Zach realized what it meant. Marcus was pulling out the big guns. Zach had read about the physical manifestation of a Jinn’s healing—but this was something else. Marcus used it to hold her, keep her from attacking. Zach watched her struggles become weaker. Leaning in, Marcus spoke to her, and she finally met his eyes, the rage on her face fading.
The whirlwind thinned, then disappeared, leaving behind the heat and scent of the desert.
Zach sat, cradling his torn arm. “Mom.”
She brushed wind-tangled reddish brown hair off her face, and looked at him. The silver in her eyes was gone, replaced by horror. “Zach—God—”
Marcus helped her stand, then stepped between them. “You will not go near him again until this has been sorted.” Nodding, she backed away, one hand covering her mouth. Marcus knelt, closed both hands over Zach’s arm. “I know this hurts you. I fear the healing of it may hurt you more.”
Zach didn’t understand, but he nodded, knowing Marcus waited for his permission. And Marcus was right; the normally soothing heat seared through his wounds. Sucking in his breath, he forced himself to hold still. As much as it hurt, it was still healing his arm.
Finally, the last gouge closed, scabbing over. “That’s good enough,” Zach whispered. He couldn’t stand any more. Marcus helped him stand, led him past Mom, and eased him to the chair. “What the hell just happened?”
“Zach—”
“No, Claire,” Marcus said. He pushed black, curly hair off his face, his fingers trembling. Sweat slicked his skin, and Zach saw fear skate across his eyes. “Lock the front door. I am taking you both home.”
Mom raised her eyebrows. “I am not—”
“Now.” The deadly quiet command had her stomping through the shop. Marcus closed one hand over Zach’s shoulder. “I promise, this will be explained to you. But you must trust me for now, Zach, and let me do what I need for your mother.”
He knew it was a warning, and that this was far from over. Nodding, he stood, his legs still shaky. Mom came stalking back from the front of the shop, more angry than when she left.
“Orders carried out. Can I see to my son, now?”
“Once I know it is safe for him, yes.”
Mom stared at him, shock flaring in her eyes. “I would never . . .” Her protest faded, and she seemed to shrink right in front of him. “Zach, I—”
With a startled cry her legs buckled.
Zach didn’t think, he just grabbed her—and heat flared in his amethyst. She clutched his shirt, her head lowered. But he knew, without seeing her face he knew what was wrong with her. He could feel it.
“How long have you been hiding the aftereffects of the spell, Mom?”
She fought to stand, and he held on to her until she won. “Since we came back.” She looked at him. “I didn’t want to worry any of you, not when there was nothing you could do.” She glanced over at Marcus, who stood with his arms crossed, looking as deadly as a sandstorm. Her hand inched up, cradled Zach’s cheek. “I didn’t want you to know, sweetheart. Not when you already hurt so much.”
He swallowed, his throat tight. Nodding, he kept one arm around Mom’s waist and led her to the back door, ignoring Marcus. “Let’s get you home. We’ll figure everything out there. Together.”
*
Claire let Zach guide her down the alley at the back of the shop, heading for home. She heard Marcus, walking behind them. He spoke to Annie on his cell, asking her to look after the shop until he could return. With his usual evasive charm, he avoided answering any of the questions Claire was certain Annie fired at him.
He moved up to Zach’s side, tucking his phone in the pocket of his black jeans. Tall, lean, and furious, he kept pace with them, though Claire knew he wanted to stalk, to stretch out those long legs and walk off his furious.
Instead he acted as bodyguard for Zach. From her.
If Claire hadn’t been so mortified she would have been offended.
Blood stained the rolled up sleeve of Zach’s shirt, the scabbed-over wounds on his left forearm evidence of her attack. She didn’t remember much of it—or much of anything after the customer walked in. The one with the tarot deck.
What she did remember left her terrified for her future. She recalled the reason for going after Zach; he was an angel, and she was a demon, a fallen. He deserved to suffer, as she suffered, to feel the anguish and isolation of exile—
She cut off the memory.
Zach must have felt her tremble. His arm tightened around her waist, and he cupped her elbow as he helped her climb the two steps leading to the back door. Without asking, he kept moving until he had her settled on the sofa in the living room, then headed into the kitchen. Claire heard him rummaging in the cupboards.