The Claire Wiche Chronicles Volumes 1-3

By Cate Dean

Now get the first three books of The Claire Wiche Chronicles in one volume!

 

Rest For The Wicked

 

She's running from her past. And running out of time.

 

Claire Wiche is an ordinary woman, running her Wicca shop, The Wiche's Broom, 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 story continues in:

 

A Gathering of Angels and Carry On Wayward Son.

 

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

Box sets:
The Claire Wiche Chronicles Volumes 1-3
The Claire Wiche Chronicles Volumes 4-5

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cate Dean
• Release date: Dec 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781501461101

Cate Dean

Cate Dean has been writing since she could hold a pen in her hand and put more than two words together on paper. She grew up losing herself in fantasy worlds, and now creates her own worlds, infusing them with adventure and magic. When she's not writing, she travels to places that inspire her, having her own adventures, and reads pretty much anything she can get her hands on. There - I got the official biography out of the way. I love to write, and yes, I have been doing it most of my life. I've made up stories in my head for as long as I can remember, and I am thrilled to be able to bring those stories to life, and share them with you. If you want to be the first to know when the next book is released, or be in on some fun giveaways, join my list here: https://catedeanwrites.com/join-my-list. You can learn more about me and my books at my website: https://catedeanwrites.com I look forward to meeting you. :)

Book preview

REST FOR THE WICKED

THE CLAIRE WICHE CHRONICLES BOOK 1

Cate Dean

Copyright 2012, 2nd Edition.

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except for use in any review. This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, locales, and events are either pure invention or used fictitiously, and all incidents come from the author’s imagination alone.

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Cover art by Nadica Boskovska

Cover design by Indie Author Services

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Sign up for Cate’s list: http://catedeanwrites.com/join-my-list/ to learn about new releases.

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She's running from her past – and running out of time.

Claire Wiche is an ordinary woman, running her Wicca shop, The Wiche's Broom, 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.

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.

TWO

Eric walked into joyful chaos.

Some kind of festival filled the streets, hampering him. He wanted to snarl at every body that stepped in his way. The part of him that needed to find her kept his rage in check.

Asking proved useless; he kept getting sent in the wrong direction. His frustration built, faster, hotter, until he knew he had to get away from the crowds before he lashed out.

He pushed past a group of witches. Dressed in cheap velvet robes and pointy black hats, they looked like a convention of cut-rate spell casters. It almost made him smile.

And then he saw her. His body froze, his heart pounding so hard he expected it to burst apart against his ribs.

She stood outside a small store across the street, arms crossed, a smile on her face as she talked to a young couple.

Claire.

Just her name made Eric itch for the knife strapped to his calf. He didn’t remember where he got it; he only knew it would hurt her, kill her. And that was all he wanted. For Katelyn. He hoped that he would die in the process, because to live with the agony clenching his gut would be unbearable.

Yes, he would make sure her death cost his life.

His gaze moved past her, to the lettering on the store window. The Wiche’s Broom: catering to the dabbler and the devout.

God protect me—

He didn’t expect her to flaunt her power, to make her living on the pain of innocent people.

Not for long. I promise you, bitch, it won’t be for long.

What was that, young man? He jumped at the harsh voice that came from somewhere near his elbow. An ancient woman stared up at him, her dark brown eyes narrowed. Who would you be swearing at?

Not you, ma’am. He flashed her a smile. You caught me. I came to see an old girlfriend, hoping she’d be miserable without me. Turns out I was wrong.

You don’t need to worry that handsome head. Spindly fingers clutched his arm. He wanted to jerk away, to cross the street and bury his knife in the murdering bitch. You just head over to The Wiche’s Broom, and Claire will set you up with a nice love spell. Your girl won’t stand a chance. She winked at him, and it took every ounce of control he had not to recoil. Don’t tell her I sent you. She likes to think she brings in business on her own.

The woman finally let him go, and made her way to the bakery two doors down, screeching at anyone who got in her path. Eric lifted one hand and brushed hair off his forehead. He was sweating, his hand shaking, his control slipping.

He didn’t remember how he got to Santa Luna, this insignificant beach town. He found himself gripping a key, soaked in sweat and standing in the middle of a strange hotel room. Now all he wanted to do was kill the woman who smiled, who breathed, who lived when Katelyn was dead.

She waved to the couple and turned away from the street, stepping back into her store. Now. He could take her now—

A laughing group of teenage girls ran in front of him and straight into the store. Rage blinded him—until a car horn jerked him around. He stood in the street, and people stared at him. Lowering his head, he moved to the sidewalk, kept going until he was safely around the corner. He leaned against the stucco wall of a gallery, clenched his shaking hands.

He couldn’t draw attention to himself. He had to kill her quietly, get it over with before she—

Agony burst through his head, nearly doubled him. Clutching the wall, he inched himself up.

Hey, man—you okay? Strong hands grabbed his arm. He blinked his eyes clear, met the concerned gaze of a sixty-something hippie. Thought you were gonna do a face plant right here.

Let me go.

The man retreated from Eric’s raw fury. Eric felt the darkness that coiled in him, around him, fought to rein it in. That dark fury was meant for only one person.

Hey. The man raised his hands in the universal I’m-not-going-to-hurt-you gesture. Just trying to be the good Samaritan, man.

Then tell me where I can find the nearest bar.

The hippie raised his eyebrows, but he kept from commenting on Eric’s condition.

Cross the street. Hotel restaurant’s got just what you need. Hey. Eric turned on him, fists clenched. Take care, man.

He let out his breath, and some of the rage went with it.

Thank you. Sorry about—sorry. Bad day.

I hear you. Get a good drunk on, sleep it off. Tomorrow you’ll be a new man.

Nodding at Eric, he walked around the corner.

Eric sagged against the wall, pushed sweat-damp hair off his forehead with shaking fingers. The back of his t-shirt was soaked through, clammy against his suddenly cold skin.

Exhausted, he had no strength to fight the grief that reared up to replace the rage, clawing at his heart. By tomorrow he wanted this to be done.

By tomorrow, he planned to be dead.

THREE

"And who told you I do love spells?"

Claire studied the chattering girls, hands on her hips in mock disapproval. The chatter died down, some of them looking at each other, some at the floor. One girl shuffled her foot against the hardwood floor before finally working up the courage to speak.

Ms. Macey.

Mildred? That ancient sneak. Claire wondered how many other people she handed that whopper to today. She knew she would be finding out—one at a time, all day long. I want you to listen, girls. Love spells are for lonely, desperate people. You want the boy of your dreams to notice you, am I right?

They all nodded, their eyes wide. A couple smiled, realizing she included Mildred in that description. Claire tapped her lips with one finger to hide her own smile.

Now, I may not be able to offer a love spell, but I can give you each something that will make you shine. Come on over and let me show you my latest acquisition. Claire led them over to the jewelry counter, pointed out the chunky heart pendants. Pick the one that jumps out at you—that’s important. And on special, for the next five minutes—one free to a customer.

The squealing should have shattered her front window. Smiling, she stepped back and let them crowd around the display, their voices dancing through the air. Claire wanted to preserve the moment, so she could take it out and relive it from time to time. Her own teen years had been rough—which made gifting the pendants to these girls all the sweeter. It would make a memory they could carry, along with the heart.

Annie stepped into the shop, and Claire mouthed the words love spell over the lowered heads. Guilt flared across her friend’s face; Claire made a mental note to watch her over the next couple of days. Annie had a soft spot for the lovelorn.

She met Claire at the front counter, radiating sunshine in her yellow sundress, short blonde curls framing her face. How’s business?

Insane. I keep telling myself every year that I will get ready for this months in advance. It hasn’t happened yet. She leaned on the counter, grateful for the break. Is it crazy out there?

I’ve been groped, propositioned, and whistled at more times than I can count in just the last block. I think I also got a marriage proposal, but the proposer was so drunk I couldn’t understand a word of it. A smile lit up her face. Best day of the year so far.

Laughing, Claire shook her head. Whatever did I do before I met you?

Lived a life of pain and boredom. Her smile faded. And that cut too close to the truth. I’m sorry, honey—I’m drunk on energy. You know I don’t mean— She turned to the door as the bell jingled, and sucked in her breath. Oh, hurt me. Hunk alert.

Fussing at her hair, Annie sauntered toward the man standing just inside the doorway. Claire could see the appeal—tall, lean but well-muscled, with eyes that looked like striated jade. The black shirt and jeans simply accentuated his assets. Curling brown hair brushed his cheek as he smiled down at Annie, topping her almost six feet by a good three inches. Then he glanced over at Claire.

Light radiated from him, shimmered around him. A light Claire knew he let only her see. A light she had seen once before. Anger swept through her, and she moved toward him. The anger spiked when she saw the silver that winked at his ear, through his wild, curling hair. A hamsa—an ancient protection symbol. That confirmed her suspicion—and her need to get him out. Now. She would be damned if she let one of his kind manipulate her again—

The vision smacked her, so sudden she couldn’t defend herself against it.

Sun and sand filled her mind, wind whipping around a stooped figure as he fought his way through the sandstorm, blood staining his chest, what had been his life torn from him—

Claire jerked herself out of the vision, gripped the counter. Those gold-laced eyes studied her, every inch of him unaffected. Then he closed his eyes for a moment, and the pain, the grief she felt in the vision flared across his face.

The moment passed, and his attention returned to Annie, who chatted and laughed, not aware of the light, the power that surrounded him. Claire pushed off the counter, determined to get him out before Annie attached herself to him. She would find out later just what the hell a Jinn was doing in her town.

Annie. Her friend stared up at the Jinn, mesmerized. "Annie."

Jerking around, she looked dazed. What— The bell over the door rang, and Annie swung toward the sound, frowning at the empty doorway. Where did he—what was I just—Claire?

It’s all right, Annie. Claire moved to the front window, and spotted him, opening the driver’s door of a sleek black Jaguar parked across the street from her shop. He met her gaze, then slid in and slammed the car door.

Annie was staring at Claire when she turned away from the window. I was—just talking to someone, right? I know I was talking to—a man—

Help me pretty up these pendants. Rolling up the sleeves of her blouse, Claire moved around the counter, pulling out the fancy moon and stars paper, along with a handful of jewelry boxes. Come on—I don’t want to keep my best customers waiting.

The giggles made her smile—and distracted Annie. They wrapped each pendant, adding a waterfall of curling ribbon. Claire presented the gift to its new owner with a flourish. After the last of them left the shop, Annie asked the question Claire had been waiting on.

Who the hell was that man?

Did he tell you his name? Claire cleaned up the wrapping mess, using it as a way to stall.

I don’t remember a single word. Just the way he looked at—you. Her head snapped around, brown eyes narrowed. "He talked to me, but he wanted to be talking to you. She rubbed her forehead. Why can’t I remember what he looks like? I barely remember talking to him—"

Don’t worry, Annie. Claire touched her shoulder, and did what she hated most. She manipulated Annie’s memory. Go on—enjoy the rest of the festival. I’ll meet you tonight over at Billie’s.

Annie’s eyes glazed over—then she smiled, her bouncy self again.

Okey dokey. Sit down for a while, Claire. You look wiped. I’ll see you tonight!

Claire waited until the door closed, then sank to the chair, her head pounding. What she did took more out of her than it should have, and the sudden, debilitating pain scared her.

She could cover, for a while. With some crystal healing, energy smoothies from the juice bar down the street, more sleep. But part of her knew, had known for a while, that her time here was ending.

Claire pushed herself up and reached for the amethyst sitting next to her computer. The moment her fingers closed over the smooth oval stone, heat radiated up her arm. The headache eased, enough for her to think about going out. She decided to have one of those energy shakes now; it would keep her going until after she met up with Annie at Billie’s Pub.

Slipping the amethyst in the front pocket of her pants, she made a mental note to start wearing her amethyst pendant. It would help boost her energy a bit, if nothing else. She pulled open the shop door—and ran straight into the Jinn.

*

Eric slammed down his fifth shot of whiskey. His throat burned, his stomach felt raw, and the grief still tore at him. So he ordered another shot and dug down for the rage.

It came to the surface easier now, with all the whiskey running through his system. But it didn’t, it couldn’t, shut down that last image of Katelyn—

Hi, Billie. One of the usual, por favor. Eric lifted his head at the voice, met the eyes of the tall, perky blonde standing next to him. And pain bored through his skull. Whoa—I’ve got you. Easy now, handsome. Just hang on to me if you need to.

Her touch ignited fire in his veins. Eric yanked out of her grip and stumbled away from her. She radiated life. And her light seared through the darkness clutching his soul like a flaming torch.

He shoved his way past the people staring at him. Cold air slapped him as he hit the sidewalk. It didn’t quench the fire. And the source followed him.

Are you okay? Her gentle hands burned when they touched him. The part of his mind not screaming to kill her understood why. She was goodness, purity. All he had inside him was the hate, the rage, the grief that forced him to move forward. Sit down, right here’s fine. Nice, solid sidewalk.

Please— The word scraped up his raw throat. Get back—before I hurt you.

Surprise flared in her eyes.

Why would a hunk like you resort to violence when all you’d have to do is smile?

Something choked him. Laughter. He never thought he’d laugh again. Then he doubled over when agony exploded in his head.

She caught him, eased him to the ground, touched his forehead. You’re ice cold. I’m getting you to the hospital.

Eric grabbed her wrist when she started to tap out numbers on her phone. Can’t help.

To his relief she lowered the phone, tucked it into her purse. I’m not just leaving you here. Where are you staying?

Don’t— He fumbled the room key out of his pocket.

She raised one eyebrow as she read the name of the hotel.

Well, Mr. VIP. I think you can afford a taxi if you’re staying there. Let’s get you home. With a strength that surprised him she helped him stand, then whistled for one of the taxis trolling for passengers. She helped him into the back seat, gave the driver his location. The Ritz-Carlton, she said, then turned back to Eric. Okay, you just sit back and enjoy the ride. What’s your name, handsome?

Swallowing, he looked at her, took in the striking face, the short yellow dress that showed off every curve, the life that poured out of her.

Eric.

Hi, Eric. Her smile pushed back some of the darkness. I’m Annie. She leaned in, brushed sweat soaked hair off his forehead. You take care of yourself.

She shut the door and watched him as the driver pulled away. Once they were out of sight Eric clutched his head with both hands, forced a scream down his throat when the voice clawed into his mind.

You failed.

*

The Jinn grabbed Claire before she could escape, trapping her wrists in both hands. Then he let out a low hiss and recoiled, shaking the hand that touched her tattoo.

Gods—what are you doing with that kind of protection? Who in the name of all that is holy did you piss off?

None of your damn business. Jinn. Claire yanked out of his grasp and backed across the shop. What the hell are you doing in my town?

One dark eyebrow lifted. He rubbed his hand, then closed the door behind him, flicking the lock. Claire’s heart jumped.

I came for the festival. Witch. A smile flashed across his face, carried with it the charm his kind was known to possess in abundance. Claire refused to let it work on her. Your shop intrigued me, so I decided to take a look. You do not believe a word of this.

Bingo.

I can prove the truth of it. Using his left hand, he pulled a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket, held it up. Claire recognized it immediately; the flyer sent out announcing the Annual Summer Solstice Festival. I saw this at a New Age shop up the coast. It has been many years since I joined a Solstice celebration. Grief flashed in those gold-laced green eyes before he averted his gaze. Grief she understood. I decided it was time.

Who have you lost? Claire wanted to take the question back when he flinched. "I’m sorry—now I’m being rude and belligerent. Let me see your hand. He looked at her, surprise breaking through the sorrow. I know I hurt you. And no, it wasn’t intentional. The tattoo is new, and honestly, I didn’t think it had the energy to do any harm."

He moved to her, laid his right hand in her palm. Claire sucked in her breath.

Heaven above. A burn scorched the center of his palm, in the shape of her triquetra. I am so sorry. Come and sit. I have something that will help.

She led him to the chair behind her counter, watched him sink to it, pain in every move. Guilt had her slipping the amethyst out of her pocket, the stone already warm. She laid it in his left hand and closed his fingers over it. With a sigh, he nodded his thanks, tightened his grip on the crystal.

Light speared through his fingers. Claire stepped back, watched what she had never seen before—a Jinn revealing his true form. It was the only way he could heal himself, and it startled her that he believed he would be safe with her.

The outline of his hunched figure blurred, smoke curling around him, through him. A cyclone of sand and wind burst from him, surrounded him. Inside that cyclone she saw him, the soul many claimed he didn’t have burning like a flame through sand and smoke. His hands flowed together, the amethyst glowing in their grasp, beating out the rhythm of his heart. He threw his head back and the glow burst free, shooting up to the ceiling. Claire let out a cry and covered her eyes.

Between one breath and the next, he changed from smoke wraith to human, but Claire would never forget what she saw. Or that he gave her such trust.

Do you have—some water? His sand rough voice jerked her back to the moment.

Of course. She ran to the back room, pulled several bottles out of the small fridge, and the other half of her sandwich from lunch. She dumped everything on the counter, afraid to touch him. He still looked—insubstantial. There’s a roast beef sandwich, if you’re interested. Best you’ll ever taste.

Guaranteed? He smiled, reaching for the bottle closest to him. He twisted the cap off and drained it in one long swallow. Ah, better. His deep voice smoothed out. He uncapped the second bottle, then reached for the sandwich. Most of the witches I meet are vegan, or at least vegetarian.

I’ve tried. Repeatedly. She smiled, leaning against the counter. The beef keeps calling me back. I believe I lasted six months the last try. And swore never to put myself through that torture again.

He unwrapped the sandwich, took a good bite, and closed his eyes.

You didn’t lie. This is heaven in a bun. I am Marcus.

He held out his hand. His right hand. Claire took it after a long moment, noticed that his palm was unmarked.

Claire Wiche. No T. E at the end.

Ah—that explains the spelling on your window. Family name?

Claire ignored the familiar twist of grief. Something like that. Why are you really here, Marcus?

He took another bite, then carefully set the remains of the sandwich in its wrapper. As if he would have to leave after he told her.

I did not know until I saw you, Claire, but I came here for you.

She pushed off the counter and put it between her and Marcus.

Who the hell are you?

He crossed his arms, still seated. You know this already. And if you did not before, my healing told you all you needed.

She let out her breath, forced herself to relax. All right—let me reword it. Why me?

That I wish I knew. Marcus rubbed the bridge of his nose. He still looked shaky. And Claire couldn’t take advantage of that, much as she wanted to right now. I will tell you this—I am not leaving until I do know.

As long as you find somewhere besides my shop to do your staying, I’m fine with that.

His laughter filled the air, rough and warm. Like the smoke and sand he came from—

Stop it. She knew about their legendary allure, and she was being sucked in anyway. The average person wouldn’t stand a chance.

Claire unlocked her door and opened it. Time for you to go. He frowned at her. I was just on my way out for something to eat when you detained me. I still have the rest of the afternoon to get through before I meet a friend of mine for drinks.

The lovely blonde? He stood, using the counter. She simply radiates life.

She got in his face, careful to keep her tattoo from touching him. Stay away from her.

Marcus raised both hands in surrender.

That is my plan, little witch. Claire raised her eyebrows, and Marcus smiled. There is nothing more beautiful than an angry woman. Enjoy your evening, Claire.

He stepped around her, then moved outside and closed the door before she could think of a smart remark. Leaning against the door, she let out her breath, suddenly exhausted. She decided to close early and go home. She could call Annie from there and beg off tonight.

The way she felt, she would barely make it the two blocks home. And that scared her more than anything else she’d witnessed today.

FOUR

Eric came back to her store as the sun set in the ocean behind him. He wanted, needed for this to be over.

The store was dark, the closed sign mocking him. He swallowed the rage, his head pounding from the effort.

I am disappointed in you, darling. He froze as the voice wrapped around him. Long, cold fingers slid down his bare forearm, twined with his in a gesture that had dark need churning in his gut. But there is a small way you can make it up to me.

If you’re here, he said, his voice raw, why do you need me? Why don’t you just take her now?

Perceptive questions, my darling Eric. From such a handsome devil of a man. Natasha smiled at him, dark green eyes chilling him more than her touch. I need her on neutral ground. Here she has the power of—friends. The word came out like a slur. And she will know me, once we do meet. I would have her vulnerable, her power weakened, or she may be the one doing harm. And we can’t be having that, can we?

That dark need surged through him. I will do whatever you ask, Natasha.

Of course you will. She slid long fingers down his cheek, leaving a trail of ice and pain. And she will wait, for tomorrow. Tonight there is time for a bit of harmless mischief. So many ways to play with these humans, who think they have the power of gods. Come; I will need your help with this.

She led him down the street to another store, the green velvet dress she wore sliding over every lush curve. Lust drowned the pain of her touch.

The display in the window screamed New Age, in a way that was tacky and overblown. This store was closed as well, but she laid her free hand on the knob, and it twisted open.

Eric followed her inside, assaulted by the smell of too much incense, too many scented candles, and the stench of patchouli weaving through all of it. She flicked her hand, and the door closed behind him.

Heart pounding, he let her pull him along, stopping in front of a wall of candles.

Ah—this will be fun. The glee in her voice twisted his stomach. She let go of his hand, took two of the decorative hairpins from the display on the counter next to her. Handing one of them to him, she picked up the first candle, turned it over. A few quick strokes and she had a symbol carved into the pink wax. Look at it. Memorize it. He obeyed, the loops and lines burning into his mind. Now, help me mark the candles. All of them. Then, my darling Eric, we are going to go play.

*

Annie was reaching for her phone when Dust in the Wind rolled out of her open purse.

Claire? Where are you? I was about to call out the cavalry—

I’m sorry, Annie. Her voice sounded—old. "I had a difficult customer right before closing.

Reviews for The Claire Wiche Chronicles Volumes 1-3

[perrywilson-2 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Claire Wiche has a secret and someone is ready to exploit it. You can't rely on family to help you when your family is your worst enemy. During the local magic festival, Claire and her best friend, Annie, are busy with their customers when a couple of strangers show up. Neither is who they claim to be, but both turn out to be important to rescuing the world from the latest crisis in the Wiche family.I recommend this book to anyone who likes a story about revenge, betrayal, and redemption.