A Gathering of Angels (15 page)

Annie waited until she closed the door to vent. “I’m not waiting for her to see if maybe she can find a car that she might be able to get the key—”

“Okay, blondie,” Eric said, laughing. “I can call her, tell her our direction. Grab everything you think we can use as a weapon—”

“Eric!” Lea ran out of the bedroom, her face shock white and streaked with tears. “Marcus isn’t breathing—”

“Go, Annie—now!” He pushed the cell phone into her hand, kissed her, hard and fast. “Claire needs you.”

He ran after Lea, left Annie standing in the middle of the living room. As much as she wanted to help, she’d be useless.

She sprinted outside, pulling up the scan of the map as she ran. The only weapon she needed against Jane was inside her. And she fully intended to use every bit of power she could scrape out of her bones to send that bitch straight to Hell.

She could keep Natasha company.

*

B
y the time Heather reached the ballroom, Claire had her feet under her. At the far end of the long room, assembled on a gate leg table, was an altar. A different altar. Heather dragged her down the length of the room, headed right for it. Claire couldn’t break free. The other woman was fit, strong, possessed by an angry witch—and had not spent months fighting a demon.

Heather let her go, then pushed Claire to her knees in front of the table.

She recognized the items, but she had never seen them assembled together before, and the angry power that emanated from them scraped across her skin. Instinct had her grasping the amethyst through her sweatshirt. It warmed her hand, but the rest of her shivered, constantly assaulted by the cold surrounding her captor.

While Heather paced behind her and muttered to herself, Claire searched for what could be the personal item, the one thing that would take Jane out of this world for good. She saw it—an antique wood comb, with strands of white blonde hair caught in the teeth—

Heather grabbed her by the hair before she could touch it and threw her to the floor.

“You would do her harm, when all she wants is to live the life she should have been given, the life she deserves?”

Claire raised herself up on one elbow, still lightheaded from Heather’s fist. “She killed innocent people—including your chief.” Color drained out of Heather’s face. “She didn’t tell you? Interesting—even though she holds you with her power, you don’t know anything about her actions.”

“You lie—” She raised her hand. Claire wanted to recoil; instead she kept eye contact.

“You know I don’t. And it would be too easy to verify. Simon and I were with Bertram when he died—”

“Shut up—”

“—and he gave up Jane’s grand plan. Her insane plan to steal someone else’s life, their body, and make it her own—”

“I said shut up!” She hauled Claire off the floor and threw her at the wall, then followed her, holding a knife to her throat. Icy fingers grabbed her hair, yanked her head back. “If she did not want you in one piece, I would cut you, and enjoy watching you die—”

“That would displease me, Heather.”

Jerking, Heather let her go and turned around. Claire clutched the wall, fought to bring the wavering figure into focus, and realized it wasn’t her eyesight. Jane looked even more insubstantial.

“Forgive me.” Heather bowed, so low her honey blonde hair brushed the floor. “I lost my temper, and acted rashly because of it.”

“My angel. Face me, and be forgiven.”

Not likely.
Claire choked down the comment, knowing it would lead to pain, at the very least.

Slowly, Heather straightened. She swallowed, and Claire saw sweat trickle down her face. “I brought her for you.”

Floating forward, Jane crossed her arms as she studied Heather, fingers tapping one bicep. “And I am so grateful for your gift, my angel. But I am well aware she began this journey to me on her own.”

Claire saw the temper flare in those grey eyes. “Don’t you dare punish her because I decided to take you on. She had nothing to do with it.”

“You would defend one who planned to give you up to me? Had I not arrived, you may have been cut and bleeding on the floor.” Jane studied Claire as if she were a unique specimen. “I find that altruistic, and more than a little foolish. But it does not matter. Once I am inside you, all that you are will cease to be.”

The cold pouring off Jane chilled her right to the bone. “What do you hope to gain by possessing someone?”

Jane looked surprised. “I thought that would be obvious. Immortality, of course.”

“By taking over a human body?” Claire stretched the conversation, stalling any action, hoping to give Simon enough time to reach her. “The body will age and die. You can’t change basic physiology.”

The smile that crossed Jane’s face slid ice down her spine. “You will merely be the first. When I am done with you, I will simply move to another host.”

“Like a parasite.”

“Like a god!” She raised her hand—and coils of darkness slithered across the floor, wrapped around Claire’s arms and trapped her against the wall. They sucked the last bit of warmth from her. “Once I take you, I will be untouchable.”

Fighting panic, she took in a shaky breath. Her arms began to numb, the coils writhing, tightening their hold. “Immortality is overrated. Take the word of someone who—”

She let out a sharp cry as the coil found bare skin. Icy pain scorched her left wrist, reigniting her injury.

“When I first saw you, I thought you were the one. I thought I would want to be delicate, lovely, a Dresden doll.” Jane tilted her head, dead grey eyes lit with pleasure. “You would allow me to simply float through life, using a smile to get anything I desired.” She hovered in front of Claire, fingers brushing the air next to her cheek. Bitter cold slapped her skin. “You are so beautiful, and you have a core of strength I grudgingly admire. But I changed my mind.”

Without warning she flew straight at Heather and plunged both hands into her chest.

Heather screamed, her legs giving out. Jane followed her to the floor, chanting under her breath. The coils freed Claire and she dropped to the floor. A second later heat scorched her right hip. Fumbling in the coat pocket, she yanked out the crystal by its chain. Black smoke roiled in the center of the crystal, a whirlwind of darkness.

Closing her eyes Claire slammed the crystal against the wall.

It shattered, and Jane screamed. Yanking herself from Heather, she whirled—and stilled when smoke poured out of the crystal shards. It snaked over Claire’s hand, cold and oily, then slid over the top of the altar and attached itself to Jane.

“Stop—” She beat at the dark, shiny coils. “You are part of me! You are meant to serve
me
!” With a wild scream, she gathered in the smoke, trapping it between her hands, fighting to control it.

Footsteps echoed in the ballroom, just before Simon burst through the far door.

With a smile that sent panic shooting through Claire, Jane turned around. “You want to play—go play!”

She threw the coiled smoke into the air. It shot across the ballroom and slammed into Simon. He dropped like a stone, writhing as the smoke engulfed him.

“No—” Claire pushed off the wall, stepped in front of Jane. The madness in her eyes nearly shocked the breath out of Claire. “Let him go, and I am yours.”

Jane ran one icy finger down her cheek. “There is a darkness, almost buried behind the shine of that soul. I could manipulate it, I think. Let it feed on my power. That’s what it wants, what you no longer have. Power. Control.” She spread her hands in front of Claire, as if basking. “Yes,” she said. “Yes.”

“You want it—let him go.”

“Fine.” With a petulant gesture she yanked the smoke off Simon. He collapsed—and for an endless moment lay still, not moving. Not breathing. Her heart lurched when he took in a gasping breath, rolled on to his back. “Satisfied?”

“Thank you.” Claire turned to the altar, her mind screaming to do something, anything to stall—and she found her weapon. Clutching the edge of the table, shivering, she curled over her hands. “Sorry—I haven’t—recovered yet.”

One hand inched across the table, her fingers touching the silver lighter—just as Jane buried her hand in Claire’s back.

Her knees buckled, and she fell, knocking the table over as she went down. Jane followed her, the invasion excruciating. Claire’s fingers scrabbled on the polished hardwood, her narrowing focus on one goal.

She screamed when Jane plunged deeper, felt the icy grip close around her heart. Gasping, she groped for the comb. With a tsking sound, Jane pulled it out of her numb fingers.

“Now, what were we planning to do with that?”

“Nothing,” Claire whispered. She uncurled her fingers—and flicked the lighter clutched in her other hand. “I just needed this.”

The white blonde hair caught, the flame bursting out of her hand.

Jane shrieked, reached for the burning hair. Blue white flames shot out of her mouth.

With a harsh gasp, Claire rolled away, felt Jane’s hand rip out of her back. Smacking into the table, she found herself trapped between the wood and a furious, burning ghost.

Jane reared up, her scream spiraling to ear-splitting. Claws sprouted, glistening with fire—and with a horrible shriek she recoiled when the fire began to devour her.

The shriek became rage—and she flung herself at Claire.

Claire raised her arms, braced for the agony. Jane’s scream cut off as the flames consumed her. The silence was shocking. It took an endless moment for Claire to realize she was still alive, that her crazy plan worked. Jane was gone.

“Simon—” She lowered her arms, found him on his knees beside her, his face bruised and bloody, the skin on his throat scraped raw. “Heaven above—”

She started to push herself up—and gasped as her body rebelled.

“Stay put. We should have company—” Shouts echoed in the hallway. “Any second.” With a groan, he lowered himself to the floor beside her. She inched her hand across the hardwood, touched his fingers. Simon looked at her, closed his fingers over hers. “Thank you.”

She managed a smile. “My pleasure.”

Annie ran into the ballroom, armed to the teeth, Mindy Kay on her heels. They both skidded to a halt, staring at Heather, sprawled and unconscious, then at Claire and Simon.

“We missed the party, didn’t we?”

Claire laughed, then flinched, every cell aching. “Sorry.”

Annie crouched beside them, setting her shotgun and pistol aside. “Someday, I’m going to get the chance to pull you out of the fire.”

“I hope you don’t mean that literally.”

Laughing, she straightened. “Hand up?”

“I think we’re going to need stretchers.”

Between them, they got Claire upright, then Simon. Heather stirred, groaning, and Mindy Kay moved to her, smoothing back the sweat streaked blonde hair as she spoke, her voice gentle, soothing.

Annie brushed her cheek. “I’m going to bring the van around. There’s an access road that leads right to that door.” She pointed to the French doors in the middle of the opposite wall. “Don’t go anywhere.” Leaning in, she kissed Claire’s forehead. “I’ve never been so scared. I thought I was going to—never mind.”

“I’m right here, Annie.” Claire took her hand, ignoring the flare of pain. “And I plan on staying a while. Start a new chapter in my story.”

“Right—okay.” She smiled, those warm brown eyes filmed with tears. “Be back with that stretcher.”

Simon looked down at her. “I think you owe me a story, too.”

“I just may tell you. Someday.”

FOURTEEN

L
ea waited for them outside when they pulled up to the cabin.

Annie had already prepared Claire for what may be waiting inside; she climbed out of the van with Lea’s help, braced herself for bad news.

“He’s turned the corner,” Lea said, tears filling her hazel eyes as she smiled. “Eric said the poison is leaving his system. Slow, but he’s out of danger, for now.”

“Thank you.” Claire wiped at the tears that slipped down Lea’s face, fought her own.

“Let’s get you inside.” Lea guided her into the cabin, and didn’t even ask before continuing into the bedroom and settling her in a chair next to the bed. “Eric—you have another patient. Two, from the looks of Simon.”

He crouched in front of Claire, concern darkening his blue eyes, and checked her pulse. “I hear you smoked a ghost.”

“Annie does have a way with words.”

“Does anything hurt?”

She swallowed. “Everything, just in general. It’s nothing a long appointment with my bed won’t cure. Simon was injured.”

“You stay here.” Standing, he leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Welcome back.”

Claire took in a shaky breath, lifted her head. And met a pair of exhausted green eyes.

“Marcus—”

“Taking on the enemy alone again?” he whispered.

“You know me.” Pushing out of the chair, she limped to the bed. “So, dire predictions of your death seem to be premature.”

“I hope I do not disappoint—”

She shut him up with her lips. Warm, shaking fingers closed over one shoulder, then slid into her hair. When they came up for air, she found herself on the bed, wrapped in a one armed embrace.

“You are cold,” he whispered, brushing his lips over her cheek.

“And you feel like an open oven.” Reaching up, she pushed wild black curls off his face. “I thought I lost you.”

“Part of me wanted it, Claire.” He closed his eyes. “Redemption by death. I am certain you are familiar with the concept.”

“And it meant nothing, Marcus. It gave me nothing.” She cupped his chin, waited until he met her eyes. “But it hurt my friends, gave them grief they didn’t deserve. Don’t take that path—you didn’t earn it, whatever you may think.”

“I will tell you the rest of the tale. You may think differently after.”

“The tale can wait. And I won’t.” She kissed him, cradled his cheek. “Get some rest. I expect we’ll be leaving sooner rather than later.”

Swallowing the moan in her throat, she got to her feet, limped out to the living room.