Gathering of Angels(31)
“Your command, milady.”
She smiled, leaning in to brush hair off his cheek. The smile faded when she touched him. “Your fever is worse. Please, Marcus—tell me there’s something we can do for you.”
“The blessing—” He swallowed, his voice fading. “It is all I know.”
“Then you hang on, damn it, so we can do it.”
“Will do my best.” Closing his eyes, he clutched the sheets as poison wormed its way deeper, drove him closer to madness.
*
Claire followed Simon along the wall of the dark alley, pushed down the desire to just sit for a while. Climbing up the rock-strewn slope sapped her remaining strength, left her exhausted and aching.
Marcus needed this, and she would walk back to Hell personally before she let him down.
The quaint, boardwalk-lined main street was deserted, quiet. Too quiet. Simon stopped at the side of the building, a small bookstore, peered around the corner. “Why do I feel like we’re walking into a trap?”
Claire touched his wrist. “Forewarned, and all that.”
“Right.” He looked down at her. “The shop we’re after is three doors down, this side of the street. We get separated, meet me here.”
Gun held at his side, he slipped around the corner, kept to the shadows cast by the overhangs and deep porch fronts. Claire followed after him. Nothing moved, except fall leaves blowing down the street, pushed by the rising wind.
Simon halted, checked the vicinity again. Standing next to him, Claire felt the tension in his clenched muscles. Nodding, he covered her as she unlocked the door with the key Lea gave her and pushed the door open. Simon backed in behind her, then shut the door, bolting it from the inside.
“Here.” He pulled a flashlight off his utility belt. “I’ll wait for you here. And hurry, Claire. We’re fast running out of what little luck we’ve been blessed with.”
Clicking on the light, she oriented herself, and headed for where Lea said the crystals were kept. She found the hematite, and took the basket off the shelf. Below it was a display of amethyst; she picked one of the pendants on a chain and slipped it over her head. She would ask Annie for a loan once they returned. The amethyst warmed against her skin, made her feel more centered. But it didn’t raise her power. Not even a spark.
Turning off the flashlight so it would not bounce off the front window, she moved through the shop—and halted when she saw movement just outside.
Simon backed away from the door, his free hand reaching for her. Claire touched his fingers; he gripped them, pulled her in behind him, and kept moving toward the back of the shop.
“When I say run,” he whispered. “You run. No argument.”
She opened her mouth to do just that when the front window exploded.
Simon threw her at the wall, covered her with his body. She heard him gasp when he swung around, keeping himself between her and the front of the shop.
The chief stepped over the low window ledge, the darkness snapping around him like angry snakes. Bitter cold slammed into her.
“Simon.” He put both hands on his hips, the gesture feminine and petulant. “I am so disappointed. But I will get over it.”
He flung one hand up. Simon let out a pained gasp and dropped to his knees. The gun fell to the floor as he clutched his throat, choking. Claire knelt beside him, jerked her hand back when she saw the tendrils wrapped around his throat.
“Stop it!” She lurched to her feet. “Let him go, and I will leave with you.”
The chief turned his head. “You are intriguing—an enigma I can’t quite work out. You might make a suitable vessel. A bit short for my taste, but I would so enjoy being as beautiful outside as I know I am. As I was meant to be.”
His hand dropped, and so did Simon, coughing as he took in a real breath.
“Thank you,” Claire said. She stepped back until she could touch his shoulder. “I will go with you—when you let him leave. Unharmed.”
“He betrayed me!”
“He did his job. He protected those he thought were innocent. Let him go, and you have me. I will not fight you, unless you hurt him. Do that, and I will kill you, whatever it takes.”
The darkness around the chief flared, the cold icing her skin. “Are you threatening me?”
“Absolutely.”
With a scream the chief lunged forward—and collapsed like a broken doll. The darkness coiled up from him, and took form, substance, until a tall, rail thin woman stood before Claire, hands on her hips. One look at her, and Claire understood her comment, understood the cruel nickname. Jane was unfortunately blessed with a long neck, and a prominent, narrow nose that overshadowed her thin lips. Waist length white blonde hair floated around her. Along with the black, close fitting shirt and the skirt that brushed her pointed boots, her entire look accentuated the lack of curves.