Carry On Wayward Son(43)

“Why am I being blessed?”

“Because—”

“We nearly lost you,” Simon said, talking over Claire. He glanced at her. “It is something I like to do, when the lost are found again, and safe.” Zach nodded, lowered his head. Simon laid his left hand over the back of the boy’s neck, his fingers dark and weathered against the pale, smooth skin. “We thank you, Lord, for allowing Zachariah to find his way home, and will give thanks, every day, for his health and his life.” Leaning in, he sketched the sign of the cross as he spoke. “I bless you, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

Kissing Zach’s forehead, he stepped back. And without another word to Claire he walked out of her life.

She closed her eyes, then took a deep breath and met Zach’s waiting gaze. “Ready to go home?”





SEVENTEEN



Life post-Zach became—interesting.

Claire never thought she could be nurturing, open herself enough to have another person—never mind a child—a constant part of her life.

But she was—different, since she helped him fall. She had given him all that she was, her grace, her link to Heaven. In the aftermath she discovered two things—she no longer had the power to do even the simplest spell, and she couldn’t see ghosts. Did not even have a sense of them. If not for Annie, she would have closed her shop, feeling like a fraud.

As far as she could tell, she was completely human.

Zach, however, was not.

He soaked up information like a computer, remembered all of it with lightning recall, and noticed everything. And there was his physical—quirk.

In the few weeks since she brought him home, he looked older. Years older. And he had grown several inches.

Now, as Claire watched him run past the front window of the shop, headed down to Lily’s place for a takeaway lunch, he looked sixteen. She just blessed the day she decided to homeschool him. By the time he was fit enough to be seen in public, his growth spurt had nearly run its course. And he knew, somehow, without her telling him, that his differences were not to be mentioned. To anyone.

Annie came out of the back, barely limping now. Her burn took a disturbing amount of time to heal, and Claire knew it still gave her fits with the cooler weather.

“Zach went for lunch?”

“Like a shot, the second I mentioned roast beef.”

Laughing, Annie leaned against the counter. “I can get on board with his enthusiasm. I swear Lily puts some kind of happy drug in her food. So,” she studied Claire, warm brown eyes sober. “How is his mom doing?”

“Adjusting. I never imagined my life like this. Now I can’t imagine my life without him. Is that crazy?”

“Not according to every new mother I’ve talked to. You love him, Claire. Nothing crazy about that. And unlike his former self, he is one loveable kid. Has he asked about the scars?”

“Several times.”

“And?”

“I told him they were a result of the accident.” Her cover story for his inability to remember anything before he woke up, in the yard next to a big Victorian, on a windy October night. “And the tattoo—he’s seen mine, so he accepts that I would have let him get his own.” She touched the triquetra on her wrist; she had taken off the leather band the morning after bringing Zach home. The scar seemed less oppressive, and she could catch sight of it now without memories gouging at her. “But he keeps asking about the scars. In a slightly different way each time. Like he hopes to catch me off guard.”

Annie whistled. “Smart.” The bell over the door rang, and she straightened. “I’ll take care of them. You go relax, have a nice long lunch with your son.” She smiled. “I can’t get over how much I enjoy saying that.” Turning to the door, she halted, cursing under her breath.

Claire looked over at the door, and covered her smile with one hand. Mildred tottered in, clutching a tarot deck. Moving around the counter, she touched Annie’s arm. “I can take care—”

“Nope. You have Zach and lunch. I’ll fall on my sword.” Pasting on a smile, she cut Mildred off. “Did we have an appointment today? I must have missed writing it down.”

“I wanted Claire to—”

“I’m afraid she has another appointment—oh, and there he is now.”

Zach burst through the door—and skidded, blue eyes widening when he spotted Mildred. Claire took pity on him; his ears were probably still blistered from his last run in with her. The older woman didn’t appreciate his youthful exuberance, and let him know. At the top of her lungs. Claire had heard her halfway down the block, and run, knowing instinctively Zach had something to do with it.