Simon’s expression was solemn. “We witches and warlocks have our world, and the rich have theirs, I guess.” He ran a thumb over the edges of the bills, then tucked the envelope flap back inside. “I can’t really relate.”
“Neither can I.”
“I’d better get going.” He pulled a set of keys from his pocket using his free hand, then went on, “When I get back, we can decide if we want to work with more magic, or whether you’d rather get out and about. Either one is fine by me.”
“I’ll think it over while you’re running your errand.”
A brief flash of a smile, and then he was gone. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel somewhat relieved by his absence; although I’d started to feel a bit more normal as the morning wore on, I still couldn’t quite shake the memory of that dream, of him touching me, nearly entering me. A dream didn’t necessarily have any bearing on reality, and yet it was difficult to keep myself from wondering if the real life experience of intimacy with Simon would be anything like what I’d encountered in my dream.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to explore that line of thought right then. Getting some fresh air seemed like a good idea. I needed to get myself centered again, especially if we ended up working with magic once Simon got back.
When I opened the kitchen door, I could tell that the long-sleeved T-shirt I wore definitely wouldn’t be enough to keep me warm. The day promised to be mild, but it was barely nine o’clock in the morning, long before the peak heat of the day. I hurried back to my bedroom and got my jacket from where it hung in the closet there, then slipped it on. No need to go all the way back to the kitchen to let myself out, though; I went into the garden via one of the French doors that opened off the long hallway.
The morning air was brisk against my face and smelled faintly of decaying leaves and damp grass. Had it rained overnight? I couldn’t really tell, since there weren’t any puddles around, but the air definitely felt more moist than usual.
Hugging my jacket against myself, I set off, following the path as it wound through the garden. I didn’t have any fixed destination, but I thought I might like to head toward the rear of the property. Simon and I had mostly stuck to the area right off the kitchen and near the garage, but the land here was really extensive, probably at least ten acres, if not more.
When I came around a corner of the house, I saw that off in the distance, close to where the rail fence enclosed the property, there appeared to be another structure of some sort, maybe a shed for storing some kind of farm equipment. This place was definitely big enough that it would require a riding mower to keep up all those acres of grass, something you didn’t see all that often in either Arizona or New Mexico, where the water costs to maintain that sort of lawn would be prohibitive.
Since I didn’t have any particular goal in mind, I figured I might as well go over to the shed and see what I could find there. If nothing else, it would be a good, brisk walk, and would take up a decent chunk of time.
The morning breeze played with my loose hair as I strode across the frost-yellowed grass. I breathed in deeply, glad I’d come out here. It felt better than I had hoped, to be out in the fresh air and the morning sunlight. The walk seemed to help knock some of the cobwebs out of my brain, to dispel the last echoes of that unsettling dream about Simon. I really needed to let it go. I couldn’t control what my subconscious might decide to dredge up while I was asleep, after all.
Up close, the shed seemed bigger than it had appeared from far away. It was definitely large enough to house a riding mower, probably two or more. As far as I could tell, it had been intended for that purpose, since one side was accessed by a roll-up garage door. The opposite side of the structure had a regular door, and the other two walls had three rectangular windows in a neat row.
I figured it couldn’t hurt to peek inside. If there was a riding mower, maybe we could take it out for a little spin on the back forty here. It would be something fun to do to kill some time.
Besides, I’d always wanted to go for a ride on one of those things.
I had to stand on my tiptoes to peek inside. At first I saw nothing except some spiderwebs, and felt a slight sense of disappointment at realizing that I wouldn’t be able to go for a ride on a mower after all. But then, as I was able to focus better on the dark interior of the building, I realized it wasn’t completely empty. Against the opposite wall was a low table draped in black cloth, and on that table was a pair of tarnished silver candelabras, each of them equipped with three black candles. In between the two candelabras was a silver bowl with oddly shaped handles that looked almost like ears, and lying next to the bowl was a long knife with a curved, wicked blade.
Cold ran through me. I might not have known all that much about the sort of magic which required this type of setup, but I sure as hell knew it wasn’t the kind of magic my parents practiced. It was dark…dark and forbidden.
My thoughts went immediately to Simon, although I tried to tell myself that he didn’t necessarily have to be the person who’d put those ominous objects inside the shed. For all I knew, the Texas oil guy dabbled in black magic — specifically, spells to maintain and enhance his wealth. Such a theory wasn’t outside the bounds of possibility, was it? I wanted it to be true…needed it to be true. My heart began to hammer in my chest, even as I tried to rationalize the situation as best I could. It had to be the owner of the property who’d put that stuff in the shed. Simon couldn’t have had anything to do with such evil…could he?
Footsteps crunched on the dry grass, and I whirled. Standing a few paces away from me was Simon, an enigmatic smile touching his mouth.
“Hello, Miranda,” he said. “I see you’ve found my temple.”
16
Farewells
Rafe
He stared at the mirror, trying for the fifth time to get a decent Windsor knot in his damn tie. If it had been for any other occasion, he would have just said screw it and gone with an open shirt under his suit jacket, but Rafe didn’t think that was a very good way to honor his cousin Marco. Truth be told, Marco probably would have gotten a good laugh at seeing Rafe all dressed up, stiff and uncomfortable in the only suit he owned, so maybe he should just say the hell with the tie.
Then again, Genoveva would throw a fit if he turned up looking like that at his cousin’s funeral.
Grimly, Rafe went back to struggling with the recalcitrant oblong piece of silk. He knew that a good portion of his current foul mood had nothing to do with the tie, and everything to do with the complete strike-out he and Cat had suffered the day before when they’d gotten back from Albuquerque. Both of them had been so certain that, armed with an image of Simon, they’d be able to find someone who’d interacted with him, who’d had some kind of clue that would lead them to where he was currently hiding with Miranda.
But although Mark, the guy at the wine tasting room, had said that yeah, he knew Simon Gutierrez, it was only because of the ad Mark had placed on a local e-bulletin board to get someone to work there for a few days while he was off visiting family in Chicago. “He had experience working at wine tasting rooms in Arizona,” Mark said. “A couple letters of recommendation, which was why I thought it was okay to let him cover for me.”
“Did he say where he was from, exactly?” Cat asked.
“Um…Tucson? Sorry,” Mark added with a rueful smile, while at the same time looking at Cat with interest, “I didn’t pay that much attention. He seemed competent, and I needed to get out of town, and there wasn’t anyone already working here who could cover those hours for me. Did you have a problem with him or something?”
“No,” Rafe had said quickly, “he, uh — he left his wallet in my father’s restaurant, and so we were trying to find him. It had some cash and an expired driver’s license with an old address, but the only thing that seemed recent was a business card from the tasting room here.”
“Oh, bummer,” Mark said. “Sorry, but I don’t know where he was going after he was done here. I guess ba
ck to Tucson?”
Rafe and Cat had thanked him and left. They both knew there wasn’t any point in asking Daniel to look up “Simon Gutierrez” — that name had to be just as fake as the “Robert Marquez” alias Simon had used to book the Airbnb.
The ghosts weren’t any help, either. Oh, Annalisa had seen him, of course — they already knew that. But the other restless spirits who haunted the streets of downtown Santa Fe couldn’t offer anything of value. They’d seen Simon, but only going up to the flat where he was staying, or working at the tasting room, or once or twice coming back from getting himself some takeout at one of the restaurants in the immediate vicinity.
“Might as well have been a ghost himself,” Rafe grumbled, taking another pass at that damn tie. Good thing he’d given himself plenty of time to get ready, although Genoveva expected both him and Cat to be at the chapel early, as befitted the children of the prima. No doubt Louisa and Malena were already there, properly dressed, children in their church outfits with not a hair out of place. His two older sisters always had been better at playing the game than he or Cat.
The doorbell rang. Rafe cursed, then left the tie hanging around his neck as he went downstairs to answer the door. He and Cat had already decided they would drive together in her car, since parking was so tight at the chapel. Apparently Genoveva had fussed a bit at that idea, because she’d wanted Rafe to come to the house so he could come along with the rest of the family, but he’d put his foot down, even though he knew he was already in his mother’s bad graces, thanks to missing most of the vigil held for Marco at the funeral home the evening before. At least this way he and his younger sister could have some autonomy if they needed to leave before the reception following the funeral was over. This event would take place at the prima’s house, as was only befitting such a solemn occasion.
When he opened the door, Cat stood outside, looking very church-ready and unlike herself in a fitted black sheath dress and a string of pearls he guessed she’d borrowed from their mother. A prim little black bag hung from one arm.
“I hate this,” she said, not bothering with even a “hello” as she walked past him into the hallway. “I hate that Marco’s dead and how no one seems to be talking about how weird that is, for someone his age to just pass away like that, and I hate that I have to play dress-up just to keep Mom off my back. Does she really think that either God or Marco gives a shit what I’m wearing to the funeral?”
“I know,” Rafe said wearily. He wasn’t too thrilled about the whole thing, either, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. The wrongness of Marco’s passing chafed at him, too, although he couldn’t quite articulate precisely what was bothering him so much. The doctors hadn’t had to do a full autopsy, because a post-mortem of the heart showed that Marco had an undiagnosed valve defect, and that was apparently why he’d thrown a clot and had a stroke, followed by a catastrophic heart attack. On the surface, it was all very plausible, albeit tragic.
Cat let out a sigh. “Let me fix that tie for you,” she said, then stepped closer so she could make some order out of the chaos hanging around his neck. In less than a minute she’d achieved a very respectable Windsor knot, and gave it a final tug so it was properly tight.
“Where’d you learn to do that?” Rafe asked, impressed despite himself.
She wiggled her fingers at him. “Magic hands,” she replied, then added, “I went through this spell in high school where I was obsessed with knots. Rope, macrame, ties, if you could put a knot in it, I messed with it. Anyway, I guess the motor memory hung on.” A glance down at the slim, elegant watch on her wrist — also borrowed from Genoveva, Rafe was sure — and she said, “We’d better get going. It’s already ten-fifteen.”
“All right.” A funeral was the last place he wanted to be, but he knew he had to be there for his cousin…just in case Marco really was looking down from heaven and watching to see what all of them were doing. Besides, Daniel would be there. Rafe hadn’t heard from his cousin, but it was still early in the day. If Daniel had heard anything about the database image search, he might have decided to wait to relay that information until he could see Rafe in person — a conversation that probably would have to be delayed until the reception and an opportunity to speak privately presented itself.
Holding back a sigh, he followed Cat out to her SUV, then got in the passenger seat. “Loretto Chapel,” she said clearly and distinctly, and the Mercedes’ self-driving mechanism kicked in, sending them over to Paseo de Peralta so they could loop around downtown and come in at the right angle to get to the chapel’s parking lot.
Neither one of them spoke. Rafe knew his sister had to be almost as frustrated as he was about their failure to turn up any leads the evening before. It had begun to seem that no matter what they did, they couldn’t get past the veil of anonymity Simon had drawn around himself. And until they were able to dig up something about him that was true, that was real, it didn’t seem likely they had any chance of locating Miranda.
When they pulled into the chapel’s cramped parking lot, Rafe spied his father standing in the empty space next to the one where Genoveva’s big gray Mercedes sedan was already parked. Good thing, too, because every other spot was already filled.
Genoveva stood off to one side, elegantly attired in black, the coral cross that had been a family heirloom for five generations hanging around her neck. Next to her was Sophia, also in black from head to toe, the severe costume making her look even more frail and slender than usual. She wore a black hat and veil, although such head coverings hadn’t been required by the church for decades.
Cat took manual control and pulled into the space their father had been saving for them. His face was calm and sad, a contrast to their mother, whose dark eyes were snapping sparks even at this distance. Most likely she wasn’t very happy about her two younger children being some of the last to arrive.
However, even she seemed to reconsider the wisdom of chewing out her kids in front of the grieving Sophia, because she only said, once Rafe and Cat had gotten out of the SUV, “Good, you’re here.” The word finally hung in the air between them, although she didn’t say it out loud. “Your sisters are already inside with their families. Go ahead.”
Apparently the tie had passed muster. Rafe nodded at his mother but didn’t reply, then murmured a quiet greeting to Sophia before he and Cat went ahead into the chapel. It was already full, with several rows of Castillos standing in the back. Despite his irritation earlier, he couldn’t help but be moved by this show of clan support for their lost cousin. Marco had been taken from them far too soon, and they clearly wanted to show him their grief and their love.
Cat at his side, Rafe walked down the aisle to take his place in the front pew, albeit off to one side so there was enough room for his parents and Sophia to sit. As he’d guessed, Louisa and Malena and their husbands John and Oscar were already sitting down, their small children firmly placed between them in order to keep fidgeting at a minimum. Malena’s daughter Elisa was only two, and Rafe wondered if she even understood anything of what was happening.
Well, if she didn’t, that would make two of them. Rafe couldn’t make sense of any of it, either. He stared at the shining mahogany casket placed in the center of the altar, surrounded by banks of white lilies and orchids, and scowled. Marco shouldn’t be in that damn box. He should be off with his cousins and friends, maybe fishing, which seemed to be his favorite thing to do other than sampling as many of New Mexico’s local brews as possible. Instead, he was gone, snuffed out as though he’d never been here at all. Anger flooded through Rafe, even though he wasn’t sure exactly what he was angry at. The universe, maybe.
The low murmur of voices in the chapel died down as Genoveva and Eduardo and Sophia entered. They took their seats at the far right end of the pew where the rest of their immediate family sat. As if on cue, the organ began to play, and the bishop himself, attended by several priests, came down the center aisle, censers swinging, filling the air with the
faintly cloying scent that always evoked a faint sense of guilt within Rafe. These days, he only came to church when forced into it by family obligations. Although most of the members of the Castillo clan didn’t seem to recognize the dissonance, he couldn’t help feeling there was something a bit off about being a practicing Catholic and a full-fledged warlock.
The service felt as though it was dragging on forever, but Rafe knew that was only his own impatience. He had to hold back an ironic smile as his father went up and read from Lamentations: My soul is shut out from peace; I have forgotten happiness.
Well, wasn’t that the damn truth. He knew he hadn’t had a moment’s peace since Miranda disappeared from his life on Sunday afternoon.
More readings, more hymns, everyone so solemn and sober-faced, the air heavy with incense. It was so not Marco that Rafe could feel himself scowling all over again. His cousin might not have been Irish, but a good old-fashioned rowdy wake would have suited him much better.
At last, though, that part of it was over. Then there came the mass exodus to the cemetery, the coffin lowered into the ground, Sophia weeping as Eduardo and Genoveva flanked her, clearly ready to hold her up if she should collapse. Watching all this, Cat quiet and moody at his side, Rafe couldn’t help but experience a traitorous sense of relief once the mourners recited the Lord’s Prayer together and the bishop had delivered his final blessing. Only the reception to get through now.
While he hadn’t exactly looked forward to the reception at his mother’s house, at least there he would have a chance to talk to Daniel…or so he hoped. First, though, came the weary standing at the entrance with his sisters and parents, solemnly greeting everyone who came through the door, which took a good twenty minutes. He hated these rituals but knew his mother clung to them, and so he stood there with as much grace as he could muster, telling himself he was doing this for Marco, even though his cousin probably would have laughed at the whole procedure, remarking that all it really did was prevent people from getting to the food and drink after being put through the wringer for the past few hours.
The Witches of Canyon Road, Books 1-3 Page 45
