A Gathering of Angels (9 page)

“Friends—God above, if Eric can track the phone, then—”

Simon nodded. “Phones off, everyone. Pile them on the kitchen counter.” He kept his gaze on Claire as he held his phone out to Mindy Kay. The concern in those clear green eyes threatened to break her.

“They should not be here. All I can do is get them killed, like I have with Marcus—”

Tears blurred her vision. Horrified, she tried to free herself. Simon merely pulled her in, leaning against the wall as he gathered her into his arms. He was too strong, and she needed the comfort too badly to put up a fight.

“I don’t know why I talked to Annie like that—no, I do. I’m terrified to face her, now that she knows the truth about me. It was easier when she thought I was dead.”

“And that’s a story I’ll want to hear. Later. Right now, we need to take care of another friend—and it’s going to take all of us, because he’s in there fighting every attempt to help him.”

Simon stood and held out his hand. Once Claire was on her feet, he took her arm and moved with her into the bedroom—just in time to see Marcus slap away Lea’s hand.

“Enough.” She pulled out of Simon’s grip and limped forward, angrier with every step. Lowering herself to the bed, she braced her right hand on his chest and leaned in. “What you did back there saved all of us, Marcus—don’t interrupt.” He closed his mouth, studied her with shadowed eyes. No hint of gold edged the jade green, just the pain he could not fight. “Now it’s our turn. And I for one am not giving up on you, simply because you’ve decided to give up on yourself. You should know me better by now.”

“Claire.” She didn’t need power to feel the pain that radiated from him, scraped his sand raw voice to nothing. “Jinn do not survive being pierced by metal. It is—how we are ended.” Swallowing, he closed his eyes. “You will merely prolong what is inevitable—”

“Damn it—” She moved in until their noses all but touched, knowing what she said next could alienate the only people who might be able to save him. “I came back from
Hell
, and left behind everything I am. I feel like I’ve been pummeled within an inch of my life, and my best friend is most likely going to reject me on sight. What would you say to me if I were spouting the same self-sacrificing drivel?”

Marcus let out a shaky breath, looked up at her. Through the pain, she saw an echo of his amusement. “The same. Not nearly as polite—gods—”

He clutched the already soaked bed sheet. Fresh blood stained the bandage on his shoulder—the third bandage in less than an hour. Claire watched him shudder, fight to breathe, then go limp. Panic shot through her—she searched for a pulse, let out a shaky breath when she found it, slow and thready.

Before she could ask, Simon moved to Marcus’ left side, pulling a knife out of his pocket. With a well-practiced flick he had it open.

“Mindy Kay, hold his arm for me. Hold tight now—he’s strong, and hurting, and this will probably bring him around.” Sitting on the bed, he pushed lank curls off Marcus’ bare shoulder. “I’m rusty with the quick and dirty field medicine, but I’ll do this as fast as I can.”

Claire studied him, pushing aside the questions for later. Every time this man opened his mouth, he revealed another mystery. Then her gaze fell on the knife.

“Wait—you can’t use that.”

“What are you—” Glancing down at the knife, he cursed under his breath. “Steel.” Snapping it closed, he slid it back in his pocket and pushed one hand through his close cut, sun-tipped brown hair. “Mindy Kay, I need your belt.”

Staring down at her wide leather belt, then back at Simon, she obeyed.

Claire closed both hands on Marcus’ wrist, watched Simon roll up the sleeves of his shirt.

“I’m going to have to dig the bullet out by hand. Keep him still—this will hurt him.” He took the belt, wrapped it around Marcus’ arm, just above the bullet wound, and pulled it tight, like a tourniquet. “Brace yourselves, this ain’t going to be pretty.”

Long fingers pushed into the bullet hole—and Marcus bolted awake.

“Gods—”

“It’s all right—don’t fight him.” Claire let go of his hand and wrapped both arms around him, using her weight as an anchor. Sweat slicked his skin, seeped into her sweatshirt. His muscles clenched, like iron bands against her arms. Every breath tore through him, harsh and ragged.

Jaw clenched, Simon dug into the wound. Blood welled around his fingers, an ugly, black-laced red. Cursing, he probed deeper. Marcus arched away from him—or tried to. Three people holding him in place gave him little chance of escape.

With a final, vicious curse Simon jerked free, the bullet captured between his fingers. Marcus collapsed, his face whiter than the sheet.

“Son of a bitch—” Simon dropped the bullet on the bedside table and wiped his fingers on a gauze pad. With the blood gone, Claire saw the reason for his cursing—his skin was an angry red. As if he had been burned. “Mindy Kay, hand me the bottle of water.”

He gripped Marcus’ arm and dumped the contents of the water into his wound.

Marcus let out a hoarse scream, every muscle in his arm clenched.

Claire smacked Simon’s hand away, and the bottle flew out of his grip. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Flushing it out. His own blood is burning him.” He picked up another bottle, opened it, and kept a constant flow pouring over the arm.

“I’m sorry—thank you, for what you did. Marcus.” She brushed hair off his forehead, scared by the hot skin under her fingers. “Open your eyes for me.”

He obeyed, and it took all of her control not to recoil. The once clear, striated green looked muddy, and dark with pain. “Claire—”

“Hush. Get some rest, and we’ll talk later.” He managed to raise one eyebrow, as if to question whether he would be around later. She leaned in, whispered against his cheek. “You will be here, even if I have to drag you back myself.”

“Claire.” She lifted her head, met Simon’s gaze. “Go—I’ll bandage him up, make sure he’s comfortable. Go on—you look like hell.”

She pushed shaking fingers through her hair, flinched when they caught on the tangles. That needed to be taken care of. Later, when she could think straight.

Lea stepped away from the wall, offering Claire her hand.

“Food, drink, and a comb for that hair. You’ll feel better in no—”

The front door slammed open. Simon leapt past them and put himself between them and the intruder, an ugly gun in his hand, aimed at the open doorway.

“—not going to do anything until I—” The intruder came into sight, and froze, all nearly six feet of nervous energy and wild blonde curls. The man with her caught her arm and pulled her behind him, blue eyes narrowed as he faced Simon, a small pistol in his hand and aimed at the floor.

“We’re friends,” he said, his low voice quiet. “There is someone here who is expecting . . .”

His voice faded when Claire stepped out from behind Simon. “Hello, Eric.”

He didn’t have a chance to answer; Annie pushed him aside and stared at Claire. Brown eyes widened, her face draining of color. “Claire—”

Hands clenched, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat, Claire couldn’t find her voice. She shook her head, and to her horror, tears blurred her eyes. When Annie didn’t say anything else, she started to back away, wanting to hide, to avoid the revulsion, the rejection. Avoid the anguish that she would feel when she lost her best friend. Again.

She only took two steps before Annie lunged forward. Braced for anger, Claire’s knees almost buckled when Annie let out a sob and wrapped both arms around her.

“Oh, God—Claire—” With a shuddering breath, she pulled away, gripping Claire’s arms. “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I? Damn—I can’t believe you’re here—”

She gathered Claire in again, crying silently as she held on.

Claire clutched the back of Annie’s jacket, putting aside the aches, the bruises that flared into life.

Sniffing, Annie let out a watery laugh and eased back. “Sorry about the smothering—you must already be hurting, and I just added to the pain. You look like you’ve been through hell—oh, shit.” She clapped one hand over her mouth, let go.

Claire caught her wrist, a smile tugging at her mouth. “Good to know I look like I feel. You didn’t hurt me, Annie—and I came close, but I didn’t make it inside. Though, you already know that.” Annie stilled, eyes widening. “Yes, I saw you, and I remember. I held on to that, and I think it helped me get home. I wasn’t certain—” Claire took in a shaky breath, kept going. “Now that you know—about me, I wasn’t certain you would want anything to do with me.”

“Wow. If I weren’t so damn happy to see you, I’d be pissed that you’d even think I would turn on you, because you’re a—because of your past.” Annie studied her, brown eyes as warm as she remembered. And as sharp. “We can talk more, later. There’s some big nasty going on in this town, isn’t there?”

Claire smiled. “You always have a way of getting straight to the point. Yes, there is, and I wish you weren’t in the middle of it.”

“Too late.” She ran one hand over Claire’s hair, lifted the snarled ends. “I’m guessing you’ve been busy, since you’re dressed like a refugee from a cut-rate spa and you look like ten miles of bad road. Where’s Marcus? I’ve been trying to call him for hours . . .” Her voice faded, tears blurring her eyes as she looked down at her left hand. For the first time, Claire saw the sapphire on her finger. A beautiful blue teardrop embraced by two round amethysts. Even without her power, she could see the spark from it. The spark of Annie’s power. “What’s wrong with him, Claire?”

“He was injured, protecting us.” She closed her hand over Annie’s, not feeling the heat that she knew must be emanating from the ring. “He is dying. And I can’t stop it.”

TEN

A
nnie lowered herself to the bed, tears stinging her eyes. She blinked them back, forced a smile when Marcus opened his eyes.

“Hey,” she said. It took everything she had not to recoil when she looked into the death shadowing those green depths. “I heard you played the hero.”

“Not the outcome I—expected.” The few words left him breathless, leached what little color he had left in his face. It turned, for one hideously long second, into a death mask. Then he took in a harsh breath, an unnatural flush edging his cheeks. “Did not want to involve you, but I—discovered the truth too late.”

“No need to apologize. I’m here, and I’m going find out what the hell is going on.”

“You have seen Claire?” he whispered.

Annie stared down at her hands. “I cried like Miss America when I saw her.”

“What an—embarrassment.”

“Smartass.” A smile touched his lips. “Up for a little water?” He nodded, and she grabbed the bottle off the side table, slipping one arm behind his head. She lifted him just enough for him to take a couple of sips, startled by the heat that poured off him. Carefully, she lowered him back to the pillow, brushed lank black curls off his cheek. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Fatal.”

Annie closed her eyes, fought to control the need to cry. “There has to be something—”

“There is—not.”

“Hey, old man.” Eric’s quiet voice had tears filling her eyes. She looked up at him, and saw what she called his diagnosis face. He laid two fingers on Marcus’ wrist, checking his pulse, then moved around the bed to his left side. “Can I take a peek?”

“There is nothing—”

“Let me be the judge of that.” Eric studied the swollen skin around the blood soaked bandage. Reddish black streaks followed the line of his muscle, outlined the veins in his forearm. “Does it burn? Throb?”

“Both. Diagnosed by a—vet. Again.” A smile touched his mouth. He let out a hoarse gasp when Eric touched his arm, recoiled when he started probing around the wound. Eric followed, pinning his wrist to the bed. “Gods—please—”

“One more second—” As promised, he let go, ran one hand through his sun streaked hair. “If I were asked, I would say you have a raging case of blood poisoning. And for that there is something that can be done.”

Hope burned through her despair. “Are you sure?”

“There are treatments. But only if he agrees, and there isn’t much time for him to think about it. So you’ll have to decide, old man. Soon.” Eric touched her shoulder and she followed him to the door. “It may already be too late. No,” he stopped her before she could protest. “I have to give you every scenario, including worst case. The poison—whatever it is—has already spread, faster than it should have, given the amount of time. I’ll do everything I can, but you have to prepare yourself. And you’ll have to tell Claire—”

“No.” Marcus’ raw voice turned them around. “Claire is not to know—you will not give her hope where there is none.”

“Marcus.” Annie moved to the bed, froze when he jerked away from her reaching hand. “You can’t just give up—”

“My choice.” Swallowing, he closed his eyes. “Please go.”

Anger snapped through her. “Don’t you dare shut me out, Jinn.” He stared at her, color flooding his face. “Yeah, I know what you are. I did some research. Now listen carefully, I’m only going to say this once.” Leaning over him, she braced her hands on the bed. “You aren’t going to crawl in a corner and die, no matter how much you want to. Not only would it destroy Claire—” her voice caught, and his flinch told her she finally hit the right button. “It’ll piss me off, because by giving up, you let whatever’s terrorizing this town win.”

He stared past her, his voice a raw whisper. “Do what you will. I don’t have the strength to fight you. But I will ask one promise.” He met her eyes, the muddy green depths finally showing signs of life. It was anger, but she’d take it. “Once you realize you can’t save me, you will let me go.”

Horror clawed through her. “Marcus—”

“Promise me.”

“Damn it.” She straightened, ran both hands through her hair. “Fine. You got your promise.” She gripped his hand before he could retreat. “But here’s mine—I’m not giving up on you. So deal.”

Letting him go, she stalked out of the bedroom, and didn’t give in to the shakes until she was out of his sight.

Her knees buckled—and the hunk, Simon, caught her before she did a face plant with the hardwood. Leading her over to a hideous plaid sofa, he settled her and sat next to her, sandwiching her hand.