Rest For The Wicked (9 page)

“She—” Eric cleared his throat, tried again. “She wants you, alive. I’m the one who needed you dead. She made me believe you killed my sister. Katelyn.”

Her name tasted like ash on his tongue—and with the taste came the memory.

“Eric.” Claire rubbed her hand down his arm, soothing, seeking. “Tell me.”

“Katelyn—God damn her—” He had to drag the words out. “She burned Katelyn.”

“Was she sacrificed?” He closed his eyes. “Eric!” Claire grabbed his shoulders, forced his focus. “Was your sister—”

“With a knife—because of you.”

Claire jerked at the accusation. Swallowing, she nodded, looking at the floor.

“Thank you, Eric. No, Marcus.” She raised one hand to the man, knowing, somehow, without looking, that he was about to protest. “He’s told us enough. I have a good idea who she is.” Lifting her head, she looked at Eric, fear darkening her eyes. “If you would indulge me, one more question. Does she have black hair and green eyes?”

“The woman who—” He couldn’t say it again. Would never say it again. “Beautiful, but cold. And yes, to both.”

Claire let out her breath, part of her spirit shrinking as he watched her. He wasn’t the only one who noticed—Annie knelt beside her, one hand pushing back the waving curtain of hair that hid her face.

“Claire—honey, who is it?”

She lifted her head—and Eric wanted to erase the grief, the guilt in her eyes. She had no reason, no matter who the woman was to her—

“She is my cousin, Natasha.”

*

“
Y
ou absolutely will not go up there.” Annie all but shouted the order as she followed Claire into her bedroom. Claire fisted her hands to keep from covering her ears. That movement hurt almost as much as the sound of Annie’s voice bouncing around the inside her head. “I met Natasha, remember? That thankfully short visit was more than enough to figure out she’s mean, dangerous, and crazy to boot.”

“And when she realizes her scheme didn’t work, she will go after someone else.” With a sigh, Claire turned to face Annie. “I’ve been expecting some kind of confrontation for years. Natasha took an instant dislike to me the first time we met.”

“I thought you kept away from family—that you didn’t want to be reminded of your parents.”

Claire managed not to flinch when the lie came back at her. “I do—but the publicity about the shop opening somehow made the paper up in San Francisco, and Natasha saw it. Our family name isn’t the most common around, and I’m sure the fact that it was a Wicca shop intrigued her.”

“She came here?”

 “Walked right into the shop. Disliked me on sight, hated me by the time she left. She thought she was the only one in the family to inherit power, and she hated the fact that she
wasn’t
anymore.” Claire ran one hand through her hair. “She tends to take her hate for me out on other people, knowing that would hurt me more than if her spite were aimed at me.”

“She’s done more than jump on the crazy train, Claire. She’s driving it—straight at you.”

“And using those other people to lure me into its path. I know I’ll be walking into a trap.” Claire rubbed her right eye, the ache behind it constant now. “Something is wrong with her, something more serious than her grudge against me. She has only hurt before; this time she killed.” The thought that she may have been the reason tore at her. “I can’t allow her to harm anyone else.”

“If you go up there now,” they both turned at Marcus’ quiet, raw voice, “the next one harmed will be you.”

“See?” Annie gestured to him. “I’m not the only one who thinks what you’re doing is monumentally stupid. And I’m agreeing with
him
. That should tell you how serious I am about you not going.”

Claire sat on the bed before her legs decided to fail her. How could she convince them there
was
no choice? And how to do it without revealing her real fear—the need to know why Natasha performed a ritual sacrifice. Eric had the answer, buried under his grief and pain, but she refused to cause him more when she could simply find out for—

“—listening to me? Claire.” She looked up at Annie—and clutched the side of the bed when the room took a slow, sickening turn. Strong hands caught her, lowered her to the bed. “Hand me that blanket, Marcus, then go get some water. Stop fighting me, honey. It’s time to let someone else take care of you for a change.”

Claire nodded, immediately regretting it.

“Annie,” she whispered. Her friend leaned over. “Can that be tea instead of water? I’m—cold.”

One hand covered her forehead.

“God, you’re like ice. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You were busy scolding me.”

“Funny to the bitter end.” She tucked the thick, soft crocheted blanket around Claire. “Stay put—I’ll have your new best friend start the hot water.”

“Annie.” She paused in the doorway. “Marcus—”

“Is a necessary evil for the moment. I get it. I won’t kill him in his sleep—not until we get this sorted out.”

“Appreciate that.”

Annie moved back to the bed, bent over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Claire swallowed, tears stinging her eyes.

“Please get some rest. I can’t lose you, Claire.” The tears she fought thickened Annie’s voice. “I’ll be back in a few.”

“Thank you.”

She watched Annie leave, then waited an agonizing minute before she sat, shedding the blanket. It took another minute for her head to stop spinning. She stood, using the wall to help her over to the closet, and almost went headfirst into her dresser when she reached for the closest pair of shoes. She managed to slip into them without further incident, and used the triumph to propel her to the other end of the closet for her coat.

“Planning a trip, sweet?”

Jaw clenched, she turned around. Marcus stood in the doorway, a mug in his left hand. She could smell the sweetness of her herbal and fruit blend across the room.

“I have to stop her, Marcus.”

“Agreed.” He set the mug on her bedside table, strode across the bedroom. Claire backed away, moving toward the back door that led to the alley, and the freedom of her car. Marcus got there first—and once he took her arm, she knew she was going nowhere. “We make a plan that does not end in your violent death, then you go stop her.”

“Why does everyone keep assuming I’ll die? I can take her—”

“Of course you can.” Marcus guided her to the bed, then sat her down and handed her the mug. “Drink. Annie’s orders,” he said when she hesitated.

She sipped the tea. The honey-sweetened liquid hit her tongue, its warmth seeping through her.

“How is your hand?”

Marcus had bandaged his right hand at some point. Now it rested against his leg, long fingers curled over his palm. He managed to block his pain from her, but she knew how much it must be hurting him.

“It will heal. Drink your tea.”

She obeyed, every taste spreading the heat. It felt so good to be warm again—she’d all but forgotten how good—

Marcus caught the mug when it slipped out of her hand.

“You—drugged me.”

“
She
drugged you. With something she called Vicodin.” Gently, Marcus lowered her to the bed, tucked the blanket around her. “To keep you from doing just what you were doing when I came in. Going after this cousin half-cocked.”

She had no ready lie. And lying had always been one of her lesser talents. Closing her eyes, she gave in to the call of sleep, the blessed warmth.

“Marcus.”

“Right here, Claire.”

“Tell Annie—we’re having words.”

She heard the smile in his voice.

“I will warn her. Rest now, Claire.”

His low voice followed her into the darkness.

C
laire slapped the bag on the shop counter, needing to take her temper out on something.

Annie snuck out during the night, leaving Claire with a sleeping draught hangover and a serious case of mad. Now another day was almost gone, and she was still here. Natasha was still free.

She gathered everything she thought she might need. Talking never worked with her cousin.

Pounding on the door whirled her around. Marcus stepped to the window and simply waited. Cursing, she stomped over to the door and flipped open the deadbolt.

“Lock it behind you.”

She headed to the back room, relieved that someone had removed the knife Eric left behind. Her power was already shaky. She dug out her personal bottles—the potions she created for herself and kept replenished, hoping she would never have to use them. That old habit gave her a ready supply now.

Marcus waited for her by the front counter.

“You are leaving.”

“I told you I would.” She stashed the bottles in a padded picnic case, zipped it up, and tucked it in her bag. “I should have done this years ago. She’s always been off, but she never killed anyone.” The temper leached out, left behind what she had been avoiding: her own guilt. “Heaven above, Marcus—she killed someone this time.”

“Claire.” He moved around the counter. “You are not to blame for this.”

“I can tell myself that from now until, oh, forever. It won’t make me feel any better. I’m going, so save your breath.”

“If she is powerful enough to control a man with Eric’s moral strength, you are no match for her in your present condition.”

Claire braced her hands on the counter and looked up at him.

“Which would be—what?”

“A woman who nearly lost her life to a dark spell.”

She let out a sigh, started packing again.

“I have other means, especially when it comes to Natasha. I’ve dealt with her enough to know her weak spots. I can’t wait, Marcus—I will not have another life on my soul.”

Marcus laid one hand over hers.

“This life is not yours to claim. Please take a moment, Claire, think on this. There has been no retaliation—”

“Yet.” She extricated her hand, shoved the last batch of crystals in her bag, and grabbed the double handle. “I’m not going to take the chance that she—”

The phone rang, startling her. She let go of the bag and picked it up off the base, using her open hours greeting, since technically it was open hours.

“Thank you for calling The Wiche’s Broom, how can I help you?”

“Hello, cousin.” A chill swept through her. She gripped the phone, her hand shaking. “You should be here. It seems Eric has failed me. So I found another plaything—just to pass the time until you get here. I’ll let her say hello.”

An agonizing scream pierced her. Claire sagged against the wall, her heart pounding.

“No,” she whispered. “Please, God—no—”

“Claire—” Marcus caught her elbow when she started to buckle.

“Come to me, cousin, and she will live. Disappoint me, and—you know how my temper gets the best of me.”

“Please, let her go, Natasha.”

“You have until morning. Say goodbye to my cousin, sweet girl.”

Another scream pierced her. It cut off abruptly, leaving Claire holding a dead phone.

Marcus grabbed her shoulders.

“You are white—what did she say to you?”

“I have to go.” She grabbed the bag off the counter, startled by the weight. Hiking it over her shoulder, she headed for the back door. Marcus beat her there. “Get out of my way.”

“Tell me what she said and I—”

Claire stepped back and did what she promised herself not to do to another person again.

She used her power to harm.

Flicking her hand, she threw Marcus across the shop. He crashed into the short wall next to the front door and collapsed, bloody, unconscious. Claire leaned against the door, lightheaded. After a few not quite steady breaths, she pushed herself up, buried her guilt for later, opened the back door and headed for her car.

*

A
nnie spotted Eric walking on Beach Street, head down, not paying attention to the people who jumped out of his path.

 She caught up to him, matching his pace until he finally looked at her.

“Hey, handsome—going my way?” He gave her a smile. A little one, but it was a start. “I’m off to meet Claire, coax her into having dinner. Want to—” He flinched at the mention of Claire’s name, all the color draining out of his face. Annie herded him to the side wall of the art gallery. “Hey, it’s okay, Eric. She doesn’t blame you for what happened.”

“I can’t stop blaming myself.” Wind whipped off the ocean behind them, tossing sweat matted, sun streaked hair against his forehead. Annie reached out to brush it back. He lurched backward, hitting up against the wall. She just kept moving until she made contact. Eric closed his eyes when she touched him, swallowed convulsively. “Don’t.”

“Come with me, Eric. There’s nothing worse than the anticipation of rejection. And trust me, you won’t be getting any of that from her.” She took his hand. “Come on.”

He followed her around the corner, heading toward Claire’s store.