Carry On Wayward Son(7)

“Just relax, now. Take your time—you’re safe here.”

Dark brown eyes stared at her, nearly black in her shock pale face. Swallowing, she clutched Claire’s hand, her voice so low Claire had to lean in to hear it.

“I don’t know if you remember me—my name is Regina, my daughter and I come into your shop every year, during the Summer Solstice . . .”

“The festival. Yes, I remember.”

Some of the panic eased from her face. “My daughter, Hillary, loves it here so much—I’m recently divorced, and we decided to make a new start. I bought the big Victorian on the hill—”

“The devil house?” Annie shrugged when they both looked up at her. “Sorry—just popped out. We all thought it was haunted when we were kids. The man who lived there—Mr. McCarran—completely creeped me out.”

Claire raised her eyebrows, decided to save the tongue lashing for later. “Are you quite finished?”

“I just thought you might—yeah.” Hunching inside the cloak, she crossed her arms.

Claire almost smiled—until she turned back and met Regina’s eyes. “Children’s tales, Regina, nothing more—”

“I think she may be right.” Her grip on Claire’s hand became a vise, the rings Claire wore digging into her skin. Ignoring the flare of pain—she had felt worse, not so long ago—Claire sandwiched her hand. “Oh, God—what if she’s right?”

“Take a breath, Regina. That’s it.” Claire couldn’t use her power to soothe anymore, so she used her voice, her tone gentle, soothing as she talked Regina down from a panic attack. “Slow breaths, just focus on each one.” The death grip on her hand eased. “Now, tell me what brought you here.”

“I heard,” embarrassment flashed over the fear, “that you can see ghosts, sense them.”

Claire didn’t know how, but what happened up in Huntsville leaked out, and she instantly became the resident ghost expert, along with Simon. To say his church board was not happy would have been a gross understatement. But his congregation already adored him, and to a person, stood in his defense.

“I can. What is—”

“It’s my daughter, Hillary.” Tears slid down Regina’s face. Claire tightened her grip. “I think—oh, God—I think she might be haunted.”

Claire took a deep breath. This wasn’t the first time, since word got out, that someone came to her swearing their house, husband, son, dog was haunted. This was the first time she believed. “Where is Hillary?”

“Out in the car.” Tears slipped down Regina’s face. “I had to drag her out. Whatever is in there—in my house—it wouldn’t let go—”

Claire pulled Regina into her arms when the woman started sobbing, looked up at Annie.

“I’ll lock the front door,” Annie said. “Pull my car around.”

“Thank you. Regina,” she leaned back, gently brushed the woman’s shoulder length black hair off her damp cheek, waited until the dark, drenched eyes met hers. “We are going to help you, any way we can. I want you to go with Annie, and wait for me outside your house. Outside—don’t go in, or even leave the car. Do you understand?”

“You believe me,” Regina whispered.

“Absolutely.”

“Thank God.” She hugged Claire, so tightly her still healing body ached. “Thank you, thank you—”

“We’d better go.” Claire let out a breath when Regina freed her, used the arm of the chair to help her stand. Kneeling for too long left her right leg stiff. The other woman noticed, offered her arm. “Thanks—I’ll be fine once I start moving. Here comes Annie.” Claire led her to the back door. “Remember—wait for me, no matter what you hear or see. I will be right behind you.”

Annie popped out of her car, gesturing to the back seat. A young girl huddled next to the window, pale and drawn, with the same straight black hair as her mother, falling in a dark waterfall to her waist. She looked nothing like the lively girl who danced with Annie in her shop during the solstice. Regina let out a low cry and rushed forward, climbing into the back seat.

Blonde curls blowing around her face in the rising wind, Annie strode to Claire, pulling her jacket closed against it. “You think this is the real deal.”

“Can you look at the girl and not think so?”

“She just cries, Claire. Silent, those tears slipping down her face. It rips me.” She wiped her eyes, impatient. “You heading over to Simon’s?”

“For supplies, yes. I know—iron and salt don’t hurt me anymore. Old habit. I can’t seem to keep them where I live. He stores a duffle for me at the rectory.” She laid one hand on Annie’s arm. “Take them over, and stay in the car. I’ve already told Regina to stay put once you get there. I want you to do the same—I don’t care what show it puts on. Wait for me.”