She headed to the back room, relieved that someone had removed the knife Eric left behind. Her power was already shaky. She dug out her personal bottles—the potions she created for herself and kept replenished, hoping she would never have to use them. That old habit gave her a ready supply now.
Marcus waited for her by the front counter.
“You are leaving.”
“I told you I would.” She stashed the bottles in a padded picnic case, zipped it up, and tucked it in her bag. “I should have done this years ago. She’s always been off, but she never killed anyone.” The temper leached out, left behind what she had been avoiding: her own guilt. “Heaven above, Marcus—she killed someone this time.”
“Claire.” He moved around the counter. “You are not to blame for this.”
“I can tell myself that from now until, oh, forever. It won’t make me feel any better. I’m going, so save your breath.”
“If she is powerful enough to control a man with Eric’s moral strength, you are no match for her in your present condition.”
Claire braced her hands on the counter and looked up at him.
“Which would be—what?”
“A woman who nearly lost her life to a dark spell.”
She let out a sigh, started packing again.
“I have other means, especially when it comes to Natasha. I’ve dealt with her enough to know her weak spots. I can’t wait, Marcus—I will not have another life on my soul.”
Marcus laid one hand over hers.
“This life is not yours to claim. Please take a moment, Claire, think on this. There has been no retaliation—”
“Yet.” She extricated her hand, shoved the last batch of crystals in her bag, and grabbed the double handle. “I’m not going to take the chance that she—”
The phone rang, startling her. She let go of the bag and picked it up off the base, using her open hours greeting, since technically it was open hours.
“Thank you for calling The Wiche’s Broom, how can I help you?”
“Hello, cousin.” A chill swept through her. She gripped the phone, her hand shaking. “You should be here. It seems Eric has failed me. So I found another plaything—just to pass the time until you get here. I’ll let her say hello.”
An agonizing scream pierced her. Claire sagged against the wall, her heart pounding.
“No,” she whispered. “Please, God—no—”
“Claire—” Marcus caught her elbow when she started to buckle.
“Come to me, cousin, and she will live. Disappoint me, and—you know how my temper gets the best of me.”
“Please, let her go, Natasha.”
“You have until morning. Say goodbye to my cousin, sweet girl.”
Another scream pierced her. It cut off abruptly, leaving Claire holding a dead phone.
Marcus grabbed her shoulders.
“You are white—what did she say to you?”
“I have to go.” She grabbed the bag off the counter, startled by the weight. Hiking it over her shoulder, she headed for the back door. Marcus beat her there. “Get out of my way.”
“Tell me what she said and I—”
Claire stepped back and did what she promised herself not to do to another person again.
She used her power to harm.
Flicking her hand, she threw Marcus across the shop. He crashed into the short wall next to the front door and collapsed, bloody, unconscious. Claire leaned against the door, lightheaded. After a few not quite steady breaths, she pushed herself up, buried her guilt for later, opened the back door and headed for her car.
*
Annie spotted Eric walking on Beach Street, head down, not paying attention to the people who jumped out of his path.
She caught up to him, matching his pace until he finally looked at her.
“Hey, handsome—going my way?” He gave her a smile. A little one, but it was a start. “I’m off to meet Claire, coax her into having dinner. Want to—” He flinched at the mention of Claire’s name, all the color draining out of his face. Annie herded him to the side wall of the art gallery. “Hey, it’s okay, Eric. She doesn’t blame you for what happened.”
“I can’t stop blaming myself.” Wind whipped off the ocean behind them, tossing sweat matted, sun streaked hair against his forehead. Annie reached out to brush it back. He lurched backward, hitting up against the wall. She just kept moving until she made contact. Eric closed his eyes when she touched him, swallowed convulsively. “Don’t.”
“Come with me, Eric. There’s nothing worse than the anticipation of rejection. And trust me, you won’t be getting any of that from her.” She took his hand. “Come on.”