She made that promise, to her baby, to herself. No matter what.
*
Zach walked down the main street of Briarton—the high street, Mom called it. It was like walking in a postcard.
He used his phone to snap some pics to show Mom, who stayed back at the hotel to keep Annie company. Eric was better, since Marcus did his hoodoo, but he was still stuck in one place for a while.
Just the thought of Marcus soured Zach’s mood. He put the man and what he meant to Mom out of his mind, and started looking for the New Age shop.
“It’s supposed to be right here . . .” He found his navigation app, punched in the address. “Gotcha.”
He closed the app, started across the narrow side street, and almost knocked over the woman who burst out of the alley.
“Watch yourself, boy.” Pale grey eyes glared up at him, out of a pudgy face. The dark circles around them made her eyes look spooky, and not quite sane. Annie would call her short, flipped up hairstyle an attempt to look younger—unsuccessfully. And she reeked of patchouli, like she took a bath in the stuff. Zach backed out of smelling range, tried not to gag. “Children these days. No respect for others.”
“Sorry, ma’am.” An image popped into his mind, along with the familiar tug. No pain this time—what she lost was small, and still with her. But the zing of panic attached to it startled him, the desperate need for something. A need she hid from everyone. Zach hesitated. Mom told him never to do this. But she was a stranger, in another country, and he’d never see her again. “The key you’re looking for—it’s in the inside pocket of your purse.”
Startled, she blinked at him, then flung her ridiculous black cloak over her shoulder and reached into the carry on size bag. He was surprised she could find anything in that monster. He left her hunting frantically through the huge interior, and smiled when she let out a shout. God, he loved the high he got from doing that.
Two Witches and a Broomstick was on the left, between a pub and a narrow alley. Zach poked his head in the door, not sure if he was welcome. Their introduction at the clinic had been brief, and the short witch with the cool, blue-streaked hair had stared at him like he was from another planet. Penn—that was her name. He could tell she was a powerful witch by the way his amethyst hummed when she got near him.
All he wanted to do was thank her and the other woman, Michelle, for helping Annie and Eric. Mom drummed the whole polite thing into his head until it became second nature. Now he felt icky if he didn’t follow through.
“Hello?”
“Come in, Zach.” Penn walked around a tall display shelf. “We won’t bite.”
“Hey.” He let the door shut behind him, took off his baseball cap, forced himself to keep eye contact. “I just—I wanted to thank you, for helping my friends.”
“Thanks aren’t necessary.”
“Not according to my mom.”
Penn laughed. “I like her already.” She moved forward, touched the flaming sword and wings tattoo on the inside of his right wrist. “Awfully young to have one of these, aren’t you?”
“Mom said I begged until her ears were bleeding. She’s got two of them.” He swallowed. “I don’t remember. I was in an accident last year.”
“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry.” Penn rubbed his arm, and he felt warmth spread through him. Kind of like what Marcus did to calm him down before the flight.
“Yeah, thanks.” He stared at the floor, felt himself blushing. He was grateful for her concern—and that she didn’t stare at him like he just came off the crazy train. “I’m okay, but I don’t remember anything before the day Mom and Simon found me. He’s a priest friend of my mom’s, who used to be a cop. That’s how they found me, she said.”
“And you believe her.”
“She’s my mom.” Anger and panic flared, like it did every time he thought about that night. “I have to—”
“Zach.” Penn closed her hand over his wrist. “There’s no need to defend her.” This time he recognized the warmth spreading up his arm, soothing his temper, his fear. She was a healer. “Your mom loves you very much. I saw that right away.” She let him go, tilted her head as she studied him. “Do you know what the tattoo stands for?”
“Mom said it’s the symbol for a guardian angel. Like my own bat signal. I think I saw it in a book and thought it was cool. It feels like I’ve always had it.” He stared down at the tattoo, and an image flashed over it, of gold and flame. One he’d seen before, more than once, and if he were being honest, it scared the hell out of him. Jerking himself free of the image, the fear that came with it, he plastered on a smile. “Anyway, thank you. And thank Michelle for me.”