by Dana Davis
Desert Magick:
Dream Catcher
Book 2
by
Dana Davis
Copyright 2010 by Dana Davis
All Rights Reserved
Published by SynergEbooks
http://www.synergebooks.com
For my husband Darryl,
the first to read all my manuscripts and honestly critique them.
Thanks, honey.
Acknowledgements
Special thanks to my editor Lori Kurtz-Larkin.
And to my friends Marilyn, Jan and Linda for their continued support.
Chapter 1
Song of Lust
Daisy stood at the door and faced the siren, her heart tapping against her ribs. It had taken nearly four months and numerous spells to locate the idiot. During that time, her powers had grown, something unheard of for a witch past puberty. The Kachina had lent its power to her and helped her defeat the ancient skinwalker, and she suspected that intimate contact had enhanced her powers. She had no other explanation. It didn’t matter now anyway. She, Noah and Bridgette had survived. Wil was dead. He would never again conjure another evil spirit. She pushed disturbing images of that day from her mind and focused on the siren in front of her.
His dark hair and eyes gave him an exotic look as he stood there in just a pair of jeans. Tanned and taut skin accentuated hard muscles and a strip of dark hair ran down the middle of his chest. She mentally sent the description to her cousin, who waited just out of sight with her telepathic senses open.
If you have to hook up with a siren, at least get a damn good-looking one. Of course, from what Daisy had read about them, yummy pretty much described sirens in general, male and female.
“Can I help you?” the siren said in a seductive voice that made her skin hum.
Noah, who stood next to Bridgette out of sight of the door, gave Daisy a worried look, but she offered a discreet wave of her fingers. He’d taken days off here and there to help, ever since the siren had landed in Phoenix. Daisy was glad to have him here today, especially since a male siren’s powers would have no effect on him.
In three steps, Bridgette joined her, eyes narrow and dangerous. “Actually, you can help me.”
Recognition crossed the siren’s face and he opened his mouth. Daisy’s ears rang with the most beautiful singing she’d ever heard, a soothing tenor voice that elicited sex and joy. No words, just beautiful notes that filled her with warmth in all the right places.
First time she’d ever heard a siren’s song, and she was able to recognize it because she knew what this guy was and what he did to women. Otherwise, she would’ve fallen into that gorgeous voice the way Bridgette had, for a while anyway. Even now, she wanted to go to him. Damn he was good. Noah stepped behind her and she felt his tension. Am I blushing? Well, crap.
Bridgette sighed. “Won’t work this time, Simon.”
Simon cursed and slammed the door but Daisy was ready with an unlock spell. She and Noah followed Bridgette inside the siren’s latest condo. Well, his conquest’s condo. He didn’t seem to have his own place here in Phoenix. Moocher.
“You son of a bitch,” Bridgette uttered as her long strides led Daisy through the living area and toward the master bedroom with Noah trailing behind.
Daisy huffed. Just try and run, you idiot. At this range, not even another paranormal could escape a telepath. Especially a pissed off one. Grateful Bridgette was on her side, Daisy scurried in behind her redheaded cousin.
Her jaw fell open when she saw the master bedroom. Sex toys lay scattered around the room, along with lacey bodices, silk scarves, and panties that wouldn’t leave much to even the most vivid imagination. Several costumes lay over the back of a chair. One furniture item looked as though it belonged in a medieval torture chamber.
“Damn,” Daisy and Noah said together.
Bridgette sniffed. “Told you he was into everything kinky.”
“You weren’t kidding.” Daisy eyed the scarves then her husband, who seemed especially interested in a pair of peek-a-boo panties. Maybe Noah and I should try some new things. Bridgette’s hand reached back and smacked her on the arm. “Sorry, Bridge.” When Noah got a similar smack, Daisy chuckled. Scraping sounded from behind the bathroom door and she focused on Bridgette again. “Window?”
The witch hissed. “Shit.”
Daisy spelled their way into the locked bathroom and Bridgette spouted another that slammed the window on the siren’s middle. He hung half in and half out, cursing, legs flailing. He started singing again. Daisy glanced at her cousin, who had a nostalgic look on her face. It was brief and the redhead didn’t seem the least bit seduced. Rare or not, Daisy had little sympathy for this siren. She shook off his song and uttered a trussing spell, which inhibited movement and speech, while it kept vital parts functioning. The air grew static and the siren froze, his song turning to soft grunts. With no preparation needed, it was a handy spell for any witch, especially a female.
She and Noah straddled the tub and helped Bridgette pull the siren back in through the window. His shoulder bounced off the tub when he slipped from Daisy’s hands. “Oops. He’s heavier than he looks.” He grunted again and his eyes flashed in her direction.
Bridgette motioned Noah back and let the siren’s legs fall into the tub with the rest of him. She planted her hands on her slender hips. Daisy kept another trussing spell ready in case the siren somehow escaped her first one. Ever since that deadly encounter with the skinwalker several months ago, she didn’t trust her spells to work on every paranormal, even with the newly enhanced power the Kachina had gifted her. She could piggyback spells sometimes, overlay one spell with another, but that could be dangerous if the caster didn’t get the right combination of compatible spells. Even then, it didn’t always work.
She glanced down at the faint scars that snaked across her palms and fingers, souvenirs from her fight against Wil Miller’s magick. That had been the most physical pain she’d ever experienced. But she’d gotten through it, survived it. Barely. She and Noah had another appointment with their therapist this week. The skinwalker was gone, but not the nightmares, for either of them. She pushed those thoughts from her mind when Bridgette eyed her and concentrated on right now.
This was the first time they’d gotten their hands on the siren. Until now, every time they located a woman he was living with, he’d gotten bored and moved on to his next victim. All mortals. All single. The poor women had no idea they’d been manipulated and blamed themselves for his leaving. Daisy, posing as the siren’s distraught cousin, had consoled several victims in the past few months. The truth would compromise every paranormal in the Phoenix-metro area, so she simply listened and nodded and patted women’s backs while they wept, giving Bridgette the opportunity to snoop around for clues as to where he might have gone next.
Since Bridgette had moved to Canada briefly to get out of his calling range once she was out from under his spell, he couldn’t have suspected she was after him now, but he must have known to look for her in Phoenix. Why else would he be here? Daisy didn’t accept that his appearance here was merely a coincidence.
At the last apartment, they’d rummaged through the trash and found a news article on a woman in North Phoenix, where they were now, circled in pen. A new clothing boutique had just opened and the woman in the photo owned it. Didn’t take a genius to find her home, especially for a witch. A little magickal snooping on the internet, and voila! Plus, sirens weren’t exactly Ivy League material. This idiot left quite a trail. Of course, he had no idea he was the rabbit in Daisy and Bridgette’s little foxhunt. Until now.
The siren grunted again and Bridgette kicked him in the thigh. “Shut up, Simon. Th
e only place you’re going is back to your fucking island.” She gave a hoarse laugh. “Maybe that’s what they should name it. Siren Simon’s Fucking Island.” Despite the joke, Bridgette sounded strained.
Noah gave Daisy a worried glance. She nodded and eyed her cousin. “Bridge, you okay?”
“Yeah. But after I beat the shit out of him, I’ll feel a hell of a lot better.”
Daisy wanted to get in a few hits herself for what he’d done, how he’d kept Bridgette under his power in California. A paranormal could escape a siren’s grasp but it took a hell of a lot of work to pull away from his seductions once he had her. It had taken Bridgette a couple of weeks before she’d realized he wasn’t just an unusual boyfriend and started her journey to freedom.
Daisy put on a jovial attitude to lighten her cousin’s tense mood. “Sorry, Bridge. No can do. We’re here to capture. Not damage.” Bridgette’s green eyes met hers and she offered a sympathetic smile. “Why don’t we get him to the van before someone comes home?”
Without looking at her target, Bridgette gave another kick, getting an angry grunt in response.
“Feel better?”
“A little.” Bridgette smirked. “Let’s go.”
With the assistance of Bridgette’s levitation spell and Noah’s extra muscles, they managed to get Simon dressed and to the front door. But just as Daisy reached for the door latch, someone outside put a key in it.
Chapter 2
Happy Fucking Birthday
By the time Zoey returned home from her run, she was sweating like a construction worker in high heat. The house smelled of coffee she’d put on before she left and she longed for a cup. She tossed the newspaper inside and locked the security screen then the interior door. A quick shower with the water on cold, which was hot this time of year, helped her feel almost normal again. And despite the awful anniversary today brought along with her twenty-first birthday, her stomach rumbled.
If Aunt Mena were still alive, the woman would have made a special breakfast, while Uncle Alex piddled around the kitchen getting in her way. But neither of them were here any longer, and Zoey couldn’t bring herself to cook much at all. A shame with such a nice kitchen right in her own home. Her aunt and uncle had remodeled it just before the accident two years ago. Stainless steel appliances and recycled glass countertops gleamed at her and she offered an apologetic grimace.
She poured a cup of coffee and added sugar before she remembered the flavored creamer was gone. Second choice, milk. One whiff told her it had gone bad. She hadn’t been to the store in almost three weeks.
Well, that’s just peachy. For a girl who’d frequented coffee houses from the age of twelve, this bordered on disaster. Was she only twenty-one today? She sighed. I feel so much older. “But, hey, now I’m legal. That’s supposed to make my life easier, right?” Talking to herself eased her sorrow a bit. A beer would make her feel even better. No. Too damn early. Well, it was almost eleven-thirty now. With no school today, she’d slept in. But it still felt like morning.
She dumped the milk down the sink and rinsed the carton out for recycling. Her stomach demanded food, not just coffee, so she ripped open a box of chocolate toaster pastries. The cellophane wrapping crinkled cheerfully as she took one out. She added another teaspoon of sugar to her coffee to compensate for the missing creamer and snatched up an apple that had seen better days. Balancing her meal, she sauntered into the living area of the greatroom and sank into the overstuffed couch. Her stomach rumbled as she put her bounty on the coffee table.
The music box she’d received many years ago from her aunt and uncle stood near one corner of the coffee table. The tiny ice-skaters had occupied her when she was stuck at boarding school, lonely and sullen. The little people within the glass dome had become her friends and alleviated some of her loneliness. She wound the key on the side. The music played as clearly as the day she’d received it and the skaters glided over the mirror, taking her mind back to those days.
She had been born in Arizona, like several generations before her, but when she was seven, a few months after her father died, her mother moved to Connecticut and tucked her away in an all-girls boarding school. She lasted almost two years there. But when her attitude finally got her kicked out, her mother gave custody to Aunt Mena and Uncle Alex and took off for Europe. Shortly after her aunt and uncle brought her back here to Scottsdale to live with them, Zoey celebrated her tenth birthday.
Her aunt and uncle had saved her from a life of boarding schools and lonely nights. They saved me in so many ways. She swiped at her eyes and took in a long, cleansing breath. I won’t cry this year.
Her stomach rumbled again, moving her thoughts back to food, so she gnawed on the toaster pastry. The coffee grew cool before she finished, but she drank it without bothering to reheat it. The apple would’ve tasted better a few days ago. She ate it anyway.
She wasn’t sure how long she watched the skaters or how many times she’d wound the music box when she decided to read the paper. She didn’t get up right away, though, reluctant to peel her eyes from the tiny, comforting figures. But after a moment, she crossed to where she’d tossed the newspaper, bare feet slapping against tile. Aunt Mena and Uncle Alex read the paper every morning when they were alive. Though Zoey rarely glanced at more than the comics and shopping ads, she couldn’t bring herself to cancel the subscription. So they piled up until she remembered to take them out to the recycling bin.
On her way back to the couch, she glanced at her mother’s picture, which sat on the mantle above the kiva fireplace with other family photos. Zoey had no idea where Rena lived now. Still in Europe someplace, she suspected. She hadn’t spoken with her mother since the funeral two years ago. Even when her twin sister Mena died, Rena didn’t make a trip to the states—she had phoned. The two women had numerous disagreements over the years, but Zoey thought for sure that wouldn’t have mattered and her mother would’ve come home for the funeral. She’d been wrong.
As she put the paper on the coffee table, a light flickered from the glass case against the far wall, causing her to blink. A reflection from outside maybe? A neighbor’s car? She moved across the room and bent down to peer through the glass. The antique jewelry box sat in its familiar spot, a family heirloom Aunt Mena had treasured.
The rectangular box was exquisite, like a museum piece. Made of silver. Or was it pewter? Either way, it was too large to carry with one hand. Turquoise gems inlaid along the edge crept down the front to create a crescent just below the silver latch. Numerous carvings decorated the circumference of the lid, symbols Zoey recognized from ancient petroglyphs. And right in the center of the lid was an etched circle with a web design in the middle. A Native dreamcatcher.
The etching resembled the real one that hung over Zoey’s bed, thought to trap nightmares before they made it to the dreamer. Hers was a gift from her aunt, a pretty thing to look at but it had never worked. At least not for Zoey. She still had nightmares. Threads etched onto the box made a spider web design in the middle of the hoop. Beads were woven into the threads and feathers dangled from the ring, also similar to her own dreamcatcher. She had admired this jewelry box throughout her childhood here and had opened it once or twice, but it stayed in that case, where Aunt Mena always kept it. Where it belonged.
She had finished breakfast, so she padded into the kitchen with her dishes, tossed the browning apple core into the garbage, and went to check her email. Her uncle’s office still looked the same as it had when he was alive, with the exception of her new laptop on his desk next to a pile of homework. She attended Arizona State University. Been at ASU almost three years and had changed her major three times.
At this rate, I’ll be in school ‘til I’m fifty.
She sat in her uncle’s swivel chair, convinced she could still smell his aftershave on it, and booted up her computer. When she opened her email, several spam messages for penile enhancement and lottery winnings met her gaze. She deleted them. A note from a professor, re
minding students of an upcoming deadline. She was nearly finished with that assignment. Just one more draft to complete then she could submit it. Jason had sent her a birthday e-card, a novelty these days, and she grinned at the sexual nature of it. They had a standing date today after he got off work and she looked forward to some much-needed physical release. In no mood to check her networking sites or surf, she shut off her computer and went back into the greatroom.
Her purse sat on the bar, where she’d left it last night, and she dug around for her cell phone and flipped it open. It tweedled, letting her know she had a text-message. Jason again, wishing her a “Happy Birthday”. He’d sent it around midnight. She’d gone to bed after he left last night, around eleven. No other messages. She thumbed a short and sassy reply then flipped the phone shut and tossed it carelessly back into her purse.
As she sauntered toward the couch, a light flickered from the display case again. She peered out the front window but didn’t see a car. In fact, the cul-de-sac was void of people just now. So where’s the light coming from?
Curious, she crossed to the display case, opened the glass door and reached a hand in. When she touched the box, the turquoise gems brightened to a dazzling aquamarine. Startled, she snapped her hand back then chuckled nervously.
“Damn thing’s never done that before.” Mena had said it was a family heirloom. Old. Very old, in fact. So how the hell could it light up like a child’s toy? Nothing as old as that could do such a thing.
She leaned down and squinted at the turquoise gems, now benign against the silver backdrop. Unless it was spelled. A witch’s spell could make it do just about anything. But it had never glowed with her touch before now, and Aunt Mena took special care to keep it in this case, away from harm.
Not to be intimidated, Zoey lifted the latch. The gems lit at her touch as she propped the lid open, hinges keeping it in place. A note tucked inside the lid had her name on it, written in her aunt’s handwriting. She hadn’t opened this box in a long time but it had always been empty. She blinked and took out the note.
