What Doesn't Kill You

by Cate Dean

  He twirled the cross, her blood splashing over his face. Sputtering, he wiped at it, choking and cursing. Claire took advantage and whirled, stabbing the knife down. Straight into the heart of the deck.

  “NO!”

  Fire burst out of the cards. Claire recoiled, covering her face, and ran into James.

  He spun her around, fury twisting his face, and swung the cross at her. She let the iron connect, the fury and pain fueling her. With a horrible sense of déjà vu, the sharp base of the cross drove deep into her side as she shoved them both toward the edge of the cliff.

  *

  “Mom—” Zach choked back the pain that ripped across his right side as he tried to stand. “Mom, no—”

  She fell off the cliff. Taking James with her.

  He crawled across the grass, caught the cliff edge and used it to pull himself forward. Simon was gone—he couldn’t lose her, too—not now—

  “Claire!”

  Eric’s shout told him help had finally arrived. He kept moving, pulling himself closer so he could look over the edge. She was gone, his mind already knew that, but he had to know for sure.

  Strong hands caught his ankle, kept him from going over after her. Part of him wanted to—this was his fault, he took the card, he put them in this spot by following them, being stupid enough to let himself be taken—

  “Zach?”

  The wind-whipped voice stopped his heart. Grabbing the edge of the cliff, he peered over the side.

  Mom hung on to a protruding ledge, clinging like a monkey. Cold wind beat at her, trying to tear her off. His heart stuttered, started pounding again so hard it hurt his chest. Fresh blood heated his skin.

  “Hang on, Mom—” He reached down with his left hand, stretching out his fingers. The tips just brushed her shoulder. His side hurt so bad he could hardly breathe, but he wasn’t going to let her die. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. “Can you take my hand?”

  “Zach—”

  “Don’t argue. We can argue later. Take my hand.”

  Her eyes widened, silver almost swallowing the blue. Zach expected her to snap his head off, with the demon so clearly close to the surface. Instead she calmly reached up and caught his hand, her fingers shaking so much she had a hard time gripping him. The pressure of her added weight had his wound screaming in protest.

  “Now climb over me. Use me—like a ladder.” He had trouble catching his breath.

  “I don’t—”

  “Do it, Mom.”

  She obeyed, twisting her fingers into the sleeve of his shirt. Her free hand gripped the ledge, and Zach watched her feet find a hold on the narrow edge of rock. Black spots danced in front of him. He blinked, focused on her.

  Slowly, inch by excruciating inch, she made her way up, gasping every time she moved her left arm. She paused, swallowing as she reached down to the cross sticking out of her side. With a choked scream she grabbed it and yanked it free. Zach watched it bounce down the side of the cliff, landing blade down at the head of the still figure sprawled on the sand.

  “God, that hurt.” She swung her now blistered hand up, caught the cliff face just below his head. “I’m good, Zach. Tell them to pull you up.”

  “Not—without you.” He closed his eyes as another wave of pain threatened to drag him under.

  Mom cursed as she let go of his arm and climbed up next to him, using the sharp, random outcroppings like a ladder. Zach filed the more creative swear words away for later. This close he saw the toll the iron took on her, and her hands shaking on the rock.

  “Mom—”

  “Take my hand, Claire,” Eric said. He stretched out next to Zach, reaching down to her.

  “Careful.” Zach gasped, the effort of staying conscious catching up with him. “She’s hurt.”

  “I see it. I know you’re there, Annie. Don’t you even think about helping me. Back away. I’ll bring her to you.”

  Good as his word, Eric yanked Mom up and over the top of the cliff, both of them landing in the grass. The hands that had held Zach, kept him from tumbling over, pulled him up and turned him on his back.

  Marcus leaned over him. “Not the smartest move. Thank you.” Jade green eyes met his, gold swirling in their depths. “Now it is time to take care of you.”

  A whirlwind of sand surrounded them, gold light flashing through the mini storm. Zach expected a face full of sand. Instead, it brushed over his skin, gathering around his injury, warmth spreading through him, sucking away the pain.

  The mini storm blew itself out. Zach took in a breath, surprised that it barely hurt.

  “I only healed you enough to close the wound, so keep still. I am going to take care of your mom.”

  He moved to her side, lowered his head. A second whirlwind surrounded them. Inside it, Marcus held Mom in his arms. Zach swallowed, struck by the anguish on his face, and his obvious love for her.

  She opened her eyes, and the dread fisting his gut loosened.

  Eric held on to Annie, whispering to her as she cried. Zach closed his eyes, fought back his own tears. He felt used up, and if Mom didn’t pull through—he couldn’t even finish that thought in his head.

  “Hey, punk.” He looked at Annie. Somehow she got over here without a sound. “Don’t even say it. I haven’t lost all my ninja abilities.” She helped him sit, cradled the back of his head, the concern in her eyes lodging tears in his throat. “How are you?”

  “Okay,” he whispered. His voice came out raw, and as ragged as he felt.

  “Come here.” She held out her hand, and before his mind could tell him to man up, he curled into her embrace, needing the comfort, the warmth she always gave him. No matter how much he pissed her off. “She’ll be okay, Zach. We’ll do whatever it takes to make sure of that, for both of you.”

  “Simon—”

  “I know.” Annie closed her eyes, tears slipping down her face. “He was already—gone.”

  “He saved Mom. The deck—” He tried to stand. His side screamed at him. Not as loudly as before, but enough that he knew he still had some recuperating ahead of him.

  “Gone.” Annie glanced over at the knife, still sticking out of the ground. A pile of ash surrounded the blade, bits of gold spread through the grey. Power wrapped around the knife. It looked—stronger. Zach knew they would have to take care of it, find a nice, permanent warded box for it. “That’s the knife—”

  “He used on me? Yeah. That was his mistake. If he hadn’t stabbed me with it, I never would have figured out it could destroy the deck. Do you think—” He forced it out, needing to know he wasn’t the only one holding on to hope. “Will Mom be okay?”

  Annie sighed, tightened her embrace. “I think so. She’s got a soul now, and that counts for something. With the deck gone, we can lead her back to normal.”

  “Annie.” She looked at him, the same fear that twisted through him in her eyes. “She’s never going to be normal again, is she?”

  Annie let out a sigh. “No, sweetheart. But we’ll get her as close as we can.”

  TEN

  They took Simon home.

  The priest who had replaced him helped Marcus move his body into the rectory, asking no questions. He simply shook Marcus’ hand, thanked him, and consoled the parishioners who gathered around, tears and shock on their faces. Marcus was thankful for the quiet acceptance. He knew there would be questions, but the priest assured him they could wait, until Simon had been put to rest. He belonged to the Church, and the Church would take care of him.

  The next stop was for Claire.

  Marcus carried her inside and settled her on to the bed, letting Eric and Annie deal with Zach.

  He held her right hand, sitting on the side of the bed. She was unconscious, her body so cold he had to keep checking her breath to assure himself she still lived. She beat the monster, but it may have cost her everything.

  Annie joined him. Seated in a chair on the opposite side of the bed, she rubbed Claire’s bare arm, her touch continuou
s, and gentle. She had cried on the cliff, but now she kept watch over Claire, brown eyes fierce and angry.

  She looked up, and he finally spoke. “How is Zach?”

  “Resting. He’ll heal, thanks to you.”

  His quick thinking was the only reason Claire survived. She would not have been able to hold on to the ledge for long, not with two inches of iron buried in her side. Marcus pulled out the worst of the poison, but he could not heal what the tainted power of the deck had drawn out of her—the demon they thought long vanquished.

  As if he heard, Zach’s quiet voice filtered into the room.

  “Will she—” He stood in the doorway, left hand clutching the frame. Marcus saw the gleam of tears before Zach looked away. “Will she be okay?”

  “Because of you, we will have the chance to find out.”

  Annie pushed herself out of the chair. “You should be in bed.”

  “I had to make sure . . .” His voice faded, and he lowered his head.

  Annie moved to him and cupped his chin, lifting until he met her eyes. “You saved her life. Now she knows how much you care. That’s going to help. And thank you,” she pulled him forward and kissed him on the cheek, much to his mortification. “For saving her, and not getting dead doing it.”

  Zach let out a watery laugh, wiping at his face. “I just didn’t want her to fall. I wasn’t thinking about me falling. Until now.”

  Annie patted his cheek. “You’re welcome.”

  “Stop teasing him, Annie.” Claire’s faint voice had all of them leaning forward. Marcus checked her pulse, took her free hand. “Hey,” she whispered. “Looks like I made it.”

  “By too narrow a margin.” Marcus kissed her forehead, relieved by the hint of warmth under her skin. “Don’t you ever dare such a ridiculous stunt again, do you understand?” He cradled her cheek. “I almost lost you, sweet.”

  “You lost part of me, when the demon—”

  “No.” Zach’s quiet, angry denial cut her off. “You’re still you, Mom.”

  Claire closed her eyes, tears slipping free. “Thank you, sweetheart. And thank you for bringing me home.” She took in a ragged breath, looked at Marcus. “We need to bury Simon.”

  “Claire, the priest at his church has already—”

  “No. We are his family. And he was the closest to a brother I will ever have. I want to do this for him. To say goodbye—”

  “We’ll take care of it, honey.” Annie brushed hair off her forehead, tears edging her voice. “You rest, let me do this for you. For Simon.”

  “Where is he?”

  Marcus let out a sigh, knowing she would not let go until she was satisfied. “The church rectory. The priest there promised to work out the details. He asked no questions, and said he would look after Simon.”

  Claire nodded, squeezing his hand. “I need to take care of a couple of things, but I want to bury him as soon as we can.”

  “I will contact the priest.”

  “Where is Eric?”

  Annie pushed wild curls off her forehead, taking a sudden interest in the bed linens. “He—he’s getting rid of what’s left of the deck. And—killing the card we had.”

  “No—” Claire tried to sit. All three of them moved at the same time, but she dropped back to the bed, her face white. “God above, I hurt everywhere.” She swallowed, focused on Annie. “Tell me.”

  “He seems to be the least affected by the cards, when compared to the rest of us. And I won’t get any sleep until that last card joins the others, and the ashes are buried in a giant container of salt.”

  “Thorough.”

  “I thought so.” Annie smiled when Zach snorted. “You would have done the same, if you hadn’t just fought a greedy bastard and tried to jump off a cliff. Again.”

  “Won’t go for a third try. Promise.”

  “You better not. My heart won’t take it.”

  “The knife,” Claire said. “What are we going to do with—”

  “Bury it,” Zach said, his voice cold. “In a box so covered in wards it will be invisible.”

  Claire nodded. “Very thorough.”

  “Zach’s idea,” Annie said. She leaned in and kissed Claire’s cheek. “On that note, we’re going to leave you two alone. I’m hungry,” she cut off Zach’s protest with a glance. “And I’m seriously craving a juicy roast beef sandwich.”

  Zach all but bounced off the wall, hand pressed to his side. The injury didn’t seem to affect his enthusiasm. “I could get it for you.”

  “Only if you get one for yourself. Or two—if you think you can carry them.”

  The first real smile Marcus had seen since they left the cliff crossed Zach’s face. “No problem.” He moved to the door, slower than his usual sprint, and turned in the doorway. “Mom? Did you—”

  “None for me, sweetheart. My stomach isn’t quite ready yet. Though I imagine Marcus will not pass one up. If you can carry that many.”

  “I can handle it.” He disappeared down the hallway.

  “My purse is on the counter!” Annie called after him, and grunted as she pushed herself up. “Lord, I feel fat. And not a single snide word, Jinn. Not even in your head.”

  “I will force myself to refrain.” He smiled at her. She scowled, and made her way to the door, closing it behind her. “She will be an intriguing mother.”

  “Never a dull moment.” Claire pulled free of his grasp. “Help me sit—no argument, Marcus. I know I will be spending more time in bed than I want to. For now, humor me.”

  “One sign that you need to rest—”

  “And I will. Stubborn Jinn.” A smile lit the silver blue eyes.

  He returned the smile, ignored the ache at seeing the evidence of the demon, so close to the surface. Lifting her, he shifted the pillows before he settled her against their support. “Better?”

  “Much.” She twisted her fingers around the sheet, staring at her hands. “Now ask your questions, Marcus.”

  Sighing, he rubbed his face, so far beyond exhausted he knew he would not sleep tonight. “You know me too well, witch. Look at me, and I will ask.”

  She obeyed, such despair on her face it tore at him. “I will do my best to answer.”

  Damn her, she expected an interrogation. Marcus closed his hands over hers, waited for her to stop. “I have only one question, Claire.” Swallowing, she nodded. “When are we setting the wedding date?”

  “What?” She blinked at him, obviously taken by surprise. Marcus enjoyed the moment; he didn’t get the satisfaction all that often. “But—are you sure, even after what I—”

  “You said yes, Claire. You will not rid yourself of me so easily.”

  “Marcus.” She sounded calm, but he could feel the panic behind it. “I won’t force you to tie yourself to—”

  “An uncertain future?”

  She let out a frustrated breath. “A demon, you thick-headed, stubborn man.”

  “There is no guarantee that we will have tomorrow. I want to face that uncertainty, that adventure, with you.” He brushed his fingers over her cheek. Claire closed her eyes. “I love you, sweet. Nothing will ever change that simple fact.”

  “God above,” she whispered. Pulling one hand free, she touched the amethyst heart at her throat. Zach had put it back on her as soon as he could, after finding it in Simon’s pocket. Marcus knew it was a way for the boy to take control of an uncontrollable situation. “I need to put Simon to rest.” Tears edged her voice, and she let them fall, no longer ashamed to show her vulnerable side in front of him. The tears gave him hope. “Can you give me two weeks?”

  “If I must.”

  She hit his arm, some of the grief in her eyes easing. “You want to marry me, you foolish Jinn, you will have to give me two weeks. And don’t even think of trying any of your hocus pocus to shorten the time. There are plans to be made, even for a small wedding. Sweet heaven,” she whispered. “A wedding.”

  Marcus kissed her, then swung his legs up on the bed and pulled h
er against his chest. “Get used to saying it, sweet. You said yes, so you are mine. Now and for good.”

  ELEVEN

  Claire walked into Billie’s Pub, scanning the dim interior for its owner. Spotting her at the far end of the bar, Claire moved through the lunch crowd. “Hi, Billie.”

  “Claire!” Billie pulled her into a one-armed hug. “Glad to see you up and walking. You here for another one?”

  “If you have time.”

  “Come on back.”

  She followed Billie into the shiny, antiseptic clean back rooms of her other business. A tattoo studio.

  A long-dead artist had inked Claire’s first pentagram, more than eighty years before. But Billie did the triquetra on her wrist, and her delicate, fine line style was well known and wildly popular. She would work for Claire’s needs.

  “I was so sorry to hear about Simon. He was a good man, with a big heart.” Billie helped her sit in the padded leather chair, adjusting it until Claire lay flat on her back. “I’d like to attend his funeral, if it’s okay with you.”

  Swallowing past the tears in her throat, Claire nodded. “I will send over the information. Please feel free to post it. I won’t keep anyone who knew him from saying goodbye.”

  “Okay.” Billie rubbed her shoulder, then moved into business mode. “You wanted this one on your right shoulder?”

  “Yes.” Just like her first pentacle, she figured having it on her dominant side would be more effective.

  She unbuttoned her shirt, slipped out of it, and turned herself over, wearing the thin chemise that could easily slip off if necessary. Billie sat on the padded stool next to her, eased the strap of the chemise down, and cleaned her skin. Closing her eyes, Claire felt the transfer press over her shoulder. She let herself drift, sorting through the events of the past couple of days.

  James died in the fall. Marcus climbed down to the deserted beach to make certain of it. After Eric made an anonymous call from one of the only payphones left in Santa Luna, the police and the coroner took custody of him. A small article on page three of the local paper mentioned a tourist falling off the cliff. It happened often enough that the incident was quickly forgotten. Claire predicted another protest group would show up in front of the town hall, demanding railings on the cliff. Again.