Rest For The Wicked (3 page)

Eric grabbed her wrist when she started to tap out numbers on her phone. “Can’t help.”

To his relief she lowered the phone, tucked it into her purse. “I’m not just leaving you here. Where are you staying?”

“Don’t—” He fumbled the room key out of his pocket.

She raised one eyebrow as she read the name of the hotel.

“Well, Mr. VIP. I think you can afford a taxi if you’re staying there. Let’s get you home.” With a strength that surprised him she helped him stand, then whistled for one of the taxis trolling for passengers. She helped him into the back seat, gave the driver his location. “The Ritz-Carlton,” she said, then turned back to Eric. “Okay, you just sit back and enjoy the ride. What’s your name, handsome?”

Swallowing, he looked at her, took in the striking face, the short yellow dress that showed off every curve, the life that poured out of her.

“Eric.”

“Hi, Eric.” Her smile pushed back some of the darkness. “I’m Annie.” She leaned in, brushed sweat soaked hair off his forehead. “You take care of yourself.”

She shut the door and watched him as the driver pulled away. Once they were out of sight Eric clutched his head with both hands, forced a scream down his throat when the voice clawed into his mind.

You failed.

*

T
he Jinn grabbed Claire before she could escape, trapping her wrists in both hands. Then he let out a low hiss and recoiled, shaking the hand that touched her tattoo.

“Gods—what are you doing with that kind of protection? Who in the name of all that is holy did you piss off?”

“None of your damn business. Jinn.” Claire yanked out of his grasp and backed across the shop. “What the hell are you doing in my town?”

One dark eyebrow lifted. He rubbed his hand, then closed the door behind him, flicking the lock. Claire’s heart jumped.

“I came for the festival. Witch.” A smile flashed across his face, carried with it the charm his kind was known to possess in abundance. Claire refused to let it work on her. “Your shop intrigued me, so I decided to take a look. You do not believe a word of this.”

“Bingo.”

“I can prove the truth of it.” Using his left hand, he pulled a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket, held it up. Claire recognized it immediately; the flyer sent out announcing the Annual Summer Solstice Festival. “I saw this at a New Age shop up the coast. It has been many years since I joined a Solstice celebration.” Grief flashed in those gold laced green eyes before he averted his gaze. Grief she understood. “I decided it was time.”

“Who have you lost?” Claire wanted to take the question back when he flinched. “I’m sorry—now I’m being rude
and
belligerent. Let me see your hand.” He looked at her, surprise breaking through the sorrow. “I know I hurt you. And no, it wasn’t intentional. The tattoo is new, and honestly, I didn’t think it had the energy to do any harm.”

He moved to her, laid his right hand in her palm. Claire sucked in her breath.

“Heaven above.” A burn scorched the center of his palm, in the shape of her triquetra. “I am so sorry. Come and sit. I have something that will help.”

She led him to the chair behind her counter, watched him sink to it, pain in every move. Guilt had her slipping the amethyst out of her pocket, the stone already warm. She laid it in his left hand and closed his fingers over it. With a sigh, he nodded his thanks, tightened his grip on the crystal.

Light speared through his fingers. Claire stepped back, watched what she had never seen before—a Jinn revealing his true form. It was the only way he could heal himself, and it startled her that he believed he would be safe with her.

The outline of his hunched figure blurred, smoke curling around him, through him. A cyclone of sand and wind burst from him, surrounded him. Inside that cyclone she saw him, the soul many claimed he didn’t have burning like a flame through sand and smoke. His hands flowed together, the amethyst glowing in their grasp, beating out the rhythm of his heart. He threw his head back and the glow burst free, shooting up to the ceiling. Claire let out a cry and covered her eyes.

Between one breath and the next, he changed from smoke wraith to human, but Claire would never forget what she saw. Or that he gave her such trust.

“Do you have—some water?” His sand rough voice jerked her back to the moment.

“Of course.” She ran to the back room, pulled several bottles out of the small fridge, and the other half of her sandwich from lunch. She dumped everything on the counter, afraid to touch him. He still looked—insubstantial. “There’s a roast beef sandwich, if you’re interested. Best you’ll ever taste.”

“Guaranteed?” He smiled, reaching for the bottle closest to him. He twisted the cap off and drained it in one long swallow. “Ah, better.” His deep voice smoothed out. He uncapped the second bottle, then reached for the sandwich. “Most of the witches I meet are vegan, or at least vegetarian.”

“I’ve tried. Repeatedly.” She smiled, leaning against the counter. “The beef keeps calling me back. I believe I lasted six months the last try. And swore never to put myself through that torture again.”

He unwrapped the sandwich, took a good bite, and closed his eyes.

“You didn’t lie. This is heaven in a bun. I am Marcus.”

He held out his hand. His right hand. Claire took it after a long moment, noticed that his palm was unmarked.

“Claire Wiche. No T. E at the end.”

“Ah—that explains the spelling on your window. Family name?”

Claire ignored the familiar twist of grief. “Something like that. Why are you really here, Marcus?”

He took another bite, then carefully set the remains of the sandwich in its wrapper. As if he would have to leave after he told her.

“I did not know until I saw you, Claire, but I came here for you.”

She pushed off the counter and put it between her and Marcus.

“Who the hell are you?”

He crossed his arms, still seated. “You know this already. And if you did not before, my healing told you all you needed.”

She let out her breath, forced herself to relax. “All right—let me reword it. Why me?”

“That I wish I knew.” Marcus rubbed the bridge of his nose. He still looked shaky. And Claire couldn’t take advantage of that, much as she wanted to right now. “I will tell you this—I am not leaving until I do know.”

“As long as you find somewhere besides my shop to do your staying, I’m fine with that.”

His laughter filled the air, rough and warm. Like the smoke and sand he came from—

Stop it.
She knew about their legendary allure, and she was being sucked in anyway. The average person wouldn’t stand a chance.

Claire unlocked her door and opened it. “Time for you to go.” He frowned at her. “I was just on my way out for something to eat when you detained me. I still have the rest of the afternoon to get through before I meet a friend of mine for drinks.”

“The lovely blonde?” He stood, using the counter. “She simply radiates life.”

She got in his face, careful to keep her tattoo from touching him. “Stay away from her.”

Marcus raised both hands in surrender.

“That is my plan, little witch.” Claire raised her eyebrows, and Marcus smiled. “There is nothing more beautiful than an angry woman. Enjoy your evening, Claire.”

He stepped around her, then moved outside and closed the door before she could think of a smart remark. Leaning against the door, she let out her breath, suddenly exhausted. She decided to close early and go home. She could call Annie from there and beg off tonight.

The way she felt, she would barely make it the two blocks home. And that scared her more than anything else she’d witnessed today.

E
ric came back to her store as the sun set in the ocean behind him. He wanted, needed for this to be over.

The store was dark, the closed sign mocking him. He swallowed the rage, his head pounding from the effort.

“I am disappointed in you, darling.” He froze as the voice wrapped around him. Long, cold fingers slid down his bare forearm, twined with his in a gesture that had dark need churning in his gut. “But there is a small way you can make it up to me.”

“If you’re here,” he said, his voice raw, “why do you need me? Why don’t you just take her now?”

“Perceptive questions, my darling Eric. From such a handsome devil of a man.” Natasha smiled at him, dark green eyes chilling him more than her touch. “I need her on neutral ground. Here she has the power of—friends.” The word came out like a slur. “And she will know me, once we do meet. I would have her vulnerable, her power weakened, or she may be the one doing harm. And we can’t be having that, can we?”

That dark need surged through him. “I will do whatever you ask, Natasha.”

“Of course you will.” She slid long fingers down his cheek, leaving a trail of ice and pain. “And she will wait, for tomorrow. Tonight there is time for a bit of harmless mischief. So many ways to play with these humans, who think they have the power of gods. Come; I will need your help with this.”

She led him down the street to another store, the green velvet dress she wore sliding over every lush curve. Lust drowned the pain of her touch.

The display in the window screamed New Age, in a way that was tacky and overblown. This store was closed as well, but she laid her free hand on the knob, and it twisted open.

Eric followed her inside, assaulted by the smell of too much incense, too many scented candles, and the stench of patchouli weaving through all of it. She flicked her hand, and the door closed behind him.

Heart pounding, he let her pull him along, stopping in front of a wall of candles.

“Ah—this will be fun.” The glee in her voice twisted his stomach. She let go of his hand, took two of the decorative hairpins from the display on the counter next to her. Handing one of them to him, she picked up the first candle, turned it over. A few quick strokes and she had a symbol carved into the pink wax. “Look at it. Memorize it.” He obeyed, the loops and lines burning into his mind. “Now, help me mark the candles. All of them. Then, my darling Eric, we are going to go play.”

*

A
nnie was reaching for her phone when
Dust in the Wind
rolled out of her open purse.

“Claire? Where are you? I was about to call out the cavalry—”

“I’m sorry, Annie.” Her voice sounded—old. “I had a difficult customer right before closing. Do you mind going it alone tonight?”

“You don’t want me to come over?”

“No.” The denial came too fast. “A rock would be better company right now. Have a good time. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Claire hung up before Annie could get in another word. With a sigh, Annie dropped the phone back in her purse, then signaled the waitress. She needed another beer. Then she needed to think twice before she barged over to Claire’s and demanded the truth from her. Knowing Claire, she would shut Annie down with an “I’m tired” line and gently maneuver her out the door.

She had always been a pro at avoiding.

“Damn it, Claire, I’m not going to let you—”

“We meet again.”

Annie jumped, then slowly turned on the high stool. And looked into the most spectacular pair of green eyes.

“Hey—I don’t know . . .” Her voice faded as she stared into his eyes, watched them change from green to gold when he smiled. Her heart started doing somersaults when he sat down next to her and took her hand. “Hi.”

“Hello, Annie.” His deep voice had a rough edge to it, like he smoked a little too much. Or a lot too much. She didn’t care—she just wanted him to keep talking. “Do you remember me?”

“I—” If she said the wrong thing, gave the wrong answer, he might leave— “Do I have to?”

His laugh curled around her. “We can become reacquainted. You’re not meeting anyone here?”

“Not anymore. A friend,” she added, to keep him from thinking she had a date. Or worse, that she’d been stood up. “She had a long day.”

“The festival.” He nodded, his gaze on her. “It can be taxing, so many people in such a small place. You were kind to let her rest without guilt.” He looked away, and it felt like she had been snapped out of a trance. “Will you walk with me?”

Annie swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

“Sure.”
Oh great, Annie—scintillating conversation.
She better step up her game, or he would think she was a drooling idiot. “The beach is quiet this time of night.”

“Come, then.” He settled one hand at her waist as she slid off the stool, and guided her through the shimmying crowd to the door. “I don’t believe I had the chance to introduce myself when we met earlier.” He led her out the door, then stopped under one of the Art Nouveau streetlamps. The soft light set off shimmering strands of gold in his dark hair, drew shadows under his high cheekbones. He tilted her chin up and smiled. “I am Marcus.”

“Hi.” Her throat felt as dry as a desert. The same desert gold she saw swirling in his eyes— Annie blinked, and warm, jade green eyes studied her, concern in their depths. “Sorry—did you just—never mind.” She took his hand and moved to the crosswalk. “The beach is waiting.”