Rest For The Wicked (10 page)

“You don’t take no for an answer very often, do you?”

She smiled over at him.

“Nope.”

Her reward was his laugh. Rusty, quiet, but a laugh. She planned to get more out of him before the end of the night. He didn’t remember much about her, so she was going to help him make new memories. Happier memories.

Light filtered out of the front window of The Wiche’s Broom. Claire probably had a customer she couldn’t get rid of—always too polite to just shove them out the door at closing time.
I’ll give her a hand with that—

The door was locked.

“What the—” Claire never locked the door when she was expecting Annie. Never. Annie peered through the window, her heart pounding—and saw nothing. No Claire, no customer, no one at all. “Oh, God—” She fumbled the spare key out of her purse, started to push it into the lock.

“Let me.” She jumped when Eric touched her shoulder. In her panic she’d forgotten about him. “Stay behind me until we know what’s going on. Okay?”

She thrust the key at him. “Just get in there.”

He obeyed, unlocked the door. The small bell rang when he opened it—then the door hit up against an obstacle.

“Claire—” Annie whirled around the door, halted when she saw the sprawled figure—and recognized the black clothing, the dark, curling hair. “What the hell?”

They both knelt. Eric eased Marcus on to his back. Blood stained his face, matted his hair. The fingers of his bandaged right hand were twisted, like they’d been slammed hard against a wall. Looking up, Annie saw where he hit. The plaster was cracked, blood dripping down the pale yellow wall.

“He’s alive,” Eric said. “Is there water here, a blanket?”

Annie slung her purse off her shoulder and stood, ran shaking fingers through her hair.

“Water—yeah, in the back. A blanket—what are you, a doctor?”

“Something like that. See if you can find a first aid kit—check under the counter.”

She went hunting for what he needed, refusing to believe what her mind screamed at her.

Claire wouldn’t—she doesn’t have that kind of power—she couldn’t—

The night in her apartment taunted her, and Claire, overpowering the fire elemental— Annie shut the thought down before it could go any further.

A decorative moon and stars throw served as a blanket. Eric took it, along with the heavy first aid kit and one of the water bottles she pulled out of the back room fridge, then he studied her. “How are you with blood?”

She swallowed. “Not great. What do you need?”

He smiled, the first life she’d seen back in his blue eyes.

“For you to play nurse.”

“Okay.”

“Good girl.” He flipped open the first aid box and whistled. “Looks like Claire is prepared for anything. Open that water, wet down some sterile pads for me. Here.” He handed her several of the wrapped pads and a pair of latex gloves. “Keep these on until I tell you. Got it?”

“Yeah.”

She watched him snap a pair on with the ease of long practice, tried to follow his method. They slipped on easily, the powdered inside soft against her hand. For about ten seconds. Then her hands started to sweat. She ignored it, ripped open the gauze pads, handing them over as fast as she could get them wet.

Eric cleaned the blood off Marcus’ face. It looked like a bad nosebleed, and his nose was crooked—probably from impact with the wall. Once Eric packed his nostrils with dry gauze, the bleeding stopped.

“See if there are any splints in there,” he said. He gently lifted Marcus’ broken hand, cut away the torn, bloody bandage. “God in heaven—how did he do this?”

The skin of his palm was shiny, tight—like a newly healed burn. A bad burn.

His hand had been scorched black yesterday.

“I don’t know—I don’t think I should—” Annie looked up at Eric—and blurted it out. “He burned it breaking the spell.”

Eric swallowed, then dropped his gaze back to Marcus’ hand. Cradling the broken fingers, he took the index finger and methodically snapped it into place. Marcus bolted awake.

“Slow now, old man.” Eric lowered him back to the floor. “You had a nasty run-in with the wall.”

“You are—”

“A vet,” Eric said. Annie blinked at him, then smiled. “I know anatomy well enough to diagnose a not badly broken nose and some damaged fingers.”

Marcus cursed, whispering in some fluid language Annie had never heard before—then he grabbed Eric’s wrist.

“Claire,” he whispered.

“Not here.”

“Gods help her.” He looked at Annie. “She went to Natasha.”

C
laire eased herself out of the car, stiff from hours of driving. Her newly healed leg ached, her body feeling battered from the violence of the last day.

She had already pulled all the tools she thought she would need at her last stop, shored up her power as much as possible with the resources at hand. Though she was not at her best, she could still match Natasha blow for blow.

Her hope was to free the woman Natasha held, then do everything short of actually killing Natasha to subdue her, once and for good. This confrontation had been a long time in coming, and Claire had to admit that she was the one who put it off.

She had been wrong to do so, and now an innocent suffered because of it.

Taking in a deep breath, she used the spotlights that blazed from the roof of the warehouse to check the address on her phone one last time. It had been sent by Natasha, an hour into Claire’s twice-the-speed-limit dash up to the outskirts of San Francisco. The number over the rusted door was the same.

Claire avoided looking at the water she could hear lapping at the shore just yards away. Annie always kidded her about living so near the beach, when she hated the water. Claire never told her it wasn’t the water she hated, just the memories connected to it.

Tucking the phone in the pocket of her loose cotton pants, cursing the chill of the wind, she reached for the door knob.

“Welcome, cousin.”

The silky voice stilled her.

Claire wanted to spin, throw a spell, any spell. Instead she turned, slowly, hands in sight. Natasha leaned against the side of Claire’s hatchback, tall, sleek, stunningly beautiful in a long, clinging green dress. Claire shoved down her fear for the woman her cousin held. If Natasha got even a whiff of that fear, she would take it out on her captive. Claire knew her cousin’s M.O. all too well—or thought she did. Murder had never been part of her playbook. Until now.

“Where is she, Natasha?”

“What, no hello? Your manners have deteriorated in that provincial village you insist on calling home. I would be insulted, if I did not already expect it from you.”

Claire frowned. Natasha wasn’t normally so formal. Something about her pretty speech was off—and that put Claire on alert.

“Let her go, and we can get to it.”

“It.” Natasha smiled, pushed off the car. “A small word for years of—what shall we call it? A difference of opinion? Violently opposite views of magic? What would you call it, cousin?”

“Mutual dislike. Where is she?”

Natasha flicked her right hand. Heat swept past Claire—and she jerked away as it scorched her skin under the sleeve of her jacket. Natasha’s power felt—different. Stronger. Claire didn’t have time to worry about it as the door behind her flew open.

She ran inside, searching the dim interior. Bare ceiling bulbs flickered over half-rotted wood boxes, two rows of steel columns—and a hunched figure in a dirt streaked white dress tied to the one closest to the door. Claire let out a breath when she saw the woman move.

Crouching in front of her, Claire spoke in a quiet voice. “I’m here to help you.”

The woman’s head snapped up. Claire knew she would be panicked, so she stayed out of touching range. Blood ran down the freckled face. Claire’s heart skipped at the resemblance. Except for the blonde hair, the woman—no, girl—looked enough like Claire to be her sister. And she couldn’t have been older than twenty.

“Who—please get me out of here! Before that crazy woman comes—oh God—” She recoiled, staring at the tattoo on Claire’s wrist. “You’re the reason I’m here. She said you had—don’t touch me—”

“Please, it will be all right. I am going to free—”

“I said don’t touch me!”

Panic skated across the girl’s voice. Claire stood, hands at her sides. “I understand why you’re afraid. I can only imagine what she told you about me. But I promise you, I will see that you are safe.”

Wide blue eyes stared at her for an endless moment, then filled with tears.

“Get me out of here.”

Claire knelt behind her, relief easing the pressure in her chest.

“Hold still. I’m going to free you.” Flinching at the torn skin on the girl’s wrists, Claire tugged at the knot until it loosened, then untied it. “I’ve got you now. I’m going to ease your arms down. I’m afraid it’s going to hurt, and I am sorry for that.”

The girl whimpered, but she managed to help Claire, the muscles in her arms quivering against Claire’s fingers. When both hands touched the floor, Claire let her go and moved around the pillar.

“What is your name?”

“Lisa,” she whispered.

“All right, Lisa, let’s get you on your feet.”

Claire wrapped on arm around her waist, lifted until Lisa found her strength, and finished standing on her own, towering over Claire’s five foot two.

“My car is outside. I’ll take you wherever you want—” She cut herself off when she saw Natasha blocking the doorway. “Wherever you want to go. Just keep moving, no matter what. I will protect you.”

They moved to the door, Lisa clutching her. Claire braced for retaliation. Natasha gave her a smile and stepped out of the doorway.

That scared Claire more than an outright attack. She walked Lisa past as quickly as she could, the younger girl shivering against her.

“Can you run?” Claire whispered.

The girl stared down at her. “If I have to, I—I think so.”

“You may have to. I don’t trust my cousin—”

“That’s your
cousin
?”

“Not proud of the relation, but you can’t always choose family.” Most of the time.

She kept up the chatter as she led Lisa to the car, angling so she kept Natasha in her sightline. Claire waited for her to lash out, to do—something. Natasha never lost or gave up without retribution. Claire knew that from past experience.

She reached out to open the passenger door when Natasha struck.

“Get down!” Claire let her go and spun, already clutching her amethyst as she flung up her other hand.

Natasha’s power shredded her barrier like it didn’t exist and smacked into Claire. She stumbled, heat scorching the newly healed knife wound at her throat, just managed to throw up another barrier before Natasha attacked again.

This one held together—but the force of Natasha’s attack shoved her against the car.

Lisa
— She found the girl, huddled near the back bumper, her face stone white. Widening the protective barrier, Claire gathered herself for a distraction and raised her hand.

Fire burst out of her palm. It missed Natasha by nearly a foot. Claire cursed at herself for letting her defensive skills get so rusty and tried again, ignoring the screams coming from the back of the car. This time the burst of fire hit her target.

“Get in the car, Lisa.” The girl kept screaming. Out of time and patience, Claire stalked to her and slapped her across the face. The scream cut off. Lisa stared at her, one hand on her reddening cheek. Claire dug her phone out of her pocket. “Take this, get in the car. Call 911.”

She crawled into the back seat, closed the door, and scooted as far away from Claire as she could manage. Claire hardly blamed her.

Clenching her aching hand, she braced herself, knowing she couldn’t leave Natasha alive, and turned to finish the job.

The fist came out of nowhere, smacking her cheek. She stumbled backward and slammed into the car. Natasha smiled at her, whole, unharmed.
That’s not possible—

“You missed, cousin.” She flicked one finger, and the door locks snapped. “Uh-oh. What could happen next?”

The car started to roll.

“No—” Panic roared through Claire. She grabbed the handle, the heavy car dragging her across the gravel lot. “Lisa!” She banged on the window. “Lisa! Get in the front seat—hit the brake!”

It took precious moments for her words to sink in—then Lisa threw the phone down, scrambled between the front seats and dropped into the driver’s seat. Clutching the steering wheel, she pumped the brakes. The car moved faster. Headed straight for the water.
No—not again—not again—

Claire threw a spell to freeze the wheels. It bounced off an invisible barrier, narrowly missed her as she ducked.

“Natasha!” Her cousin cocked her head, watching the car, as if what she caused was a fascinating experiment. “Stop this!”

“Experiencing the horror of déjà vu, cousin?” Claire stared at her. She couldn’t know—no one knew, no one still alive— “You could not save them before; what makes you think this time will be any different?”