Gathering of Angels(42)

“Go,” she whispered, the bloody scene burned into her mind. “She’s hurting him—go!”

Annie curled around her hand, felt Eric cradle her, his hand stroking the length of her back. “Talk to me, blondie. Tell me what’s going on.” His voice was calm, but she heard, felt the panic under it.

“I don’t know—” She cleared her throat, fought to shut out the images. “I don’t know if they’re going to get to him in time.”



*



Simon took the van, as if he knew time was running out for Bertram. He kept the headlights off; combined with the unlit back road, it left them all but invisible to any patrols.

Clutching the back of the passenger seat, Theresa knelt between them, too quiet. When Claire glanced at her, she saw the tears that fell, aching and silent. She closed her hand over the white knuckled fingers. Theresa let out a low sob, but didn’t say anything. Her pain tore at Claire.

Simon parked behind the station, pulling his shotgun and a heavy, decorative iron garden stake out of his duffle. Handing the stake to Claire, he slid out of the van, taking Theresa with him.

“Stay behind me, out of arm’s reach. Nod if you understand.” Theresa stared at him, then nodded, once. He glanced over at Claire. “I go in first and hit Jane. You take care of Bertram, and keep her with you. Get him out if you can.”

“Be careful. I’ll watch your back.”

“Never doubted it. Let’s go.”

Simon moved fast, running along the length of the building. Keeping Theresa behind her, Claire followed, holding the stake at her side, more than a little afraid they were already too late.

They hit the front of the station, and Claire smelled the blood before she saw it—a long smear across the front walk and over the threshold.

“Damn it—keep her back.” Simon inched around the open door, and aimed his shotgun. A moment later he lowered it, and looked back at Claire, shaking his head.

“Dad!” Theresa darted around Claire. She managed to grab Theresa’s wrist, pull her back. “Please let me go—Dad—”

“Theresa—” One flung hand caught her cheek, snapped her head back. She smacked into the building, lost her grip on Theresa and the garden stake. “God above—”

Recovering quickly, she limped inside, and halted. Simon crouched next to the chief, held his hand as he leaned over—and she realized the man was still alive, whispering to Simon. Theresa dropped to her knees, took his other hand, tears sliding down her face.

“—spell, a bad one, Simon.”

“Hush, Bertram. You need to rest—”

“Will get an eternity of that—soon.” He coughed, blood staining his lips. Theresa let out a keening cry. “Sweet girl—shouldn’t be here. Stop her—Jane, she cast a—spell, to bind her to the next host she takes. Heard her thoughts, her plans, when she was—inside me. The spell will bind her—permanently. Need to stop her—before dawn. The spell dies with the sunrise, so she’s desperate. End her, Simon—she’s hurt enough people in my town.”

He coughed again, harsh, wracking coughs that nearly doubled him. When he relaxed, Claire finally saw the damage. She recognized the gashes that tore apart his uniform, left his chest a mess of blood. Simon carried the same ones.

“I’ll stop her, Bertram. I promise you.” Simon looked over at her, anguish darkening his green eyes. “We’ll stop her.”

Bertram let out a rattling breath, didn’t take in another.

“Dad—no, please . . .” She looked up at Simon.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. He’s gone.”

“He can’t—oh, Dad—” She pressed his hand to her cheek. “What am I going to do without you—”

Claire moved forward and knelt beside Theresa, wrapping both arms around her as she sobbed. Rocking her back and forth, she watched Simon close Bertram’s blank eyes.

“She did this to him, and just left him here.” Simon ran one hand over his sun-tipped hair, his other clenching into a fist, rage in every move. “Damn her to hell—she’ll pay for this. Whatever the cost, she’ll pay.”

Claire couldn’t agree more. Easing Theresa to the floor, she knelt beside him, framed his face.

“You are a good man, Simon.” She leaned in and kissed him.

“You could go to Hell, kissing a priest.”

“Been there, thanks.”

He closed one hand over her wrist. “You seem to have an intimate acquaintance with Hell.”

“Not far off the mark. You did the right thing, coming after her. Now it’s my turn. I won’t let Jane hurt anyone else.”