What Doesn't Kill You by Dean Cate

Author:Dean, Cate [Dean, Cate]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Pentam Press
Published: 2013-08-26T06:00:00+00:00

SEVEN

Claire’s breath hitched as they approached The Witch’s Way. The front window was dark, and it shouldn’t have been.

Simon let go of her hand, put himself between her and the door.

“Whatever happens, you stay behind me.”

She nodded, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. Simon would protect her, no matter what it cost him. Claire inched along the wall, prayed the cost wasn’t already too high.

Please let her be all right. Please, God, if you’re listening—let her be all right.

“I’ll go in first.” Simon’s quiet voice lifted her head. “You stay right behind me, no matter what. Tell me you understand.”

“I understand.” And she was too scared, too worried to think of an Annie-smart response.

Nodding, he moved toward the glass door, not making a sound. That quiet way of his always surprised her, though she knew it must have been from his days as a combat medic in the Army. The cop gig only reinforced the training, making him damn good at his job. Claire knew that training, and his gift for seeing power, saved her life.

His whisper yanked her out of the past. “It’s unlocked.”

Claire nodded, her dread notching up.

Simon eased the door open, and Claire couldn’t stop herself. She pushed past him, ignoring his whispered demand.

“Agnes?” Her voice echoed in the silent shop. There was no sound, not even the weepy New Age music Agnes normally had pouring out of the speakers. Dread spiraled to heart wrenching certainty. And then Claire spotted her. “No,” she whispered.

Agnes lay on the bright rug next to her velvet draped reading table, one arm outstretched, as if she were reaching for the door. Claire forced herself to move forward, and knelt beside the too-still figure. “Oh, Agnes.” Blood spread across the left side of her green silk robe, over her heart. Her face was grey, and relaxed in death as it had never been in life. “I am so sorry.”

“Claire—over here.” She followed Simon’s voice, needing to step away from the woman she hardly liked, but whose death could be squarely placed on her shoulders. “We may have a witness.”

“What are you—Mildred?” The old woman sputtered and coughed as Simon helped her sit. Her thin, white poodle curls stood up around her face, and blood streaked the front of her favorite flowered suit. “Are you all right?”

“Nearly had the life scared out of me, I’ll have you know.” She clutched Simon’s hands, her watery eyes gazing up at him with all the hero worship of a mooning teenager. “If you hadn’t shown up—why I’d probably be dead. He just went out the back. Devil.” She performed the sign of the cross, then yanked Simon’s hands forward, pressing them against her left breast. “Thank heaven you came, Father Simon!”

Claire let out a sigh. Same old Mildred. She doubted they would get much out of her beyond hysteria and grandiose exaggeration.

“Simon.” She touched his shoulder, hearing the grief in her voice. “We need to call this in.”

“I’ll do it. A friend on the force owes me a favor or two.

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