Gathering of Angels(12)
“You tell yourself that, while he tortures an innocent because of his twisted belief.”
Heather slunk out of the cell, locking it. The sound echoed, like a death knell. Once she left, Claire curled around her throbbing wrist, still half-frozen from prolonged contact with the chief’s body. She would survive this—she had to survive it, so she could warn Annie. So she could go home—
“Can I help?”
The quiet voice jerked Claire upright. She saw the slight figure, sitting on the cot in the next cell—and realized that she had been forced to witness everything.
“Can you tell me what’s going on here?”
The girl stood, not much taller than Claire’s barely five foot two. As she got closer, Claire saw the bruises on her face, on the arm that reached through the bars.
“Let me rebind that wrist.” Claire scooted closer, watched her expertly tie off the bandage so it would actually stay in place if she did more than breathe. Nothing surrounded the girl—no darkness, no bone-cracking cold. “You’re going to need stitches—he cut just deep enough to make your wrist an ugly mess, but the bandage will hold it for now. I’m Lea.”
“Claire.” She studied the twisted fingers Lea held close, the bruising from the hand that broke them. “Did the chief do this to you?”
“You do know it’s not really the chief?” Claire nodded, and saw the relief in Lea’s hazel eyes. “Bertram is a good man. It hurts to see him like that. I’m so afraid he knows what’s going on, that he’s helpless to stop it.”
“Your fear is well-placed. I’m guessing that a ghost is possessing him.” Lea looked at her, obviously surprised. “The cold was a giveaway, though I’ve never felt such bitter, numbing cold from one. And I’ve never been able to see them before.”
“You—this isn’t your first ghost?”
She flashed a smile. “I have bumped into my share, over the years. It’s a woman, a witch, from what I could understand of her one-sided conversation.”
“I recognized her aura.” Lea blushed when Claire looked at her. “I can see them, yes. But only if the person has power, like you—but yours is weak, like you lost what you had—”
Claire flinched, held up her hand when Lea started to apologize. “You’re right. I did lose it, fighting someone who tried to hurt my friends.”
“I’m so sorry. But you didn’t let me finish.” Lea touched her wrist. “Your power is weak, because it’s hidden, behind some kind of barrier. I’ve never felt anything like it before.” Claire closed her eyes. Azazel. Protecting her from herself, no doubt. “Claire?”
She met Lea’s anxious gaze. “I’m all right.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I can’t touch it.” Tears stung her eyes. Lowering her head, she let Lea’s words sink in. “I thought it was gone.”
“Claire.” The concern in Lea’s voice brought her head up. “If that wall is permanent—you may never reach it again.”
“A small price, for what I gained. Please, go on.”
“Right.” Tucking pale brown hair behind one ear, she leaned against the bars. “Her name was Jane, and she grew up here. We called her Crane Jane—not nice, I know, but with her long nose, and those flat, cold grey eyes that studied you like you were dinner, the nickname stuck. When she turned twenty-one she went back east, claiming she belonged in Salem, that she was destined to right the wrong done there. Despite what she wants you to think, her death was pedestrian. She was hit by a car when she was jaywalking, after dark. Wearing all black, of course. It was her—thing. Because she grew up here, the local paper ran the story.”
“How long ago?”
“Three, four years. The chief called a town meeting two days ago—just after the grand opening of our annual harvest festival. It’s held at a farm more than a hundred miles from here, lasts a good week, and every witch in town is part of it. They all stay on for the duration, since most of them have vendor booths at the festival. I expect that’s the exact reason he chose the day he did for the meeting. A room full of witches would have been a real deterrent.”
Dread scraped along Claire’s spine. “You were the only witch there?”
Lea nodded. “I used to go to the festival with my mom, and I couldn’t . . .” She hugged herself and turned her head away. But not before Claire saw tears glinting in the hazel eyes. After a long moment, she cleared her throat, wiping at her eyes as she looked back at Claire. “It’s only been a few months since I lost her.”