Carry On Wayward Son(2)

Heat surrounded him, from sun and wind. Sweat poured down his bare torso, the wind drying it as fast as he could produce it. His left arm shook—the arm that had been all but useless when he left her. Now it trembled under the weight of a heavy sword, the scar from his gunshot wound stark and white against his sun-darkened skin.

Claire flinched with him when his opponent’s blade nicked his bicep. She felt the scorching heat, the hot bite of the wind, the sand that found its way into every opening in her clothes. And she felt every emotion, every pain that Marcus felt as he moved across the burning sand.

The sight of him twisted her heart. Tall, lean, thinner than when he left her. His hair was longer, tied back in a curling black tail that hung between his shoulders. Sunlight winked off the hamsa he wore in his left ear as he danced lightly over the sand, graceful and deadly.

His opponent towered over him, swinging an axe that could cut a bull in half. She let out a cry as Marcus ducked a sideways blow and whirled out of range.

“Better, Jinn. But not good enough.” His opponent propped the axe on the sand and rested one arm on top of the massive handle. His other arm wiped sweat off his angled, handsome face. Thick black dreadlocks fell to his waist, banded with silver and small medallions. “If you follow through with your foolish plan and appear at their mockery of a trial, one of them will take your head off before you can duck.”

“I will move fast enough to suit both of us, Jamal.” That deep, sand rough voice wrapped around her, eased the pain drumming through her head. The pain faded more as she was drawn into the conversation between the two men. “It is my life I am fighting for; another life I am fighting to return to, if she will have me.”

“The sweet little demon?” Claire blinked, startled by his blatant description. “She intrigues, Marcus. I would meet her, before my time on this plane is done.”

“Only if you keep from calling her a sweet little demon.”

With a fierce smile, Jamal swung the axe up and rushed him. Marcus met the weapon with his heavy blade. Metal slid against metal. The sound of it sang through the air, scraped through her mind.

Claire clutched her head, dropped to her knees. Straight through the sand and on to the hard wood floor of her shop. She let out a raw cry and toppled, darkness rushing up at her.



*



Running down the tree-lined sidewalk on Forest, Annie Sullivan cursed under her breath.

She was late—again. And her excuse was the same. Again.

She wouldn’t blame Claire for being mad at her. Two speeding tickets in the same week was a sorry ass excuse for being late during their busiest time after the solstice festival. And not finding a parking space closer than two blocks turned that into a whiny ass excuse. With Halloween less than a week away, she knew better than to—

Her thoughts flew out of her head when she skidded to a halt in front of the store. The lights were off. Heart pounding, she tried the door, swallowing when she found it locked.

The last time this happened she found Marcus inside, bloody and unconscious after Claire flung him against the wall. Just before she ran off to try and stop her cousin Natasha from hurting some innocent girl. Her cousin—who turned out to be the vessel of choice for a demon.

Fingers shaking, Annie pulled out her key and unlocked the door.

“Claire?” No body blocked the door as she pushed it open. She let out her breath, closed and locked the door behind her. Just until she knew what was what. “Claire—are you here?”

She flipped on the lights—and a low moan from the back had her dropping her bag on the run. Panic shot through her when she saw Claire curled on the floor, whiter than her shirt and soaked with sweat.

“Annie . . .”

“Shush.” Dropping down next to her, Annie carefully brushed wet hair off her face. Then she helped Claire uncurl herself, until she was stretched out on the floor. Pulling off her jacket, she draped it over Claire and stood. “Don’t you move. Not a muscle.”

“No worries there.”

She still had her sense of humor. That made Annie feel a little better. Stalking into the back room, she hunted through the small fridge, found several bottles of water, and what looked like half a sandwich from Lily’s fabulous little takeout down the street.

Along with the sandwich, Annie grabbed all the bottles she could hold, and dumped them on the reading table before crouching next to Claire. “I’m going to help you sit. Slow, Claire—don’t play the ‘I’m all right’ card with me.” She slipped one arm under her friend’s shoulders, appalled by how thin she felt under the loose shirt. With Claire clutching her other hand, Annie eased her up. “Stay.”