Carry On Wayward Son(28)
“Dial down the interrogation.” She slid one arm around Annie and glanced over at Regina. “Where was she resting—”
“Don’t even think about it.”
Claire looked at her. “You can’t—”
“You dare, after blocking every attempt I made in Huntsville to keep you from running yourself into the ground? I’m not going to be easy, either. So quit while you’re ahead.”
With a sigh, Claire guided her to a chair next to the fireplace. “I have been properly chastised. Please sit, so I don’t have to pick you up off the floor.”
Annie eased herself down, her hip screaming at her. “Okay, I’m down. Now,” she crossed her arms. “Start answering.”
THIRTEEN
Simon inched along the back wall of the house, spotted the walk down to the basement, just feet away.
Contact with the house had that alien power spiking through him. Instead of pain, he felt—euphoria. And an invincibility that a former combat medic should brush off as deadly.
Reaching the walk down, he did a fast check of the stairwell. It was empty. He cocked the shotgun, his bandaged hand forcing him to constantly adjust his grip, and headed down the stairs. His free hand hovered over the doorknob. Power licked at his skin, but nothing like the angry burst that sent him and Eric across the lawn.
He took in a deep breath and closed his hand over it. Let his breath out when he still stood in the same place, every appendage intact. He turned the knob and eased the door open. His first step met with resistance, like trying to move through a wall of jello. To his relief, the second step proved easier, and once he crossed the threshold the resistance disappeared. He just hoped it wasn’t some kind of warning system—because he just tripped it.
Closing the door behind him, he stopped, waited until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Gradually, obstacles separated from shadow, showing him a roundabout path to the staircase at the far end of the huge space. Now that he was inside, the euphoria faded, replaced by the instinct and sensitivity that kept him alive half a world away.
Making his way through the basement, he listened for any sound, any hint he’d been discovered, or was walking straight into an ambush. Every second of silence made him more wired instead of calm. By the time he reached the top of the stairs he had to stop, take in a few slow breaths, focus himself.
He’s just one—angel, God forgive me. After a silent prayer he ran the banishing through his head, thankful for his freakish ability to remember pretty much everything he read. Get him out, get Claire and Annie clear. Then deal with your conscience.
Touching the doorknob, he paused. That guardian was inside, and he didn’t think a simple banishing was going to do more than piss it off. But he had to trust Claire. She believed in him—God only knew why—and he wasn’t about to let her down when she needed him.
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and cracked open the door.
*
“Let me see that hip.” Claire bent over her friend, beyond relieved that the injury from Zach looked more like a sunburn than a serious multi-degree burn. A bottle of aloe vera gel sat on the small night table, along with a pile of clean washcloths. Sitting on a chair next to the bed, Claire squirted a generous amount of aloe on the cloth and laid it over the raw skin. “How does that feel?”
“Fine. What the hell happened? Where have you been? And—”
“One question at a time, Annie.” Leaning back, Claire let out a sigh, rubbing the leather band on her wrist. “I saw Marcus.”
She told Annie, forcing herself not to press her hand against her scar, which started to throb again.
“But he’s okay?”
“When I left, yes. Jamal is Marid—the most powerful Jinn in existence. He’ll keep Marcus safe.” She turned in the chair, facing Regina. “There are things about me, about people around me, you don’t know. I hope you can still trust me, despite that.”
“You haven’t given me a reason not to,” Regina said. She sat on the small settee, Hillary curled up beside her, asleep. Regina studied Claire, dark eyes not accusing, but calm, and more trusting than Claire deserved. That calm wrapped around her, spread over her daughter. “I already knew you were a witch—the real thing. So don’t consider me surprised to find out you have—unusual friends. I know about Father Simon, too. I started attending his church just after we moved.” A smile touched her lips. “You lead an eventful life.”
“Thank you.” She cleared her throat, closed her eyes against the sting of tears, and looked at Annie. “There is something else you both need to know, about Zach. He lied to us.”