“Claire,” he whispered.
“Not here.”
“Gods help her.” He looked at Annie. “She went to Natasha.”
TEN
Claire eased herself out of the car, stiff from hours of driving. Her newly healed leg ached, her body feeling battered from the violence of the last day.
She had already pulled all the tools she thought she would need at her last stop, shored up her power as much as possible with the resources at hand. Though she was not at her best, she could still match Natasha blow for blow.
Her hope was to free the woman Natasha held, then do everything short of actually killing Natasha to subdue her, once and for good. This confrontation had been a long time in coming, and Claire had to admit that she was the one who put it off.
She had been wrong to do so, and now an innocent suffered because of it.
Taking in a deep breath, she used the spotlights that blazed from the roof of the warehouse to check the address on her phone one last time. It had been sent by Natasha, an hour into Claire’s twice-the-speed-limit dash up to the outskirts of San Francisco. The number over the rusted door was the same.
Claire avoided looking at the water she could hear lapping at the shore just yards away. Annie always kidded her about living so near the beach, when she hated the water. Claire never told her it wasn’t the water she hated, just the memories connected to it.
Tucking the phone in the pocket of her loose cotton pants, cursing the chill of the wind, she reached for the door knob.
“Welcome, cousin.”
The silky voice stilled her.
Claire wanted to spin, throw a spell, any spell. Instead she turned, slowly, hands in sight. Natasha leaned against the side of Claire’s hatchback, tall, sleek, stunningly beautiful in a long, clinging green dress. Claire shoved down her fear for the woman her cousin held. If Natasha got even a whiff of that fear, she would take it out on her captive. Claire knew her cousin’s M.O. all too well—or thought she did. Murder had never been part of her playbook. Until now.
“Where is she, Natasha?”
“What, no hello? Your manners have deteriorated in that provincial village you insist on calling home. I would be insulted, if I did not already expect it from you.”
Claire frowned. Natasha wasn’t normally so formal. Something about her pretty speech was off—and that put Claire on alert.
“Let her go, and we can get to it.”
“It.” Natasha smiled, pushed off the car. “A small word for years of—what shall we call it? A difference of opinion? Violently opposite views of magic? What would you call it, cousin?”
“Mutual dislike. Where is she?”
Natasha flicked her right hand. Heat swept past Claire—and she jerked away as it scorched her skin under the sleeve of her jacket. Natasha’s power felt—different. Stronger. Claire didn’t have time to worry about it as the door behind her flew open.
She ran inside, searching the dim interior. Bare ceiling bulbs flickered over half-rotted wood boxes, two rows of steel columns—and a hunched figure in a dirt streaked white dress tied to the one closest to the door. Claire let out a breath when she saw the woman move.
Crouching in front of her, Claire spoke in a quiet voice. “I’m here to help you.”
The woman’s head snapped up. Claire knew she would be panicked, so she stayed out of touching range. Blood ran down the freckled face. Claire’s heart skipped at the resemblance. Except for the blonde hair, the woman—no, girl—looked enough like Claire to be her sister. And she couldn’t have been older than twenty.
“Who—please get me out of here! Before that crazy woman comes—oh God—” She recoiled, staring at the tattoo on Claire’s wrist. “You’re the reason I’m here. She said you had—don’t touch me—”
“Please, it will be all right. I am going to free—”
“I said don’t touch me!”
Panic skated across the girl’s voice. Claire stood, hands at her sides. “I understand why you’re afraid. I can only imagine what she told you about me. But I promise you, I will see that you are safe.”
Wide blue eyes stared at her for an endless moment, then filled with tears.
“Get me out of here.”
Claire knelt behind her, relief easing the pressure in her chest.
“Hold still. I’m going to free you.” Flinching at the torn skin on the girl’s wrists, Claire tugged at the knot until it loosened, then untied it. “I’ve got you now. I’m going to ease your arms down. I’m afraid it’s going to hurt, and I am sorry for that.”
The girl whimpered, but she managed to help Claire, the muscles in her arms quivering against Claire’s fingers. When both hands touched the floor, Claire let her go and moved around the pillar.