Gathering of Angels(43)
Pulling out of his grasp she headed for the door.
“Claire!”
She halted in the doorway, turned to see Simon holding Theresa, marked by her father’s blood. She owed him her life—without his interference, both she and Lea would be dead by now. Or worse.
“Rally the troops, Simon, and meet me at the museum. I’ll keep her occupied.”
“Claire.” She looked over her shoulder—and knelt to catch the shotgun he slid across the floor. “Don’t get dead.”
She smiled. “Not on the itinerary.”
This time.
THIRTEEN
The first hint of the coming dawn touched the street Claire ran down. She could make out buildings now, the shapes no longer shadow against shadow. They were fast running out of time.
If she understood the chief, Jane had until dawn to bind herself, or lose that ability for good. She didn’t seem the type to let her one chance slip away.
The museum was further than she remembered; by the time she reached the long gravel drive, pale light outlined the boxwood hedges, the tall oaks behind them. Running as fast as she could, her leg aching, she rounded the last curve.
Light poured through every window, and the cold slapped her.
As if those weren’t enough of a signal, the crystal pendant flared with heat.
“Ouch—ow, damn it—” She jerked it out from under her sweatshirt—and knew that Jane had just been alerted to her presence. “At least I know she’s here.”
Taking the necklace off, she slipped it into her coat pocket, and replaced it with her amethyst. She had no power, but having the familiar warmth against her skin helped ease the fear that threatened to lock her knees.
For the first time since coming back, she felt truly alone, facing an enemy she was not sure she could even fight, much less defeat.
“And what was I thinking—running in like the lone gunman.”
“I had the same thought.” Claire whirled, recognizing the voice—and stepped straight into the path of Heather’s fist. Pain exploded across her cheek, dropped her to the ground. “She told me you would come, that you would have no option once you knew of her plan. Always the good witch.” She hauled Claire up, the darkness and cold around her hissing, snapping. Impossibly strong hands dragged Claire across the wide gravel courtyard. “This time, good will not triumph.”
*
Dust in the Wind rolled out of Annie’s cell phone, startling her so badly she tripped over the braided rug.
She lunged for the pile of phones on the counter—phones that were supposed to be off. Eric got there first, unlocked the phone and turned on the speaker.
“It’s Simon—I’m me, so answer the damn call.”
“Simon. How did you—”
“Cop. I’m at the station, and we’re out of time. Get to the museum—I sent you a scan of the map. Claire’s on her way and she’s alone. Short version—Jane has until dawn to find a permanent, breathing home. Meet me there—if you get there first, get your ass inside and help Claire.”
He disconnected before Annie could say a word—or yell at Simon for letting Claire go at all, never mind on her own. “You heard him—damn. They took the van.”
Mindy Kay pushed off the bedroom doorway. “I’ll find us a ride.” When Eric raised his eyebrows, she laughed and headed for the door. “We’re not far from the impound lot, and I think access to the keys won’t be a problem.”
“Here.” Eric tossed her cell phone to her. “We don’t need to worry about radio silence.”
Annie waited until she closed the door to vent. “I’m not waiting for her to see if maybe she can find a car that she might be able to get the key—”
“Okay, blondie,” Eric said, laughing. “I can call her, tell her our direction. Grab everything you think we can use as a weapon—”
“Eric!” Lea ran out of the bedroom, her face shock white and streaked with tears. “Marcus isn’t breathing—”
“Go, Annie—now!” He pushed the cell phone into her hand, kissed her, hard and fast. “Claire needs you.”
He ran after Lea, left Annie standing in the middle of the living room. As much as she wanted to help, she’d be useless.
She sprinted outside, pulling up the scan of the map as she ran. The only weapon she needed against Jane was inside her. And she fully intended to use every bit of power she could scrape out of her bones to send that bitch straight to Hell.
She could keep Natasha company.
*
By the time Heather reached the ballroom, Claire had her feet under her. At the far end of the long room, assembled on a gate leg table, was an altar. A different altar. Heather dragged her down the length of the room, headed right for it. Claire couldn’t break free. The other woman was fit, strong, possessed by an angry witch—and had not spent months fighting a demon.