“This is different, Annie.” Claire’s quiet, raw voice cut her off. “I am losing control. I feel it slipping, every time I get near those damn cards—” Simon felt the sob that choked her. “Please get me out of here,” she whispered. Marcus stepped forward, reaching for her. “No. You can’t heal this wound, and you know it.”
He froze, the pain on his face more than Simon could handle. “Hang on, sweetheart,” he said. “We’re going outside, until we get this sorted.” He looked over at Marcus before he half-carried Claire through the back door and set her on the porch. “Sit.” He pulled a bandana out of his coat pocket and pointed at the chair. “I said sit. You can’t leave a burn like that exposed.”
“It will be fine.” She obeyed, looking so fragile Simon wanted to scoop her up. He knew he’d get a healthy slap for that. “Give it a few minutes.”
She held up her wrist, and he had to blink a few times to make sure he was seeing what he was seeing.
What had been a third degree burn had already changed from an angry red to pink. The pink of healing. And the tattoo under it was unmarked. “Good God—how are you—”
“As a demon, my healing powers were—exemplary.” She let out a sigh. “It looks like that is coming back, along with the less desirable personality traits.” Cradling her wrist, she stared out at the street, tears shimmering in her eyes. “Please tell them I’m fine, Simon, and to let me go.”
“Sorry. No can do.” He crouched in front of her, took her hands. “You’re not on your own this time, Claire. And I’m not going to walk away from you again. I know what’s in your heart, and I know you can beat back the demon again. If that’s what it is.”
“What—why do you say that?” She wiped at the tears sliding down her cheeks. “What do you see?”
“Not what I should be seeing, if you were a demon. Your energy is—different.” He searched her face, looking for the indefinable something he always saw in the truly evil. She didn’t have it. “This isn’t going to be easy to explain, but I’ll try. What I see—what I saw in James—is a shadow on their soul. Almost a stain.”
“And you—don’t see it on mine?” She sounded so scared. And Simon knew why. Her soul was new, clean, and acquired with great sacrifice.
“Not even a whisper of shadow. But there is a change, in your energy, in your essence. What you think is the demon may be something else.”
“Oh, no.” She gave him a ghost of her smile. “I know exactly what’s trying to claw its way free. You don’t have enough fingers and toes to count the centuries I spent as a demon. What scares me, Simon, is I’m not all that sure I want to fight it this time.”
Fear shot through him, because behind the scared he saw resignation. “You have a family now, Claire. People who love you. Do you want to leave them behind? Leave them unprotected?”
Fresh tears filled her eyes. The silver in her eyes had retreated, letting him know she was back in control. He learned to read such signs, from the demon monk he first met on a mountain in Tibet.
He learned more about forgiveness, about himself, from a man who should have been evil incarnate. It gave him a new respect for Claire, for how deeply she must have buried her true nature.
“Simon?” He blinked, met her eyes. She looked amused. “Where did you go?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
She nodded, giving him hope there would be a later, and brushed her fingers over his scratched cheek. “I am so sorry.”
Simon brushed her off. “You weren’t quite yourself.”
“About that—I want you to promise me something.”
“No death pacts, Claire. Nope—not doing it.”
This time she gave him a real smile. “I have missed you.” Squeezing his hand, she took in a shaky breath. “Promise me you won’t repeat this conversation. Marcus already worries too much. And Zach.” She closed her eyes, the ache she tried to hide flaring across her face. “He already carries too much of a burden.”
“We had a conversation?” Claire’s laugh lightened the fear weighting him. “It’s already forgotten. But I do want to hear more about Houdini. He was a personal hero when I was a kid. You really met him?”
“During one of my good periods.” She leaned back in the chair, the distraction working. “I spent a year in London, in a young widow who believed fervently in spiritualism.”
“You can—read their likes, what they cared about?”