by Dana Davis
Outstanding, my ass. At least they’ll never find the body. Never know it was my blood spell that killed him. She studied the pale scars on her palms. The bastard wanted my soul. Hell, he wanted my entire family. But I beat him. Her heart gave a frantic thump in her chest. Didn’t I?
“Daisy? You okay?”
“What? Oh, yeah. Maria, please tell me it’s not another skinwalker?”
“No. I would have seen a Yenaldlooshi. This guy, this being, whatever he is, he stays in darkness. I couldn’t tell anything more about him. I couldn’t see him, but he’s definitely a paranormal of some kind. I got a sense he’s not fully human.”
Shit. Not human? The first not fully human paranormals that came to mind were vampires. A cousin line to humans and other paranormals like Daisy. But he couldn’t be a vampire. The pale as hell blood drinkers stayed away from humanity as much as possible, holing up in Greenland and out of the way places like that. And they only drank from animals, since human blood tasted awful to them. What the hell can he be if he’s not fully human? Think, Daisy. But her mind didn’t want to think about such things and sourness started to build in her throat. She swallowed hard. “Anything else?”
“There are others involved.”
Others? I’m not ready for another confrontation, much less with several enemies at once. Damnit. “How many?”
“I don’t know. I just know there are more people involved. I think some are allies but I couldn’t tell for sure. This vision was muddled and didn’t make much sense. You’re the only one I got a clear picture of. After what happened last time, I wanted to warn you. I’m sorry I don’t have more to tell.”
“Don’t be sorry. Please. I appreciate the warning.”
“Well, I have another class to teach. If I get another vision, I’ll call you right away.”
“Okay. Thanks so much, Maria. Bye.” Damnit! What now? Daisy’s hand trembled as she swallowed and punched in Bridgette’s number.
* * * *
The next afternoon Zoey sat in front of the coffee table, staring into the Dream Catcher box. Still trying to figure out just how she would explain her situation to a cousin she didn’t see very often, she hadn’t gotten up the nerve to call Daisy. Sure Daisy might believe her and offer to help, but even after her conversation with Connie yesterday, Zoey still wasn’t convinced of all this shit herself. It was very possible she sat in a padded cell right now from the strain of the past two years, all this just an illusion.
She opened the silver lid, causing the turquoise gems to light up at her touch, and focused on the vortex. “Okay, I’m ready.” She liked to keep the fantasy that she actually had a choice when it came to the box. “Show me.”
A rippling image of a young man appeared, transparent and ghost-like, much like the little orphan boy she’d seen in the previous vision. The man stood in the door of an airplane, parachute on his back, goggles protecting his eyes, and smiled as the air pressed against his face. He tapped the Dream Catcher energy, about to make this wish a reality. The spider web sensation wrapped around Zoey’s body, just like last time, and her aura pulsed along the threads as the box took energy from her.
Through the connection, his feelings were as clear to Zoey as if they belonged to her, and his exhilaration slammed into her senses with a force that sucked the breath from her. He gave thumbs up to another man and leapt from the plane. The drop was thrilling, wind pressing hard against his falling body like an invisible sheet, causing stomach muscles to contract and tickle. Zoey’s breath caught. She flew. Free and weightless. A euphoric sensation, unlike any she had ever experienced, filled her from hairline to toenails and she grinned.
Until something settled in her, something awful, like a bad meal in her gut. Her smile faded. The man pulled his parachute cord. Nothing happened. Panic caught in Zoey’s throat. He pulled the emergency cord. Again, nothing. He tried to scream as he plummeted toward the ground but only a whimper cut through his terror.
Not sure how she managed it, Zoey instinctively forced a wedge between her emotions and his, a thin veil like cheesecloth that could rip at any moment, and sucked in harsh breaths, fighting to keep panic under control. She grabbed onto the coffee table to steady herself. Her instincts threatened to override her limited teachings and she desperately wanted to help this man. But what could she do now? She couldn’t stop him from falling. Could she wish him to land safely?
The spider web constricted around her chest. No. A Dream Catcher could only give energy to the dreams to fuel hope, not control what people did with them. Even if she were allowed to make such a wish, he was falling too fast. Nothing could save him now. His parachute? Can I make it open? The constriction around her chest grew tighter.
Shit, shit, shit. I have to do something. A definite, no, resounded in her head this time. Despite the outcome, this had been his wish. He had known the risks. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she watched the awful scene play out. When the man’s body slammed into the ground, the box broke the connection. Thankfully.
Her body trembled. She cursed her ancestors for leaving this unfair legacy to her. Cursed the box for showing her such a disturbing scene. Her stomach lurched and she staggered into the hall bathroom just in time.
Afterward, she sat on the cool tile, hugged her knees to her chest, and cried like an inconsolable child. Sometime later, she washed her hot face and stretched out on the couch, trying desperately to push the memory of the falling man from her mind. She must have drifted off, because when she opened her eyes, the light had shifted and now streamed in through the open shutters on the west side of the greatroom. She didn’t recognize time when she went into the visions, at least, the ones she’d seen so far. The previous two had lasted only moments in her world. Moments that seemed much longer when she was in the box’s thrall. She hadn’t even looked at a clock before falling asleep.
Now, she glanced at the Kokopelli wall clock next to the kiva fireplace and the numbers that stood out against the flute player’s stomach. It was just after six. Hunger gnawed at her gut but she refused to move just yet.
Something pulled at her chest again. No. Not again. I can’t do this. She tried to push the feeling away, put a cheesecloth membrane between her body and the box, but the pull grew stronger, until an immense drag threatened to yank her right off the couch. After a string of curses, she focused on the damn box. The turquoise gems glowed without her touch this time and she couldn’t resist lifting the lid. The spider web cocooned her faster than it had in the past. Thought it didn’t inhibit her movements, the sensation still disturbed her. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to this.
The vortex swirled until a transparent image of little girl sat atop a pony, her cherubic face glowing with anticipation. A woman about Zoey’s age adjusted the stirrups as the girl shifted in the saddle.
“Ready, Ashley?” an older woman said.
“Yes, Mommy.”
“Okay. Now do what your instructor tells you. Happy Birthday, sweetheart.”
The girl grinned. “Thank you, Mommy.”
The woman patted the girl’s chubby leg and walked off to sit on a nearby bench.
Ashley’s elation tickled Zoey’s middle, like a dip on a roller coaster. The instructor mounted another horse then took the reigns of the pony and led the child inside a fenced area. The girl’s elation caused Zoey to grin and laughter filled her ears as the image faded.
She guessed the box had shown her what it thought she needed to see. Is our connection that strong? Can the box sense my feelings?
Yes, came the answer.
She started for the kitchen when the box tugged at her again. This has to stop damnit. I need food. I need to rest. But this pull was different. Goose flesh crept up her back and shot down her arms and legs, causing an involuntary shiver. When she saw the vortex, a dark blemish, much like a tiny sunspot, undulated in its center, an imperfection in an otherwise perfect rainbow.
Fear crept over her and vile laughter filled her mind. The b
ox slammed shut, causing her to jump. When she opened it again, she saw…nothing unusual. A queasy feeling fermented in her gut. Damn, damn, damnit! “The Anguisher.” She didn’t need the box’s assurance this time. She had heard the enemy. Felt him. And she suddenly wanted to wet herself.
Chapter 9
After He’s Gone
Daisy had company. Young, and very troubled from what she could discern, company. She sucked in a breath as the cold tap water flowed hot over her soapy hands. Good old desert summers. Never a cold flow from any faucet in the house. A quick dry on the hand towel and she moved to the stove, where her personal blend of herbal tea waited in strainers. She placed each into a cup then poured boiling water from the kettle.
She adjusted the turquoise ring on her right hand, placed some of her homemade chocolate chip cookies on a plate, and took the tea strainers from the cups. Once she had everything loaded onto the silver tray that had once belonged to Gran, she rounded the bar into the family room.
Zoey Vega sat on the couch. A distant cousin, but family nonetheless. Zoey had sounded distraught on the phone so Daisy invited the girl over. Apparently to discuss the family genealogy, though she suspected something more troubling. In general, witches had good instincts, and Daisy’s had grown even more accurate since the Kachina incident. As they sat on the couch, Perky snuggled against Zoey’s sandaled foot, curled himself into a furry ball, and closed his eyes.
“What kind of dog is he? Or is it a she?” The girl stared at Daisy as though she saw something odd.
“He. Terrier mutt. Noah got him from a shelter.” What’s she looking at? Do I have something on my face? She fought the urge to excuse herself to the bathroom to check and placed the tray on the coffee table, which was simply her mother’s antique trunk with a sheet of beveled glass on top.
“He’s cute. What’s his name?”
“Perky.” She gave a smile to her pup when his eyes and ears shifted at the sound of his name. “Here you go.” She handed the girl a cup of tea.
“Thanks.” Zoey sampled a cookie. “Mmm, these are fantabulous.”
Daisy smiled. “If there’s one thing a witch knows how to do, it’s cook.”
“Too bad some of that didn’t rub off on me.”
“I could always teach you.”
Zoey shook her head and her ponytail swung. It was a darker brown that Daisy’s, longer and straighter. “I’m a lost cause in the kitchen. I make a mean toaster pastry, though.” She grinned and fleshy lips revealed nicely shaped teeth. Braces as a child maybe?
Daisy chuckled. She took up the giant book she’d brought down from her attic library, a rare conversion in Phoenix, and sat next to Zoey on the couch.
“He doesn’t beg?”
“No.” Daisy grinned. “An advantage of being a witch. I used a couple of coercion spells on him when he was a pup.”
Zoey’s stared then smiled. “That’s priceless.”
“Wish Bridgette thought that. She thinks I was awful to use spells on him.” She gave her young cousin a huge grin. “Not that she’s a saint, mind you.”
“Well, I don’t blame you one bit.” Zoey took another bite of cookie and eyed Daisy in an odd way, like she had a secret she was dying to share. “And, by the way, thanks for inviting me over.”
“No problem. I’m glad to help.” What exactly can I help with? Since the siren problem was under control and she’d posted her new auctions, she had time to tend to whatever crisis her young cousin had fallen into. Probably something to do with her dead guardians. Maria Running Bear’s phone call rattled around in her brain, but since Zoey had no powers, she dismissed the likelihood that this visit related to the man in darkness.
Zoey stared again as though she were searching Daisy’s body for something. What is she looking at? “Um, anything wrong, Zoey?”
“Huh? Oh, god. That was rude. Sorry. It’s just—sorry—just ignore me. Please. Or smack me.”
Daisy lifted a brow. “Don’t give that last suggestion to Bridgette. She might take you up on it.”
A grin. “Right. Thanks for the tip.” Zoey eyed the antique book that took up Daisy’s entire lap. “Is that our genealogy?”
Not even close. “Some of it.”
“Damn.” She chomped down on the cookie again, leaving only a small bite in her fingers, which she promptly devoured.
When Daisy flipped open the book, it smelled musty, like it had been in a library basement too long. But it was in great condition, considering its age, thanks to preservation spells. Daisy kept the family’s genealogical records safe, a witch’s duty according to her mother, Penny. And one she’d gladly accepted. Of course, so did other witches in the family, mainly Bridgette’s mother Margaret, Daisy’s great-aunt. This was one of the few books that allowed witches to add information to it. Genealogy books needed to be updated each generation. Unlike the spell books, which allowed no tampering for fear of losing precious information. And though witches had taken to the internet like mice to an abandoned house and had family trees posted online, they stored pertinent information, like paranormal lineage and magickal powers, the old-fashioned way.
“Okay. Here are your parents.” She pointed to two names on the chart, Rena Anne Sims, twin sister to Mena Georgia Sims, and Joseph Alfonso Vega. Beneath the underlined names and connected by a vertical line, was Zoey’s full name with an F next to it and her birth date. “Hey, happy belated birthday, Zoey. I wish I’d realized the date earlier. I would’ve baked you something special.”
“Thanks and no problem. We don’t exactly hang. I don’t know your birthday, either. And these cookies are special enough.” She snagged another and grinned.
“Well, maybe we could hang. If you want.” Though what a thirty-five year old married witch and a twenty-one year old college girl had in common besides blood, Daisy couldn’t guess.
“Yeah. I’d like that.”
Daisy smiled and her finger trailed across the names on the page. “These are your maternal grandparents, great-grandparents, and so on.” She remembered something she’d read about Zoey’s paternal line just before the girl showed up. “There’s a family rumor you have Native American blood somewhere on your dad’s side.”
“Really? I didn’t know that. What tribe?”
“One note says Apache. And two others say Comanche or Yuma.”
“Well that narrows it down.”
Daisy smiled. “Welcome to the world of genealogy. No one has found a record of an Indian ancestor. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Not all Natives registered back then, especially if they lived off the reservation.”
As she sipped her tea, Zoey’s eyes traveled across the chart. “They didn’t have as many kids as I thought they would, given the times. I figured they’d have at least ten. Maybe more.”
Daisy crinkled her forehead in thought. What’s she after? She wasn’t taking notes or pictures and hadn’t asked for a copy of her family tree. “You’re right. But this is your paranormal line. Birth control was available to us even back then.” Apothecaries had provided herbal concoctions to all paranormals, whether they had powers or not. That still held true today.
Daisy wondered just how many women in her line had been thankful for that form of family planning, since mortals had nothing other than abstinence in those days. And abstinence only worked if the hormonal couples kept their hands off each other. Which, according to historical birth records, didn’t seem to happen very often. Maybe that was one reason paranormals lived so much longer than mortals back then.
Our women died less in childbirth and our men had fewer mouths to feed. And sex is a great stress-reliever, especially when you know you won’t get knocked up at an inconvenient time.
As her young cousin stared at the book, Daisy followed her gaze and noticed something strange. At least one female for each generation in Zoey’s mother’s line had lived into adulthood to produce a girl child. And many only had the one. Odd, given the times, even for paranormals. She didn’t rememb
er seeing any notes on it. That might warrant more investigation.
According to these family records, Zoey’s Mexican grandfather had immigrated to the states in the middle of the twentieth century and married a Caucasian woman. Both were listed as mortals. Zoey’s paranormal lines descended from Greece, Ireland and Scandinavia, probably where the girl got her tall stature. Her Irish ancestry connected to Daisy’s line.
“Here’s where we’re related,” she told the girl. “This is our great-great-grandfather.”
“A paranormal with no powers, right?”
“Yes. His second wife was also a paranormal without powers, and that’s where your line came from. His first wife is my ancestor. She was a witch.”
Zoey’s dark eyes gazed at Daisy. “So that makes us—third cousins?”
“Half third cousins actually. But third cousins is easier to remember.”
Zoey made a face and shook her head. “Good thing you’re in charge of this stuff. I’d screw it up.”
“If it weren’t for these charts and all the notes, I’d be at square one. I simply keep track of the books and add things for the current generations.”
The girl gave a grim smile. When she studied the book again and drew her finger along her mother’s line, her face paled.
“You all right?”
“Actually, I’m not sure.”
Daisy’s eyes met that worried gaze. All right. Time to get to the bottom of this. “What it is, Zoey? Why are you really here? You didn’t come over just to chat with me about the family tree. Or to just hang.”
