His bath the previous night had taken longer than he’d realized, because the tub had high sides and the hot water felt so good. He’d taken the opportunity to clean both his stump and his socket liner with antiseptic, and dry his hair enough so it wouldn’t drip. By the time he’d put his leg back on, put all his stuff back in his bag so it wouldn’t be in her way, and taken it into the bedroom, he’d discovered Riya had turned into sleeping beauty, slumped to the side with her bare legs still on the floor. He would have made the trip back downstairs if she hadn’t asked him to stay. The contact and her warm breath on his chest lulled him into a deep sleep.
She’d left him a note about her insanely busy schedule, told him to feel free to make breakfast for himself, apologized for not having a TV, and hoped he’d come to the theater after three, if he had time.
Time was the one thing he had plenty of. Ordinarily, he had chores at the ranch to keep him busy, but all he had in Riya’s reclaimed warehouse were his thoughts. He hadn’t even brought his ereader. He’d called Rollie and Hanif to check on things at the ranch and remind them about keeping the goats penned, and told them he’d likely be gone a few more days. Smartass Rollie figured out Idrián’s emergency involved a woman and teased him mercilessly, but Idrián refused to give him any details.
He’d checked his email and responded to a few, including one from his cousin that complained about the poor quality of the police photographs. Roman was working on a translation, but he was unhappy that the symbols were blocked in several shots. For all that Roman’s suave good looks had girls practically jumping him in high school, and had unexpected success as a composer, he was a geek at heart. He was probably so focused on the symbols he didn’t even notice that it was blood or a piece of human flesh obscuring the symbols.
There was no polite way to describe what happened to St. Peters’ body; it had been shredded. Not even a feral bear or tiger shifter could do that kind of damage. Idrián hoped St. Peters had been dead before the dismemberment.
He still had several hours to fill. He wanted to save dreamwalking for when he could do it again with Riya. He’d taken care of what he needed to at the VA the day before. He debated finding a nearby gym, but he wasn’t in the mood to be stared at. Still, he needed to exercise almost every day or he’d become the actual invalid that most people saw when they looked at him. Accordingly, he improvised some weights and used Riya’s springy wooden studio floor.
As he worked through a borderline-painful routine designed to keep his right leg mobile, he distracted himself with the memory of the Red Dust Warrior piece she’d choreographed. He didn’t know the first thing about dance theatre, but her piece was stunning, noticeably different from the others. St. Peters at least had the good taste to steal from the best. The lead dancer, Mack, who played the warrior, had partnered with her in a later piece she danced in, and Idrián felt needles of jealousy. Mack was tall, supremely graceful, handsome, and outgoing. All Idrián could claim was being tall. He soothed himself with the fact that Riya had slept last night in his arms, not Mack’s.
If Riya was interested in Mack, there was nothing Idrián could do about it, except maybe call his earth magic and heat the asphalt enough to flatten the man’s tires.
Idrián groaned. He was acting like a lovesick werewolf. He refilled the blue water jug for the downstairs refrigerator, then carefully walked up the circular stairs to her kitchen. He changed into his jeans and a T-shirt, wishing he’d packed more clothes, or at least underwear. It occurred to him he could go for a drive and find a Laundromat, so he shoved everything in his bag and slung it over his shoulder. It would be better than counting the minutes until he could see Riya again.
Idrián parked his truck in the back of the theater as Riya had instructed, then knocked on the backstage door. She opened the door immediately. Her hot pink, camouflage-pattern T-shirt said “Whiskey Tango Foxtrot,” and her faded black jeans were so splattered with paint, they looked like the Milky Way galaxy on a clear desert night.
“Hi there, handsome man with food. I think I felt it when you arrived.” She touched her chest, then his. “Is that normal?”
“I don’t know.” He smiled and kissed her, because he could. “I’ve never had a dreamwalk partner.” She took the takeout salad and iced tea she’d asked him to bring, then led him back to the room with an ugly but serviceable couch and invited him to sit. He’d already eaten, so he waited while she ate the chicken strips off the top of her salad, then wolfed the rest of it down, too. It should have been boring, but he enjoyed being in her company. A factory spirit wearing overalls and boots drifted in and hovered near the door. Idrián nodded to the ghost in silent greeting.
To his surprise, after Riya finished eating, she kneeled on the couch beside him and crawled into his lap. “Hi.” Their renewed connection hummed in his chest and settled his restlessness. “I didn’t want to leave this morning.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t wake up.” He’d even slept through the sounds of her morning shower and a coffeemaker loud enough to rouse the neighborhood.
“I’m not. Well, I am, because I’d have liked to fool around, but you needed the rest, and it was my turn to open the coffee shop.” She nuzzled into his neck, her breath warm on his skin.
“Do you need to work?” he asked.
She laughed. “Very diplomatically put.” She sat up a little and looked him in the eye. “Yes, I need to work. Money complicates things worse than sex ever does.” She touched fingers to the scarred side of his face. “I love my parents, but if I took money from them, it’d be a license for them to start meddling in my life. If I lived off my trust fund, I’d never know if someone hired me to dance because they liked my talent or my bank balance.” She snorted. “Hell, my last loser of a boyfriend saw me as a meal ticket because I had a steady job at the coffee house. I’d have never gotten rid of him if he’d known my family has money.”
“I know what you mean. I don’t have money, but my last girlfriend wanted the ranch, or more specifically, the land, and had to pretend she wanted me to get it.” He smiled wryly. The difference between her and Riya was night and day.
“Pretend?” Riya’s eyes narrowed. “She’d better be long gone, or I’ll close every damn one of her doors.”
“Don’t worry.” He kissed her cheek to soothe her heart-warming fierceness. “She burned enough people that the Magic town council specifically excluded her from the invitation. They don’t do that very often.”
“The invitation?”
“When the town was built in the seventeen hundreds, the founders created an invitation that went out to all magic users, the non-humans, the persecuted, the feared, to come settle in a town where their differences would be more than welcome.” He brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “You’re probably feeling it and don’t know it. You’re here in Denver, when you could have picked anywhere else in the world. Sooner or later, you’d have found a reason to be in southern New Mexico, and you’d have stumbled across the town.”
“Huh. When I selected the music for Red Dust Warrior and sent the permission request to the composer at a New Mexico address, I came really close to taking a long weekend vacation to see the landscape that inspired the piece.”
He smiled crookedly. “The Fates have been busy. My cousin Roman is the composer.” He didn’t like being manipulated, but he couldn’t complain if it brought him Riya. “He’s too pretty. I’m glad I met you first.” He kissed her. She responded instantly, and desire lanced straight to his groin. He deepened the kiss and slid one hand under her T-shirt to feel the warmth of her soft skin. She gasped and arched into him.
“Higher,” she breathed. “I’ve been wanting you all day.”
He slid his hand up to cup her generous breast. Her nipple tightened diamond hard when he brushed a thumb across it through her sports bra. He adjusted his hips to give his growing erection room, and groaned when her clever fingers rubbed him through his jeans. His hips involuntarily thrust into her to
uch. He was perilously close to losing it right there.
Sounds of men’s voices broke through to the few thinking parts of his brain. Someone was calling Riya’s name.
She must have heard them, too. “Dammit, it’s Mack and Kenji. They’re early.” She kissed him, wet and sensuously. “We will continue this, I promise.” She kissed his nose. “Just not for an audience.”
She clambered off his lap to stand and straighten out her T-shirt. He pulled out his own to hide the bulge in his jeans. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
She gave his left thigh a quick caress, then left the room. The ghostly factory worker in overalls gave Idrián a commiserating look.
In the next hour, he helped Riya take care of most of the items on her checklist, from putting cases of bottled water in each of the dressing rooms, to gluing a large fake jewel on a headdress, to rummaging in the theater’s supplies closet for an extension cord. She put pieces of glow tape on the floor to mark where set pieces would go, helped Kenji figure out how to wear his demon costume, answered the sound operator’s questions, and set up a table for props. In between, she found odd moments to make a physical connection with him, laughing when he brazenly stole a kiss.
As he was taking extra folding chairs to the women’s dressing room, he ran into Mack, who was wearing a sleeveless tank top and low-slung tight pants covered with sleek feathers.
Mack grabbed the last two chairs from the cart and followed him in. “It’s probably none of my business, but I’m going to say it anyway. I’ve never seen Riya looking so happy, and I think it’s because of you. She’s a class act, so she probably won’t tell you, but her last boyfriend was a cheating slime, and I’ll regret introducing them for the rest of my life. So, thank you for treating her right.”
Idrián nodded, not missing the implied warning that if he didn’t treat her right, Mack would make him sorry.
“She’s an extraordinary woman.” He took the chairs from Mack. He unfolded the first chair, then looked at the handsome, healthy dancer. “To be honest, I thought you might be more her type.”
Mack shook his head. “Nope. We’d drive each other crazy in under a week.” He unfolded the chair in his hands. “I’d rather have her as a friend.”
Idrián unfolded the last chair. “I’m glad she has good friends.”
“We wouldn’t have a company without her.” Mack shook his head. “Denise owes her some serious groveling for the way they screwed her over.”
Riya’s voice came over the speakers in the dressing room. “Mack, we need you on stage.”
Mack headed for the door, stripping off his tank top as he did. “Coming, Mother!” he shouted.
Idrián chuckled, as much from Mack’s irrepressible personality as from relief that Mack wasn’t competition for the woman that was increasingly in Idrián’s every waking thought.
As soon as the other dancers began to arrive, Idrián found a seat in the first row in the house. Between his morning exercise and helping Riya, he was getting a full day’s workout, almost as good as riding Patli to the mountain and back. It was well after seven, and his stomach was reminding him that it expected to be fed. He wanted a chance to take his leg off, too, because sweat was collecting in the socket liner.
Riya came toward him to sit on the edge of the stage. “Hey there, handsome.”
“Hey, yourself.” He leaned forward to get up, but stopped when she jumped down and sat by him. He offered his hand, and she took it. Their connection flared, as it did each time they touched skin to skin. “So what’s the schedule?”
“I need to get into costume and makeup. Curtain is at eight, intermission at about nine-fifteen. If things go right, we’ll all be out of here by ten.”
His stomach growled, and she chuckled. “Interns are allowed dinner breaks.”
“What about you?”
“I can’t eat and dance. I’ll get something on the way home.” She leaned closer and whispered in his ear. “Just so you know, I plan to have my wicked way with you tonight.”
He squeezed her hand. “I’m up for that.” He waggled his eyebrows.
She laughed. “I’m counting on it.”
She stood, but didn’t let go of his hand. “Come on, let’s walk to your truck, and I’ll tell you the restaurant options around here.”
Chapter 11
After he kissed Riya goodbye half a dozen times, because once wasn’t nearly enough, Idrián decided on a restaurant with a drive-through, even though it was several miles away. He was tired of fast food, but he didn’t want to be stared at or treated like he was breakable. He appreciated how easily the dancers had gotten used to his looks, because of Riya, but they were exceptional people.
It took longer than he planned because he overshot a turn and had to take a longer way around, so it was after eight by the time he got to the food delivery window. His phone had rung earlier, but he’d let it go to voicemail, rather than chance an accident.
He pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot to listen to a message from Riya. Denise had arrived to announce that a big sponsor—the Spencer Emerson Trust—had donated an eye-popping figure for a special group of rich friends to be given exclusive viewing of the rehearsal. The catch was that no one else would be allowed in the theater or backstage, including friends and family of the dancers. Riya gave him the option of coming back to the theater at nine-thirty, when the rehearsal finished, or meeting her at her apartment later. Riya didn’t like it, but couldn’t do anything about it. She said she missed him already.
Idrián didn’t like it at all. He hadn’t forgotten that the main reason for the mad dash up to Denver was because of Tompiro Spider Woman’s warning that Riya was in danger. He felt guilty that he hadn’t told her that part of the prophecy, and now she didn’t know to be watchful. He sent her a text message saying he’d come to the theater at nine-thirty, and not to leave without him. Her reply said the alley door would open for him, which probably meant he could sneak in earlier. He didn’t want to get Riya in trouble, but he wasn’t going to leave her unprotected at the theater, either.
He choked down his sandwich and chips quickly, then drove back to the theater and parked in the back lot. After a long moment of thought, he fished in the inside pocket of the emergency backpack he kept behind the seat and pulled out a small medicine bag his grandfather had made for him.
He breathed life energy into the bag, then put its lanyard around his neck. “Grandfather, I ask forgiveness for my angry words, as I forgive you for yours.” He added a touch of earth magic to his voice, to send it through both dreamwalk and the spirit world. “Black Fox To’Piro, I would ask your help in protecting the dreamwalk woman.”
Because he was paying attention, he knew Black Fox was there before he spoke. “It’s about time you came to your senses, Eaglefoot.”
Idrián ignored the verbal jab. “Do I need to catch you up, or have you been watching the whole time?”
Black Fox’s spirit materialized into view and shrugged, unabashed. “I heard her message.”
Idrián nodded. He got out of the truck, grabbed his cane, and walked toward the alley. He hadn’t needed to use it as much lately, but he wanted to look harmless if Denise or the sponsor caught him.
The door opened with his touch just as Riya had promised. He put a small rock in the frame to keep it from closing all the way again. He stood in the darkened hallway, listening intently, but all he heard was noise from the air vent. He should have been hearing music, or voices, or something. He whispered a greeting to the factory ghosts, but got no response.
Black Fox appeared in front of him. “Go to the stage. No need to be quiet.”
Idrián walked as fast as he could, his leg brace creaking. Black Fox preceded him. “Riya?”
“Not here.”
Idrián almost tripped, but continued forward. He broke into an uneven half run when he saw the stage manager slumped in her chair. Beyond her, the bright stage lights revealed an eerie tableau.
All of them, including Denise and the crew, were sprawled on the stage, as if they’d all decided to take a nap. A quick check of the first two dancers proved they were asleep, not dead, but unresponsive. More bizarrely, three faint factory-worker ghosts were similarly slumbering. Just as Black Fox had said, only Riya was missing.
Panic rose, but Idrián firmly pushed it aside. He bent down to Mack’s sleeping form and called the man’s name. A whiff of the grave threatened to empty his stomach and he reared back. “Corpse magic.”
Black Fox stood in front of him as he stood. “We can’t stay, or it will trap us, too.” He pointed in the direction of the alley door. “Riya’s portal spell is fading.”
Idrián wished he could stay and help the dancers, but Riya had to be his first priority. He could feel the weight of the sleep spell eroding his energy reserves, making his limbs feel heavier. He determinedly started back toward the alley door, only deviating from his course when he glimpsed Riya’s orange and purple bag and snagged it. Something personal of hers might make her easier to track.
The darkened hallway toward the exit seemed to stretch out for a mile. He doggedly put one foot in front of the other, keeping his eye on the sliver of fading daylight that outlined the open door. He used the discipline forged by hundreds of hours of physical therapy to ignore everything but reaching his objective. He staggered into the door’s push bar and stumbled out into the alley. He turned to see Black Fox’s spirit form flicker like a strobe as he struggled against the perimeter of the spell. Idrián called magic from the earth and thrust his fingers back through the open doorway and into his grandfather’s image. He gritted his teeth against bitter cold and held fast until Black Fox made it over the threshold, then blinked out.
Idrián used more earth magic to warm his hand as he walked as fast as he could toward his truck. He opened the door and threw Riya’s bag and his cane in, then climbed into the driver’s seat and shut the door. Black Fox materialized in the cab, perched on Riya’s bag.
Magic, New Mexico: In Graves Below (Kindle Worlds) Page 9
