And then there was 822.
It was one of the smaller houses on the block, but still impressive-looking, freshly painted, with a balcony that ran along the entire façade and what looked like a staircase that led up to the roof, probably for more ocean viewing. I’d seen a few houses in Sedona built like that, too. What I didn’t see were any real signs of occupation, like patio furniture or potted plants — unlike the house directly next door, which had a riotous collection of fuchsias and orchids and other tropical flowers I didn’t recognize blooming in the small fenced-in yard.
“What do you think?” Connor murmured, standing close and reaching out to give my hand a reassuring squeeze.
Frankly, I didn’t know what to think. The last thing I’d expected was to come all the way out here and find a house that didn’t look like anyone lived in it. I supposed it could be a vacation home. In fact, that made sense, if it turned out that my mother or her mysterious lover had rented it all those years ago.
In that moment the front door to the house next to it, the one with all the flowers, opened. A trim-looking older woman with expertly highlighted hair came out, holding a water can. She seemed to notice Connor and me right away, and smiled. “Are you looking for someone?”
Well, of course I was, but I couldn’t think of a good way to explain that to her. “Um…sort of,” I confessed. “I think my mother lived here a long time ago. At least, this is the address she put down on the birth certificate.”
The woman peered at me intently, and her eyes widened. After setting the watering can down on a glass-topped accent table, she came to the gate, her gaze never leaving my face. “I don’t believe it! You — you’re Sonya’s baby?”
Oh, Goddess. Was it possible? “I’m Angela McAllister, yes.”
“Sonya McAllister,” the woman said, and shook her head. “Such a pretty girl she was. You look a good deal like her — and you must be about the same age, too.”
“I’m twenty-two.”
“Yes, that’s right. Twenty-one, twenty-two, somewhere in there.”
I felt Connor’s fingers tighten around mine. “So you knew her? You’ve lived here all this time?” he asked. He sounded a bit incredulous, and I couldn’t really blame him. There went his theory that people in California moved all the time.
She smiled. “Yes. I’m Linda Sanderson. My husband and I bought the house about two years before Sonya came here. That house was a rental property — still is, actually. The new tenants are coming this weekend and will be here all summer.” Then she seemed to shake her head at herself and said, “Why don’t you both come in, Angela and — ” She gave Connor an expectant look, and he seemed to recover himself, saying,
“I’m Connor Wilcox, Angela’s fiancé.”
It was the first time he’d ever referred to himself that way, and his use of the word made me feel as if I’d been lit up from the inside. It seemed to please Linda as well, because her smile broadened and she said, “Very nice to meet you, Connor. Please, come inside. I’d love to hear all about Sonya and what happened to her.”
Oh, boy. That wasn’t a very pleasant story. But I wouldn’t lie — not about that, anyway. Obviously I couldn’t tell this Linda Sanderson that my mother and I were from a clan of witches, or that Connor, my handsome fiancé, just happened to be a warlock.
Slipping my flip-flops back on, I followed Linda inside, Connor a few paces behind me. The interior of the house was casual and elegant at the same time, much like its owner. She gestured for us to sit on a couch covered in a soft, nubby beige fabric, with beautifully embroidered pillows. All around were more orchids, and a glass bowl filled with shells and sand dollars sat on the glass and blond-wood coffee table.
“Iced tea?” she asked.
“Just water, thank you,” I responded. I didn’t want to ask whether the tea was caffeinated and then have to go into the whole caffeine-avoidance pregnancy thing.
“Sure thing,” she said. “And you, Connor?”
“Tea sounds great, thank you.”
She went and busied herself in the kitchen for a few minutes, then came back with tall green-hued glasses filled with water for me and tea for Connor. After she sat down on the love seat facing the couch where Connor and I had seated ourselves, she asked, “So, what brings you here after all these years? Your family is from Arizona, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I replied. “Northern Arizona. A little town called Jerome.” And how far away it felt from this serene beachfront house and the woman who sat across from me, with her perfectly bobbed hair and smooth, tanned skin. I had a feeling she had to be in her late fifties or early sixties, but she looked amazing. Botox, maybe? It seemed a Newport Beach sort of thing to do.
“And how is your mother?”
I swallowed. “Well, that is — she passed away a long time ago, not too long after she came back to Jerome. A motorcycle accident. I don’t even remember her.”
An expression of dismay passed over Linda’s regular features. “Oh, I’m so very sorry to hear that. She was a lovely girl.”
“She was?” That didn’t seem to jibe with most of Aunt Rachel’s remarks about her sister, which generally centered on her heedlessness and lack of responsibility. “I mean,” I added quickly, as I saw Linda’s eyebrows lift in surprise, “I don’t really know anything about her. My aunt — her sister — doesn’t like to talk much about it.”
“Ah.” She nodded in apparent understanding. “Well, Sonya didn’t tell me all that much about her family, only said she was from Arizona and that both her parents had passed away. When she came here with Andre — ”
“Andre?” I asked.
“Her fiancé,” Linda replied, looking puzzled. “Your father. You didn’t know about him?”
“No,” I said. I felt Connor’s fingers reach out to touch mine, give them a reassuring squeeze. “That is, my mother didn’t talk about him. On the birth certificate, it just says ‘unknown’ where the father’s name should be.”
For a few seconds Linda didn’t say anything, just lifted her own glass of tea and sipped at it. Now I could see the worry line between her brows deepen, and I supposed Botox couldn’t erase everything. At length she said, “Well, I suppose I can partly understand that. They had a terrible fight only a few days before you were born.”
“They did?” Connor’s fingers tightened around mine, offering his strength, and I asked, “What was the fight about?”
“I don’t know for sure. They were shouting, and their windows were open, but ours weren’t.” She gave a grim little smile. “I suppose they thought it was still fairly warm, although it was sweater weather for the rest of us SoCal natives. Anyway, there was shouting, and then Andre — your father — drove off in his Jeep. He never came back.”
And because of that argument…whatever it had actually been about…my mother had made sure I’d never know who my father really was. “Do you remember his last name?”
“Williams, I think. He seemed like a very nice young man, so I couldn’t figure out what on earth it might have been that would make him and Sonya argue like that. So handsome, too.” Her gaze flicked toward Connor, and I saw the little line appear between her brows again. “It’s funny, but you remind me a little of him. Not exactly, but there’s something….” She shook her head. “Maybe it’s just that you’re both tall and dark-haired. I think I remember him saying once that he was part Native American. Navajo, maybe.”
Suddenly the room felt a little chillier. “Navajo? You’re sure?”
“I think so.”
I risked a quick sidelong glance at Connor. He was sitting motionless, his hand still holding mine, but I thought I saw a tremor in the muscles along his jaw line, as if he’d had a sudden thought but wanted to keep it to himself. “That’s interesting,” I managed to say. “I don’t suppose you remember if they told you how they met?”
“Actually, I do. Andre was out running to the store or something, and my husband was at work, so Sonya and I were having some te
a and chatting, just watching the beach. I remember asking her what had brought her and Andre here to Newport Beach, and she said that was the funny thing, that she’d actually met him here, even though they were both from Arizona.”
“They were?” I asked, my voice sounding strangled. “Do you remember where?”
“Hmm…somewhere around the Phoenix area, I think. Scottsdale or Tempe. Or was it Mesa?” Linda gave an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, that was a long time ago. I’m surprised I’m remembering as much as I am, but maybe it’s seeing you, seeing how much you look like Sonya, although your hair is much darker.”
“It’s all right,” I replied quickly. I didn’t want her to think I was upset with her; after all, she’d already given me more information about my parents than I’d previously heard in my entire life. “And — and can you tell me what happened? Why she left?”
“Well, the two of them had come here in late April, and she left in the middle of February, so she still had a few months left on her lease. Even so, the owner of the house told me she paid everything that was owed before she moved out. I always wondered how a young couple like that could have afforded the house in the first place, but obviously money wasn’t an issue.” Another lift of her shoulders, and she continued, “Anyway, she just said she didn’t want to stay here alone with the baby, so she was going back to Arizona to be with her family. And she packed up her things and left. I worried about her driving all that way with a newborn, and asked her if she couldn’t have someone from her family come here to get her, but she said that wasn’t possible. So she drove off one morning with you in a car seat, Angela, and that was the last I saw of her. I’ve often wondered what happened to her…and to Andre.”
Andre Williams. Andre wasn’t that common a name, but Williams sure was. I didn’t know how I’d begin to track him down. Hire a private investigator, maybe? There had to be records of some sort, starting with the lease on the house next door.
More than anything, though, I wanted to talk to Connor alone, find out why he’d reacted the way he did when Linda revealed that my long-lost father had possibly been part Navajo. Was it only the Wilcox connection with that tribe…or maybe something else?
Since I’d already let too much time elapse before I replied to her speech, I said quickly, “Thank you, Linda. That’s a big help. At least now I know who my father was.” Well, sort of, anyway. I had a name, and the possibility of him being part Navajo. Maybe he was listed in the tribal registry or something. I wasn’t really sure how those things worked.
She smiled at me, although something about her expression looked a little sad, as if she was recalling the young woman she’d known so many years ago and having to mentally adjust to the thought that she’d never lived to see her daughter grow up. “I wish I could tell you more, but that’s really all I can remember.”
“No, it’s fine. I really can’t begin to thank you for this.” I looked over at Connor and gave him the slightest of nods, signaling that I was ready to go. “We’ve really taken up enough of your time, though, so we’d better get going.”
It seemed as if she was about to demur, to say it was fine if we wanted to stay longer, but then she appeared to get a good look at my face, and nodded. “It’s no trouble. I’m very glad I was able to meet you. Well, meet you again, I mean.”
And what a span of years filled the space between those two meetings. Of course I didn’t remember this place at all, just as I had no recollection of my mother, but I’d come home from the hospital to the house next door, had no doubt cost Linda some sleep with my crying. Or maybe I’d been a quiet baby. I didn’t know; Aunt Rachel never shared even the tiniest detail about my earliest days.
“And I’m very glad I was able to meet you. Thank you again for everything.”
I rose from the couch then, and Connor followed suit. Linda saw us to the door, then said, “Would you like to give me your phone number? Just in case I remember anything else?”
That sounded like a wonderful idea, so I rattled off the number to her while she wrote it down on a pad next to her phone, which was sitting on a side table. Then Connor and I both made our final goodbyes to her, and headed out into the bright sunshine.
I really didn’t want to go back to the car. Not yet, anyway. I needed some time to think. The beach was occupied but not crowded, so it seemed as good a place as any to talk. Slipping off my flip-flops once again, I made my way to the water’s edge, to a spot where the closest people were a good ten yards away. As the cool water rushed over my toes, I asked Connor, “Do you want to tell me what that was about?”
“What was what about?”
Maybe it was just the glare from the water that made him narrow his eyes and glance away, but somehow I doubted it. “I saw you. When Linda said my father was part Navajo, you looked like, I don’t know, like you’d just thought of something. So what was it?”
“It could be nothing….”
“Or it couldn’t.” I turned away from the water, away from that endless expanse of glittering blue, shifting so we faced one another. “Connor, we have to be honest with each other, no matter what. No more hiding things. No more lies.”
He was quiet for a few seconds, chest rising and falling as he took in breaths of the wild salt-laden air. “Okay. You probably heard through the family grapevine — also known as Mason and Carla — that Marie was engaged once, and that her fiancé just up and disappeared?”
“Yeah, they told me about it when I asked why Marie always seemed so hostile. What about it?”
“Her fiancé’s name was Andre. Andre Wilcox.”
The air felt as if it had been sucked out of my lungs. I stared at Connor, trying to draw breath, trying to make sense of what he’d just told me. “What are you saying? That my father and this Andre are the same person?” A horrible thought occurred to me. “That you and I are related?”
“Only distantly,” he hurried to say. “If it’s really the same person. He was, I don’t know, descended from Jeremiah’s middle brother, I think. We’re way more distant cousins than you and your cousin Adam are.” He stopped there, mouth tightening as if he’d meant to say more and decided against it.
I could imagine what he’d been thinking, though. Adam and I were third or fourth cousins, perfectly legal even outside the Ozarks, and there had been many more generations and far more intermarriages separating whatever distant relationship Connor and I might or might not have. If this Andre Williams really was Andre Wilcox.
“What else do you know about it?” I demanded.
“Jesus, Angela, not much.” He crossed his arms and didn’t quite glare at me, but I could tell he was annoyed by my tone. “I mean, I was probably five when all that went down. Did you pay attention to the love lives of your relatives when you were five years old?”
“No, of course not, except for going to weddings, which were fun because there was cake.”
“Exactly. I mean, it’s been part of the family gossip ever since, but I don’t pay attention to that kind of crap. I leave it for my cousin Leah — Carla’s mother — to keep spreading it around.”
“And the Navajo thing?” I asked. I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around that part of the story. “Marie’s mother was Navajo…was Andre’s mother, too?”
“Grandmother, I think. Like I said, I don’t pay a huge amount of attention. There are people in the family who keep track of all the genealogy, but I’m not one of them.”
“But after what Jeremiah did — ”
“More than a hundred years ago, Angela.” He sighed and turned his head into the wind, too-long hair whipping in the brisk breeze, gleaming like the wings of the ravens that made northern Arizona their home. In that moment, I wondered what he would look like if he let his hair grow all the way out, let it be straight and silky and free, like that of his own long-ago Navajo forebears. “There’s bad blood, no doubt about it, but the Navajo aren’t one huge monolithic tribe. They all have their own hopes and dreams and fears. Maybe a pret
ty girl looked at her future on the reservation and decided being with a Wilcox wasn’t so bad. After all, if you’re not married to the primus, you’ll probably have a pretty good life. Also, if that girl has any kind of magical gifts, she’s better off away from the res. The Navajo don’t have the same view of witchcraft that we do, and shun it, apart from the powers of their shamans. Whereas we’d welcome someone like that. Why do you think Marie is so powerful? It’s not all Wilcox blood.”
For a minute I didn’t say anything, just stood there and let the cool water lap at my feet and the wind pull at my own hair. My thoughts were as chaotic and complex as the patterns of the waves breaking a few yards away from us. “Did he ever come back?” I asked abruptly.
“Who? Andre? No. He just…disappeared.”
Twenty-two years was a long time to be disappeared. Maybe he’d met the same fate as my mother, wiped out on a highway in a traffic accident. Or maybe he’d just picked up stakes and moved across the country, although that wasn’t as easy for someone with witch blood as it was for the world’s civilian population. You had to find someone willing to take you in.
Willing to take you in…. I blinked, thinking of what Connor had told me on the drive here, of how Maya de la Paz had allowed some of the refugees from Southern California to settle in her territory. Maybe my long-lost father’s lie had become truth. Maybe Andre Wilcox had never gone back to Flagstaff because he’d ended up in Scottsdale or Tempe or Mesa, somewhere on de la Paz land.
“Do you think he could have gone to take refuge with the de la Paz clan?”
“I have no idea.” Connor frowned at me, obviously attempting to follow my logic. “What makes you think that?”
“Because you said a while ago Maya had taken in some of the Southern California witches. Why not my father?”
“Aside from the fact that he’s a Wilcox?” A shake of the head, followed by, “Maya’s a generous soul, but I think she might have drawn the line there.”
“Well, it’s worth asking, isn’t it? We’ll be going through Phoenix on the way home, so what could it hurt to go see her and ask?”
Darkmoon (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 3) Page 9
