“Simon—what are you . . .” Zach’s voice faded, his hands scrabbling over a pile of what looked like hand painted cards. “You can’t have them.” Clutching the cards to his chest, he stood, backing away. “They will give me what I want—”
“You have what you want, Zach.” Simon kept his voice even, his movements slow. That glow screamed power, and he had no protection on him. Not that any would stop it. He’d been walloped with Zach’s temper, and didn’t want to enjoy the experience again. “Where is your mother?”
Panic flared through the glow, dimming it. “She can’t know! You can’t tell her—”
“What, Zach? Are you ashamed of what you’re doing?” Simon took a step toward him; Zach leapt back, slamming into the wall, trapping himself. Just what Simon intended. “Where did you get the cards?”
“From me.” The low voice spun Simon around. Here was the source. Darkness coiled around the short bald man who stood between him and the back door. To Simon’s horror, he realized that darkness was feeding off Zach’s power, drinking it in as fast as Zach could pump it out. “You know.” The man spit the words out, fear and rage flickering through the dark coils. “How can you—”
“It’s a gift.” Simon punched the shorter man in the nose, watched him topple backward with a pained scream. Shaking out his hand, he turned around and headed for Zach. “Drop the cards, son.”
“No—don’t touch me, you can’t have them!” Zach slid along the wall, the blue glow pulsing. Not a good sign.
Simon did the only thing he could think of—he yanked off his crucifix and threw it at Zach.
The boy’s agonized scream pierced him. Simon lunged forward and caught Zach as he dropped, braced for whatever that power would throw. By the time he grabbed Zach the glow faded to almost nothing, leaving a hum over Simon’s skin. He wrapped his arms around Zach, wanting to get him the hell out before their mystery guest recovered. And froze when the cards leapt up from the floor, a whirlwind of color and sharp edges.
Simon put himself between Zach and the cards, waiting from them to surge forward and attack. Instead they shuffled together, shot over to the waiting hand of the bald man. Zach moaned against his back, fists clutching his shirt.
“You can’t keep yourself in front of him forever, priest.” The man let the cards dance over his hand, like a slow motion film of a magician flipping his deck. His other hand pinched his still bleeding nose, his voice muffled and thick. Simon set out to break it—looked like he succeeded. “I will have him. I will have all of them, before this is done. And you, with your special talent, and all your skills—you will only be able to stand and watch me take them. I look forward to the day, as payment for this interruption.”
He snapped his fingers and the cards dropped into his open palm. Frowning, he watched them sift and shudder, before they finally settled.
“I will see you again soon, Zach.” Flat, cold brown eyes met Simon’s. “Stand between us again, priest, and it will take more than your fist to stop me.”
He pulled the back door open and stomped out, taking that soul-sucking darkness with him.
Zach let out a sigh, sliding down Simon’s back. “Whoa—” Simon caught him, eased him to the floor. “I’ve got you, son. Are you all right?” He studied Zach’s too-pale face, ready to haul him off to the nearby clinic.
“Yeah.” Clearing his throat, Zach managed a smile. A ghastly smile, but a smile. The glow was gone, leaving behind one exhausted, sweat soaked teenage boy. “I was fighting to hold on to this.”
He raised his hand. His fingers shook against the card in his palm. Up close, Simon recognized it. One of the cards from the deck—old, and reeking of its own twisted power.
“Is it hurting you?”
Zach blinked. “Not anymore. I was—glowing, wasn’t I?”
“Like a neon sign.”
“And my tattoo?”
“I could have lit up the room with it.”
Swallowing, Zach slid the card down his leg, toward a small zippered pocket on the thigh of his cargo pants. The card fought him, snapping and twisting, like it was alive. Cursing under his breath, Zach kept going, until he finally wrestled it into the pocket, and closed the zipper. The card pushed against the heavy cotton a few times before it settled. Even through the thick blue fabric, Simon could see the darkness, feel the taint of the spell infused in the card.
Zach raised his head, and studied Simon, frowning. “What’s different? Oh—you let your hair grow.”