The Witches of Canyon Road, Books 1-3

by Christine Pope

  Apparently not.

  “Ancient history,” I said with a shrug, doing my best to hide the fear that sent icy tentacles to every limb. If Simon could summon demons with what amounted to the snap of a finger, what else could he do? “We didn’t discuss it much because it didn’t seem as though anyone else could call demons to this world.”

  “Short-sighted. Anyway, it’s clear these Castillos aren’t exactly as impressive as everyone thinks they are. You’re wasting your talents on them…on him.”

  I didn’t bother to ask who Simon meant by “him.” “I think your opinion might be slightly biased.”

  “Probably. But just because it’s biased doesn’t mean it’s not accurate.” Once again he moved closer, and this time he took me by the elbow. More than anything I wanted to wrench my arm from his grasp, but I knew I walked a very thin line between attempting to keep my distance and provoking him into a reaction that might bring more harm to the Castillos. “You need to forget about Rafe, Miranda. You’re here with me now.” With his other hand, he reached out touch my hair, push it back over my shoulder.

  This time, I couldn’t quite hold back a shudder. However, I forced a casual note into my voice as I said, “Just so you know, Simon, Rafe and I have already had sex…multiple times. The last time was just last night, so you might want to hold off on making any moves if you don’t want his sloppy seconds.”

  A dark, angry light kindled in Simon’s eyes and his lip curled, although he didn’t step away from me. “Didn’t waste any time, did you?”

  “Why would we? We’re supposed to be together. Nothing you’ve done can change that.”

  Abruptly, he let go of my arm. Still sneering, he said, “‘Supposed to be together’? According to whom? It’s not like you’re some prima bonding to her consort. The only reason you were with Rafe Castillo in the first place is because his bitch of a mother wouldn’t let it go and insisted that you two get married.”

  I almost retorted that having sex with Rafe did feel like that kind of bonding, but refrained. For one thing, that particular detail was just a bit too intimate for me to want to share it with Simon Escobar. Also, his comment set me wondering about the times Rafe and I had made love. Sex with him had felt amazingly intense, to the point where I honestly couldn’t imagine ever having sex with anyone else. Maybe there actually was some kind of bonding going on, something no one could have predicted. For all I knew, this was what Rafe’s grandmother Isabel had seen before she died, why she had made it clear that her grandson needed to marry the daughter my mother had been carrying at the time.

  However, there was no way in hell I was going to tell Simon that. Let him think what he wanted.

  Ignoring my lack of response, he went on, “I will feel a little bad if anything’s happened to Cat. She’s pretty hot. But I sure as hell am not going to apologize for killing that bitch Genoveva Castillo. She deserved it. If she hadn’t made sure you were sent here to marry her stupid son, I could have approached you back in Arizona, and none of this ugliness would have needed to happen.”

  “Nice deflection, Simon,” I shot back. “Putting your predilection for murder aside, do you really think my parents would have let you get within ten feet of me? They would have sniffed out your dark magic and sent you packing.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. I’m pretty good at hiding it when I need to.”

  Again I wanted to argue, but I knew he was at least partially right. He’d been able to hide his magical nature from me over a period of more than a week, had been able to conceal it from a couple of Castillo witches when they’d only been sitting a few feet away from us in a restaurant. There was no reason to think my parents would be able to detect his abilities when he was working so hard to keep them hidden. They probably would have thought he was a member of the de la Paz clan and would have welcomed him, especially if he’d been able to awaken my powers when no one else could.

  He had paused and was watching me closely, clearly waiting for some kind of a response. Since I had none, except an exaggerated shrug, he smiled to himself, then said, “Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d say. Come on upstairs so I can show you where you’re going to be staying.”

  Since refusing to do as he asked didn’t seem to be an option, I only followed him in silence, praying that he wasn’t going to put me in his bedroom. It would be just like him to force the issue, and I honestly didn’t know how I could react in a way that would tell him I had no intention of sharing his bed, and at the same time manage to keep the Castillos safe.

  At the top of the stairs was a sort of landing, with a small sitting area outfitted with a love seat and low table, and a couple of those old-fashioned, rustic-looking lamps with the amber mica shades. We went past that and into the first doorway on the right. A bedroom, true, but definitely not the master; it wasn’t large enough, and the bed was a small single, with a painted table serving as its nightstand.

  To my surprise, the duffle bag I’d left behind at the house in Tesuque was sitting on that narrow bed. As I stared down at it, Simon said, “I brought this along. I figured you’d need some of your stuff.”

  I wasn’t about to thank him. All I did was lift my shoulders and say, “I suppose it could come in handy.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, that’s my gracious Miranda. The bathroom is across the hall. And my bedroom is down at the end of the hall, if you should need me.”

  “I doubt that’s ever going to happen.”

  The faintly amused expression he’d been wearing disappeared, to be replaced by an intense black stare I recognized all too well. “Oh, it’s going to happen,” he said. “Not today, or tomorrow, but someday you’ll realize that we were meant to be together, that this infatuation with Rafe Castillo means nothing. In the meantime…go ahead and get settled in, then come downstairs.”

  I didn’t bother to reply as he left the room, his footsteps sounding on the tile staircase a moment later. Instead, I stood there for a moment and pulled in a few breaths, willing myself to stay calm. If I allowed fear to overtake me, I wouldn’t be able to deal with Simon in any kind of an effective way. What I needed to do now was wait and see what he had planned, and do my best to keep him at arm’s length until I figured out how to extricate myself from this mess.

  So I went over to the bed and unzipped the duffle, then began to methodically remove its contents and set them out in neat piles, depending on where they were going to be put away. Underwear here, jeans and T-shirts there, sweaters off to one side, toiletries in a pile that would eventually end up in the bathroom.

  Everything seemed to be present and accounted for — everything except the wedding dress I’d been wearing when I’d first run to Simon, thinking he would be my refuge. I’d had it folded as tightly as I could and stuffed into one end of the duffle, without much regard for the silk fabric. At the time, I’d been so angry with Rafe that I hadn’t cared how I treated that damn wedding gown. But now the dress was gone.

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what its absence meant.

  Better to put that worry aside. I had far more important things to concern me at the moment. As it was, I decided to change into jeans and a different sweater, one not so close-fitting. The dress I was wearing had seemed modest enough when I put it on — it came down to just the tops of my knees — but I couldn’t help remembering the way Simon had ogled my legs back at the church. Better to be as covered up as possible.

  The bedroom didn’t have a lock. Not that it mattered, because a regular lock wouldn’t stop the least skilled witch or warlock, let alone someone like Simon Escobar. Hoping for the best, I quickly stripped out of my funeral attire and into the jeans and sweater I’d selected, then zipped up my boots.

  There, that was better. At least I didn’t feel as though I was quite as on display.

  Since I hadn’t been given a time limit for my “settling in,” I took my time hanging up the clothes I’d been wearing, then went over to the window to do my best to get my bearings. It wa
s still just early afternoon, even though the day felt as though it had already been a hundred years long. The sun shone brightly, the deep blue sky streaked here and there with wisps of high, thin clouds.

  From what I could tell, the property here backed up to a creek, just as Rafe had surmised. Cienega Creek, I told myself. Like every other river or stream I’d seen in the southwest, this creek was lined with cottonwoods, now mostly bare, although a few brave yellow leaves still clung to some of their branches. On either side were more bare-limbed trees: aspens and sycamores and oaks. Unlike a lot of places in this part of the world, the backyard appeared to have a real lawn, even though it was now yellowed by frost. When everything was green, this was probably a beautiful spot. Now it just looked forlorn and a little sad, even with those bright skies overhead.

  I wondered if this place was another property management job Simon had lied his way into, or whether it was simply a vacation rental he’d taken over. Early November wasn’t exactly prime tourist season in these parts, so he’d probably gotten a deal. And this house, while nicely decorated and updated, certainly wasn’t on a par with the estate where we’d been staying in Tesuque.

  Unfortunately, even while bare, the trees provided enough cover that I couldn’t tell how close the neighbors — if any — might be. Not that it really mattered. This wasn’t the kind of situation where I could break out and go knock on their doors for help. No civilian could give me the kind of assistance I needed, and that realization made me feel even more trapped.

  I’d just have to hang on until Rafe found me. While my magic had been getting stronger and stronger, and I might — might — have been able to put up a credible defense against Simon, I didn’t quite dare to take action. If I failed, I knew he would be merciless. He’d already proven to me that he didn’t give a damn about human life. I just couldn’t allow any more members of the Castillo clan to be hurt.

  I didn’t even have my phone with me, because my purse had been sitting on the front pew in the church when the demons attacked. Presumably, it was still sitting there, unless Rafe or Eduardo had noticed it and taken it with them when they left.

  Thinking about Rafe hurt too much. I didn’t want to remember how wonderful it had felt to lie in his arms the night before, or how good it had been to share even the little moments, like teasing him about how good he looked in a suit. We were meant to be together, I just knew it, and yet I couldn’t see how I was supposed to get from where I was now back to the place where I was supposed to be. But I wouldn’t allow myself to despair. That would be letting Simon win.

  One step at a time, just like everything else.

  I took a breath, smoothed my hair as I looked into the pretty mirror of Mexican tin that hung over the dresser, then went to the door and opened it. There was no point in delaying any longer; I couldn’t stay up here forever. Besides, the longer I lingered, the more risk I ran of annoying Simon.

  Despite my resolve, I descended those stairs slowly, experiencing with each step a mounting tension that clenched my gut. I didn’t know for sure why I was so much more tense now than I had been when Simon first brought me here less than a half hour earlier, but I guessed it was because we had already gotten the preliminaries out of the way. Now I would see exactly what he had planned for me…and to say I wasn’t looking forward to learning the answer would have been a massive understatement.

  He was there in the kitchen when I approached. Judging by the assortment of food on the polished stone counter, it appeared he’d been assembling some fairly complicated sandwiches.

  Was he really expecting me to eat?

  Apparently he was, because he paused and looked up at me, smiling. If he was disappointed that I’d changed out of my short dress and heels, he didn’t show it.

  “Mustard or mayo?” he asked.

  “Neither,” I said. Sometimes I didn’t mind the tiniest bit of mustard, but right then, with my stomach churning away and clenched with tension, I knew even a small taste would make me want to vomit.

  My response made him lift an eyebrow, but then he shrugged and put a piece of bread on top of one of the half-completed sandwiches, set it on a piece of cheerful hand-painted Mexican dishware, and pushed it across the counter toward me. “I thought you might be hungry.”

  “I’m not,” I said. Well, that wasn’t precisely the truth. Physically, I could tell I was hungry — it had been hours since the breakfast burritos Rafe and I had shared that morning — but I didn’t know whether I’d be able to force anything down without wanting to throw it right back up afterward.

  He didn’t seem put off by my reply. “Even after expending all that energy fighting off demons?”

  Damn it, he knew me too well. He’d seen the way I gobbled almost everything in sight after our magical practice sessions, and so he had to know that my body was craving some of the fuel it had used up.

  Still, I hesitated.

  “It’s just a sandwich,” he said. “Eating it isn’t going to condemn your eternal soul to hellfire or anything.”

  “That’s not what I was thinking.”

  “Really?” Simon smeared some Dijon on the piece of whole-grain bread he’d just picked up, then placed the slice of bread on his own sandwich. “Your expression says something different.”

  I crossed my arms. “My expression is probably saying that I can’t believe you’d expect me to act as though all of this was normal, that I’d just accept food from you like it was no big deal.”

  “You’re going to have to eat sometime, aren’t you?” he said reasonably. “I mean, I suppose you could try to go on a hunger strike to guilt me into letting you go, but I’ll tell you in advance that that’s not going to work.”

  No, it probably wouldn’t. Simon had enough tricks up his sleeve that he could probably come up with a way to force-feed me, or to use some kind of stratagem to fool me into eating his food.

  “It’s fine,” he went on. “All this stuff just came straight out of the fridge. I haven’t done anything to it. See?” And he took a big bite out of the sandwich he held.

  Which still didn’t prove very much. He could have doctored one of the components of my sandwich while leaving everything that went into his alone. It wasn’t as though he’d poured us both soup out of the same pot or something.

  Shaking his head, he picked up the knife he’d just used to spread mustard on his bread, wiped it off on a paper towel, and then cut a corner off the sandwich he’d prepared for me. Making sure I was watching, he lifted it to his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

  “See? It’s fine. Bread and cheese and sliced roast beef. It’s not going to kill you.”

  That was a more convincing display. Still, I couldn’t quite put my hand out to take the sandwich, even though my stomach gurgled a little, telling me that it was probably about to growl loudly if I didn’t do something to shut it up.

  Fine. While I knew Simon was capable of just about anything, I didn’t think he’d poison me right off the bat. He wanted me here, wanted me to go along with his crazy schemes. Doing something outrageous this early in the game wouldn’t be smart.

  Holding back a sigh, I picked up the sandwich from the plate and took a bite. “Satisfied?” I asked after I’d stopped chewing.

  “I don’t know about satisfied,” he said. “But at least it’s a step in the right direction. Want something to drink? There’s water, or Coke, or iced tea — the bottled kind.”

  “Tea,” I replied. If it was bottled, it was probably safe. Anyway, I could use the kick of caffeine, and I didn’t drink soda, so Coke wasn’t an option.

  “Got it.” He went over to the fridge and got out a bottle of iced tea for me and a can of Coke for himself, then came back over and set them down on the counter. “We can go sit in the dining room, or the living room, if you want. We don’t have to stand here.”

  “This is fine,” I said firmly. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I was softening toward him, an impression that sitting down with him to eat lik
e civilized people might too easily give.

  That response earned me a sideways glance, as if he’d guessed exactly why I’d declined having our late lunch in a more comfortable place. But at least he didn’t say anything, which meant I was able to eat my sandwich and drink my tea in relative peace — very relative, because although I hoped I looked calm enough on the outside, all I could do was keep thinking about what Rafe might be doing at that very moment, and whether Simon’s attacking demons had really hurt Cat or whether she’d just passed out from all the psychic tumult.

  And, as much as I hated to eat any food Simon might give me, I really didn’t have the choice to go on a hunger strike, partly because I doubted he’d even allow me to do such a thing, and partly because I knew I needed to keep my strength up so I could exploit any opportunities for escape, should they arise. The sandwich was tasty enough — the roast beef tasted like real deli meat, not something out of a package, and the bread was fresh — so it wasn’t too much work to get it all down.

  When I was done, I took a large swallow of tea. Simon was still chewing, but I found myself compelled to ask anyway. “What is your end game in all this, Simon? I mean, what exactly do you hope to achieve? You might have the upper hand right now, but you’re only one person. Even a warlock as powerful as you really isn’t capable of taking on an entire witch clan.”

  He didn’t appear too troubled by my remarks. After finishing the last bite of his sandwich, he drank some Coke, then put the can back down on the countertop. “You so sure about that? After all, I just beat some of the Castillo clan’s strongest witches and warlocks back there at the church. Who else are they going to throw against me?”