“How do you know all this?” Hillary studied her, those brown eyes too intent. “You can’t know—”
“I’m a witch, sweetheart. The real thing, not someone claiming to be in order to sell merchandise. That means I know far too much about a whole lot of obscure. And hanging around with Claire, I pick up things.” Hillary smiled. “Why don’t you help me sit? I think I can manage that. Then we’ll go for standing.”
Her head spun, but she managed to stay upright, two sets of hands steadying her until she could do it on her own.
“Once you’re ready,” Regina said. “There’s a bed in the guest room at the end of the hall.”
“No stairs—oh, bless you. I really, really didn’t want to climb all those stairs.” Regina laughed. “Do I sound as whiny as I think?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Mom says it all the time about Dad.”
“Hillary! Were you eavesdropping, young lady?”
“I don’t need to when you’re shouting.” She jumped to her feet, avoiding Regina’s hand. “I don’t need comforting, Mom. I’m old enough to understand you and Dad don’t love each other anymore. That he doesn’t want us anymore. That he loves some other woman more, wants her family instead of us—”
“Hillary.” Pain scored Regina’s voice. “That had nothing to do with you, and it’s not your fault—”
“It’s not yours, either!” Hillary turned on her mother. “And it’s my fault the guardian angel is here! I asked for him—I begged for him to come and take me away, so I didn’t have to hurt anymore—”
Regina stood and wrapped both arms around her when she burst into tears, looked over at Annie. “I am so sorry. If I had known—”
“We would have come, Regina. It doesn’t matter if he was summoned. But it explains why he reacts like a teenager with a bad case of angst—he probably was one, before he died. Claire told me once that guardians are matched by age. And that means our captor has all the rage of a teenager, and the power to back it up.”
*
Claire pounded on the door. Again.
“Zach!” He didn’t answer the last three times she shouted for him. Fear curled through her at the thought of where he might be, what he might be doing that she couldn’t prevent. “Zach, please—” Silence answered her. Again. “Damn.”
Feeling helpless, she ran one hand through her hair, followed the come and go sunlight to the window, leaned her forehead against the cold glass. Her fingers rubbed at the leather band on her wrist, still able to feel the raised scar under the thin leather. A scar she couldn’t look at without remembering every detail of the moment it happened—
Movement caught her eye. She raised her head—and pressed both hands against the window when she spotted Simon, standing in the yard of the house directly behind them. Just his presence soothed the raw edges. And gave her an idea. A crazy, probably wouldn’t work idea.
Searching the room, she found a small pad and pencil on the long dresser. Next to a cordless phone.
Claire laid her hand over it, closed her eyes. “Please.”
She picked it up and hit the phone button.
Instead of a dial tone, words poured out of the earpiece. Latin, ancient and powerful. She recognized the prayer—and with panic clawing through her she jammed her finger on the end button and threw the phone across the room.
No—you can’t cut him off and leave him here—it’s worse than being trapped Between—
“Which is exactly why they would do it—damn them—”
The crazy idea became a way to save their captor from a fate worse than forever in Between: being left here to live among mortals, never able to be one of them.
Using the pencil, she scribbled a note on the pink, floral edged paper, folded it into a square, and headed back to the window.
To her relief, Simon was still there—and this time he spotted her. She saw the shock, the relief, and the fear for her that swirled around him. All layered with the compassion that was so much a part of him. She wedged the paper through a narrow space between the frame and the sill, cursing when it stuck, just on the outside of the frame.
She turned, looking for something thin enough to slide under the window frame.
“Come on.” She started opening drawers in the dresser. Most of them were still empty. “I just need a break here—” Yanking open yet another drawer, starting to panic now—Simon couldn’t wait there much longer without being discovered—she let out her breath when she spotted a small manicure set.