Carry On Wayward Son(39)

“Basically, I am to live an exemplary life, or suffer for wanting to be mortal.”

“Welcome to the human race.”

A smile softened the fear radiating from him. “I look forward to it.”

“All right.” She freed his hand and stood. “Lie down, on your back, and keep from touching anything but the ground.”

He obeyed, his power a nimbus of white against the lush green. Behind her, Annie gasped, and Claire understood why. Zach’s wings were visible. Tucked up behind his shoulder blades, they stretched several feet above his head, wind ruffling the pristine feathers.

For the first time since being separated in the house, she faced Annie. Her friend reached one hand toward Claire’s face. “Oh, honey.”

“I’ll be fine. I appreciate your support, but you are going to have to offer it from more of a distance . . .” Her voice faltered when she saw Simon standing a few feet away. He cradled his right arm, everything about him—unreadable. Pulling her gaze away from him, she smiled up at Eric. “Thank you for taking care of them. Where are Regina and Hillary?”

“Theresa took them into town,” he said. “Regina muttered something about a hotel, and not coming back here again.”

“I hope she changes her mind. Step back now. Whoa—” She let out a surprised laugh as Annie lurched forward and smothered her in a hug. “I’ll be fine. We all will.” Leaning back, she met the warm brown eyes. Tears shimmered, slipped down Annie’s face when she blinked. Claire gathered her in. “Hush—it will be all right. I promise you.”

“This isn’t dangerous?”

“Depends on your definition.”

“Okay.” Annie pulled away and wiped her face, a fierce smile widening her mouth. “Is this going to get you dead?”

“Not if I do it right.” She stood on tiptoe, kissed Eric’s cheek. “Go on—I don’t want you all caught in any blowback.”

Her gaze met Simon’s; he had moved until he stood behind Eric. She ducked her head and faced Zach, taking the coward’s way rather than see the revulsion in those clear green eyes.

“Zach.” He looked up at her, sheet white and sweating. “Just hold on, a few minutes longer. Can you do that?” He nodded, his hands trembling against the grass. “Good.” She let out a shaky breath, knelt beside him. “Let’s get started.”

Pressing both hands against her scar, she closed her eyes. Wind swirled around her, lifting her hair, wicking away the sweat beading on her skin. Under her hands, her power beat, keeping time with her heart. Power she had not touched since she was cast out of Heaven, that she once thought she lost to the dark, consuming need of the demon.

She let out her breath.

And set it free.





SIXTEEN



Simon took a step back when Claire started to glow.

Her quiet voice carried on the wind, whispering an ancient version of Latin he hadn’t heard since his time in Vatican City. His mind translated as he listened, as he watched, mesmerized.

“Thank you Father for forgiving me, for washing and cleansing me. Thank you for loving me even when I fall short of your glory.”

The glow spread, across the grass, inching toward Zach. He gasped when it touched him. Claire lifted her arms and that glow jumped, enveloping him in a net of white-gold. His raw scream raised the hairs on the back of Simon’s neck.

He arched off the ground and his wings—his impossible wings—curled around his body, wrapping him from shoulder to ankle. Claire leaned forward, fingers brushing soaked hair off his face as she spoke to him.

“You need to let it go, Zach. That connection will tie you to them, and anything I do will be in vain.”

“I—cannot.”

“Only you can. Look at me, listen to my voice. Touch the earth; let it ground you, let it be your support. You will be part of this earth—feel it, Zach, and just let go.”

With a low, anguished moan he collapsed, his wings settling on his chest. She closed her hands around his splayed fingers, bent her head.

“I give this grace within me, give freely to thy servant, Zachariah, that he may rise up.”

The glow around her pulsed, changed. The gold deepened, stretched up over her head, out across her back. Spreading like—wings. The air around her hummed, sending the erratic wind into a graceful spiral, creating a circle of almost liquid gold that surrounded them.

Simon stumbled backward as the suggestion of wings solidified, became real. Gold-tipped white feathers splayed out, the wingspan massive. The wind caught her voice, magnified it.

“My grace becomes thine, Zachariah, servant of Heaven, son of earth.” Lifting him, she framed his face. The gold pouring off her tangled through his power. “Open your eyes, Zach.” Music sang through her voice. “Accept my grace.”