Carry On Wayward Son (10 page)

THIRTEEN

S
imon inched along the back wall of the house, spotted the walk down to the basement, just feet away.

Contact with the house had that alien power spiking through him. Instead of pain, he felt—euphoria. And an invincibility that a former combat medic should brush off as deadly.

Reaching the walk down, he did a fast check of the stairwell. It was empty. He cocked the shotgun, his bandaged hand forcing him to constantly adjust his grip, and headed down the stairs. His free hand hovered over the doorknob. Power licked at his skin, but nothing like the angry burst that sent him and Eric across the lawn.

He took in a deep breath and closed his hand over it. Let his breath out when he still stood in the same place, every appendage intact. He turned the knob and eased the door open. His first step met with resistance, like trying to move through a wall of jello. To his relief, the second step proved easier, and once he crossed the threshold the resistance disappeared. He just hoped it wasn’t some kind of warning system—because he just tripped it.

Closing the door behind him, he stopped, waited until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Gradually, obstacles separated from shadow, showing him a roundabout path to the staircase at the far end of the huge space. Now that he was inside, the euphoria faded, replaced by the instinct and sensitivity that kept him alive half a world away.

Making his way through the basement, he listened for any sound, any hint he’d been discovered, or was walking straight into an ambush. Every second of silence made him more wired instead of calm. By the time he reached the top of the stairs he had to stop, take in a few slow breaths, focus himself.

He’s just one—angel, God forgive me.
After a silent prayer he ran the banishing through his head, thankful for his freakish ability to remember pretty much everything he read.
Get him out, get Claire and Annie clear. Then deal with your conscience.

Touching the doorknob, he paused. That guardian was inside, and he didn’t think a simple banishing was going to do more than piss it off. But he had to trust Claire. She believed in him—God only knew why—and he wasn’t about to let her down when she needed him.

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and cracked open the door.

*

“
L
et me see that hip.” Claire bent over her friend, beyond relieved that the injury from Zach looked more like a sunburn than a serious multi-degree burn. A bottle of aloe vera gel sat on the small night table, along with a pile of clean washcloths. Sitting on a chair next to the bed, Claire squirted a generous amount of aloe on the cloth and laid it over the raw skin. “How does that feel?”

“Fine. What the hell happened? Where have you been? And—”

“One question at a time, Annie.” Leaning back, Claire let out a sigh, rubbing the leather band on her wrist. “I saw Marcus.”

She told Annie, forcing herself not to press her hand against her scar, which started to throb again.

“But he’s okay?”

“When I left, yes. Jamal is Marid—the most powerful Jinn in existence. He’ll keep Marcus safe.” She turned in the chair, facing Regina. “There are things about me, about people around me, you don’t know. I hope you can still trust me, despite that.”

“You haven’t given me a reason not to,” Regina said. She sat on the small settee, Hillary curled up beside her, asleep. Regina studied Claire, dark eyes not accusing, but calm, and more trusting than Claire deserved. That calm wrapped around her, spread over her daughter. “I already knew you were a witch—the real thing. So don’t consider me surprised to find out you have—unusual friends. I know about Father Simon, too. I started attending his church just after we moved.” A smile touched her lips. “You lead an eventful life.”

“Thank you.” She cleared her throat, closed her eyes against the sting of tears, and looked at Annie. “There is something else you both need to know, about Zach. He lied to us.”

*

F
urious, and unable to walk it off, Annie clutched the bedspread. Blue sparks shot across her sapphire.

“What the hell, Claire. You can’t help him—how do you know he’s not lying about this, too? He could—”

“I felt him, Annie.” Claire’s quiet voice cut right through her anger. “I know that power—how could I not? It has been so long I almost forgot I—” She cut herself off, obviously remembering she had an audience—one that didn’t know everything about her. “He is hurting, in ways you could never understand. To be caught Between, forever—it is like being shown the one thing you can never have, then forced to exist with the desire, always just out of reach.”

“Claire.” Annie recognized the anguish, and understood why Claire felt the need to help the lying little bastard. “You can’t trust—”

“Why not? He’s desperate, Annie. And for him, this is the only way to have that chance to be free. I can show him a different way, give him another option.”

Panic clawed at her. “What?”

“I can help him fall.”

*

T
he first floor was deserted. Here, Simon felt the hum of that power, but it was distant, muffled. As if the source were blocked, by the physical, or the metaphysical. He guessed Claire and Annie did everything they could to protect the innocents caught up in this.

Sliding along the wall, he tested every step before he took it, aware of the noise potential with the old floor, and a basement beneath him. He followed the glow of Annie’s power, strong and blue as it edged the closed door at the end of the hall.

It took longer than he liked to get to that door. Shotgun pointed down at the floor, he reached out for the knob. And swung the shotgun up when the door flew open.

“Simon.” Claire laid one hand on the barrel of the shotgun, stepped aside. “What took you so long?”

“How—”

“Theresa. Dead giveaway. Come in, we don’t have much time.” He lowered the shotgun, keeping it against his side as he saw the woman and girl on the small sofa, the girl’s eyes wide. “Regina, Hillary—this is Simon.”

“Father,” Regina said, standing. “Thank you. I know what a risk you’re taking—”

“You are a member of my church.”

She smiled. “A recent member. Your sermons are always inspiring.”

“I—thank you.” He turned to Claire. “Where is—”

“Preoccupied. I gave him quite a bit to think about. Can you do what I asked?”

“Yeah. Where do you—”

“I don’t want you to.”

He ran one hand over his hair. “What changed, Claire?”

“Everything. He is not what I thought, Simon. But what he wants—I can do that for him. I am sorry I couldn’t get word to you sooner, before you had to risk yourself, but I was—unavailable.”

He stalked to the far side of the room, felt her right behind him. He wanted the freedom to curse—or talk about his ability to see power if he needed to. “What the hell does that mean? What’s going on, Claire? I expected you to be happy to see me. Instead I get the feeling you’re annoyed that I’m here.”

“No, Simon—and I am sorry if I made you feel that way.” She pushed hair off her face, looking exhausted and fragile. “Recent information has—damn it. I hope you’re ready for this. He’s an angel.”

“You already told me, in the note—a guardian—”

“Not one of the guardians—who are human souls working toward redemption. He is an
angel
, Simon. Banished and sent Between.”

“Purgatory.”

“I thought the Church didn’t—”

“That’s the civilian talking.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting for patience. “You expect me to believe this.”

“Honestly? No. But I had to tell you—because the banishing spell you brought with you will not work on him.”

“How do you—”

“I know.” She sighed. “And I think you should leave, before he discovers you’re here. I’ve managed to subdue him for the moment, but your presence breaks the promise I made to him.”

“Claire—”

“Please, Simon.” She touched his arm—and he saw it. The new edge to her power, raw, almost blinding. He never had been able to see hers without contact. “You trusted me before. Trust me now, and let me get you out of here. Zach won’t be as accommodating a second time.”

“I don’t want to leave you here with—whatever it is.”

“Don’t worry, I can handle him.” She touched the bandage on his hand. “The fence?”

“I took part of it with me. Eric yanked the splinters out. He’s got finesse, for a vet.” He caught her arm before she could move past him. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing.”

“You are a rotten liar.”

A smile tugged at her mouth. “Thank you for pointing that out again. There are things about myself I’m not ready to tell you, Simon.” She eased out of his grasp. “Please go. This is one time you can’t help.”

“We need to talk about those things, Claire.”

Panic skated across her face. She managed to control it, but for just a second, she looked terrified. And it made him wonder just how dark her secret really was. “When this is over, we will sit down, and I will tell you what you want to know. Then you can decide if you want to have anything to do with me again. But now you have to leave.”

“Fine.”

She looked startled by his easy acceptance, but she nodded. “I’ll escort you.”

He moved toward the door, making a detour to the bed. “Hey, Annie.”

“My hero.” He smiled, his medic’s eye scanning the damage. “Nothing fatal, so you can tell Eric he won’t get out of marrying me today.”

“He’ll be—relieved?”

“He better be.”

This time he laughed. If her humor was still sharp, she was as close to all right as she could be, under the circumstances. “This’ll be over soon—”

“Hey.” She gripped his wrist. “Don’t do anything stupid. You have no idea what Claire’s up against.”

“She told me—”

“And you don’t believe her.” Annie’s voice was flat. “Don’t, if it makes this easier. But do as she says. Get out. You can’t help this time, Simon.”

“Starting to get that.” Leaning in, he brushed his fingers across her cheek, relieved when her skin wasn’t feverish. “We’ll get you out.”

“Don’t count me out yet, mister.”

“I never do.” Winking, he straightened. “Be safe. I’ll come back for you.” His glance included Regina and Hillary. “All of you.” He joined Claire at the door.

“Thank you,” she said. “You didn’t have to reassure—”

“I did. And I meant it.”

She paled. “Simon—”

“I’ll go. But I’m not going far. Not until all of you are out of here and safe.”

“I never expected anything else.” She led the way down the hall, back toward the basement door. “If you could help, believe me, I would be asking for it. But Zach—” She froze, grabbing his wrist. “God above—move!”

They ran, skidding to a halt at the basement door. Claire yanked it open, all but pushing Simon through. He felt the slap of power just before she met his eyes, and nodded. The door closed between them—and a second later, an angry male voice overshouted her. The door heated so fast Simon had to back away from it.

“Where is he? I felt him, Claire. You managed to distract me with your pretty words, then you sneak in someone to banish me—”

“He came on his own, Zach. And I meant those pretty words. You have to start trusting me, or what you want will not happen. Trust is the only way this will work. Do you understand me?”

The power retreated, the wood cooling even as he touched it.

Simon stepped back, found a place to sit. He’d made his promise. He left the house. But he was damned if he would leave them alone.

*

“
Y
ou want me to trust.” Zach stalked forward, trapping Claire against the wall. Right next to the basement door. She surprised herself by throwing up a diversion spell almost by instinct, and having it work. Power had been leaking through, despite her efforts to shore up the cracks in the wall. Now she was grateful for what she could grab on to, as it protected Simon. “Give me a reason.”

“What do you want?”

“Prove to me you can do what you say.”

Swallowing, she closed her eyes for a moment, and did what she had avoided since Azazel sent her back—she reached in, through the cracks, and deliberately touched what lay behind. Shock nearly dropped her when what she felt was not the demon, but her true self. The part of herself she thought she lost forever when she was cast out of Heaven.

Shaken to the core, she let it filter out, wrap around her new soul. The light, gentle touch left her breathless. Unable to speak, she held out her hand. Zach took it—and stilled, his eyes widening.

“It cannot be true—how are you—”

“Long story. Ancient.” Her whisper drew him closer. “I am telling you the truth, Zach. I will do what is needed, you will let them go.”

She held her breath, waiting for his temper to explode. He pulled her off the wall, down the hall, stopping at the front door.

“Do it, now, I will let them go.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“You are an angel. It cannot be any more simple.”

“It can cost both our lives if I don’t do it right.” She spoke quietly, to keep her voice from carrying, pretty much certain that Simon was at the basement door, waiting for his chance to burst in. “Not only does it have to be outside, but it has to be the right time, with certain preparations. And you have to accept all the conditions that come with it.”

“What do you mean, conditions?”

Taking his hand, she lowered her voice. “No matter how much I prepare you, it is going to be traumatic, and it is going to be painful. There’s nothing I can do to prevent that. Falling violates all that we are. The desire to be human isn’t supposed to appeal to angels—we are better, above them. But you want more. You’ve been down here, among them, before you were exiled.”

“Yes.” He swallowed. “The emotion was overwhelming. And I could feel none of my own, share nothing with them. It was unbearable. Do you know how long they kept me down here, expecting me to stand apart?”