And all the gods and goddesses knew that I could use a guardian angel about now.
I pulled off my robe and hung it from the hook on the back of my door, then kicked off my shoes and took off my long skirt and T-shirt as well. After shaking my hair loose from the rubber band I’d used to hold it out of the way while I washed my face and brushed my teeth, I went to the window and pushed the curtain aside slightly so I could look out on the sleeping town.
There was no sign that a large group had gathered earlier out on the promontory where the old dormitory was located. Neither could you tell just by looking that we’d invoked the spirits of the dead and cast yet another spell of protection around Cleopatra Hill and the town built on it. But I knew. I could still feel the power thrumming through my bones. No one who wished us any ill could come near here. I felt it.
The moon shone down on me, naked of clouds now. I gazed up at it, drinking in the white light. I had survived my first ritual, and hadn’t botched anything or opened up the clan to dark influences.
Maybe this prima thing wouldn’t be so difficult after all.
To my surprise, Aunt Rachel did open the store the next day. “Can’t stay closed forever…and it’s the weekend,” she told me.
Or maybe she was just trying to take her mind off the reality of my moving out in a few days. When I’d gotten up that morning, I started packing some of my less essential items — summer clothes and flip-flops, books I knew I wouldn’t be reading any time soon — but I hated doing even that much. It felt so…final.
She’d declined going to the Day of the Dead festivities but didn’t forbid my going. That is, she really didn’t have the option of telling me what to do anymore, and instead said, “Well, you’ll need to discuss that with the elders.”
None of them had been exactly thrilled at the prospect. Margot Emory had frowned and shared what sounded like a heated convo with the other two elders, and then Allegra Moss shrugged and said, “If you take five of our strongest with you, then I think it should be all right.” Since she had some of the strongest precognition in the clan, generally when she said something like that, you were good to go.
Apparently Bryce had thought the same thing, because he didn’t offer any other argument. “I’ll choose them,” he remarked, but that was about it.
Not that I really wanted five witches and warlocks trailing me the whole time. Still, it was better than being under house arrest, and it had been months since I’d gone into Sedona. It was neutral territory, an agreement having been made more than a hundred years earlier that the resort town had too much power on its own, what with the energy vortexes that surged up through the rocks there. Any clan living within its boundaries would have an unfair advantage. I was sort of surprised that the agreement was still honored to this day, considering you couldn’t trust a Wilcox any farther than you could throw him (or her…although they skewed heavily toward warlocks and not witches). I’d asked Rachel about it once, and although her expression turned dark, the way it always did when the subject of the Wilcoxes came up, she said that the other clans, especially the de la Pazes, would have come up here and assisted us if the Wilcox clan had ever attempted such a thing. They were powerful, but even they weren’t strong enough to face down all the other Arizona clans at the same time.
Anyway, we were all allowed to go into Sedona to eat and shop and go to the movies, as long as we didn’t stay overnight and didn’t attempt to cast any spells or perform any rituals there. The McAllisters probably went far more often than the Wilcoxes, simply because we were closer, only about fifteen miles away, and up in Flagstaff there was at least a movie theater and a mall, whereas we had to drive all the way to Prescott for those amenities.
I helped out in the shop part of the day that Saturday, but I couldn’t stay until closing, since we’d be leaving a little after three. One of the warlocks in the bodyguard contingent was Lester Phillips, partly because he excelled at defensive spells, and partly because he had a big van that all of us could pile into. Adam met me at the shop, the van pulled up about five minutes later, and then we were off.
It was a clear, bright day, with just a few thin clouds overhead. The air was cold, though; the north wind had decided to hang around for a few days. I wore one of Rachel’s wool shawls over my black sweater and spangly skirt, since somehow it hadn’t felt respectful to go to a Day of the Dead festival in jeans and cowboy boots. Adam had traded his T-shirt for a hoodie, but otherwise his attire didn’t look much different from what I saw him wear every other day of the year.
His eyes had lit up when he saw me, and I hoped I hadn’t done the wrong thing by agreeing to come. No, he knew how things stood between us. I told myself he was probably just glad that I hadn’t called everything off at the last minute.
He didn’t seem that inclined to talk during the drive. I was glad of that, since it meant I could stare silently out the window and watch the golden fields pass by outside. We’d greened up with the monsoon rains during the summer, but things had dried out again and would stay that way through the winter.
The trip took a little more than a half hour. Sedona was crowded, as it generally was on the weekends. Cars had backed up onto the highway while trying to get into the parking lot at Tlaquepaque Village, where the Day of the Dead festivities were being held, but Lester had a handicapped placard because of his bad back, so once we actually got in, we were still able to find a place to park without too much trouble. Yes, I know a warlock with a bad back sounds incongruous, but we hadn’t had a good healer among us since Dottie McAllister, my second cousin once removed (or something like that), passed away when I was a little girl. And, as Lester liked to point out, having that handicapped placard came in, well, handy.
As soon as I got out of the van I could hear the rippling sounds of flamenco music coming from one of the courtyards. The place was mobbed with people, and I experienced a small thrill of apprehension. I wasn’t used to being out among that many people, especially strangers, on territory that wasn’t mine.
Everyone else got out of the van, and Adam and I stood there, unsure as to which way we should go. The five bodyguards waited patiently; clearly they were just here to keep watch, and it was up to me to decide where we would go and what we would see.
I figured we might as well head toward the music. “Let’s see what’s going on over there,” I said, and pointed more or less in the direction of the guitar player.
Adam nodded, and we set out, winding through the crowd, trying not to stare at all the sights around us. Tourists in fanny packs and sweatshirts, naturally, and boho Sedona types in long skirts and Navajo jewelry, and couples with babies in strollers and people walking their dogs. But I also saw people wearing Mexican costume, with their faces painted like calaveras, or skulls, and women in long skirts and shawls wrapped around their hips, clearly dressed for flamenco dancing. It was all fascinating, and I tried not to stare too hard at the sights around me.
We came out into a courtyard with a fountain in the center, and everywhere I looked I saw little glass containers with candles inside them, and labels stuck on the outside with short messages or the names of relatives who had passed away. Against one wall was a huge altar with more offerings and bouquets of flowers and fruit.
“Look,” said Adam, who was taller than I and therefore could see better. “It looks like there’s a place over there where you can buy the candles. Let’s get one for Great-Aunt Ruby.”
I agreed that sounded like a great idea, and we picked our way through the crowd, trailed by the bodyguards, until we got to a little pavilion on the far side of the courtyard where you could make a donation and get a candle. Since the donations went to benefit the local animal shelter, I pulled out a twenty and dropped it in the donation jar, then waited for the man handling the candles to fetch one for me, along with a sticker and a Sharpie so I could write down my message.
“What are you going to say?” Adam asked, once we’d shuffled over to one side to make room fo
r the next people wanting to get their own candles.
Good question. I’d come here with the idea that we would be paying tribute to Ruby, but the carnival atmosphere had my brain a little muddled. Not that I didn’t like it, but it wasn’t what I’d been expecting. I’d thought it would be a little quieter, somehow, a little more introspective. But that was probably my own fault for not reading up on it before I came.
I was here now, though, so I tried to focus. I knew my great-aunt wouldn’t want us to mourn. No, I wanted to write something that paid tribute to her without being all weepy about it. Finally, I bent over the table and wrote on my sticker, Ruby, your strength inspires all of us, and you will live in our hearts forever. There wasn’t really room for anything more than that, so I showed it to Adam, who nodded his approval.
“I think she’d like that. Now, where do you want to put it?”
Hmm. Already candles covered almost every available level surface — crowding the altar I’d spied earlier, ringing the fountain in the center of the courtyard, even running along the edges of the stucco and concrete planters. But then I noticed off to the side a smaller altar with a few open spots in front of it.
“How about over there?”
He peered through the crowd. “That looks good. Better hurry before someone else fills it up.”
No kidding. Everywhere I looked I saw people hunting for the perfect spot for their own candles. I put the sticker on the glass container — the man who’d given us the candle had prelit it for us — and then pushed through the crowd to set it down in one of the few remaining spaces. The flame flickered a little, but then stood up straight and tall, strong the way my great-aunt had been almost until the day she died.
“Okay, now what?” Adam asked, once I straightened and stood next to him.
Why he was asking me, when it had been his idea to come here, I didn’t know. Maybe he just thought as prima I should be the one calling the shots. I decided it wasn’t worth arguing about and pointed to the next courtyard over, which was where the flamenco music seemed to be coming from.
It wasn’t quite as crowded in that spot, although there were still plenty of people milling around. Here I spied some tables with chairs around them, and a second or two later I saw the reason why: the restaurant at the far end of the courtyard had an outside stand where they were selling margaritas and sangria.
Now that we’d paid our respects to Great-Aunt Ruby, I didn’t see why we couldn’t have a little fun. She certainly hadn’t been above having a drink or two, although her poison of choice was gin martinis.
“Buy you a drink?” I asked, and Adam grinned.
“Sure.”
We went over to the stand and waited for the couple ahead of us to finish their transaction. I stepped up to the pretty Hispanic woman who was taking the orders and said, “A sangria and…” I trailed off, since I hadn’t asked Adam what he wanted.
“Regular margarita — on the rocks, not blended, please.”
She smiled and said, “Just a minute,” then poured our drinks. “That’ll be fifteen dollars.”
I handed over a twenty and told her to keep the change. Her eyes widened a little, but she just thanked me before going on to assist the next set of customers who were waiting for drinks.
Truth be told, it was probably a little chilly to be drinking either sangria or a margarita, but I found I didn’t mind too much. The sangria was good, too. I knew there was probably a lot more to go see. For some reason I wanted to linger here for a while and listen to the guitarist in the center of the courtyard playing intricate Spanish tunes that matched the architecture around me, the white stucco walls and the red tile roofs and the balconies and overhangs of dark wood. The bodyguards had paused a few yards off, pretending to be looking at a display of fine art photographs in a gallery window.
A half-familiar voice said from over my left shoulder, “Angela? Angela McAllister?”
I turned and saw him. All right, not him him, not the man of my dreams, but a close second — the Zorro from the Halloween dance a week ago. I blinked, certain I must be hallucinating. Or maybe that sangria was a lot stronger than I’d thought it was.
“Hi, um….” I managed, realizing that I’d given him my name, but I still didn’t know his.
He grinned, even as I felt Adam shift irritably next to me. “Sorry about that. We didn’t get to the formal introductions. I’m Chris Wilson.”
“Hi, Chris.” Then, realizing that I really shouldn’t neglect Adam, I added, “And this is my cousin Adam.”
“Hi,” Chris said, extending a gloved hand. Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought he looked almost relieved at the word “cousin,” as though he’d been worried that Adam was my boyfriend or something. Or maybe I was just flattering myself.
Adam looked like he really didn’t want to shake Chris’s hand. After I slanted him a sideways glance through my eyelashes, though, he reached out and took his hand, saying, “Nice to meet you.”
“So what brings you up here?” I asked Chris, figuring I’d better step in and keep the conversation going in more or less innocuous directions. From across the way I could see the guardians pause and give him their own inspection, relaxing visibly when they sensed that he was just a civilian, no one to worry about.
“I’m not stalking you, I swear,” he replied with a small laugh. Seeing him like this, in the last of the afternoon light, I thought he was even better-looking than I remembered. I could see that his dark eyes were surrounded with a heavy fringe of lashes, now that they weren’t hidden behind the Zorro mask, and he had nice strong brows that balanced the slightly long nose and high cheekbones. “A friend of mine is getting his master’s in anthro, and he wanted to come up here and check out the festivities. I’d heard about it but hadn’t been before.”
“So where’s your friend?” Adam asked, tone not quite brusque enough to be called rude…but close.
“Over in the next courtyard, taking pictures of one of the altars there.”
I noticed that besides the gloves, Chris was wearing a heavy leather jacket over a sweater, and he had a wool scarf around his neck. “Planning to go up to Flagstaff or something?” I inquired, with a lift of my eyebrows toward the cold-weather gear.
He startled slightly, then grinned and shook his head. “I’m from Phoenix, remember? If it gets below sixty-five degrees, we break out the snowshoes.”
Despite myself, I chuckled. I also found myself wishing I didn’t have Adam there, glaring at me like a chaperone in one of those Victorian novels where the heroine can’t even step out on the veranda without having her actions questioned.
“Have you been to this before?” Chris asked, and I shook my head.
“No, I — that is, we lost our great-aunt last weekend. That’s actually why I had to run out of the dance like that. Family emergency.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said at once, the little smile he’d been wearing abruptly disappearing.
“It’s okay,” I told him. “That is, she lived a great life. It was sad to lose her, but not entirely unexpected. She was eighty-eight.”
“A good round number.”
“Exactly.” I smiled up at him, wishing more than ever that we could be alone together. Then again, what good would that do me, except to frustrate me further?
If only he weren’t so damn good-looking….
He seemed to notice my edginess and glanced over at Adam. “Mind if I borrow your cousin for a minute?”
Adam looked as if he wanted to say he minded very much, but he seemed to collect himself and shrugged. “Sure,” he replied, and took a sip of his margarita before glancing over at the flamenco guitarist, as if scrutinizing his intricate fingerwork was the only thing on his mind right then.
Maybe I should’ve been relieved, but I couldn’t help wondering what exactly Chris wanted. He moved off down the walkway that led from the courtyard out to an open area behind the buildings, then paused once we were more or less out of earshot, if not eye
shot.
“I am sorry to hear about your great-aunt,” he said quietly, “but in a way I’m kind of glad.”
“You are?” I couldn’t quite figure out what he meant by that.
“Not that your family lost her. I mean, I’m glad you didn’t disappear like that last Saturday because of something I did.”
“Oh, no. Not at all.”
He hesitated, looking down into my face. I was very glad that I’d taken a little more care with my hair than usual and had put on some lip gloss. Not that my current fresh-faced look wasn’t a far cry from the diva I’d appeared to be at the Halloween dance. Even so, he didn’t seem too fazed by the alteration in my appearance.
“Do you get down to Phoenix often?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I think I might have mentioned I don’t get out much.” An expression of disappointment passed over his features, and I quickly continued, “But we do go down in early December every year for holiday shopping and to stock up on some things that we have a hard time getting up here.” Of course I had no idea whether we were going to uphold that tradition this year, what with everything that was going on, but if it was in my power to make it happen, then it would.
“Okay, that sounds a little more promising. I need to get back to my friend, though. And school’s going to be kind of crazy between now and the end of the semester, so I don’t think I’ll be able to get back up here. But I’d really like it if you’d call me when you’re in town.”
“I don’t have your number,” I told him.
“Well, that’s easy to fix. Can I borrow your phone?”
I dug it out of my purse and handed it to him. He went to the contacts screen and entered his information. I took another sip of my sangria while I waited, then took my phone back once he was done, slipping it into a pocket in my purse.
“I’m not sure when we’ll be down,” I said. “We usually go mid-week, though, to avoid the crowds.”
Magic in the Desert: Three Paranormal Romance Series Starters Set in the American Southwest Page 14
