Gathering of Angels(38)

Braced for attack, her anxiety built every time they didn’t run into anyone. There had been at least twenty people roaming around the building. Where the hell did they go?

The answer waited for them in the heart of the house.

It must have been a ballroom at one time—the long rectangular space, and the smooth wood floor that was made for dancing reminded her of another time, another place. Another life.

In the center of that open space, Jane stood, the outline of her body wavering, surrounded by kneeling supplicants. The darkness crawled along the floor, up the walls. Its icy power squeezed the breath out of Claire. Simon grabbed her as she swayed.

Taking in a shallow breath, she nodded, and closed one hand over her amethyst. Just having it on her helped ease the grip of Jane’s presence.

Jane raised her hands, and Theresa jerked against Claire when she started to speak.

“My angels—you have been my greatest support, my eyes and ears where I cannot go. But there are those who have evaded me, who would see me harmed. I want them found—I want them burned! Will you do this for me?”

Nausea burned up Claire’s throat at the sight of innocent people groveling, completely trapped by her. An ugly sound came from Simon, just before he pulled her and Theresa to their feet and all but dragged them back down the hall.

“Simon—we can’t let her—”

The anguish in his eyes cut her off. “Find the damn altar. Stop her.”

“I can show you,” Theresa whispered. Shaking in Simon’s grip, her face shock white, she met Claire’s eyes, and nodded. “I don’t want to, but I remember how to get there. I remember all of it.”

Pulling Simon forward, she led them deeper into the museum. Claire smelled myrrh and patchouli before they reached the doorway. “Stay here, both of you.”

“Damn it—”

She turned on Simon. “I will not allow you to be yanked into some backwash of a spell because I didn’t check first. Now stay put.”

Before he could object she limped through the doorway, halting just past the threshold. Her skin tingled, the amethyst pulsing against her skin, and she understood why the altar scared Theresa so badly. Hate stained even the air around it.

Gripping the amethyst through her sweatshirt, she moved slowly, certain she would run straight into some kind of protective circle. That she didn’t told her more than a little about Jane’s arrogance.

And the altar told her volumes about the path Jane chose to walk.

She refused to touch a single item. The evil surrounding the altar surpassed anything she had ever faced. Nothing tempered it, or balanced the ugly taint of the dark magic used to create it. Even without her power she could sense that evil. Claire never used binding spells, and with good reason—they spoke to the demon she had kept buried, so deeply she almost forgot her own past.

With an unsteady breath, she studied each component, horrified as she understood what Jane had done. To tie herself here, she corrupted her own power. Claire backed away from the altar—and spotted the crystal point she had seen Jane wearing.

Smoke roiled inside, as if fighting to free itself. Just the thought of touching it made her break out in a sweat, and she knew the moment she did Jane would be on top of them. But this was the source—she could feel it. Somehow, Jane locked the twisted spell inside the crystal.

She turned around, found Simon just inside the doorway, staring at the altar, the revulsion she felt on his face. Swallowing, he moved forward, took her hand.

“Destroying the altar won’t stop her,” he said. “Damn it—this is just window dressing.”

“The pendant.” Claire waited until he saw it. His grip on her hand tightened. “It will stop her, I think. If we can find a way to get it out of here.” She glanced past him. “Where is Theresa?”

“I let her go.”

Claire’s heart tripped. “Simon—”

“She was rabbit scared, Claire. And no use to us in that condition. Besides, the second you touch that, she’s going to be the bottom problem on Jane’s list.”

“I’m afraid I agree. You didn’t send her out on her own?”

He looked insulted. “I told her to go back to the cabin. Whether she does or not will be her choice.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Easing her hand out of his, she scrubbed at her face, exhaustion blurring her mind. “I don’t know how long we’ll have until Jane shows once I touch this, so be ready.”

He put himself between her and the door. She flinched when he pulled an iron fireplace poker out of his duffle.

Bracing herself, Claire closed her fingers around the pendant.