Gathering of Angels(3)

“Annie? What has happened—”

“Can you come, Marcus?” Tears thickened her whisper. She cleared her throat, felt them slide down her face. “Please—I can’t be alone.”

“I am on my way.”

The phone slipped out of her hand. She pulled her legs up, wrapped her arms around them, and rocked back and forth, praying that the words running through her head were true.

It was just a dream—just a dream—



*



Marcus found her huddled in the corner of the bedroom, ashen and shaking.

“Annie.” He scooped her up and carried her to the bed. His worry edged to fear when she didn’t fight him. “Annie—look at me. You are safe, now. Look at me, sweet.”

The endearment snapped her head up.

“Don’t sweet me.”

“There’s my girl.” He brushed sweat soaked blonde curls off her forehead, shocked by the clammy skin under his fingers. Her thin cotton nightgown clung to her, just as cold, just as wet. “Tell me.”

She did, hands clenched around each other by the time she finished. “I know it was a dream—but it felt so real. And she saw me, Marcus. Just before I woke up, she looked right at me.”

Heart pounding, he pushed down the hope that threatened to surface, gently pried apart Annie’s hands. “I know how you miss her. I do as well. She is dead, Annie; whatever you saw in the dream, you have to reconcile yourself to—”

“Like hell I do.” She jerked out of his grasp and stood, her familiar anger encouraging. It meant the shock was losing its hold. “I saw her step into that gate, but it doesn’t mean she died. And don’t throw me any bullshit about the knife. She’s a demon—it would take more than that to kill her, and you know it.”

With a sigh he pushed one hand through his sleep tangled hair. “And if she had survived, she would have returned to us by now.”

Annie stopped pacing and turned on him. “Take your damn reasonable explanations and get out of here—”

“You think I don’t want to believe?” Marcus stood, caught her arms, the hope he fought to bury choking him. “Her absence is like a hole in my heart.” Tears filmed her eyes. He swallowed, his own grief clawing through him. “I want her back, Annie, as much as you.”

With a strangled sob, she started to pull away. Marcus held on, gathered her into his arms. After a brief struggle, she sagged against him, crying in her silent, heart-wrenching way. He lowered them to the bed, whispered to her, stroked the length of her back and allowed her to release the grief he knew she buried months ago.

She eased out of his embrace, wiping at her cheeks. When she refused to meet his gaze, he understood that she was embarrassed by her outburst.

“Thanks for—just, thanks,” she said.

“Not necessary. Friends take care for each other.” He stood. “I will leave you to rest. Try and sleep—and stay home. I will manage the shop without you.”

Her whisper stopped him in the doorway.

“Please stay.” She looked at him when he turned around, panic he didn’t expect to see haunting the depths of her eyes. Rich brown eyes that usually snapped with temper, or amusement. Often at his expense. “I can’t—I don’t want to be alone, in case I—” She swallowed, staring down at her hands. “Can you—”

“Whatever you need, Annie.”

Her shoulders hitched, and Marcus moved around the bed, one hand tilting up her chin. It made her smile. “I’m not going to fall apart. But if I end up dreaming about the gates of Hell again, I don’t want to wake up alone.”

“I will make a tisane to help you sleep.” He paused at the door, watched her as she took a fresh nightgown out of the dresser. “And I will be leaving the recipe with you. No more sleeping pills.” She flinched, glancing up at him. Her guilt brushed over his skin, spread a blush across her face. “You cannot sleep naturally with them, and I believe your dependence is causing these dreams.”

Anger flared through the guilt.

“I’m not—”

“Making it up? I never thought you were, Annie. Claire was your best friend. Dreaming of her is hardly unusual. Believing those dreams is another matter.”

“I changed my mind.” Slamming the drawer, she stalked over to him and shoved at his chest. “Get out.”

“Too late. I have been invited, and I plan to hold you to it.”

“What are you, a vampire?”

He touched her wrist. “I am your friend.”

That deflated her.

“Go—make your tisane. Hey, it better not have chamomile,” she called after him.