What Doesn't Kill You(21)

*



Simon listened to his friends hash out possible scenarios. He’d missed all of this—especially the mix of voices and personalities. There had been so much silence, too much introspection.

At first he needed that solace; the constant bombardment of power in a country so ancient almost flattened him. After a while the weight of it wore on him, and he sought out people to help hone his talent—including a demon monk, who showed him the meaning of compassion. He saw that same mix of energy in Claire now—the darkness tempered by love.

Claire’s voice brought him back to the conversation. “We need to find him, now.”

She pushed away from the table, and Simon saw the giveaway flash in her power. He grabbed her arm when she headed for the door, no plan in place, and anger pouring off her. He stomped down his own need to choke the life out of James, slowly, and stopped her with three simple words. “He’ll hurt Zach.”

She turned on him, that anger jumping to rage before he took in a breath. Simon forced himself not to step back.

“He won’t live long enough,” she said. He heard the violence under her deadly calm voice.

“Mom.” Zach moved between her and the front door. Simon expected the rage to fade. Instead she let out a shriek, jerked free and launched herself at Zach. They slammed into the door, Claire scrabbling at his hand. The hand holding the tarot card. “Mom—no!”

Before anyone else could react Simon grabbed her arms and yanked her off Zach. She clawed at him and got one good swipe in across his left cheek. He locked both arms around her, ignored the stunning variety of curses spewing out of her mouth. “Zach, put the card down. No one touches it.” He saw Zach drop it on the coffee table before he hauled Claire into the kitchen.

She fought to free herself. “What are you wearing—I can’t breathe—”

Simon looked down, and saw his crucifix pressed into her shoulder. He eased his grip, leaned her against the counter. “Claire. Look at me.” Her head snapped up, the silver of the demon bleeding into her blue eyes. “I met a demon, like you—a demon with a soul.” Her eyes widened. “He lived with both, Claire. He thrived, actually, and he taught me more about humanity than any human I’ve ever met. You can be in control. You just have to want—”

She shoved him backward, snarling at him before she sprinted to the kitchen door. Darkness swirled around her, and Simon knew the demon had taken charge. He caught her left arm and yanked her back.

“Claire.” His voice as gentle as he could make it, he spoke against her ear, hoping to calm her down. “Claire—please don’t force me to hurt you.” Searching the counters, he found his makeshift weapon—something he only wanted to use as a last resort.

“Like you could. Let me go, damn it—”

“Don’t release her.” Marcus stood in the doorway, blocking a frantic Zach, his face white. He met Simon’s gaze, nodded. “She needs to know. To see.” Grief edged every word.

Simon hauled her over to the stove and trapped her against the front of it. Her snarling curses got louder, more furious. When he snatched up the salt shaker she let out a scream that would wake the dead, fighting desperately to free herself.

“No—Simon you don’t have to—” He hurt, listening to her pleas. If not for the silver in her eyes he would have believed she pushed down the demon. “Please—I’m not—”

He clenched his jaw and poured salt on her wrist. Right over the scarred triquetra.

Claire screamed again, this time in anguish. It tore at him, the sheer hopelessness of it. Simon carried her to the sink, stuck her wrist under the faucet and flipped on the cold water. She sagged against him, and the angry burn on her wrist stopped climbing its way up her forearm.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Claire, I’m so sorry—”

“Stop apologizing.” Her voice sounded raw, but more—human. She laid her head against his shoulder. Sweat soaked her skin, and she shuddered, like she still fought a battle with what tried to take control. “It’s safe for you to come in, Marcus.” A whisper of her humor edged the words.

Simon looked up, saw everyone crowded in the doorway behind Marcus, in different stages of shocked.

“What the hell, Claire.” Annie stepped forward—and Eric blocked her.

“You don’t get near her,” he said. One hand rested on her stomach, the other cradled her face. “Not until I know she won’t hurt you.”

“You’re talking about Claire! She’d never—even on her worst day—”