who believed fervently in spiritualism.”

“You can—read their likes, what they cared about?”

Claire studied him. “You have changed. Before you left you would never have even thought to ask such a question.” She rested her head against the back of the wicker chair, exhaustion in every line of her face. “I took control physically and emotionally, but it was their body, and their mind. This young woman lost her husband, and desperately wanted to talk to him again. It left her vulnerable, and I always looked for the vulnerable, the weak of spirit. They were the easiest to possess.” When he raised his eyebrows she smiled. “They don’t fight back. Much.”

“You haven’t talked about your past before.”

“My life began the day I became Claire Wiche, on a cold night at the edge of a river. For me there was nothing before that.” She pushed to her feet, looking as fragile as she had the day he met her. “And as far as Zach is concerned—”

“You already opened that can, Claire.” She frowned at him, so he elaborated. “You mentioned meeting Houdini, in London. Do you really expect him to forget?”

“Damn.” She let out a sigh. “He holds onto things like an elephant. Maybe the tarot card and baiting James scenario will distract him—oh, who am I kidding? I’m going to be grilled the second he gets me alone.”

Laughing, Simon took her hand. “I’ll volunteer to be your buffer.” He ran one hand through his hair, still not used to the length, after years of having it close cut. “But no guarantees that it will work. He’s a slippery one.”

“Don’t I know it. You should see him try to weasel out of homework. Thank you, Simon, for listening. For getting me out of there. I couldn’t face them, not with my control so shaky.”

“Any time, Claire. I mean that. You are important to me. It just took traveling halfway around the world to see what was right in front of me.”

Tugging on his hand, she leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I missed you. Don’t stay away like that again.”

“No worries. Now,” he led her back into the kitchen. “Want to go trap a nutcase?”

*

C
laire looked at her friends, her son, as they stood around the coffee table, studying the tarot card.

Simon broke the silence. “Zach, can you get me the salt shaker from the kitchen?”

Claire couldn’t stop herself; she jerked away, one hand closing over her nearly healed wrist. “Why?”

“I want to test a theory.” Zach ran back in with the salt shaker and handed it to Simon. “Thanks. Now, I want all of you to stand back. I’m not sure how it’s going to react.”

Claire obeyed, taking Zach’s outstretched hand. Eric moved in front of Annie, stopped her sputtering protests with a single look at her stomach. Marcus moved to Claire’s side, one arm slipping around her waist. Her anxiety eased as soon as he touched her. Stepping closer to the coffee table, Simon opened the shaker and poured the salt on the card.

An inhuman scream split the air.

“Wow,” Zach whispered. He spoke for all of them. The card curled around the pile of salt, the gilt edges blackening.

Claire felt the card’s hold on her snap. She looked at Simon. “How did you know?”

“I ran across a similar—problem in college. A student in my dorm bought a book that had a spell on it, allowing the owner to use it to draw power, even if they didn’t have any. This James has some inherent power—enough to keep the deck from controlling him completely. I saw it, and it wasn’t happy joy power.”

Zach let out a laugh, muffling it with one hand. “Sorry.”

“Comic relief is always welcome.” Simon let out a sigh. “Bottom line—we have to destroy that deck. It’s his source of power, and it’s eating whatever humanity he has left. As an addendum to the bottom line—destroying that book killed the student.”

“So we go into this knowing it could kill him,” Annie said. “Are we supposed to feel sorry for him now?”

Shock jerked Claire out of Marcus’ grip. “Annie!”

She looked at Claire, both hands resting on her stomach. “He messed with me, knowing he could harm my baby. Tell me where the sympathy comes in.”

Zach spoke before Claire could come up with an answer that didn’t make her sound heartless. “Annie’s right, Mom. He doesn’t care about anything but his next fix. I don’t know if we did any damage by taking just one card—Mom?”

“His next fix.” Horror threatened to choke her. “If we can’t give him what he wants, he’ll find—”

“Another victim,” Zach whispered.

“He mentioned Agnes—and I told him she was a better reader. Oh, God—” Claire headed for the front door. “Stay here, Zach.”

“I won’t let you face him, not alone.”

Marcus stepped toward her. “I will—”

“I’ll go with her.” Simon laid one hand on Zach’s shoulder, glanced over at Marcus. “If anyone needs to touch the cards, I can do it.”

Marcus studied him for a long moment; so long, Claire expected him to object. Finally, he nodded, took Claire’s left hand, and kissed her wrist, just over the fading burn. “Watch yourself, my witch.”

She simply nodded, her throat tight.

Simon broke this silence, his voice brisk, no nonsense. Claire recognized it—his cop voice. “Where is your supply of salt, Annie?”

“Cupboard over the stove. Or you can just take my ghostbusting bag.” She flashed him a smile. “Front hall closet.” Her smile faded. “Be careful, both of you.”

Claire nodded. “Stay put, lock the doors. A line of salt would make me feel better.” She pulled open the door, afraid if she looked back at them she would lose what little courage she had left.

“Mom—” Zach caught her hand, towering over her. “Don’t get dead.”

She let out a surprised laugh. “I’ll do my best, sweetheart.” Tears clogged her throat when he leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Get inside, and lay down that salt. It seems to work on the card. Maybe it will keep James out, or at least slow him down. Just in case.”

She eased out of his grip and joined Simon on the sidewalk.

“Agnes is Madam Serena, right? Owns The Witch’s Way?”

“She is also the only other tarot reader in town. She doesn’t have any power, Simon. She won’t be able to protect herself—”

He took her hand and started to run.

SEVEN

C
laire’s breath hitched as they approached The Witch’s Way. The front window was dark, and it shouldn’t have been.

Simon let go of her hand, put himself between her and the door.

“Whatever happens, you stay behind me.”

She nodded, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. Simon would protect her, no matter what it cost him. Claire inched along the wall, prayed the cost wasn’t already too high.

Please let her be all right. Please, God, if you’re listening—let her be all right.

“I’ll go in first.” Simon’s quiet voice lifted her head. “You stay right behind me, no matter what. Tell me you understand.”

“I understand.” And she was too scared, too worried to think of an Annie-smart response.

Nodding, he moved toward the glass door, not making a sound. That quiet way of his always surprised her, though she knew it must have been from his days as a combat medic in the Army. The cop gig only reinforced the training, making him damn good at his job. Claire knew that training, and his gift for seeing power, saved her life.

His whisper yanked her out of the past. “It’s unlocked.”

Claire nodded, her dread notching up.

Simon eased the door open, and Claire couldn’t stop herself. She pushed past him, ignoring his whispered demand.

“Agnes?” Her voice echoed in the silent shop. There was no sound, not even the weepy New Age music Agnes normally had pouring out of the speakers. Dread spiraled to heart wrenching certainty. And then Claire spotted her. “No,” she whispered.

Agnes lay on the bright rug next to her velvet draped reading table, one arm outstretched, as if she were reaching for the door. Claire forced herself to move forward, and knelt beside the too-still figure. “Oh, Agnes.” Blood spread across the left side of her green silk robe, over her heart. Her face was grey, and relaxed in death as it had never been in life. “I am so sorry.”

“Claire—over here.” She followed Simon’s voice, needing to step away from the woman she hardly liked, but whose death could be squarely placed on her shoulders. “We may have a witness.”

“What are you—Mildred?” The old woman sputtered and coughed as Simon helped her sit. Her thin, white poodle curls stood up around her face, and blood streaked the front of her favorite flowered suit. “Are you all right?”

“Nearly had the life scared out of me, I’ll have you know.” She clutched Simon’s hands, her watery eyes gazing up at him with all the hero worship of a mooning teenager. “If you hadn’t shown up—why I’d probably be dead. He just went out the back. Devil.” She performed the sign of the cross, then yanked Simon’s hands forward, pressing them against her left breast. “Thank heaven you came, Father Simon!”

Claire let out a sigh. Same old Mildred. She doubted they would get much out of her beyond hysteria and grandiose exaggeration.

“Simon.” She touched his shoulder, hearing the grief in her voice. “We need to call this in.”

“I’ll do it. A friend on the force owes me a favor or two. He’ll keep the news from getting out. James killed this time, and he’s going to be panicked. I don’t want him going to ground. Not yet.” He glanced up at her. “Did Agnes have any family?”

Claire shook her head. “I want to take care of the arrangements. I owe her that much. Tell your friend I will take care of—” She covered her mouth, tears burning her eyes.

Simon gently freed himself from Mildred, framed Claire’s face with his hands, and kissed her forehead. “You have a beautiful heart, Claire Wiche. I am proud to call you my friend.”

He stood, pulling his cell phone out of his jacket as he moved to the front of the shop. Claire stared after him, her throat tight. She let Mildred grope at her, knowing the old woman must still be frightened.

“She’s dead, isn’t she? Madam Serena.” Mildred let out a deep sigh. “She was the best, you know. At reading the cards. Always had the answers I wanted.” Those dark brown eyes shot up to Claire’s face. “I suppose I’ll have to come back to you now. What a shame—we had such a good connection.”

“Mildred.” Claire forced herself to speak calmly, when all she wanted to do was slap the woman for being so damn self-absorbed. “Agnes is dead. I would like a quiet minute to mourn her. Perhaps you can do the same.”

“Oh—of course, dear. She was such a comfort, when my last love disappointed me. We were about to discover the identity of my latest admirer when . . .” Her voice faded as Claire simply looked at her. “You go on and pray for her, dear. I’m just going to have a peek at the cards she didn’t—”