Mysterious Ways

by Christine Pope

Unfortunately, bright blue skies couldn’t erase the reality of his mother’s death.

  It still didn’t feel quite real, though. He’d seen her lying there in death, knew she was gone forever, and yet his mind didn’t want to accept the fact, wanted to tell him that if he just drove over to the big house, he’d find her there, probably out in the gardens, since she’d always made it her business to make sure the gardeners kept up with the fallen leaves and other debris.

  But she wouldn’t be there. The only people who now lived in the house where he’d grown up were his father and Cat.

  Poor Cat. He hoped she hadn’t had too tough a time of it last night, with Uncle José and Aunt Rosa over to make sure their father wasn’t alone. Rosa had the world’s biggest heart, but she tended to harp on Cat’s continuing unattached state even worse than their mother ever had. It was very possible that she might have revisited that particular topic in an attempt to keep the conversation away from other, much more difficult subjects.

  The coffee was done. Rafe got out two mugs and set them on the counter, marveling at how natural it felt to be fetching a mug for Miranda. They’d get to wake up next to each other every morning, share their morning coffee, talk about their plans for the day.

  Well, at least he hoped that was how things would go. With Simon Escobar hovering in the background, who knew how all this would turn out? Sure, Miranda’s parents had managed to defeat his father more than two decades ago, but circumstances were different now. That particular piece of history might not repeat itself.

  Scowling, Rafe poured himself some coffee but left Miranda’s mug empty, since he didn’t know how long it would take her to shower and get dressed, and he didn’t want her coffee to get cold. After he’d poured a minute amount of milk and just a sprinkle of sugar into his own mug, he leaned against the counter and took a sip, inwardly thanking God for caffeine. It wasn’t that they’d stayed up particularly late, but yesterday’s events still hung with him, making him feel more tired than he otherwise should.

  Sooner than he’d expected, Miranda appeared at the entrance to the kitchen. Her hair was brushed and in much better shape than it had been a short time ago, and he guessed she hadn’t washed it today. It had been a while since he’d lived under the same roof as his sister, but he remembered how long it used to take her to wash and blow-dry her hair, even if she wasn’t messing around with a curling iron or whatever else she used to beat it into submission.

  Miranda’s face was still mostly bare, although it looked as though she’d put on a bit of lip gloss. Rafe had to hold back a smile at noticing the tint on her lips; it seemed obvious to him that she hadn’t wanted to come downstairs with absolutely no makeup on at all. In her new clothes — dark closely-fitting jeans and a simple V-neck sweater in a deep shade of purple that made her green eyes look that much greener — she appeared relaxed and yet ready to face the day.

  “The coffee smells great,” she said.

  “Let me pour you some.” He set up the mug for her, then handed it over, adding, “There’s milk in the fridge if you want any. And the sugar’s in that orange bowl over there.”

  “Thanks.” She flashed him a quick smile, then went to the refrigerator and got out the milk, adding about twice what he’d used to her mug. A spoonful of sugar, and she was leaning against the counter, the mug clutched in both hands. “Everything still quiet?”

  “Looks that way.” Rafe pointed to his phone, which he’d brought with him and set down on the countertop close to the coffeemaker. “No texts, no phone calls.”

  Rather than looking reassured, Miranda frowned suddenly. “Maybe Simon’s decided to block all our calls and texts.”

  An echo of the same worry he’d had just a few minutes earlier. Still, it was an easy enough hypothesis to test. “I’ll text Cat. It’s pretty early, but she should be up.”

  “That sounds like a good idea.”

  As Miranda took her first cautious sip of coffee, Rafe typed out a quick text to his sister. I just wanted to check in and make sure you’re all okay. I hope Rosa didn’t bug you too much. Then he touched the little arrow to send the message before putting the phone back down on the counter so he could retrieve his coffee.

  He’d barely taken a sip before the phone pinged at him. With one hand, he reached out to retrieve it, then looked down at the screen. Sure enough, there was Cat’s reply.

  I’m okay. Dad’s holding up. But Rosa’s driving me nuts. Please tell me you’ll be over soon.

  Holding back a smile, Rafe replied, I still have to get in the shower and we need to eat, but we should be there around 9:30.

  Make it 9:00, came the response, and again Rafe had to smother a smile.

  That should be doable. See you soon.

  He put the phone down. “Communications seem to be fine. I guess it really was just quiet.”

  Miranda nodded, her expression considering. “Maybe. Yesterday I was thinking about whether the kind of magic Simon used to — well, what he used on your mother — whether it’s a lot more taxing than when witches and warlocks use their regular powers. My dad didn’t talk much about his brother and the dark stuff he was dabbling in, but I remember one time he said that using those sorts of magic could really take a toll, like there’s a spiritual and physical cost for all of it.”

  “So even though Simon wanted to do more harm to my clan, he really didn’t have enough juice left to do much about it?” Rafe hated to sound so cool and impersonal when discussing the magic that had killed his mother, but there was no point in getting emotional, not when they had to look at the situation logically and decide on their next course of action.

  “Something like that.” She sipped her coffee, still obviously pondering the matter. “I honestly don’t know that much about it, because it’s not exactly a field of study that’s encouraged in my clan…or anyone else’s that I know of.”

  “But it’s safe to say that it’s not a matter of if Simon does something else, but when.” Rafe ran a hand through his hair — no doubt making it stick out everywhere, if the sudden look of amusement he noticed on Miranda’s face was any indication. “And what.” As much as it pained him to have to ask the question, he knew this wasn’t the time to dance around the issue. “You were with him for a week — what do you think he’s going to do next?”

  Her lips pursed, and she stared down into her half-drunk mug of coffee. “I can’t say for sure, because he spent the whole time being all friendly and helpful, just trying to help me access my magic and work with it. I had absolutely no idea he wasn’t what he said he was, except at the very last there, right before you showed up to rescue me. Then he let his true colors show, but it still wasn’t enough to give me any real idea of what he might be capable of.” Her eyes closed briefly, then opened again to meet Rafe’s, worried and full of concern for his pain. “I couldn’t have begun to guess that he would kill a woman in cold blood.”

  “I doubt that he cared whether Genoveva was a woman or not. She was an obstacle, or possibly a tool for stirring up chaos in the clan. Because no matter how smoothly the transition might be from prima to prima-in-waiting, it’s still something that shakes up the dynamic in a witch family. It’s the best thing he could do to make us all off-balance.”

  “You’re right, of course.” Miranda was silent for a moment, turning the coffee mug around in her hands, even though she didn’t seem inclined to drink from it. When she glanced up at Rafe again, that worried look was back in her eyes. “Rafe, how strong is your sister Louisa? I mean, I know she was the prima-in-waiting, but….”

  This was something that had worried him ever since he was old enough to fully analyze the situation. Did he dare tell Miranda about his concerns, though? It felt disloyal — not just to his sister, but to the clan as a whole.

  Miranda is part of the Castillos now, he told himself. No, there wasn’t a big wedding in the cathedral, but we’re now just as bonded together as though there had been. She needs to know the truth.

  “
She’s a strong witch,” Rafe said slowly. “Her ability to track magic has always been powerful — and it began to manifest early, according to my parents. Usually you don’t start to see our powers develop until we’re around ten or eleven, but Louisa’s showed up when she was around nine, I guess. But….”

  “But?” Miranda asked, her tone very gentle.

  “But I don’t know if she’s the strongest witch in our clan,” he said. “I always got the feeling that my mother wanted Louisa to be the prima-in-waiting because that’s just how she thought it should work.”

  “Power doesn’t always pass from mother to daughter,” Miranda pointed out.

  “I know. I mean, my grandmother became prima after her aunt passed away, because Great-Aunt Teresa only had boys. But my mother wanted her daughter to follow her. And since it’s the prima who determines who the prima-in-waiting is….” Rafe let the sentence trail off there. From the way she nodded, her mouth tightening slightly, Miranda knew exactly what he meant; he didn’t have to go into excruciating detail. And while he didn’t want to make excuses for his mother, he still found himself adding, “She must have thought that Louisa’s powers would be strong enough for her to manage the clan. After all, with Joaquin Escobar gone, there weren’t any enemies to worry about. The witch world was at peace.”

  “So she made her daughter the prima-in-waiting, even though there were probably better candidates out there.”

  Still feeling intensely disloyal, Rafe simply replied, “Yes.”

  Miranda set down her coffee cup, then turned toward the window over the sink, her hands resting on the edge of the countertop. Gaze fixed on the bare trees and the blue skies beyond that window, she said, “Which means we could be in some serious shit, Rafe.”

  “I thought we already were.”

  She let out a breath that wasn’t exactly a sigh and continued to stare out the window. With an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, Rafe realized that the window faced northeast, roughly in the direction where Simon’s hideout was located. Was Miranda reaching out toward him, doing her best to see what he might be doing at this very moment?

  He didn’t know. Her powers had expanded at an almost frightening pace under Escobar’s tutelage, but Rafe didn’t have much idea what she was and wasn’t capable of.

  “Well, yes, things are pretty bad right now,” she said, finally shifting so she faced toward him again. “But that doesn’t mean they couldn’t get much, much worse.”

  Her words had the effect of a gut punch. Because he’d known deep down that his mother’s murder, horrible as the crime might have been, might only be the first warning shot fired over the Castillo clan’s bow. Someone like Simon Escobar didn’t care about right or wrong, who he hurt, which lives he ruined. As far as Rafe could tell, the dark warlock wanted only two things.

  Power…and Miranda McAllister.

  She seemed to have been thinking much the same thing, since some of the pretty color in her cheeks had faded a bit. “He scares the crap out of me, Rafe,” she said, her voice not much more than a whisper. “I don’t know what he can do, what other hurt and suffering he’s willing to cause. I suppose he’ll do what he can to avoid using any magic that would attract attention from the civilian population, especially civilian authorities, but I’m not sure we can even count on that. Not really.”

  He hated the hopeless tone in her voice. It was far too early to give up, especially since they’d dealt Escobar a painful blow the day before. Yes, he’d retaliated by striking out against Genoveva, but even so, the way Rafe had managed to get into the house where Simon was holed up and help get Miranda away seemed to indicate that the dark warlock wasn’t invincible.

  “Well, he’s had some time to recover, but we’re all still fine, and there don’t seem to be any new attacks,” Rafe said. “That tells me your spells of protection are working, which means it’s very possible that he’s had to rethink some of his strategies. I have a feeling he wasn’t expecting you to step in and provide that kind of help right away.”

  “Maybe.” Her shoulders lifted, and then she came to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Her sweater was very soft — cashmere, maybe — and felt good against his bare skin. So did her hair, brushing against his arms. At once a wave of arousal washed through him, but he did what he could to push it away. Not now, he told his body, which didn’t seem inclined to cooperate at first. After a few seconds, though, his burgeoning erection calmed down enough to allow him to focus.

  “Anyway,” he went on, “like I said, we all seem to be safe for now. Let’s order some breakfast, and then I’ll shower and we’ll head over to the house before Cat loses her shit with my Aunt Rosa. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Miranda said, then smiled.

  Watching that expression take over her face was like watching the sun rise over warm desert sands. Rafe could only hope nothing would ever happen to take that smile away from her.

  6

  Undercurrents

  Miranda

  We headed over to the Castillo house after we finished devouring some of the best breakfast burritos I’d ever had. Funny how a decent meal could make you feel so much better about the world.

  Or maybe it was the man sitting in the Jeep next to me, the clear morning sunshine outlining his fine profile. Just looking at him was enough to make my body ache for his touch all over again. I knew he’d wanted to make love this morning but had pushed the impulse aside, since we had so much else we needed to attend to. The Goddess only knew I wanted him just as badly. I’d always hoped I would connect with him on this level, but I hadn’t known for sure until last night. Then I realized that, despite our rocky beginnings, our bond was one that would be just as strong as any shared by a witch and a warlock.

  When we got to the prima’s house, there was a silver Subaru Outback parked on the street next to the driveway. I had to assume it belonged to Uncle José and Aunt Rosa. Had they stayed in the casita, or one of the house’s spare bedrooms? The place definitely seemed big enough to hold at least two or three overnight guests; I knew I’d only been put up in the casita because Genoveva had wanted to create a little space between me and my new family until Rafe and I were married.

  Well, now we’d done the one thing she’d basically forbidden…and on the same day she’d died. Maybe that realization should have made me feel guilty, but it didn’t, not when I knew that it was right for Rafe and me to be together like this. A few words from a priest or a piece of paper from City Hall wouldn’t make any difference. Of course I wanted to get married — really married — at some point, but I couldn’t think about that just yet, not when we needed to figure out our strategy for handling Simon.

  Simon. My mind wanted to shudder away from the way he’d forced me down on the couch, from what I knew he’d wanted to do to me, and yet I knew I needed to face the reality of that horrible experience as squarely as I could. If anything, I needed to take strength from the encounter. He’d been so sure he would prevail, but Rafe and I had managed to overpower him long enough to get away. Then again, we’d escaped because we’d gotten the drop on him, not because we’d won some kind of magical duel. I couldn’t really expect to catch Simon off guard a second time.

  And some part of me hoped that he wouldn’t want me anymore, now that I’d been with Rafe, now that I was no longer “pure.” Maybe it was crazy to think in such terms — after all, this was the twenty-first century — but I had to try to think like Simon would. He’d had a crazy upbringing, and yet I guessed he’d still been raised Catholic, was still probably old-fashioned about certain things.

  Or maybe I was just trying to fool myself into hoping he wouldn’t want me now, because that would make me a little less afraid of him.

  Rafe took my hand as we walked up to the front door of the house. His fingers were warm, reassuringly strong. Still, I didn’t know whether he’d reached out to offer me comfort…or whether he was seeking the same thing from me. It couldn’t be easy to walk back into the house whe
re his mother died.

  Possibly out of respect for what had happened here — or maybe because he knew his father and Cat had guests — Rafe rang the doorbell, rather than walk right in. Cat opened the door so quickly, I wondered whether she’d been lurking in the foyer, waiting for us to arrive.

  “Thank God,” she said in an undertone, then much louder and falsely cheery, “Hi, Rafe, Miranda.”

  “That good?” Rafe commented as we came inside and she shut the door behind us.

  “You have no idea.” Except for some redness to her eyelids, indicating she’d probably cried sometime during the night, Cat looked astonishingly put together, makeup done, wearing a slim black skirt and a black sweater, very different from her usual casual attire. I had a feeling the clothes and the makeup were an effort to mollify her Aunt Rosa.

  “Well, we’re here now.” Rafe glanced past her into the living room, which appeared unoccupied. “Where is everyone?”

  “Dad and Uncle José and Aunt Rosa went over to Our Lady of Guadalupe. I think they’re going to have the service there. I said I’d wait here until you two showed up.”

  “I thought we agreed Mom’s service would be small and quiet,” Rafe said, a warning note in his voice.

  “It will be,” Cat replied. She reached up to rub her temple; possibly, she had a headache. Not all that surprising, considering everything she’d been through during the past twenty-four hours. “It’s just that obviously Uncle José has to know the details, since they have to make arrangements with his funeral home to bring — well, to bring the casket over.”

  “Right.”

  This time, I was the one who reached for Rafe’s hand, twining my fingers with his. I couldn’t begin to imagine how difficult all this must be for him, especially when he obviously wouldn’t allow himself the time to truly grieve. “I’m so sorry you have to go through this. I feel like it’s partly my fault.”

  “No, it’s not,” both Cat and Rafe said, almost in unison. Then she shook her head and went on, “It’s not your fault that some nutcase decided to be obsessed with you. This is all on Simon Escobar’s head.”