Gathering of Angels(30)
“Simon.” Claire touched his arm. “I am so sorry.”
He cleared his throat, his voice raw when he continued. “I couldn’t stop her. I couldn’t protect the people who looked to me for guidance. Not as a priest.”
“But as a cop, you could.”
He swallowed. “Yeah.”
“You told me you haven’t broken your vows.” Panic scratched at her—he was Marcus’ only chance— “What about the commandments?”
“Thou shalt not kill. I haven’t, Claire. But I will, if that’s what it takes to stop her.” He turned his head, and in the cloud chased moonlight she saw the tears on his face. “Five people died at her hands. Good people—whose only crime was knowing her when she was alive.”
She looked at him, surprised. “You knew Jane?”
He let out a hollow laugh. “Everyone in twenty miles of her knew Jane. Not to speak ill of the undead, but she was rude, obnoxious, and thought she was superior to every other witch in the county.”
“Why did she hit your town first? If the person she blames for her death is here—”
“Energy. Ghosts are like vampires—they need the energy of the living to survive. Jane used my town, my people, as a pit stop, to fill herself up before she came here. Once I realized who she was, I got here ahead of her, talked my way into the deputy job. It wasn’t difficult—the chief was friends with my old CO. I had enough time to start laying a trap before she showed.”
“What happened?”
“Because she’s free, you figured the trap didn’t work. I never had the chance to try. She walked into the station a week ago, wearing Bertram. Shooting her full of iron pellets wasn’t going to be an option, not with her possessing—”
His voice cut off as he grabbed her right hand and yanked her into the small grove of trees. Claire heard the crunch of footsteps from the road, and looking up, saw the glint of metal as the beam from a flashlight danced over their shotguns. There were two, both men, talking in that over formal monotone she remembered from Heather. She didn’t need to see them to know that darkness would coil around them, tying them to Jane.
Simon stayed between her and the men, until their voices faded into the distance. Keeping a tight grip on her hand, he pulled her forward, stepping up their pace.
“I know a shortcut that’ll take us out of their path, but it’s rough. You up for it?”
Her leg twitched, already complaining at her attempts to keep up with him to this point. She ignored it, her fingers digging into Simon’s calloused hand.
“Lead on, Macduff.”
His chuckle washed over her as he led her deeper into the trees.
*
Pain stalked Marcus. It clawed at his arm, a violent, invisible predator he could not evade, even in sleep.
Gentle hands calmed him as he thrashed, the voice gentle, soothing when his soul felt raw. Finally, the pain retreated, sated for the moment, and let him fall. Darkness spiraled around him like a sandstorm, hot, heavy, dragging him into the past.
Grief squeezed his heart when he saw her. Karana. His love, his life, his guilt. She smiled, holding one hand out to him—as she did every time, welcoming him without question, without reservation. That trust cost her life.
I know you forgave me, love, though I will never forgive myself.
He was supposed to die in the cave he condemned himself to, die in cold and darkness, severed from the very elements that sustained him. Instead he woke to find himself in a new world, alone, with every memory intact.
Leaving behind the visual reminders of his former life, he wandered, never able to stay in one place for long, not willing to open himself to anyone. Until Claire.
With a moan, he tore himself away from just the thought of her—and pain exploded in his arm.
“—safe, Marcus. Can you hear me? Just relax, that’s right.” Swallowing, he ordered his eyes to open. After an endless moment they obeyed, and he met Lea’s hazel eyes. Her concern touched him, soothed him. “There you are. I want you to drink a little water for me.”
One hand slipped behind his head, raised him enough for his lips to meet the edge of the glass. Water cooled his raw throat, and when she lowered him back to the bed, a damp cloth cooled his forehead.
“Claire—” he whispered.
“Gone to get what we need to help you—no,” she held him down when he struggled to sit. It was not much of a battle. “You need to rest.”
“It will do no good.”
“Can’t hurt.” He looked at her, his gaze moving to her hands. “Yes, my fingers still ache, but you helped by taking care of the breaks. I’m going to repay that care by making sure you stay alive, so don’t fight me.”