Rest For The Wicked(4)
“Then tell me where I can find the nearest bar.”
The hippie raised his eyebrows, but he kept from commenting on Eric’s condition.
“Cross the street. Hotel restaurant’s got just what you need. Hey.” Eric turned on him, fists clenched. “Take care, man.”
He let out his breath, and some of the rage went with it.
“Thank you. Sorry about—sorry. Bad day.”
“I hear you. Get a good drunk on, sleep it off. Tomorrow you’ll be a new man.”
Nodding at Eric, he walked around the corner.
Eric sagged against the wall, pushed sweat-damp hair off his forehead with shaking fingers. The back of his t-shirt was soaked through, clammy against his suddenly cold skin.
Exhausted, he had no strength to fight the grief that reared up to replace the rage, clawing at his heart. By tomorrow he wanted this to be done.
By tomorrow, he planned to be dead.
THREE
“And who told you I do love spells?”
Claire studied the chattering girls, hands on her hips in mock disapproval. The chatter died down, some of them looking at each other, some at the floor. One girl shuffled her foot against the hardwood floor before finally working up the courage to speak.
“Ms. Macey.”
“Mildred?” That ancient sneak. Claire wondered how many other people she handed that whopper to today. She knew she would be finding out—one at a time, all day long. “I want you to listen, girls. Love spells are for lonely, desperate people. You want the boy of your dreams to notice you, am I right?”
They all nodded, their eyes wide. A couple smiled, realizing she included Mildred in that description. Claire tapped her lips with one finger to hide her own smile.
“Now, I may not be able to offer a love spell, but I can give you each something that will make you shine. Come on over and let me show you my latest acquisition.” Claire led them over to the jewelry counter, pointed out the chunky heart pendants. “Pick the one that jumps out at you—that’s important. And on special, for the next five minutes—one free to a customer.”
The squealing should have shattered her front window. Smiling, she stepped back and let them crowd around the display, their voices dancing through the air. Claire wanted to preserve the moment, so she could take it out and relive it from time to time. Her own teen years had been rough—which made gifting the pendants to these girls all the sweeter. It would make a memory they could carry, along with the heart.
Annie stepped into the shop, and Claire mouthed the words “love spell” over the lowered heads. Guilt flared across her friend’s face; Claire made a mental note to watch her over the next couple of days. Annie had a soft spot for the lovelorn.
She met Claire at the front counter, radiating sunshine in her yellow sundress, short blonde curls framing her face. “How’s business?”
“Insane. I keep telling myself every year that I will get ready for this months in advance. It hasn’t happened yet.” She leaned on the counter, grateful for the break. “Is it crazy out there?”
“I’ve been groped, propositioned, and whistled at more times than I can count in just the last block. I think I also got a marriage proposal, but the proposer was so drunk I couldn’t understand a word of it.” A smile lit up her face. “Best day of the year so far.”
Laughing, Claire shook her head. “Whatever did I do before I met you?”
“Lived a life of pain and boredom.” Her smile faded. “And that cut too close to the truth. I’m sorry, honey—I’m drunk on energy. You know I don’t mean—” She turned to the door as the bell jingled, and sucked in her breath. “Oh, hurt me. Hunk alert.”
Fussing at her hair, Annie sauntered toward the man standing just inside the doorway. Claire could see the appeal—tall, lean but well muscled, with eyes that looked like striated jade. The black shirt and jeans simply accentuated his assets. Curling brown hair brushed his cheek as he smiled down at Annie, topping her almost six feet by a good three inches. Then he glanced over at Claire.
Light radiated from him, shimmered around him. A light Claire knew he let only her see. A light she had seen once before. Anger swept through her, and she moved toward him. The anger spiked when she saw the silver that winked at his ear, through his wild, curling hair. A hamsa—an ancient protection symbol. That confirmed her suspicion—and her need to get him out. Now. She would be damned if she let one of his kind manipulate her again—
The vision smacked her, so sudden she couldn’t defend herself against it.
Sun and sand filled her mind, wind whipping around a stooped figure as he fought his way through the sandstorm, blood staining his chest, what had been his life torn from him—