The Witches of Canyon Road, Books 1-3

by Christine Pope

  Once on the sidewalk opposite the parking structure, he paused again and inhaled deeply. Down here, there was a more muddled combination of scents — car exhaust, and cooking oil from a restaurant, a whiff of wood smoke. But there it was again, almost sickly sweet, like the smell of rotting flesh.

  He walked slowly, hands in his pockets. Yes, it was definitely here — to be precise, somewhere near the wine tasting room just past the burger joint on the corner of Burro Alley.

  At this hour on a Sunday, the shop was closed, its windows dark. Dark, too, were the windows of the apartment directly above it. Even so, Rafe found himself lingering here, watching the building for a long moment. Something about it tickled his memory, as though an important event had occurred here, but he couldn’t remember what it might be. A little more than a year earlier, he’d come here with Tony and a few other Castillo cousins to sample the wares at the newly opened wine shop. He hadn’t returned, though; the wine was good, but they hadn’t offered any food at the time, and in general he didn’t like to drink wine on its own.

  The memory of the day he’d gone to the wine tasting room with Tony was very sharp and clear — it had been a mild day in early October, the trees just beginning to turn. They’d had two flights of wine, bought a few bottles, then headed down the street to the upscale pizza place there to get some real food. All this Rafe remembered without any trouble, and yet he seemed to sense something else far more important had gone on in this building in the recent past, even if he couldn’t remember what the hell it might be.

  Frowning, he moved a bit farther down the block, then cut down the alley so he might approach the building from the rear. How this would help, he wasn’t sure, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to try.

  All was quiet back here. A pickup truck almost as old as his Wrangler was parked in one of the residents-only spaces, but the other ones remained empty. Well, the apartment over the tasting room had appeared empty; maybe it wasn’t currently rented out.

  Still….

  Rafe walked over to the rear entrance of the building. The door was locked, but of course that didn’t matter to a warlock. He touched his fingers to the handle, and it swung inward. After giving a quick look around and reassuring himself that he was alone, he went inside.

  The odor was stronger here, as if it had concentrated itself in this dingy little stairwell. Breathing through his mouth, Rafe ascended the stairs and came to a small landing, the door to the apartment he’d noted now directly in front of him.

  It had seemed empty, but he didn’t know that for sure. As much as he wanted to simply let himself in and poke around, he figured it was smarter to cover his bases first.

  He raised his hand and knocked on the door.

  No answer, even though he waited a good twenty seconds or so for a response. Once again he knocked, and again only silence came back to him.

  It should be safe enough.

  He wrapped his fingers around the doorknob and stepped inside. The place was utterly dark, not even a nightlight to break up the gloom. Right by the door was a dual switch, so he flicked one upward. At once an overhead fixture flared to life, revealing a short hallway decorated with posters of local events — wine festivals, art exhibits — and not much else.

  After moving farther in, he debated whether to turn on another light and decided against it. The light coming down the hall was enough to reveal that both the kitchen and living room were empty, as was the one small bedroom. Everything looked very clean and neat, nothing out of place, the bed made. In fact, when he peeked in the bathroom and into the closet, he saw no signs of occupancy at all, not one tube of toothpaste, not one lone sock lying on the closet floor.

  It appeared the place truly was unoccupied. But what was with that sense of something dark and foul, something Rafe had never noticed before in his life?

  He didn’t know. All he did know was that something evil had once lurked here.

  Unfortunately, that was all he knew. He certainly didn’t have any idea why this place would be connected to Miranda or her disappearance.

  Frowning, he turned and headed back toward the door, only to be confronted by a sturdy-looking woman somewhere in her fifties, who gave a little shriek of surprise and exclaimed, “Who are you?”

  “I — ” Rafe began, frantically thinking of some plausible excuse he could give for his breaking and entering.

  Luckily, the woman didn’t seem inclined to let him continue, saying briskly, “The apartment won’t be ready until tomorrow. It should have said that on the Airbnb site.”

  Ah. So it wasn’t really anyone’s apartment, just a flat the owner — who he presumed must be the woman in front of him — rented out to people vacationing in Santa Fe. “Sorry,” he said. “I came up, and the door was unlocked — ”

  “Hmph.” The woman, who was probably around his mother’s age but whose stoutness made her look a good bit older, gave an exasperated huff of breath. “People are so careless these days. I’m sure the man I rented it to forgot to lock the door as he left. The lock can be a little tricky, but — ”

  “Can you tell me where to find him?” Rafe asked eagerly, cutting her off. Could he be so lucky as to have stumbled onto an actual clue that might help him find Miranda?

  The Airbnb owner huffed again and drew herself up to her entire five feet two inches. “No, of course I can’t. It’s very important to respect my guests’ privacy — even if they don’t seem to respect my privacy.”

  “Oh, well, normally I wouldn’t ask,” Rafe said. As he spoke, his mind churned, trying to come up with some story that might convince the woman to provide the information he needed. “But the guy who was just staying here really did a number on my little sister — told her he loved her and wanted to get married, then disappeared right when they were supposed to meet at the courthouse.” That lie may have been a little too on the money, but if it worked….

  Apparently it did, for the woman’s expression softened, even as her dark eyes sparkled with righteous indignation on this mythical sister’s behalf. “Oh, that’s just wrong. I can see why your sister might have fallen for Robert, because he was a handsome young man, but — ”

  “His full name, then? My sister wouldn’t tell me.”

  The woman’s mouth tightened, but at least she didn’t hesitate as she answered, “Robert Marquez. I think he came from San Antonio, but I’ll have to check to be sure.” She reached into the pocket of the heavy corduroy barn jacket she wore and pulled out her phone, then tapped away for a moment. “Yes, there’s his confirmation email. Robert Marquez, San Antonio, Texas.” A pause, and then she added, “That’s really all I can tell you. It wouldn’t be right to give you his address.”

  “It’s all right,” Rafe said. “It’s something to go on at least. And I’m really sorry if I startled you.”

  “Oh, well.” The woman shrugged. “It’s not the first time I’ve surprised someone here when the flat was supposed to be empty. I hope you can get some satisfaction for your sister.”

  “So do I. Thanks a lot.”

  He nodded at her and let himself out, while she watched him go, her expression a mixture of curiosity and a little worry. Maybe she thought he was going to head to San Antonio himself to get some justice for his sister and her broken heart, and didn’t want to be held responsible for the outcome.

  Rafe didn’t have anything like that planned. The Castillo family had several private detectives among its ranks, the closest of whom lived in Albuquerque. By now the whole clan must know about Miranda’s disappearance, so it wasn’t as though Rafe would be giving up any family secrets by contacting his cousin Daniel and asking him to follow up on this Robert Marquez person.

  Then again, there was also the distinct possibility that “Robert Marquez” was really a mirage, a fake name that the person who’d stayed here had given to the owner of the Airbnb. That would be more difficult to pull off, just because the vacation rental site did some pretty strict vetting of the people who used its se
rvice.

  Difficult, but not impossible. But Rafe figured he had to start somewhere, and this was the only lead he had at the moment.

  Although he hadn’t seen his cousin in more than a year, Rafe still had Daniel’s contact information on his phone. Genoveva was very organized about keeping everyone in the loop, so to speak, and sent out an updated roster of Castillo relations every year. Some people probably would have preferred not to have their information disseminated to every single relative in the state, but they knew better than to question their prima. Luckily, the information didn’t get abused too badly, except for now and then when someone decided to get a chain text message going and spammed everyone’s inboxes.

  His phone told him it was a little past seven. Right smack in the middle of dinnertime, but maybe private detectives didn’t keep regular hours. Rafe knew that Daniel wasn’t married, had in fact gone through a nasty divorce a year or so earlier after less than a year of marriage, and so was less likely than most to be sitting down to a cozy dinner on a Sunday evening.

  Walking quickly, Rafe crossed San Francisco Street and then took the elevator up to the second level, figuring that would save him some time climbing the stairs. Once he was safely inside his Jeep, he said, “Call Daniel Montoya.”

  “Calling,” his phone told him, and Rafe settled against the seatback and waited for the call to connect.

  Which it did after a few rings. “Rafe?” came Daniel’s voice, clearly puzzled. “I just heard what happened. I’m sorry, man.”

  Sometimes family grapevines could come in handy, although Rafe still hated the thought of his personal life getting dissected by every aunt, uncle, and cousin twice removed. He cleared his throat and said, “It’s — well, I can’t really say that it’s all right, but I’m trying to get through it. The thing is, I think Miranda’s disappearance might be connected to a guy named Robert Marquez. I wanted to see if you could follow up for me.”

  “Sure,” Daniel replied, interest sharpening his tone. “Do you have an address?”

  “Not really. I think he’s from San Antonio, though.”

  “Middle initial?”

  “No.”

  A pause, during which Daniel was probably reflecting that his cousin hadn’t given him very much to go on. Sounding resigned, as if he already knew the answer, “Date of birth?”

  “Nope, don’t have that either. But the woman who owns the place he was renting called him a ‘young man,’ so I have a feeling he’s under thirty, maybe even under twenty-five.”

  “Well, that helps to narrow it down a bit. Give me a day, and I’ll see what I can come up with.”

  A day. A lot could happen in a day. However, Rafe knew he couldn’t quibble about the timeframe. For one thing, he was asking for a favor, a favor that might interfere with his cousin’s paying work. Also, “Robert Marquez” wasn’t that uncommon a name, and so it might take Daniel a while to sift through all the possible candidates.

  “Okay,” Rafe replied. He knew his cousin had to have noted his delay in making any kind of a response, but so be it. Patience was hard to come by when someone was missing.

  “It’s just — ” Daniel began, then broke off. Curiosity clear in his tone, he went on, “If you basically dumped this girl while you were standing at the altar, then why are you looking for her now?”

  Yes, the whole thing must appear pretty strange when viewed from the outside. Clearly, although the story of the events at the church had already made the rounds, his family’s speculation that he’d been influenced by some kind of terrible spell was not yet a subject of gossip. Rafe supposed he shouldn’t be too surprised by that; his mother would do everything she could to keep quiet any stories about rogue witches or warlocks practicing dark magic in their territory.

  “It’s kind of a long story,” Rafe said. “I made a stupid mistake. I’m trying to fix it now.”

  “Got it. Well, I’ll do what I can. And I’ll call you as soon as I have something.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “No worries. Take care of yourself, Rafe.”

  Daniel hung up then, and Rafe let out a sigh and dropped the phone into one of the cupholders in the Jeep’s center console. At least he had his cousin on the case, and that was something. It just felt as if he should be doing more.

  Well, there was one thing he could try, although doing so in such a populated area carried its own risks. Still, he knew if he didn’t make the attempt, he’d beat himself up for it afterward.

  Jaw set, he backed the Wrangler out of its parking space, then went down to the ground level of the structure. A wave of his phone over the electronic meter at the exit to the garage, and the parking fee was automatically deducted from his account. Then he inched out onto San Francisco Street, turned left, then right and right again, squaring the block so he could come in at the apartment Robert Marquez had occupied from the side off the alley, where it was darker and there weren’t any people around. In fact, Rafe didn’t pull up to the building at all, but instead stopped the Jeep in an open area off the small parking lot, in a space clearly marked “No Parking.”

  That didn’t matter. He didn’t plan to be here for very long, and he knew the parking cops tended to be pretty lax on Sunday nights. But he was away from any streetlights, and the Jeep was sheltered by a large pine tree. No one would see what he was going to do next.

  Transformations were always problematic. It wasn’t so much that they were painful, but it wasn’t like the movies, where a man would transform into a werewolf and shred the clothes he wore without any real concern for what would happen when he turned back into a man. No, Rafe needed a safe place to remove his clothing and stow it against his return. The back seat of the Jeep worked well enough, and he remembered to unlock the door and leave it slightly ajar so he could push it open with his nose.

  Door handles were a bitch to work with when you’d already transformed into a coyote.

  The coyote had always been his favorite animal to change into. Rafe couldn’t really say why, except he thought coyotes tended to get a bad rap when they were really beautiful animals — and extremely successful as a species. Also, it wasn’t that strange to see a coyote inside Santa Fe’s city limits, since it seemed as though some of them looked on the city’s streets as an easy means to cut from one wilderness area to another.

  Anyway, while he’d been able to pick up on some of the dark magic that lingered in the area, he couldn’t track it in human form. He needed a coyote’s ultra-sharp nose for that sort of thing.

  Clothes off, a deep breath, and the man who’d been sitting in the back seat of the ancient Jeep Wrangler was gone. The coyote who perched there now looked around quickly to make sure no one was lurking near the vehicle, then nosed open the car door and slipped out.

  This area was alive with scents, from the pungent richness of the dumpster a few yards away to the sharp, aromatic smell of the pine tree he currently was using as shelter. Underneath all those ordinary aromas, however, was something dark and sickening, a smell that was unnatural, that was other.

  Black magic.

  The coyote trotted to the back door of the building and sniffed around. Yes, the source of the wrongness came from here, but it also trailed along to one of the parking spaces at the rear of the structure. He sniffed here again, although the scent grew fainter, possibly because whoever the odor belonged to had gotten into a vehicle at this point.

  And yes, he was able to follow the smell out of the parking lot and down the side street. As he approached San Francisco Street, however, it became so faint that he knew he wouldn’t be able to follow it for more than a few more yards. No point in doing that, not when he had a much greater chance of being seen on that busy downtown route.

  Tongue hanging out in disappointment, he retraced his steps and sniffed all around the parking lot. There were no other trails, though. Clearly, the person who’d been using the dark magic had gotten in his car and driven away. And if he’d headed out on San Francisco Stre
et, he could have been going anywhere — turned right on Guadalupe to pick up the route to the highway that led to points north, or jogged over to Cerrillos Road and down to the southern, more commercial part of town.

  A low growl escaped his mouth as he climbed up into the Jeep’s back seat. He’d hoped this little excursion would have provided more helpful information, but the little he’d learned wasn’t enough to work with.

  As he turned back into his human self and began to grimly put his clothes back on, about all Rafe could do was pray that Daniel would come up with something. Otherwise, he feared he might never find the woman who had just vanished from his life.

  3

  Safe Spaces

  Miranda

  Simon’s instructions were clear enough that I didn’t have any trouble finding the kitchen, vast as the house appeared to be. Even the kitchen was something to behold, with an eat-in area that was bigger than the dining room in our Flagstaff house, and an enormous six-burner stove and what appeared to be miles of pale granite countertops. Simon was in there already, standing in front of the massive built-in stainless refrigerator. The door was open as he appeared to survey the contents of the fridge.

  However, he shut the door when he heard me approach, and offered me a smile. “Settled in?”

  “Mostly,” I replied. I had finally stirred myself to hang up my clothes — mostly because I didn’t want them to get too wrinkled — but I’d only dumped my toiletries on the counter in the bathroom, too tired to figure out where I wanted to put everything away. That was something I could do when I got ready for bed. I lifted an eyebrow at the fridge. “Nothing to eat?”

  “No, that’s not it. I got some stuff at the grocery store and at Trader Joe’s. I just wasn’t sure what you liked.”

  “I’m not too picky.” I went over and opened the freezer door, then peered inside. There were frozen pizzas and tamales, and also some fun snack-y type foods, like cheese-stuffed phyllo shells and an onion tart. I really wasn’t that hungry, so I said, “Why don’t we make up some of the snack food for now, and then see how we feel afterward?”