Carry On Wayward Son (14 page)

“I’m fine, sweetheart.” She opened her eyes, looked at Simon. He forced himself to hold her gaze, shame washing through him. “We’re fine.”

Eric kissed the top of her head. “Quite a show, Claire.”

“I didn’t expect that much fanfare.” Easing out of Annie’s arms, she pushed dripping hair off her face. “Oh—I need to lie down.”

Eric helped her to the grass, checked her vitals while he had his hands on her. “I want to get you inside. You’re chilled, and I’d really like to give you a shot of—”

“I’m not going anywhere.” She looked straight at Simon, her blue eyes exhausted but clear. “Zach’s journey isn’t done. And I made a promise. I intend to keep it.”

*

I
t took all the strength she could dredge up, but Claire sat on her own. Now she waited, hoped, prayed. He would either come back, or die in the attempt. She would stay, until she knew.

Annie wrapped her own jacket around Claire, found a blanket for her, a towel to help dry her hair, and another to clean the blood off her face. Claire suspected she pilfered them from Regina’s house. The takeaway container of soup thawing her hands came from the magical Lily’s kitchen. Every sip restored her a bit more, the beef broth with vegetables rich and warming.

“So—how long, do you think?” Annie shifted next to her, flinched. Any attempt to get her to leave was met with a glare or a snide comment. Claire knew she hurt, but she had a streak of stubborn that went wide and deep. She would stick it out. “I need to know if we’re going to be planning an al fresco dinner.”

“Don’t know.” She glanced over at Annie. “First time.”

“What?” Claire could almost hear the steam building in her friend’s head.
“What?”

“Annie.” Eric laid his hand on her arm. She ignored him, staring at Claire.

“I said, it is my first time.”

“You—you put—” She was so angry she could barely string two words together. Claire found it oddly fascinating, since Annie was never at a loss for words. “You risked your life for that—that—”

“Angel.”

“He’s a selfish bastard, using you like—like a—”

“Zach didn’t know.” Setting the soup down, she took both Annie’s hands. “I helped him, knowing it could cost my life, because I understand the anguish, the absolute helplessness he felt. I couldn’t walk away from it. I couldn’t, Annie.”

“You gave away part of yourself—I saw it.” Tears choked her voice.

“I gave him my grace. What connected me to Heaven. It allowed him to return—just long enough, so he can fall.”

“You mean—he falls. Literally.”

“Yes.”

“Holy shit.”

Laughter burst out of Claire. It felt good. She felt good. For the first time, she understood what people meant when they said they were at peace.

“You don’t need to stay, Annie. It could be a long wait.”

“I’ll go if you do—we can rest, come back—”

“I made a promise. I have to be here for him. He’s going to need someone to ease him into life as a mortal.”

Annie pulled her hands free.

“For how long.”

“As long as he needs me. Eric, please take her out of this cold. I can see how much she’s hurting, and stubborn doesn’t cure that.” She cradled her friend’s cheek. “I love you for wanting to protect me, to stand by me even when I make foolish mistakes. Now go home.”

“I won’t leave you here alone,” Annie whispered.

“I won’t be alone.” Claire glanced over at the house. Where Simon stood. After helping her sit, he retreated, not saying a word, and looking at her only when he thought she didn’t notice. “Please, sweetheart. I won’t have you getting sick on top of everything else you suffered today.”

Nodding, Annie leaned in, kissed her cheek. “Watching you out here, the real you, that was beyond awesome. You looked like the angel I always pictured in my head. How did it feel?”

“Liberating. Thank you, my friend.”

Annie hugged her, groaning as Eric lifted her in his arms. “What you did was a good thing, Claire,” he said. “I felt his anguish, when you touched him. And I understand what it’s like to live with that.”

She swallowed, tears stinging her eyes, as she watched Eric carry Annie to the car. They loved, so much, it just radiated from them. She looked forward to being a part of their lives, sharing in the joy of their love.

Sighing, she wiped her eyes, picked up her soup. And heard Simon approach.

“You don’t need to stay.”

She nearly spilled her soup when he spoke. “He will need to be blessed.”

Carefully setting the container on the grass, she looked up at him. “How do you know?”

“I read.”

She bit her lip on a smile.

“Please, stop—my ears are bleeding.”

His lips twitched. “I read a lot.”

“Tell me.”

Still staring past her, he swallowed. “What you did here—it shouldn’t have been possible. You—changed his essence. You—”

“Freed him.” She swallowed, afraid of his response to her next words. “Please sit. I’m tired of talking to your knees.”

He did. Out of arm’s reach. The reason hurt her heart.

“I will bless him, because he will be an innocent. Then I want nothing more to do with him. Or with you.” He finally looked at her, his clear green eyes so cold she wanted to retreat. “Are we clear?”

“Absolutely.”

To give herself a distraction from the grief threatening to gnaw straight through her, she picked up her soup, methodically drank it. She told herself she would need the energy, but the action gave her an excuse to keep from looking at Simon. His animosity scraped across her skin, slid into her already aching heart.

Once she finished, she had nothing else to do to keep herself occupied. With a sigh, she pulled the blanket tighter against the cooling air, rubbed at the leather band on her wrist, and settled in to wait.

*

T
he sun was setting when Zachariah fell.

Claire stood, shedding the blanket and Annie’s jacket. The cold wind bit her through the thin lace of her camisole.

She felt it first, a blast of pure energy. Searching the sky, she braced herself. He managed the most difficult part—leaving Heaven. Now he had to survive the final descent. And there was nothing she could do to help him.

In the darkening sky, she saw him. A pulse of light, streaking like a meteor across the first stars. He came fast, straight for the ground in front of her, and he wasn’t slowing down.

She ran, gauging his landing spot—and let out a gasp when Simon stepped in front of her. He’d pulled his right arm out of the makeshift sling, and held them both up. The blinding light slowed just before it fell into his waiting arms.

He stumbled backward, his breath exploding out of him. By the time Claire reached him, he knelt on the grass, cradling what looked like a bundle of light. The glow faded. Simon sucked in a breath, turned to Claire.

A boy lay in his arms, long, thin arms wrapped around his drawn up legs. His skin was as pale as snow, his hair a rich golden brown that fell to his shoulders.

He wasn’t breathing.

“Damn it—” Simon lowered him to the ground, felt for a pulse. “He’s ice cold.”

Claire ran for the blanket, spread it under the delicate body when Simon lifted him. He lowered the boy, leaned over him, and started chest compressions.

“Simon.” He didn’t stop, but he nodded to let her know he heard her. “Is he wearing my amethyst?”

“Silver—chain.”

She moved to Zach’s side, keeping clear of Simon, gently slipped her fingers under the chain pressed into his throat. The amethyst hung just behind his right shoulder blade, pulsing with light. Claire slid it up, looked over at Simon.

“Let him go.”

“No.”

“Simon—let him go.”

The tone of her voice had him sitting back on his heels, gasping. Sweat slicked his face, his right arm limp at his side.

“Why.”

“He needs to find his heart.” Claire rested the amethyst on his chest, lifted his left hand and laid it over the glowing point. “Please,” she whispered, and closed her hand over his.

Light burst through their fingers. The heat coming off the amethyst burned her even through Zach’s hand. Ignoring it, she pressed her forehead against his, her hair curtaining them.

“Take it, Zach. Please, sweetheart—it’s yours, now take it!”

The wind stilled, the power contained in that slim crystal freezing them in the moment. Claire lifted her head, felt the fingers trapped in her grip move. With a raw gasp he opened his eyes.

“Breathe, Zach. You have to take the first breath on your own—I can’t help you. Breathe!”

He stared into her eyes, the clear blue depths filled with trust. Nodding once, he clenched his fingers over the crystal, fisted his other hand in the grass—and sucked in a harsh, solid breath.

Claire wanted to collapse with relief. Instead, she let go of his hand, helped him sit. Each breath felt easier under her hands, and color spread over his skin. Though she could tell already he would always be pale.

“How do you feel?”

He studied her. “Tired,” he whispered, his voice low, soft. “Cold.”

“Here.” She pulled the blanket up, paused when she saw the two long, narrow scars between his shoulder blades. Where his wings had once been. Her gaze slid down to his right wrist. The guardian mark stood out against the thin skin of his inner wrist, the wings and flaming sword now a vivid, fine line blue tattoo. Pulling her gaze away she wrapped the blanket around him. He didn’t seem embarrassed by his lack of clothing. “Better?”

“You called me Zach. Is that my name?”

“Zachariah. You don’t remember?”

Shaking his head, he closed one hand over the amethyst. Something jumped inside of Claire as she recognized the action. “I don’t remember anything. How did I get here?”

“That is a long story. And not for telling on a cold, windy night. We need to get you inside, get some nice hot soup—”

“Are you my mother?”

Claire stilled. Taking in an unsteady breath, she touched his cheek.

“Yes, sweetheart. I am your mother.” She felt Simon’s gaze on her, and ignored it. Wrapping the blanket tight around Zach, she helped him stand. Even at what she figured was about the age of twelve, he stood taller than her. “And I am going to get you home, as soon as Father Simon gives you a blessing.”

One arm around his waist, she turned him to Simon.

“Hi, Zach. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Simon.” He held out his hand. Zach took it, studying him with eyes that would never look young. “This won’t take long, then you can go and get yourself warm.”

“Why am I being blessed?”

“Because—”

“We nearly lost you,” Simon said, talking over Claire. He glanced at her. “It is something I like to do, when the lost are found again, and safe.” Zach nodded, lowered his head. Simon laid his left hand over the back of the boy’s neck, his fingers dark and weathered against the pale, smooth skin. “We thank you, Lord, for allowing Zachariah to find his way home, and will give thanks, every day, for his health and his life.” Leaning in, he sketched the sign of the cross as he spoke. “I bless you, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

Kissing Zach’s forehead, he stepped back. And without another word to Claire he walked out of her life.

She closed her eyes, then took a deep breath and met Zach’s waiting gaze. “Ready to go home?”

SEVENTEEN

L
ife post-Zach became—interesting.

Claire never thought she could be nurturing, open herself enough to have another person—never mind a child—a constant part of her life.

But she was—different, since she helped him fall. She had given him all that she was, her grace, her link to Heaven. In the aftermath she discovered two things—she no longer had the power to do even the simplest spell, and she couldn’t see ghosts. Did not even have a sense of them. If not for Annie, she would have closed her shop, feeling like a fraud.

As far as she could tell, she was completely human.

Zach, however, was not.

He soaked up information like a computer, remembered all of it with lightning recall, and noticed everything. And there was his physical—quirk.

In the few weeks since she brought him home, he looked older. Years older. And he had grown several inches.

Now, as Claire watched him run past the front window of the shop, headed down to Lily’s place for a takeaway lunch, he looked sixteen. She just blessed the day she decided to homeschool him. By the time he was fit enough to be seen in public, his growth spurt had nearly run its course. And he knew, somehow, without her telling him, that his differences were not to be mentioned. To anyone.

Annie came out of the back, barely limping now. Her burn took a disturbing amount of time to heal, and Claire knew it still gave her fits with the cooler weather.

“Zach went for lunch?”

“Like a shot, the second I mentioned roast beef.”

Laughing, Annie leaned against the counter. “I can get on board with his enthusiasm. I swear Lily puts some kind of happy drug in her food. So,” she studied Claire, warm brown eyes sober. “How is his mom doing?”

“Adjusting. I never imagined my life like this. Now I can’t imagine my life without him. Is that crazy?”

“Not according to every new mother I’ve talked to. You love him, Claire. Nothing crazy about that. And unlike his former self, he is one loveable kid. Has he asked about the scars?”

“Several times.”

“And?”

“I told him they were a result of the accident.” Her cover story for his inability to remember anything before he woke up, in the yard next to a big Victorian, on a windy October night. “And the tattoo—he’s seen mine, so he accepts that I would have let him get his own.” She touched the triquetra on her wrist; she had taken off the leather band the morning after bringing Zach home. The scar seemed less oppressive, and she could catch sight of it now without memories gouging at her. “But he keeps asking about the scars. In a slightly different way each time. Like he hopes to catch me off guard.”