“No. I don’t.” Keir shoved her arm away. “I’m serious. Release Waapake now and no one will be harmed.” Despite his hushed tone, his voice burned with a threat. He’d accepted her gambit—how delightful.
Nail tips still aglow, she licked her crimson lipstick to add a tempting shine and proceeded to advance their match to the next level. “You’re saying, if I don’t release him now, you’ll hurt me? Is that a promise?”
She waited for him to take her bait but only received an unflinching stare.
The caustic laugh she’d intended came out as a simpering squeak, which she quickly modulated into a purr. “Hmm, I might enjoy reversing our roles.”
“I don’t want to hurt you. But if you won’t free Waapake, I will destroy you.” His calm manner, the flatness of his tone, and resolute stare—she hadn’t expected this. What new tactic was this?
As she fumbled with an earring, the fire on her nails extinguished. She hadn’t thought what she’d witnessed yesterday in the woods would make any difference. Doubt clouded her view of him. She batted them away, grappling for a new artifice to entrap him.
He faced the cage, his hand stretched toward the single, small window. “Allied spirits, please come to my aid.”
In the corner, Waapake sunk into a crouch, waiting to pounce free.
In a flash, white power accumulated within Keir’s open palm. He slung it at the upper corner of the cage.
His shot blasted Adara with realization as painful as if the strike had hit her—he didn’t want her. What she’d seen between him and Unole had been real.
His magic disintegrated one side of the cage and damaged the ward.
Adara jumped in front of him. Despite the crushing awareness, she crossed her arms and curled her lips into her best confident smile. “If suffering is one of our new rules, then know this—I saw you kiss Unole. You know my terms. Another woman isn’t part of them. Until you end things with her, you won’t get your familiar back.”
Chest hammering, she paused, gulping air. “In case I wasn’t clear, if you continue seeing her, I will spill your dirty secrets to the entire coven, when you were all too happy to be the high priestess’ boy toy. Your career will be done. And Waapake will die.” By the time she’d said her piece, her eyes were strained, wide and hot with the same fire that seeped from her nails, scorching the palms inside her fists.
Finally, Keir came to his senses and lost that sickening composure. In the next moment, however, rage quivered from his tensed muscles. He picked up a wooden crate lid and flung it at her.
She dashed aside as it clattered into a set of garden rakes.
He glared at her, nostrils flaring, eyes now dark as storm clouds. “You’re right about one thing—suffering is now part of our game. Expect to feel it.” After a look at Waapake, Keir strode for the cellar door, yanked it open, and took the outdoor steps in two strides. He left the door open: the light of his goodness flooding her basement.
Chapter Thirteen: Illusions
Keir whipped his car around a curve abutting a sheer limestone cliff. His tires skidded across a patch of ice, before spinning over loose gravel. “Damn!” I don’t need this on top of Adara’s threats. The tires’ tread grabbed. The car stopped a few feet from the rock wall.
The side of his head collided with the door’s metal frame. Its coldness tethered him to reality, opposing the dizziness spinning his head. He almost welcomed the disorientation, understanding why many sought refuge in alcohol and drugs to escape insurmountable problems.
He sat back and fingered a small bump forming above his temple. Once prickling in his limbs abated and he regained some composure, he righted the car onto the road toward home. More cautious, he drove slowly. Even slower approaching his house but not for safety.
Everything I use for my shamanism—journals, books, crystals, drums—will be a cruel reminder of how my career is about to be wrecked.
He idled past the lawn.
I’ll go mad in there. All those old things handed down through generations. Everything will scream how I’ve dishonored the family name.
Darker than the surrounding dense woods, a surreal twilight cloaked the property.
The veil of death hangs over the place for all their deaths I could’ve prevented.
He gripped the wheel, refusing to turn into the driveway.
On the shadowy front porch, a translucent form paced. Recognition triggered Keir to stomp on the brake—the illusion looked like Waapake. Has Adara already retaliated and killed him? A death so agonizing it binds his soul to wander in perpetual torment?
Desperate to confirm his suspicion, Keir thrust the car’s shifter into park. Though his pulse thrummed where his fingers gripped the door handle, he hesitated. Could he guide his familiar’s anguished soul to a true place of rest? He’d performed hundreds of such procedures for clients, but would his distress block him this time? Regardless, he had to try. He owed Waapake so much; peace in the hereafter would only repay a small portion. Keir’s heart was trying to rip through his chest, but he still resisted.
Something didn’t feel right; he hadn’t expected Adara to react so soon to his counterthreat. Although deplorable in almost every way, she’d never been one to rush a decision or force implementation of a plan. Adara was the devious planner, always self-indulgent and appreciating the subtle nuances of her own wickedness. He could surmise why she’d become such a person; her family seldom supported her, other than some consideration from her father Tercel. Grizela loathed her daughter, envying her talents with witchcraft and her stunning looks even more.
Charcoal fur striped the shadow coyote’s raised spine, the marking pattern a muted but exact match to Waapake’s. Is it really him?
Transfixed with the vision, Keir flung the door open and stood, mind and heart at war for control of his legs.
The shadow coyote paused at the top step and met his gaze. Through the dim light, Waapake’s yellow slit-shaped pupils glowed, mesmerizing Keir while something unseen grasped his limbs. Propelled forward like a puppet under a master’s direction, he surrendered command of his legs. A few steps later, hot blood rushed into his groin and the charade ended. Keir halted. The vision was false—embodied by Adara.
Although she never realized her mother’s jealousy, Adara clearly knew her effect on men in general—and on him specifically. Mouth dry, he mopped a hand over sweat beading across his face. Despite his chagrin, at least one thing was now certain: Adara loved the slow burn, whether with seduction or torture made no difference. Since he hadn’t seen his familiar’s ghost after all, Keir was assured that Waapake still lived and trudged back to the car.
He collapsed, emotionally spent, body exhausted, into the seat and gave the house another glance—the false coyote had vanished. Waapake would have first hurtled his soul to meet Keir, followed by whatever ghost-like shroud remained of his body bounding like a happy hound in chase.
Yet, some odd phenomenon remained. The home’s security lights failed to penetrate the phantasmagorical darkness; their lopsided yellow halos shined only beyond the property lines, not on the house. If Adara was responsible for that veil of death, Keir wasn’t going to investigate. He drove away, not accelerating beyond second gear as he crept the few miles, hoping to find Rowe at home.
Adara had taken the stakes of her game too high. He had no choice but to go all in.
***
Keir clanked the knocker against Rowe’s front door and waited only a few unanswered moments before he called, “Rowe, are you there? I need to talk.”
Receiving no response, he paced the wide porch. Should he try Logan’s? Keir checked his pocket watch, stunned by the late hour of two in the morning. Hadn’t it just been dusk? Either he’d lost track of time or Adara’s illusions stole it from him. Logan kept late nights; he might still be up.
As Keir stepped from the porch, the sharp hoot of a nearby owl made him flinch. He spotted movement hidden within cover of the lawn’s red oak, its dry, brown leaves clingi
ng with stubbornness until cast off by new growth. After a second hoot, he asked, “Busby, is that you?”
Rowe’s familiar—a large barn owl, winged into view and perched on a porch rail. “Master is home. Doing my best to rouse him for you.” He let out a round of shrill whistles.
The door opened and Rowe croaked, “Busby, what is it? Do you want in?” He poked his head out and peered drowsy-eyed toward the commotion. “Oh, Keir. What’s going on? Come in.”
Busby rotated his head, the disc-shaped white face panning Keir’s motions on the porch, then flew inside after him. Without a word to the men, the owl flew upstairs.
“Sorry it’s so late—I thought it was earlier. I can come back in the morning or give Logan a call. He’s probably still up. Things happened and I need to talk.”
Before Rowe could reply, the enormous hall tree, inhabited by the empowered spirit of his deceased Uncle Bertrand, bent toward Keir and proclaimed, “Nothing doing. You’re as good as family. Known you since you were a toddler. Please, make yourself at home.” The antique’s oak boards creaked as it removed Keir’s parka. “So sorry ’bout my complaining joints. This hour don’t do my arthritis any favors.”
Rowe motioned Keir into the parlor. “Have a seat,” Rowe said. Dressed in only t-shirt and boxers, he tucked his hands under his armpits and sat leaning forward at one end of a leather couch.
“I messed up again.” Keir slumped into a wide club chair. “Chuquilatague told me how to orient my focus when I went against Adara, but she outplayed me. On my way back to the Hollow, I drove straight to her place, eager to try his advice. She wasn’t there, initially, so I broke in and—”
“Warded?”
“Not the house. In the basement I found Waapake in a cage, warded only after she showed up. That was part of her plan to trap me in there as well.”
“Is he okay?”
“He seems fine. I think I could blast him free of both cage and ward if she wasn’t there—that’s not the problem. It’s that, well, at the reservation I met Unole again. Couldn’t believe how she’d changed.” Keir briefly closed his eyes, allowing his mental image of her to raise a smile on his lips. “Pretty, smart, and commands some amazing power now, too.”
Rowe chuckled. “I know that look. Finally, a girl got to our honorable shaman.”
“Yeah, maybe so.” Keir leaned forward, pressing forearms against his thighs. He stared at the floor, trying to hide the sting of Rowe’s description of him as honorable: nothing could be less true. He mustered the will to continue and straightened. “Things were going great with her and with learning how to free Waapake. But when I got back to town, somehow Adara knew I’d kissed Unole. Adara threatened to spill what had happened between us years ago to the coven if I don’t end things with Unole.”
“Sounds like a sticky love triangle, if you ask me,” Jancie said as she swept in, her long silky robe flowing open to reveal bare legs and a short matching nightgown.
Busby sailed after her and settled onto a tall brass bird perch.
“More dangerous than sticky,” Rowe added. “Remember what happened to Lenore when she got caught between me and Adara?”
“How powerful is Unole?” Jancie pulled a throw from the back of the couch, nestled next to Rowe, and covered both of them with the blanket. “Can she help you fight Adara?”
“Perhaps. I don’t know. She’s plenty skilled but recently suffered some serious illness. I’m not sure she’s capable.”
“Oh, is she all right?” she asked.
“I think so. She appears to be on the mend.”
Rowe cleared his throat. “What exactly went down between you and Adara?”
Keir scrubbed a hand over his eyes, then released a long, slow sigh as he met his friend’s gaze. “I guess it doesn’t matter now. Hell, what does? She will destroy my career and ruin my life, unless I do what she demands.” His gaze landed on each of them. “When I was in my first year working as a seer in the Council building, with my office down the hall from hers, we had a fling.” He rubbed the back of his neck, delaying more details so he could measure their responses. He could only withstand so much humiliation in one evening.
“Whoa—was it good?” Rowe blurted, eyes wide.
Jancie sucked in a breath and elbowed him in the ribs so hard, he winced.
Keir’s mouth twisted into a nervous half-grin, their humor easing the tension. “At first, I didn’t want anything to do with her, but she persisted. I needed clients, and she promised to fill my schedule books if I agreed. I was desperate. And foolish. Now I’m answering for my mistake. And so is Waapake.”
“What does she want now?” Rowe asked.
“Beyond wild sex? Who the hell knows?” Keir shrugged. “To own me, I guess.”
“So, what do you want?” Jancie claimed the blanket that Rowe had tossed off.
“Not her,” he spouted, looking away. “I want to be recognized for my own merits, not handed success because I’m banging the high priestess.”
Jancie nodded. “And what about Unole? How does she fit into all this?”
“She’s genuine/ Real. She likes me for who I am, not because of ulterior motives. She makes me feel like I’m strong, powerful, in control.”
Jancie eyed Rowe with a smile. “Is that how I make you feel?”
“Every day, babe—except when you beat me at arm wrestling.”
Jancie beamed and Keir quipped, “Good comeback.” After they shared a laugh, Busby clapping his beak to join the fun, Keir added, “Unole’s what I want; I can’t give her up, but I don’t want her to get hurt. And I won’t have sex with Adara ever again. I’m not that stupid guy I used to be.”
“We all make mistakes,” Rowe offered. “It helps us learn.”
“Yeah, trouble is I don’t see any way out of this one. Adara will kill Waapake. I’m pretty sure of it, enough not to take any chances. Even more sure she’ll tell all to the coven—and enjoy every whisper of gossip that polishes her ego.”
“You got it there.” Rowe glowered.
Jancie faced Rowe. “Can you, through your position on the Coven Council, or Logan, as high priest, do anything to stop her?”
Rowe shook his head. “Not much. We can report Waapake’s kidnapping to the sheriff, but magical familiars are regarded as pets, nothing more than basic property.”
Keir blew out a breath. “No, there isn’t anything more we can do. Adara’s will is stronger than iron. My career is finished. I might as well start over. I could offer services as a shaman around the reservation. That way, at least I can be with Unole.” He hung his head and dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper. “I just hope I can save Waapake.”
Rowe slid Jancie’s leg off his and sat forward, his voice brusque, grating. “You’d actually leave the coven?”
“I don’t see any other way—what do I have to lose?” Though Keir wondered if moving to the reservation might push his relationship with Unole too fast.
“Your friends for one.”
“I don’t know,” Jancie countered. “Having spent time at the New Wish coven, I can see how new surroundings might help give a new perspective.”
Rowe glared at her, his jaw slackening. “You’re serious?”
“Why not? A few months or year away, especially where he could learn more about his powers might be good.”
He turned toward her, redness flaming beneath the dark stubble of his beard. “You had to go there. It wasn’t by choice.”
“I had a choice. I chose to save you from Adara,” she snapped, then continued to Keir, her voice softened. “It was a necessary trip, but I learned so much about myself and my witchcraft, how to count on both when things got hard.”
Still staring, Rowe surged to his feet. Raking a hand through his hair, he met the ponytail elastic and yanked it out as if unable to tolerate any restraint.
“Keir, some time away could be good,” Jancie said. “Your new relationship with Unole might open up powers and change the way you see the world
—love can do that.” With a bemused expression, she crossed her legs and gazed up at her boyfriend.
“I can’t believe you’re saying that,” Rowe yelled, then tried to contain his anger. “He’s like family—my brother. The coven is his home. Your mother came from New Wish and so did your magic.”
“Keir studied at the reservation for an entire summer.” Though she smiled and held her head in a casual tilt, her voice ratcheted louder. “They accept him. It’s a comfortable, safe retreat where he can learn. How is that different?”
Rowe tossed his hands in the air and strode away from her, pacing the room.
“I understand what each of you are saying, but you’re missing a key point—I don’t have any choice.” Keir’s gaze shifted from one to the other. “Just wait till Adara tells all and see how my clients react. There won’t be anyone left who’ll trust me.”
“I can talk to them, tell them not to listen to her. So can Logan.” At the edge of a desk, Rowe planted his hands and leaned forward. Supported by two of his deceased-but-empowered relatives, Uncle Ernie residing in a silver cigar cutter and Wona’s spirit within a letter opener, he faced Keir. “We can get the word out.”
“Thanks. It’s worth a try. I’ll prepare a statement for my clients and diffuse what I can. I’ll be around for a while to establish communication with Waapake and try to get him out.”
“I’ll message Logan and Aggie right now,” Jancie offered. Fingers flying over her phone’s keypad, she added to Rowe, “I’m asking Logan to contact you ASAP about negating Adara’s defamation. Aggie’s wand connection to Waapake might help us free him.”
“Great. Ask her to contact me first thing tomorrow,” Keir replied. “If I can get Waapake, I’ll leave soon, before the onslaught of insults. The rumor mill can go on without me.”
Rowe snorted and stomped toward the stairs.
Keir stood, and tiredness smacked him, his head reeling. He needed to sleep, but not at home with that veil of death. “Do you think I could spend the night here? I don’t—”
She jumped to her feet and tossed off the throw. “Not a problem. This big place has plenty of guest rooms. Take your pick.”
Witch's Windsong (Coon Hollow Coven Tales Book 5) Page 11
