A Gathering of Angels (14 page)

She stood, turned to find Claire leaning against the bedroom doorway, arms crossed, that look on her face. The look that told Annie she’d heard enough, and was not the least bit happy.

Annie knew she had a stubborn streak—one that had been cultivated over lifetimes.

“Claire—”

“Not now.” Barefoot, the oversized sweats making her look even more fragile, she limped to the kitchen table, took one of the bottles of water Mindy Kay had provided, along with a portion of the ham sub before settling in the chair Annie had vacated. “So, we find this bit of Jane, burn it, and we’ll be rid of her?”

Simon looked from Claire, to Annie, then back to Claire, a smile tugging at his mouth. Annie wanted to smack him for being so amused. “According to my research, yes. She was cremated after her death, which means there are no bones, and no grave. Thank Heaven for small favors.”

Claire smiled, took a bite of her sandwich. “You may want to take that back, when you realize a grave would have been infinitely easier. And yes, I know she died back east. Still—a grave doesn’t get up and walk around.”

“Smartass.” Annie muttered it under her breath, sure Claire would hear anyway. When her smile widened, Annie crossed her arms and hunched against the wall.

Simon reached across the table, took Claire’s free hand. “Are you up for this? She knows it will be her last stand.”

“Trust me, I’ve faced worse.” Annie snorted, and Claire let out a sigh. “Can you excuse us for a moment?” Standing, she caught Annie by the wrist and marched into the empty bedroom. She closed the door, leaned against it. “Spill.”

“You had no right—” Annie clenched her jaw, spun away from Claire, fighting to rein in her temper. “I can actually make a plan and execute it without you. I’ve been doing it on my own now, for months.”

“Annie.” Instead of the exasperation she expected, Claire’s voice was quiet. Apologetic. “I love you for wanting to protect me, for wanting to take this off my shoulders. But I dragged all of you into this, and I will not stand by and watch you suffer for my mistake.”

“Is that what you think?” She turned, hands on her hips. “Damn it, Claire—I’d have walked into Hell if I knew I’d be walking back out with you. And I got a sneak peek, so you know I—”

She didn’t get the chance to finish; Claire wrapped both arms around her, shaking. Annie returned the embrace, the splintered edges of her life finally sliding back into place. With a sigh, Claire eased back.

“Forgive me. You have changed, these last months.” Reaching up, she brushed back the curls hiding Annie’s mangled ear. “And it has not only been physical. I’ve watched you, the way you take charge, hold your own, rein in that temper.” Annie smiled. “I never wanted you to know about me, and once you did, I never expected to face you again, to face the simple fact that I had lied to you our entire friendship.”

“What’s a little lie between friends?” Annie stopped her protest. “Okay, not so little. But I wasn’t ready to hear it, even when I finally did. But I’ve had time to get used to it. Bottom line—I love you. You’re a damn beautiful person, and your past is just that. I’m just so happy to have you home.”

“Annie.” Tears slid down Claire’s cheeks. “I—”

“Shut up and hug me.” Laughing, Claire did, and Annie lowered them to the bed when she started shaking again. “You need to rest—I swear, we won’t do anything without you.”

“I just may believe you this time.” Pulling away, Claire wiped her face, brushed back her hair. “I don’t know if I will ever get used to this length. I’ve always had long hair.”

“Give it some time. You look even more spectacular, damn you.” Her smile had Claire laughing again. “And easy maintenance is a huge bonus.”

“I’ll remember that.”

She laid down, this time letting Annie tuck her under the sheets and down comforter.

“I’m going to bring in some food, and a couple bottles of water. You’ll feel better once you get more than a bite of sandwich in—”

Panicked shouts brought her to her feet. She didn’t even bother telling Claire to stay put. They both ran into the main room—and almost over Theresa, who stood just inside the front door, her hair tangled and tears staining her dirt streaked face.

“She has my dad—please, Simon, you have to come—she’s going to—”

“Hush.” Simon had her in his arms before she could finish, rubbing her back as he whispered to her. Once she started to calm down, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and put her at arm’s length. “Tell me where he is.”

“The police station. We went there to get more weapons, and she was waiting—”

“Did she possess him?”

“No.” Theresa wiped her face, pulled out of his arms. “She—hurt him. He yelled at me to run. I don’t know if she did anything to him after I left—after I deserted him—”

“You did no such thing, Theresa.” Simon gripped her shoulders, looked into her eyes. “He’d want you safe, and you did the right thing, coming here. We’ll get him out, I promise you. Mindy Kay, I want you to stay with her—”

“I’m coming with you.” Theresa twisted her fingers into the front of his shirt. “He’s my father, and I left him. I won’t let him down by hiding in a corner.”

“You go,” Annie said under her breath.

“Then you do exactly as I say, or your participation ends here and now.” She nodded, staring up at Simon. He let out his breath, then buttoned his shirt. “Claire—”

“I am coming with you. Annie,” she held out her hand. “I will need the crystal.”

“I can keep it until—”

“You’re staying.”

Annie stomped down her temper. “I thought we—”

“Worked things out? Absolutely. But I’m not letting her near you, not with your power dancing five feet in front of you.” She walked into the bedroom, returned with the now dirty tennis shoes and coat. Removing her amethyst, she tucked it in one pocket of the coat. “The crystal, Annie.”

She took it off, handed it over, rubbing at her left hand when her ring started to itch. And let out a cry when fire seared her hand.

Strong arms caught her when her knees buckled, Eric’s scent invading her suddenly heightened senses. She felt Claire, the soft gold light of her new soul brushing over Annie’s raw nerves.

“Go,” she whispered, the bloody scene burned into her mind. “She’s hurting him—go!”

Annie curled around her hand, felt Eric cradle her, his hand stroking the length of her back. “Talk to me, blondie. Tell me what’s going on.” His voice was calm, but she heard, felt the panic under it.

“I don’t know—” She cleared her throat, fought to shut out the images. “I don’t know if they’re going to get to him in time.”

*

S
imon took the van, as if he knew time was running out for Bertram. He kept the headlights off; combined with the unlit back road, it left them all but invisible to any patrols.

Clutching the back of the passenger seat, Theresa knelt between them, too quiet. When Claire glanced at her, she saw the tears that fell, aching and silent. She closed her hand over the white knuckled fingers. Theresa let out a low sob, but didn’t say anything. Her pain tore at Claire.

Simon parked behind the station, pulling his shotgun and a heavy, decorative iron garden stake out of his duffle. Handing the stake to Claire, he slid out of the van, taking Theresa with him.

“Stay behind me, out of arm’s reach. Nod if you understand.” Theresa stared at him, then nodded, once. He glanced over at Claire. “I go in first and hit Jane. You take care of Bertram, and keep her with you. Get him out if you can.”

“Be careful. I’ll watch your back.”

“Never doubted it. Let’s go.”

Simon moved fast, running along the length of the building. Keeping Theresa behind her, Claire followed, holding the stake at her side, more than a little afraid they were already too late.

They hit the front of the station, and Claire smelled the blood before she saw it—a long smear across the front walk and over the threshold.

“Damn it—keep her back.” Simon inched around the open door, and aimed his shotgun. A moment later he lowered it, and looked back at Claire, shaking his head.

“Dad!” Theresa darted around Claire. She managed to grab Theresa’s wrist, pull her back. “Please let me go—Dad—”

“Theresa—” One flung hand caught her cheek, snapped her head back. She smacked into the building, lost her grip on Theresa and the garden stake. “God above—”

Recovering quickly, she limped inside, and halted. Simon crouched next to the chief, held his hand as he leaned over—and she realized the man was still alive, whispering to Simon. Theresa dropped to her knees, took his other hand, tears sliding down her face.

“—spell, a bad one, Simon.”

“Hush, Bertram. You need to rest—”

“Will get an eternity of that—soon.” He coughed, blood staining his lips. Theresa let out a keening cry. “Sweet girl—shouldn’t be here. Stop her—Jane, she cast a—spell, to bind her to the next host she takes. Heard her thoughts, her plans, when she was—inside me. The spell will bind her—permanently. Need to stop her—before dawn. The spell dies with the sunrise, so she’s desperate. End her, Simon—she’s hurt enough people in my town.”

He coughed again, harsh, wracking coughs that nearly doubled him. When he relaxed, Claire finally saw the damage. She recognized the gashes that tore apart his uniform, left his chest a mess of blood. Simon carried the same ones.

“I’ll stop her, Bertram. I promise you.” Simon looked over at her, anguish darkening his green eyes. “We’ll stop her.”

Bertram let out a rattling breath, didn’t take in another.

“Dad—no, please . . .” She looked up at Simon.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. He’s gone.”

“He can’t—oh, Dad—” She pressed his hand to her cheek. “What am I going to do without you—”

Claire moved forward and knelt beside Theresa, wrapping both arms around her as she sobbed. Rocking her back and forth, she watched Simon close Bertram’s blank eyes.

“She did this to him, and just left him here.” Simon ran one hand over his sun-tipped hair, his other clenching into a fist, rage in every move. “Damn her to hell—she’ll pay for this. Whatever the cost, she’ll pay.”

Claire couldn’t agree more. Easing Theresa to the floor, she knelt beside him, framed his face.

“You are a good man, Simon.” She leaned in and kissed him.

“You could go to Hell, kissing a priest.”

“Been there, thanks.”

He closed one hand over her wrist. “You seem to have an intimate acquaintance with Hell.”

“Not far off the mark. You did the right thing, coming after her. Now it’s my turn. I won’t let Jane hurt anyone else.”

Pulling out of his grasp she headed for the door.

“Claire!”

She halted in the doorway, turned to see Simon holding Theresa, marked by her father’s blood. She owed him her life—without his interference, both she and Lea would be dead by now. Or worse.

“Rally the troops, Simon, and meet me at the museum. I’ll keep her occupied.”

“Claire.” She looked over her shoulder—and knelt to catch the shotgun he slid across the floor. “Don’t get dead.”

She smiled. “Not on the itinerary.”

This time.

THIRTEEN

T
he first hint of the coming dawn touched the street Claire ran down. She could make out buildings now, the shapes no longer shadow against shadow. They were fast running out of time.

If she understood the chief, Jane had until dawn to bind herself, or lose that ability for good. She didn’t seem the type to let her one chance slip away.

The museum was further than she remembered; by the time she reached the long gravel drive, pale light outlined the boxwood hedges, the tall oaks behind them. Running as fast as she could, her leg aching, she rounded the last curve.

Light poured through every window, and the cold slapped her.

As if those weren’t enough of a signal, the crystal pendant flared with heat.

“Ouch—ow, damn it—” She jerked it out from under her sweatshirt—and knew that Jane had just been alerted to her presence. “At least I know she’s here.”

Taking the necklace off, she slipped it into her coat pocket, and replaced it with her amethyst. She had no power, but having the familiar warmth against her skin helped ease the fear that threatened to lock her knees.

For the first time since coming back, she felt truly alone, facing an enemy she was not sure she could even fight, much less defeat.

“And what was I thinking—running in like the lone gunman.”

“I had the same thought.” Claire whirled, recognizing the voice—and stepped straight into the path of Heather’s fist. Pain exploded across her cheek, dropped her to the ground. “She told me you would come, that you would have no option once you knew of her plan. Always the good witch.” She hauled Claire up, the darkness and cold around her hissing, snapping. Impossibly strong hands dragged Claire across the wide gravel courtyard. “This time, good will not triumph.”

*

D
ust in the Wind
rolled out of Annie’s cell phone, startling her so badly she tripped over the braided rug.

She lunged for the pile of phones on the counter—phones that were supposed to be off.  Eric got there first, unlocked the phone and turned on the speaker.

“It’s Simon—I’m me, so answer the damn call.”

“Simon. How did you—”

“Cop. I’m at the station, and we’re out of time. Get to the museum—I sent you a scan of the map. Claire’s on her way and she’s alone. Short version—Jane has until dawn to find a permanent, breathing home. Meet me there—if you get there first, get your ass inside and help Claire.”

He disconnected before Annie could say a word—or yell at Simon for letting Claire go at all, never mind on her own. “You heard him—damn. They took the van.”

Mindy Kay pushed off the bedroom doorway. “I’ll find us a ride.” When Eric raised his eyebrows, she laughed and headed for the door. “We’re not far from the impound lot, and I think access to the keys won’t be a problem.”

“Here.” Eric tossed her cell phone to her. “We don’t need to worry about radio silence.”