Rest For The Wicked(17)

*



Eight o’clock finally showed itself. Claire had never been so happy to close the shop. She was just about to flip the lock when someone knocked on the window.

A man stood there, the evening breeze ruffling his dark blonde hair, looking apologetic and hopeful. With a smile, Claire opened the door and waved him in. She clutched the latch as a shock of pain jolted her when he walked past. It faded, left her shaken. Closing the door, she managed a smile as she turned around.

“You caught me just in time,” she said. “I was just about to lock up.”

“Sorry for the last minute sale. But I saw a necklace in here the other day, and I know my sister will love it.”

Anger snapped at her through the pleasant words. Another jolt of pain followed behind it—and she realized the source was him. She covered her reaction, led him over to the jewelry counter, put it between them.

“Let me guess—you’re in town for the festival, and leaving tomorrow?”

“Something like that.” He bent over, pointed. “That’s it. Can you wrap it for me?”

“A lovely choice.” Claire unlocked the case, took out the rope of lapis and silver. “Any particular color?”

“What?”

She looked up, caught him staring at her, that same anger in his eyes. Though she was ready for the pain this time, it still made her stomach clutch.

“Is there a color she favors—for the wrap.” Her voice sounded breathless. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Oh—blue will be okay.”

“Right.” Claire stepped behind the counter. “I will just be a minute with this.”

“Take your time.”

She moved as quickly as she could without being conspicuous, her hands shaking. He kept shifting, his anger at odds with the pleasant manner, and she could not get a clear vision of it. The pain leached at her power, left her feeling oddly defenseless—

Then, like a switch turning on, she saw it.

He was spelled.

The darkness of it surrounded him, pulsing, feeding on his anger. He wasn’t the source—simply the unfortunate messenger.

Claire reached in past her pain, hoping she could stop him with her depleted power. Stop him without hurting him—

His head snapped around—and he rushed her, long legs propelling him over the counter and into her.

They slammed against the wall. Claire let out a sharp cry and punched one fist up. It glanced off his jaw. Pain exploded in her hand. He grabbed her around the waist, lifted her off her feet and tossed her at the front window. If the glass had not been so thick she would have gone straight through it.

Instead it cracked on impact and she slid to the floor, her right shoulder on fire. He stood over her, trapping her against the wall.

“She’s dead because of you.” Rage poured off him, but his voice sounded detached, as if someone were saying the words for him. Heaven help her—it was a control spell. And a powerful one. “Now it’s your turn to die.”

Light flashed off the edge of a knife. Claire smelled the iron in it—and understood why she didn’t see the spell right away. If that blade touched her— He slashed at her arm. She gathered everything she had and flung a barrier up. The knife bounced off it and he let out a furious scream.

Pain ate at her, weakened the barrier. She scrambled to her feet and ran through the shop. He tackled her when she reached the back room. They slid across the wood floor, crashing into the back door.

Claire recovered first. Pushing him off her, she crawled toward the umbrella stand. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she realized she had no choice. Using her left hand she pulled out the bat she kept tucked in among the umbrellas—and swung it up when she felt him behind her.

The bat caught his hand and the knife flew, landing out of his reach. Snarling, he yanked the bat out of her grip.

“This works just fine.”

The bat came at her before she could stop it and cracked against her right thigh. Claire screamed, her bone breaking under the vicious blow. He muffled her scream with one hand, then hauled her up and cradled her against his chest.

“Hush. We’ll finish this somewhere more private. I’m not supposed to kill you.” His eyes cleared for a moment—but not long enough. His grip tightened on her, and he lifted her off her feet, opening the back door. “I already know where home is.” He walked quickly, his gaze skating around him every few steps.

She closed her eyes, swallowed a scream as her broken leg shifted. There had to be a way to get through the spell, to the man trapped inside it. She would have to find that way, find the strength to get through, or she was going to die, slowly, and in agonizing pain.