Carry On Wayward Son(42)

She felt it first, a blast of pure energy. Searching the sky, she braced herself. He managed the most difficult part—leaving Heaven. Now he had to survive the final descent. And there was nothing she could do to help him.

In the darkening sky, she saw him. A pulse of light, streaking like a meteor across the first stars. He came fast, straight for the ground in front of her, and he wasn’t slowing down.

She ran, gauging his landing spot—and let out a gasp when Simon stepped in front of her. He’d pulled his right arm out of the makeshift sling, and held them both up. The blinding light slowed just before it fell into his waiting arms.

He stumbled backward, his breath exploding out of him. By the time Claire reached him, he knelt on the grass, cradling what looked like a bundle of light. The glow faded. Simon sucked in a breath, turned to Claire.

A boy lay in his arms, long, thin arms wrapped around his drawn up legs. His skin was as pale as snow, his hair a rich golden brown that fell to his shoulders.

He wasn’t breathing.

“Damn it—” Simon lowered him to the ground, felt for a pulse. “He’s ice cold.”

Claire ran for the blanket, spread it under the delicate body when Simon lifted him. He lowered the boy, leaned over him, and started chest compressions.

“Simon.” He didn’t stop, but he nodded to let her know he heard her. “Is he wearing my amethyst?”

“Silver—chain.”

She moved to Zach’s side, keeping clear of Simon, gently slipped her fingers under the chain pressed into his throat. The amethyst hung just behind his right shoulder blade, pulsing with light. Claire slid it up, looked over at Simon.

“Let him go.”

“No.”

“Simon—let him go.”

The tone of her voice had him sitting back on his heels, gasping. Sweat slicked his face, his right arm limp at his side.

“Why.”

“He needs to find his heart.” Claire rested the amethyst on his chest, lifted his left hand and laid it over the glowing point. “Please,” she whispered, and closed her hand over his.

Light burst through their fingers. The heat coming off the amethyst burned her even through Zach’s hand. Ignoring it, she pressed her forehead against his, her hair curtaining them.

“Take it, Zach. Please, sweetheart—it’s yours, now take it!”

The wind stilled, the power contained in that slim crystal freezing them in the moment. Claire lifted her head, felt the fingers trapped in her grip move. With a raw gasp he opened his eyes.

“Breathe, Zach. You have to take the first breath on your own—I can’t help you. Breathe!”

He stared into her eyes, the clear blue depths filled with trust. Nodding once, he clenched his fingers over the crystal, fisted his other hand in the grass—and sucked in a harsh, solid breath.

Claire wanted to collapse with relief. Instead, she let go of his hand, helped him sit. Each breath felt easier under her hands, and color spread over his skin. Though she could tell already he would always be pale.

“How do you feel?”

He studied her. “Tired,” he whispered, his voice low, soft. “Cold.”

“Here.” She pulled the blanket up, paused when she saw the two long, narrow scars between his shoulder blades. Where his wings had once been. Her gaze slid down to his right wrist. The guardian mark stood out against the thin skin of his inner wrist, the wings and flaming sword now a vivid, fine line blue tattoo. Pulling her gaze away she wrapped the blanket around him. He didn’t seem embarrassed by his lack of clothing. “Better?”

“You called me Zach. Is that my name?”

“Zachariah. You don’t remember?”

Shaking his head, he closed one hand over the amethyst. Something jumped inside of Claire as she recognized the action. “I don’t remember anything. How did I get here?”

“That is a long story. And not for telling on a cold, windy night. We need to get you inside, get some nice hot soup—”

“Are you my mother?”

Claire stilled. Taking in an unsteady breath, she touched his cheek.

“Yes, sweetheart. I am your mother.” She felt Simon’s gaze on her, and ignored it. Wrapping the blanket tight around Zach, she helped him stand. Even at what she figured was about the age of twelve, he stood taller than her. “And I am going to get you home, as soon as Father Simon gives you a blessing.”

One arm around his waist, she turned him to Simon.

“Hi, Zach. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Simon.” He held out his hand. Zach took it, studying him with eyes that would never look young. “This won’t take long, then you can go and get yourself warm.”