“When I saw the deck the first time it was already old, and had power that could make your hand vibrate. Now it packs the kind of punch that woke what I thought had been cast out. Zach,” Claire looked at him, ready for his reaction. “I don’t expect your forgiveness—”
“Too late—you already got it.” He cleared his throat, picking at the fresh hole in the knee of his cargo pants. “So, if this is a cursed object, we have to get it away from him. The longer he holds on to it, the more it will corrupt him. At least, according to the ‘experts’ on the site.”
Letting out her breath, Claire mentally thanked him for the subject change. “It sounds like you’re less than impressed with them.”
“Inconsistent, contradictory. And they argue back and forth like an old married couple, over the dumbest things. I learned enough to find some legitimate sources. I think one of the solutions can work here.”
“And what is that?” Marcus let her go and crossed his arms, telling Claire he did not enjoy being second hat in this conversation.
“Separate him from the object, and secure it in a warded box. Kind of like the one that trapped the elemental.” He said it without flinching. Claire couldn’t have been more proud. His experience in England could have scarred him; instead, he wanted to help someone else under a similar influence. “He may have to go through a sort of detox, but if he hasn’t really bonded with the deck, we should be able to help him.”
“And why would we help this man?” Marcus stood, the annoyance turning into anger. “He clearly means to do harm. I will not have Claire near him again. Not after the damage caused by such brief contact with this cursed object.” He all but sneered when he said the last two words, clearly discounting Zach’s explanation.
“It will kill him.” Zach spoke quietly, but anger edged his voice. “Can you live with that? I know I can’t. He isn’t the one doing harm—it’s the tarot deck. He may not even know—”
“He knows,” Claire said. Just the way James used the deck as an ‘in’ told her he understood there was something different about it. “He may not realize how dangerous it is, but he knows what he carries holds power. Power he can manipulate.” She stood, heading for the kitchen. “We are going to eat, and take advantage of Annie covering the shop, and then we are going to figure out how to separate James from the deck, and keep him alive while we do it.”
FIVE
Annie thumbed through the baby magazine, bored and uncomfortable. Shifting on the high stool, she closed the magazine, slid it down the granite counter so she could lay her forehead on the cool stone.
She loved knowing the child she and Eric had created grew inside her. But she hated being pregnant. She didn’t get that beautiful new mommy glow, or float around in quiet joy. No—she got sick at the smell of certain foods, lumbered around like a clumsy elephant, and felt useless.
Eric did all the cooking, since she didn’t know what would trigger her nausea. Eric did all the driving, because he didn’t trust her holding to the speed limit. Eric did—damn, he took over everything, until she felt like a visitor in her own home. Only Zach’s presence the last few months kept her from going completely off the deep end.
He’d needed her when he first showed up, looking like a scared little boy, who had just lost everything precious to him. That need turned into a friendship she cherished. He became the little brother she never had, and her ability to be objective when he had to vent, give her opinion when he was brave enough to ask for it, created a bond she knew would last.
The chime of the front door bell had her sitting up. “Thank you, whoever you are.” A distraction—she really needed a distraction about now.
“Hi, there.” A thin, bald man walked up to the counter, with the strut that short men seemed to adopt around a tall woman. He exuded confidence, holding out one long, graceful hand. “I’m J.J., and you are gorgeous.”
Annie felt herself blush. Even Eric hadn’t given her a compliment for some time. She pushed aside the poke of guilt at her own reaction to his latest attempts—hormone-driven sarcasm. He most likely stopped to keep from being shouted at by a pregnant woman. Annie had discovered a sharp edge to her tongue, along with a mean that colored her usual smart mouth comments. A mean she couldn’t always control.
She smoothed her shirt, smiled at him. “How can I help?”
He pulled out the most beautiful tarot deck she’d ever seen. “I was looking for some lessons. I inherited this from my aunt, but she never taught me how to use them.”