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From the author of The Maggie Mulgrew Mysteries...
She's running from her past - and running out of time.
Claire Wiche is an ordinary woman, running her Wicca shop in an ordinary California beach town.
But Claire wasn't always ordinary, and she isn't quite human. She hides a secret, and a past she thought she had put behind her.
A past that is about to explode into her present.
When
it does, and everyone she loves is in danger, Claire must face up to
her past - and become what she left behind in order to save them.
The Claire Wiche Chronicles:
Prequel - More Than A Feeling
Book 1 - Rest For The Wicked
Book 2 - A Gathering of Angels
Book 3 - Carry On Wayward Son
Book 4 - Annie's Song
Book 5 - What Doesn't Kill You
ONE
Claire
Wiche guided her unhappy customer through her shop, one arm around
the woman’s hunched shoulders.
“You know I don’t do love spells, Mildred.”
“But I know if he could see me, really see me, he’d fall
desperately in—”
“Would it be real, if he’s under an enchantment?”
Mildred pouted, not a pretty sight on an eighty-year-old woman. “What
happened to the customer is always right?”
Biting her lip on a smile, Claire walked her through the open door.
“Never been my policy. And I have good reasons for that.” She
rubbed the old woman’s arm. “You go on home now. I’ll phone you
when my new shipment of crystals shows up.”
Leaning against the narrow porch post, Claire watched her toddle down
the sidewalk, sunlight bouncing off the thin silver poodle curls. The
morning gloom had burned off early, and it looked like the start of
another beautiful day.
She crossed her arms, cold despite the sweater she slipped on
earlier. It took longer to warm up lately, a fact she did her best to
ignore.
“Are you cold again, Claire? It’s got to be at least 80 in the
store.”
Unless, of course, a well-meaning friend shoved it in her face.
She turned around, forced a smile. “Is it, Annie? I must have
forgotten to turn it down this morning.”
“How could you not notice? The candles are sweating.” Annie
Sullivan—the lively, no-holds-barred friend Claire never expected
to have in her life—stepped across the small porch that ran along
the front of the shop, her almost six foot height topping Claire by a
good ten inches. She caught one hand before Claire could shove them
in her pockets. “You’re like ice. Again.” She looked down at
Claire, concern in her warm brown eyes. “And you’re avoiding.
Again.”
With a sigh, Claire squeezed her hand before easing out of it. The
warmth in Annie’s fingers made her skin tingle, yearn.
“Time to turn that heat down before the candles become a puddle.”
Annie followed her back inside, hovering while she adjusted the
thermostat to a more reasonable temperature. She would need a heavier
sweater.
“Come on,” Annie said, hands on her hips. “Give.”
Shaking her head, Claire smiled, a real smile this time. “Would I’m
just cold and tired do it for you?”
“Hardly.” Annie stood in front of the counter, looking like a
golden Amazon ready for battle. “But it’ll have to until I can
get you drunk and pry the truth out of you.”
Laughter burst out of Claire. “I’d like to see that.”
“Yeah, so would I. If you actually touched the stuff.” She gave
Claire a wicked smile. “I could always slip you a mickey.”
“You could—if I wasn’t able to smell it from across the room.”
“Slapped down again. Hey—what if we just tried—”
“Not again. Never again.” Claire still felt the residual agony
from her one failed attempt at social drinking.
“How do you do that?” Those warm brown eyes narrowed as they
studied her. “How do you always know what I’m going to say?”
Claire reached up and patted her cheek. “I’m a witch, sweetheart.
It’s what I do.”
“Wait.” She grabbed Claire’s hand, pushed her sleeve up to
reveal the bandage that peeked out. “Is that another tattoo? What
is it this time?”
Claire flushed. The second reason she put on a sweater this morning.
“A triquetra.”
“More protection? Jeez, Claire, the pentacle on your hip isn’t
enough?”
“There is no such thing as too much protection.” She pulled free
and walked around the counter. “And the subject is closed.”
“Okay, I can take a hint. I’ll drop in sometime tomorrow, see if
you need any help during the festival madness.”
“That will be most appreciated.”
Annie strode to the door, her long legs taking her through the small
shop in a few paces. She paused in the doorway. “Hey, Claire—I’m
worried, and I poke when I’m worried. I’ll leave it alone for
now. But if you don’t get better, I’ll do more than poke.”
“Annie.” She stuck her head back in. “Don’t you even think
about taking on Mildred’s love spell.”
Color rushed into her cheeks.
“I wasn’t—”
“I mean it. Last time you nearly had your victim falling in love
with her cat.”
“Never gonna let me live that one down, are you?”
Claire smiled. “Not if it keeps you from trying again.”
Annie cursed under her breath and stalked out.
Chuckling, Claire made a mental note to put feelers out. Annie had
more than enough power, and just enough knowledge to make her
dangerous.
Without warning the pain stabbed her; a blade of ice in her gut.
Bracing her hands on the counter, she fought to breathe, fought to
keep herself upright. Shaking so hard her rings clattered against the
granite countertop, she gained enough control to lower herself to the
chair that she recently added, out of necessity.
“God above—” She pressed both arms against her stomach, prayed
for a slow morning. If she believed God would actually listen to her,
after all this time, she’d ask the single question that haunted
her.
Is this how it feels to be dying?
*
Eric
watched, helpless, as the beautiful creature tortured his sister
Katelyn.
Not a woman, not anymore—but she may have been human once. She had
looked human, and harmless, as she stood on the porch when Eric
opened the door to her this morning. But now power coiled around her,
dark and ugly. Power she’d hidden under a smile, and the name of a
mutual friend who had recommended his clinic. That power held him
against the wall with invisible chains, locked his voice in his
throat. He tried to scream as she dragged the knife across Katelyn’s
bare stomach.
“She will feel that, and not know why.” The creature trailed one
hand across the shallow wound, studying the blood that tipped her
fingers. “You are so delicate, so easily broken. Why would she
choose such a life, when immortality is hers?”
Katelyn no longer tugged at the ropes that tied her down to their
heavy farmhouse table. She stared up at the creature bent over her,
the bright light of the chandelier washing out her pale skin, and
moaned deep in her throat every time those narrow hands touched her.
Wearing only her faded jeans, she looked fragile, defenseless.
Fight her, Kate—damn it, you have to fight her until I can free—
“You would do best to save your strength, Eric. I have an important
task for you.”
He would kill himself before he agreed to any bloody deed she had for
him.
Katelyn recoiled, gasping as the tip of the blade moved up her torso,
stopping just below her ribcage. Eric fought against the invisible
restraints, his heart pounding so hard he could barely hear the
silken voice over it.
“Your life, your soul, will help me crack open a door. Soon I will
be able to return home in triumph, with the most coveted prize in my
grasp. Sweet Katelyn—I will owe you all that I become.” The
creature leaned in and pressed her lips to Katelyn’s cheek. “Thank
you. Now I will send her a message she will not soon forget. Close
your eyes, my innocent girl, and there will be no more pain.”
Eric’s scream echoed in his head as the creature shoved the knife
into Katelyn.
She arched off the table, then collapsed, blood spilling down her
skin, pooling on the scarred wood. Eric slumped against the wall. He
didn’t care what the devil did to him now. He had just watched her
kill the only important part of his life, his only family. Now he
wanted her to end him, before the pain kicked in. Before he started
to feel again.
She glided over to him, a beautiful, deadly predator.
“Now, my darling Eric.” He tried to jerk away from the hand
caressing him. She simply smiled, and the restraints tightened until
he fought to breathe. After an endless minute they loosened, just
enough for him to take in a ragged breath. “I will not tolerate
defiance. Do we have an understanding?”
“I won’t—obey you, bitch.” He sucked in another breath,
bracing himself for the final blow. “So just kill me.”
“Ah, Eric. Your bravado is refreshing. Most of your kind simply
cower, or grovel. I do abhor the groveling.”
She sounded like someone out of an old novel. He searched for the
term—then forgot everything when she kissed him.
Heat scorched him. He gasped against her lips, agony following the
trail of fire straight to the center of him.
“There.” She whispered into his mouth, her hand on his chest, the
touch like a branding iron.
He moaned, and she took it in, her lips claiming him. When she
finally tore away, he felt like part of him had been torn away with
her. Struggling to catch his breath, he lowered his head, and saw the
amulet in her palm. A stylized goat’s head, the gold edged with
black, like it had been—burned. Just looking at it had dread and
unnamable terror slithering through him. Then her hand dropped out of
sight, and he forgot what he was thinking, and why sweat slicked
every inch of him.
The woman smiled at him, and dark lust squeezed his gut. “You will
find her, Eric, and bring her to me. Hurt her if you must—and you
most likely will need to, in order to subdue her. But I want her
alive.”
“Whatever you want. I am yours . . .”
“Natasha. You can call me Natasha. Now watch, darling Eric, and
remember.”
He stared into the dark green eyes, watched in wonder as her image
shimmered, and another face laid over hers, an opaque mask. Her green
eyes became a silvery blue. The mask expanded, and color bled out of
her black hair, replaced by a rich brown. It grew, long and waving,
until it reached her waist. He followed the progress of the
shimmering mask, the part of his mind not trapped by her screaming in
horror. Her touch silenced it.
Looking up, he met the soft, silver blue eyes, the sculpted face
framed by masses of hair that seemed to engulf her delicate figure.
“Find me, Eric. It is time for me to go home.”
Fingers slid over his face, burning the image of her into his mind.
He sank into the waiting darkness, followed by a single word. A name.
Claire.
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