Page 16 of Which Witch Is Wicked?
Moira blocked Claire from escaping from behind the counter, her own eyes wet with unshed tears.
“What?” Claire asked, not sure she was ready for the next difficulty she might have to battle. “Did that crazy homeless man come in?”
Moira shook her head and sniffed. “I heard what you done told Sunny. That other stuff about you being on my shit list? It’s all good.” She gave a firm nod and turned back to an older woman waiting at the counter.
Claire raised her brows as the customer asked if Moira had anything to recommend for warts. She would have helped Sunny regardless, but the fact that she’d pleased Moira at the same time left a lighthearted fire burning inside her.
* * *
Dru followedhis usual path through overgrown pines. The overcast day aided his covert mission as he headed toward the coven’s headquarters.
A sudden rush of warmth filled him, causing him to halt mid-step.
Claire.
He inhaled a deep breath, closed his eyes, and savored the burning inside him. He wasn’t sure what had just transpired, but she was happy.
He lived for those moments during the day, when she smiled or laughed. They gave him hope for the future, for a future with her, even when that seemed impossible. He had no idea how he’d reconcile the unfolding events, and, it seemed, the inevitable end of the world. But as long as Claire drew a breath, he’d keep fighting for their chance.
Refocusing on the duty at hand, he slipped into the coven’s compound unnoticed. It wasn’t that the Witches of Port Townsend hadn’t highly secured their property. In fact, some of the most powerful wards kept out unwanted visitors, but, truth be told, he was wanted.
Some might consider messing with Gwen’s affections a dangerous game. Dru deemed his time with the coven’s leader a highly necessary, effective warfare tactic. Gwen had yet to discover his ability to conjure believable situations like Claire had during their first meeting. Then again, Claire was far superior to Gwen in beauty and talent, though she might not have realized it yet.
The other three Horsemen still believed the calamitous events of their recent days centered directly around the Apocalypse. Yes, the end of the world hung in the balance, teetering on their and the witches’ actions, intended or otherwise. But he suspected there was more at play than the death of a witch.
No.He knew it.
They might take out Claire or one of her sisters in the current day, but this scenario would eventually come back around, and they’d face it again. Might be next year. Might be a millennia down the road.
He was tired of the fight. Tired of the endless days with no love and only death and destruction. His brothers had to be as well.
They needed to solve this predicament once and for all, or be faced with thousands of days of torture again. Claire’s death might bring an end to the fire burning inside him, but knowing she no longer inhabited the earth would bring about a pain worse than death, worse than the raging fires of hell.
There was no other option for him.
If that brought him into the bedchamber of the lovely, cunning, yet chillingly cold coven leader, so be it.
As he neared the red brick mansion once owned by a highly profitable shipping magnate back in the 1850s, he slowed his steps. Claire’s aunt would be inside as well, along with the rest of the coven. Though they were no match for his stealth and ingenuity, one careless step could out him, and he had no doubt Gwen would not give a blink to save him from their wrath.
He checked her bedroom window, and finding it unlocked, slipped inside.
The cool aquamarine and purples of the room bored him to distraction. Nearly lulled him to sleep, which, he supposed, was the point of a bedroom. At least to some.
He preferred rich, bold reds and oranges that excited his blood and his libido. Like Claire’s room. He’d watched her many times through his high-powered rifle scope, brushing her hair, removing the leather sheath she liked to wear so often.
Beneath, he’d discovered she liked to wear black satin. No pink, yellow or green. Always black. Like his heart.
Or at least like his heart had been before he’d carried her Fire.
Voices in the hallway surprised him, and he quickly flattened his iron-toned body against an armoire, prepared to bring forth his sword if necessary. The doorknob sounded as someone twisted it, and a shaft of dim light entered from the hall, barely lighting the dark room.
“Why are you bothering me with visitors, Justine?” Gwen’s voice carried the sharp edge of impatience.
Three steps into the room, Gwen caught sight of Dru. Her nostrils flared with surprise, and she halted abruptly, Justine bumping into her. Gwen twirled, coming face-to-face with Justine, forcing Claire’s aunt to take a step backward, out of his view, meaning he was also out of hers.
“If you would let me finish.” Excitement thrummed on each of Justine’s words. “It’s not Georgia like we expected. She’s someone much higher up. I’m sure of it. If you meet her, you’ll sense it as well. She has powers far beyond anyone in our coven. She’s asked for temporary sanctuary. From whom, I’m not sure. But think of what we might learn from her. Even if she only stays a few days.”
“This is risky at best, Justine.” Gwen flashed a quick, concerned look in his direction, and Dru knew she didn’t want him to overhear their conversation. “I will meet with her, but she cannot stay.”
