Darkmoon (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 3)

by Christine Pope

  “I didn’t say I never heard from him,” she retorted. “I said I didn’t hear from him then. About a month after Gerard died, I got a note from Andre.” A hesitation, as if she really didn’t want to reveal what it had said. Her gaze raked over me again, lingering on my left hand. I’d introduced Connor as my fiancé, and I knew we regarded one another that way, but we really hadn’t had much of a chance to make things formal with a ring and everything. “He said he was sorry he couldn’t be there for me when his father passed, and that he wished he could come to be with me, but it was just impossible. And that was that.”

  Stranger and stranger. What in the world could have kept my father away from his mother at a time when she must have needed him? Then again, I had no real idea of what kind of a relationship they’d had. Maybe she hadn’t been this prickly back then, had changed after she lost her husband…or maybe she’d always been like this, more or less.

  I had to hope that she couldn’t tell from looking at me what my opinion of her was, as I certainly didn’t want to alienate her. So I said, “I’m sorry to hear that. But — ”

  “But what?” Her pinched expression told me she’d had just about enough of the questions.

  “Do you remember where the note was mailed from? Maybe somewhere on Navajo land?”

  “It was mailed from Flagstaff. I do remember that. It came as I was packing up the house and getting ready to leave. Another few weeks, and it would’ve had to be forwarded.” She knotted her thin fingers, twisted with arthritis, on her knee. Her dress was blue linen, and she wore pearls in her ears. Not the usual sort of lazy Sunday outfit I was used to, but then I realized she’d probably gone to church earlier and hadn’t changed out of her good clothes. “I don’t know anything other than that. It’s been more than twenty years, you know.”

  Yes, I did know. Twenty-two years of never knowing whether my father was alive or dead, or even what his name might be. I knew better than to say anything like that to this cold-voiced woman. Probably she had been very pretty in her youth; her hair was still thick, and her features were regular, her eyes bright blue, not faded from age at all. Then again, why should that surprise me? The Wilcox men did seem to have an eye for pretty women.

  “And since I can’t tell you anything else, I think you’d better go now.”

  Under different circumstances, I might have argued. But I could see the way she kept darting hostile, nervous glances at Connor, as if he were going to cast some dark spell at any moment, and I also realized that if she’d intended to display any sort of interest in me as her son’s only child, the moment for that had long passed.

  “Of course,” I said, getting to my feet. “I’m very sorry to have intruded on your afternoon.”

  For the first time she looked vaguely discomfited, as if she’d realized that having your long-lost granddaughter apologize for intruding might mean she hadn’t given the sort of reception one might expect in this type of situation. Not that she would apologize herself, though. She stood up, and Connor rose as well. He didn’t say anything, only took my hand as I started to move toward the door.

  “There’s one thing,” she added, just as I was reaching for the knob.

  “There is?” I asked, stopping in surprise.

  “I don’t know if it’ll help you or not, but I think my husband’s Navajo relations’ surname was Bedonie…Begonie? Something like that. Anyway, you might want to give it a try.”

  It was a small gesture, but one that meant a lot. Suddenly that haystack had gotten a good deal smaller. “Thank you,” I said, hoping she could hear the gratitude in my voice.

  She waved a hand, as if uncomfortable with even that small display of thankfulness. “It’s nothing. Drive safe.”

  It was a clear dismissal, and I took it as such. Opening the door, I slipped out into the warm sunshine, glad of a chance to breathe fresh air after the stuffy confines of her house. By some tacit agreement, neither Connor nor I spoke until we were safely back in the FJ. He started up the SUV, pulled away from the curb, and began to head back toward downtown Williams. Only then did he say, “Jesus Christ.”

  I wasn’t Christian by any stretch of the imagination, but I had to agree with his sentiment. “No kidding.” For a few seconds I watched the slightly shabby-looking neighborhoods pass by. Then I said, “If she’s that crazy, I’m not sure I even want to meet my father. Goddess knows what he’s like.”

  Connor reached over and patted my knee. “Cheer up. Maybe he takes after the Wilcox side of the family.”

  “Oh, that’s very reassuring.”

  Instead of being offended, he merely chuckled. Then his expression sobered, and he added, “She’s definitely got issues, but I’m trying not to be too judgmental. Grief makes people do strange things. You can tell her husband’s death hit her hard, especially with her son being gone. And expecting the healers to magically fix things, and then when they didn’t….” He let the words die away, mouth tightening as he guided us back onto Route 66. “Well, I suppose I can see why she’d feel betrayed, by the Wilcoxes in particular and witchcraft in general. I’m not saying she didn’t swing way too far in the other direction, but it does make some sense.”

  “Okay, maybe, but she’s had twenty years to get over it,” I said. Even I could hear the hurt in my voice. I hadn’t wanted to admit it to myself, but somewhere deep inside I’d probably hoped that she would welcome me, tell me she was so happy to know that she had a grandchild. Instead, I’d only been given a little more courtesy than someone going from door to door and pushing religious tracts. Actually, she probably would have been friendlier to someone like that. At least she would have known they weren’t a heathen.

  He looked over and gave me a quick, sharp glance before returning his attention to the road. “You can’t take it that way, Angela. The woman has issues. It has nothing to do with you personally.”

  In my heart, I knew he was right. But knowing something and believing it can be two very different things.

  “We’re passing that diner,” he said, in a completely different tone of voice. “Do you want to stop for anything?”

  I shook my head, staring out the window without really seeing. “No. Just take me home.”

  12

  Ascension

  By the time we got back to Jerome, I was feeling a little better — mostly because Connor had called Lucas from the road with the information on my great-grandmother’s possible family name. Lucas then promised to pass it on to the private detective right away. And since the man had done such a good job of locating my paternal grandmother, I had to hope he could do the same thing here.

  On Monday we headed up to Flagstaff, partly to get out of the way of the remodeling crew, and partly so we could be on hand in case something happened with the house, or Lester the P.I. dug up something for us. But we didn’t hear anything on either front, and I found myself getting discouraged all over again. In fact, I felt close to tears half the time, which was ridiculous. Was I going to be a complete mess for the next six months?

  It’s just hormones, I told myself. Don’t worry about acting crazy. Everyone’s expecting it from you anyway.

  On Tuesday and Wednesday, Connor and I did do a little packing around his apartment, mostly of nonessential stuff that wouldn’t be missed if the title search dragged out longer than planned. It was fun to look at old sketchbooks of his to see how his style had evolved over the years, and it was even more fun to dig out his high school yearbooks and giggle at his over-long emo-looking hair.

  “Actually,” I said, studying him closely as he shoved the yearbooks into a box and shook his head, “you’re almost there now. Are you planning to cut it anytime in the near future?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied, running a hand through the heavy black strands, which were now long enough to tuck behind his ears. “Do you want me to?”

  “To be honest, I’m not sure. You’re kind of hot with it long.”

  “I am?” he inquired, green eyes glinting.<
br />
  I knew that look. “Yeah, you are.”

  He reached for me then, and we rolled over on the rug, kissing, fingers fumbling with buttons and zippers that were suddenly in the way. For some reason I’d thought being pregnant might kill my desire for him, or at least mute it a good deal, but that didn’t seem to be the case here. I still wanted him just as badly as that first time we’d reached out to touch one another, on a spot only about a foot from where we lay now. His hands roamed over my bare flesh, caressing me, and I reached out to wrap my fingers around him, feeling the hard evidence that the slight rounding of my belly didn’t bother him at all. And then we were joined, moving together, the soft whir of the ceiling fan overhead the only sound besides our ragged panting.

  We were just pulling our clothes back on when Connor’s phone rang. He shot me an apologetic look and went to pick up his cell from where he’d left it lying on the dining room table. I didn’t mind, actually; we were waiting on too many important calls to ignore one now.

  “Hey, Lucas,” Connor said, and I pricked up my ears even as I finished buttoning my jeans. Man, I’d already bought them a week before, and they were already feeling tight. Dr. Ruiz had obviously been a little premature in her concern over my lack of a healthy weight gain.

  Elastic waistbands, here I come.

  Connor told Lucas, “No, nothing important. Just packing a few odds and ends.”

  “Is that what you’re calling it these days?” I joked.

  He shot me a grin before saying, “Oh, really? Okay. No, I understand. It’s fine. I know he’s doing the best he can. Thanks for the update.”

  That didn’t sound good. “What is it?” I asked as he ended the call and stuffed the phone into his pocket.

  “Just an update on the hunt for your father’s Navajo relations. Apparently Bedonie and Begonie are both very common names, and since we don’t know for sure which one it is, it’s going to take Lester more time than he thought. He’s working on it, but it’s tough because of the name problem, and because the Navajo clearly aren’t thrilled to have some P.I. poking around in their business.”

  “Well, it’s not like he’s trying to bring a criminal to justice or something,” I protested. “All he’s trying to do is find my relatives.”

  “Yeah, we know that, but to the Navajo, it probably just sounds like a cover story. So he’s having to tread cautiously. That’s all.”

  I had to admit to not being very knowledgeable about Navajo politics, so I decided to let it go for the moment. Clearly, Lester was doing a good job under difficult circumstances. I was impatient to find my father, if he really was on the reservation at all, but I told myself it was fine, that we still had six months to get everything resolved. All the time in the world.

  So why did it feel like time was running out?

  * * *

  The next day we did get a piece of good news, though — the title search was completed, and now all we had to do was sign off on the paperwork and initiate the money transfer.

  All. That was a joke.

  I didn’t recall there being a great deal to do when I inherited Great-Aunt Ruby’s house, maybe because it was simply an inheritance, and her will had been very clear. Yes, I’d signed a few papers, just to make everything legal, but that was about it.

  Now, though, I sat in the realtor’s office and put my signature to what felt like an unending pile of papers with teeny type — “initial here…sign here” — until I felt like my eyes were about to start bleeding. “If it’s like this when we’re not even getting a mortgage, how many papers do you have to sign if you’re actually taking out a loan?” I asked plaintively.

  Connor looked like he was holding in a laugh, and the realtor gave me an indulgent smile. “Quite a few more, I’m afraid,” she replied.

  I held in a sigh and went back to signing.

  Eventually, though, it was all done, the transfer of funds processed, every “i” dotted and “t” crossed. After what felt like all afternoon but was probably closer to an hour an a half, the realtor pushed a set of keys and a couple of remote controls — for the garage, presumably — toward us.

  “You’re all set,” she said. “Congratulations.”

  Feeling a little stunned at the speed with which everything had happened, we headed out toward the parking lot. Then Connor threw his arms around me, lifted me up, and spun me around. I let out a startled squeak and burst out laughing.

  “Put me down, you nut,” I told him.

  Which he did, but not before he gave me a hearty kiss. “I guess I just can’t believe that we actually have that house. I mean, we could drive down there right now, unlock the door, and walk in.”

  And so we did, wandering through the rooms, making notes here and there on the few pieces we didn’t like or thought we should replace.

  “We’re definitely getting a new bed,” I said, gazing around the master bedroom. “Sleeping on someone else’s bed is just creepy, especially someone who’s getting a divorce. Who knows how many fights they had while lying in that bed. It’s bad juju.”

  “I agree. I’ll put that on the list for tomorrow. There’s a place in town that’ll do same-day delivery. It’s where I got my bed. Are you okay with another one just like it?”

  Connor’s bed was super-comfy. “Sure.”

  “Then that means we can probably be here — really be here, starting on Saturday.”

  I gazed around, taking in the stone fireplace, the gleaming wooden floors. Yes, I had the house in Jerome, but in the back of my head it was still “Great-Aunt Ruby’s house,” despite all the remodeling I’d done and was currently doing. This place — it was ours, Connor’s and mine, and I vowed then that we’d be happy here for whatever time we had together.

  But no, I shouldn’t be thinking like that. Everything with the house had gone smoothly, and so I had to believe it would happen that way with the search for my father, even if it was taking a little longer than I would have liked.

  We went back to the apartment and called Lucas with the good news, and then I phoned Sydney as well, and made dutiful calls to Margot Emory and my aunt.

  Margot took the news with equanimity, only asking when I thought I’d be back in Jerome, but Rachel didn’t handle it quite so well.

  “I just can’t believe that you really did it,” she said. “Your place is here, Angela.”

  “And it will be, for half the year. And the other half I’ll be here in Flagstaff, as is only fair. Everyone will learn to adapt over time.

  She didn’t reply right away, and I could tell she was thinking basically the same thing I’d been thinking only a short while earlier…that there might not be all that much time to work with.

  But she didn’t bring it up, thank the Goddess, and so after a few more reassurances, I hung up, glad that was over with.

  “Hungry yet?” Connor asked, bringing me a glass of water.

  “Silly question. I’m always hungry.”

  “Then let me go out and get some tapas. No point in trying to cook something, not when we need to start packing the kitchen tomorrow.”

  I nodded, and he went out, promising to be back in a few minutes. That was an optimistic estimate, since it was now verging on six-thirty, and even a Thursday night could be busy, especially on a mild summer evening like this one.

  Not that waiting had to be bad. I settled down on the couch and began to reach for the remote, glad of a chance to rest and relax for a few minutes, only to see a pale flicker at the corner of my vision. Startled, I got to my feet, and realized the pale flicker was the ghost Mary Mullen in her white dress, standing in front of the window.

  “Mary!” I exclaimed. “I haven’t seen you for a while.”

  She didn’t blink. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

  “What?”

  “Here.” Her gaze seemed to wander over the living room, pause on the fireplace, and then move back toward me. “You and Connor. You’re leaving.”

  “Well, yes,” I said, f
eeling inexplicably guilty. “Because of the babies.”

  Her expression turned dreamy. “Oh, yes, the babies.” Then the faraway look disappeared so quickly it might have been turned off with a switch. “Why can’t you stay here with your babies? I had two children here. There was plenty of room.”

  I didn’t really feel like getting in a discussion with her over the inadequacies of a two-bedroom walk-up when it came to raising twins. Times had changed a lot since she’d had to look after two small children. Fumbling for an excuse, I said, “Well, but it’s much busier here than when you had your little girls. I’m afraid I don’t think it would be safe for the babies. All that traffic.”

  She seemed to accept that explanation, nodding slightly as she moved soundlessly from where she stood in the living room to pause next to one of the dining room chairs. Running a hand over the back — or appearing to, anyway, as I was fairly certain she couldn’t actually touch it — she let out a sigh and said, “I still miss them so very much.”

  “I know,” I said in soothing tones. But as the words left my lips, I felt the oddest sensation deep within me. Not the babies moving; of course it was far too early for that. No, it was more like the stirring of the prima power, awakening from where it seemed to have slept for the past few days, somehow telling me I needed to do something to help Mary.

  But what do I do? I asked of the power, as if it was a separate entity living inside me, rather than a gift I had inherited, one as much a part of me as the color of my eyes or the sound of my voice.

  Tell her it is time to stop being alone.

  That was all, but I thought I understood. I didn’t want to leave her here with no one to talk to. The chances of someone else who possessed my same gift coming to live in the apartment were very slim. Yes, Connor had mentioned offering it as an affordable rental to any one of a number of Wilcox cousins currently attending Northern Pines, but our plans hadn’t gotten much past the discussion stage. At any rate, no Wilcox I’d heard of was able to speak to ghosts, and so even if one of the cousins moved in, Mary would once again be relegated to watching only, unable to communicate with the living person who shared her home.