She waited a few seconds and then squelched her impatience. She reached into her pocket and pulled out an energy bar she’d grabbed that morning. She tucked it under the edge of the blanket. “Don’t forget to eat, Jack.” She patted the blanket and continued on her way.
Her next stop was the town’s undertaker, Deloris Brubaker. As hers was the only pagan family in town, Avy didn't expect Deloris to be much help. While the Wicca funeral ritual had some similarities to Christian ceremonies, Avy was determined to respect her family’s religious beliefs as her parents were laid to rest no matter what the townspeople might think of her. Like all the kids in town, she remembered Mrs. Brubaker as a scary, spitfire of a woman with a rasping smoker’s voice. Seeing the world through adult eyes gave her a different view. An hour later, she’d completed the funeral arrangements and found Mrs. Brubaker to be kind and respectful as Avy explained the ritual. Together, they arranged for a funeral service that satisfied her own and the town’s sensitivities.
She stepped out the door and turned to give the undertaker a final wave. The sun was dropping behind the tips of the mountains and the air was taking on the cooler afternoon temperatures of spring. Her mother had loved spring with new life emerging in every nook and cranny of the town. Avy squared her shoulders and firmed her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. She headed back to the vet clinic where she’d left her car.
***
When Avy arrived home, she found several casserole dishes, loaves of home baked bread and plates of cookies on her doorstep. The one belief shared by everyone living in small towns was that a family in crisis could best be helped with good food. Her stomach wasn’t ready for beef stew, but the kindness behind the gift made her smile and put a hitch in her breath.
Soon enough she’d have to face the other neighborly remedy for tragedy, a steady stream of visitors. Her grief was so fresh and raw she couldn’t bear to expose it. She sat on the front step, wrapped in her father’s pile-lined jacket, and looked out over the town. Busby stretched out beside her. Shunning the stew, Avy nibbled at the sandwich Lucy had forced her to take with her coffee when she’d stopped by Ma’s. It was good and seemed to settle her stomach.
As she stroked the dog’s head, she realized how much she wanted to keep Busby. He’d comforted her the night before as she drifted to sleep and had made her feel safe when she woke during the night in tears. She tore a bit of the roast beef from her sandwich and let him take it from her hand.
“I wish I could keep you, boy, but I’m sure your owner’s missing you.” The words brought the knot back to her stomach and she fed the rest of her sandwich to the dog.
Finally, she got up and went inside to begin her inspection of the mess left by her parents’ attacker. Overwhelmed the night before, she’d taken refuge in her old room which had apparently not held any interest for the intruder.
The living room seemed even worse in the daylight. Like a tornado had whipped through. Papers were strewn everywhere. An heirloom vase lay smashed on the floor amid a puddle of wilted flowers. Every drawer had been pulled out and dumped.
She stood gazing at the chaos that had been her home. She fought the overwhelming urge to turn around and run back out the door to escape. Or worse, to sink to the floor and give into the crying jag that had been threatening all day. Instead, she took a long slow breath, stretching her rib cage to its absolute limit and then exhaled very, very slowly.
She moved towards the kitchen. It was in worse condition. Tea towels had been tossed around, as had every box, bag and container from the pantry. On the counter, beside the old farmhouse-style sink, a mountain of cutlery had been dumped and the drawer flung across the room, where it landed next to the refrigerator. The flour bin had been thrown so violently against the wall that a fine white coating covered every exposed surface. On top of that, the sheriff’s team had obviously walked through the flour as they looked for fingerprints and other evidence, and tracked it through the house.
The sheriff needed to know if anything was missing. She was the only one who could tell him. She retrieved the recycle bin from the back porch and turned back to the living room. The room seemed to blur and she rubbed her eyes to clear them. Her fingers came away wet with tears. Grief is a strange thing, she thought. Her feelings were numb, yet her eyes kept leaking.
She began with the loose papers in the living room. She glanced at each piece as she picked it up. Important papers were neatly stacked and then returned to her father’s antique desk in the corner. The rest were dropped in the bin. She uncovered the desk drawer behind the sofa and pushed it back into place. Halfway in, it stuck. She pulled it back out, peeked in, and pulled out a crumpled paper that had been caught in the runner. Smoothing it out, she could see it was an insurance report. Keep, she thought, placing it on the top of the pile before moving on.
Tidying, mopping, cleaning. Busby followed her progress with his eyes from his perch on the sofa. The garbage bags piled up at the back door ready for pickup. When the kitchen and living room were done, she sat down on the sofa and assessed her progress. Everything smelled fresh and clean. Sanitized. Unfamiliar.
She stretched her arms over her head and worked the kinks out of her back. The late afternoon sun glinted off the silver on her finger. She brought her hand down for closer scrutiny.
“That’s so weird.”
Busby cocked his ear.
She tugged on the ring and it came off in one piece.
“I didn’t know the rings were made to fit together.”
She hadn’t thought about the rings since the vet mentioned them that morning. She could see now why he thought they were just one heavy ring. Together, only the eagle head of one ring, and the lion’s body from the other, were visible. She tried to pry them apart, again without success.
“Must be some kind of puzzle ring.”
Busby nosed her hand and tried to get a closer look.
Slipping the ring back on her finger, she held her hand up, palm outward, to better examine the piece. Dr. Egan’s comment earlier came back to her.
“This way they do look like a gryphon.”
“Mom and Dad’s animal symbols were important to them,” she said to Busby. “If their two rings were made to join, I bet the gryphon is significant too. Let’s look up the meaning of the gryphon—”
Within a few minutes, she was sitting on the front steps with a well-thumbed book on her lap. She gently pushed Busby’s snout out of the way as she turned a page.
“Here it is,” she said. The dog’s head pushed back under her arm and his nose reappeared over the page she was trying to read. A sharp word and he eased back out of her line of vision. She ran her finger along the line as she read. “Gryphon,” she said. “There are two meanings here.” Busby voiced his interest with a rumble in his chest. “Gryphons are the symbol of the duality in all of nature. A balance of both good and evil qualities.”
She looked up from the book. “That doesn’t apply to my parents, at all. It must’ve been the second meaning.” She looked back down at the book and found her place on the page. “According to legend, gryphons are protectors or guardians and were said to stay loyal in their protection even in the afterlife.” Avy looked at Busby, and found his warm brown eyes locked on her. She shook her head. “That’s not it, either,” she said. “My parents wouldn’t have anything they’d need to protect into the afterlife.”
Busby crawled closer to her on his belly and whimpered. She felt a shiver crawl up her back and into her scalp. She shook it off but a tingle stayed. She stroked Busby’s head. “It’s just a legend, buckaroo.”
Chapter Four
The next morning was Saturday, the day she was to meet Dr. Egan to see if he’d found Busby’s owner. Dread crept over her. She knew she had to do the right thing, find his real owners. But to lose him now. She couldn’t think about it.
She glanced at her bedroom window where the morning sun seeped through a gap in her curtains. She stretched and was surprised she felt r
ested. She recognized the weight along her side as Busby and gave him an affectionate shove as she swung her legs over the edge of her bed. “Come on lazy bones.”
Busby grunted like an old man who’d had too much to drink, until she said the magic word. “Breakfast.”
As he bounded off the bed, she could only wish he knew how to get the coffee-maker going while he waited for her to catch up with him in the kitchen. She took a quick shower, pulled on her worn blue jeans and a T-shirt. She grabbed her black denim jacket in anticipation of the crisp mountain air. At the back of her closet, she found her old cowboy boots. They were well-worn and more comfortable than running shoes. She tucked them under her arm, conscious of her mother’s hard and fast rule about no shoes in the house, and went down to the kitchen for some serious caffeine before she headed into town to meet with Dr. Egan-of-the-amazing-eyes.
Busby whimpered as she sat on the porch step to haul on her boots fifteen minutes later.
“I know you want to come too,” she told him, “but you aren’t allowed in the restaurant and I don’t like to leave you in the car for that long.”
His bark made it clear he didn’t agree.
“I’m sorry, buddy.” She rubbed his ear as she stood up. “You can play outside ‘til I get back.”
He followed her to the car and whined to get in. She sharpened her voice to make sure he would obey. “Stay.” Then she sat in the car and closed the door.
Busby wandered back to the front porch and lay in front of the door. He looked so forlorn she almost gave in and let him come to town but she knew he’d be just as unhappy stuck in the small car for over an hour.
She shook her head, put the car in gear and headed down the lane to town. She parked in front of The Candy Store, a couple of car lengths down from Ma’s Kitchen. Her mouth watered at the thought of George Jacks’ cinnamon buns.
As she approached the door, she slowed her steps. She’d missed the crowd the day before but she’d still felt awkward talking to Lucy Jacks, owner and adopted grandmother of Bandit Creek, about her parents’ death. She’d struggled with tears. On a Saturday, every table in the diner would be filled. If they all stopped talking and stared at her, well, she’d just sink into the floor and—
The bell jangled overhead as she opened the door, calling for everyone’s attention.
I hate that. She hunched her shoulders as she immediately felt all eyes swing towards her. She glanced around the familiar diner.
Ma’s Kitchen had served the townsfolk of Bandit Creek forever as far as she knew. Lucy’s great grandmother started the first diner in town after the flood. It hadn’t changed much over the years either. Torn red leather stools stood along the worn laminate counter, red booths circling the diner with matching tables in rows down the middle. The black and white tiled floor showed years of wear and tear but was spotless despite the damp, dusty excuse of a Main Street right outside the door.
Avy nodded at the faces she recognized and even a few she didn’t.
“Back again so soon, Avy-girl,” Lucy called, as she stepped out from behind the cash at the counter. The woman was approaching seventy, with tight grey curls poking out from under a black cowboy hat. A hand towel was thrown over the right shoulder of her starched white blouse. A triangle of black and white kerchief hung just below her chin as if it had just slipped off her face. It was an odd outfit, even for Lucy.
Crap, Avy thought. Bandit Days. She’d completely forgotten the town’s annual celebration.
“You’ll be staying today.” Lucy didn’t make it a question. She shooed Avy to a booth near the window. Avy would have preferred one at the back. Preferably in a corner. “You sit over here, my girl, and I’ll put some meat on those bones.”
“I’m supposed to meet someone here.” Avy glanced around and realized almost everyone had gotten into the spirit of the masquerade party’s bank robbery theme although most seemed to have chosen to be the ‘Bad Guy’ rather than be the sheriff who saves the day. “Have you seen Dr. Egan?” she asked.
“Marcus ain’t come in yet, girl. But I’m sure he’ll be along any minute.”
Lucy pushed her hat back and patted her wispy curls. The flushed cheeks could have been blood pressure or maybe the vet was a hottie to all ages, Avy thought, remembering her own reaction to the new vet.
He was an extraordinarily handsome man with his dark black hair and athletic body. He had a face that was all sharp planes and angles, with the most perfect skin she’d ever seen on anyone, and especially on a man. He seemed to glow. But it was his eyes—
At first glance, she thought they were hazel, almost amber. Then when she looked directly at him, it was like slipping into a crystal cave. His eyes were every color, and yet no color at all. In the clinic, her skin had tingled as she stood looking up at him. It tingled now just thinking about him.
Lucy placed a menu on the table. “He’s rented the house a couple of blocks over on Willow. You’ll see him coming from here.”
Avy snapped her attention back to the older woman as she felt heat spread across her cheeks. “He’s helping me find the owner of a stray dog up near the house.” Why did she need an excuse to meet with the vet?
“Of course, my girl.” Lucy’s voice was neutral in spite of her knowing look. Avy looked around the diner for a distraction. Her gaze stopped on a table several over. The mayor was deep in conversation with another man wearing a forestry uniform. The second man was facing her but she didn’t recognize him. With his ball cap pulled low over his forehead, all she could see of his face was pale, round cheeks, weak chin, and round wire glasses poking out from under the brim.
Lucy followed her gaze. “That’s the government man, Blake Ferran.”
“What are they up to?” Avy asked, confident Lucy would know. Ma’s Kitchen was the central meeting place for Bandit Creek and nobody made a move in town without Lucy knowing the what and why of it.
“The mayor brought him in to see if Lost Lake can be designated a heritage site. Some developer’s eyein’ it,” Lucy said.
“For what?” Avy vaguely remembered her mother saying something about Lost Lake in a phone call.
“Wanna put up condos or somethin’,” Lucy said.
“Mayor Clayborn’d never let that happen, Lucy.” Avy hoped. She didn’t want to live in Bandit Creek but she didn’t want it turned into some dude ranch resort town either.
“Avy girl, only time will tell.” Lucy patted the menu and said, “Y’all let me know when you’re ready to order.”
***
Standing at the diner entrance, Marcus took his time removing his sunglasses and hooking them on the neck of his black t-shirt. He wasn’t surprised to see everyone sporting full western gear, with a heavy emphasis on black. The weekend celebration of Bandit Days had been the talk of the clinic since he’d arrived. He’d been instructed, firmly, to dress accordingly. He’d pulled on his black jeans, black t-shirt under an equally black denim shirt. He’d borrowed Kai’s cowboy hat, also black. The outfit had given him a chuckle. Bad Guy. Powerful Warlock. Not a big stretch.
He sensed the Gwynn witch’s location before he saw her sitting beside the window. He wasn’t sure if she was in costume. What was the difference between dressing up like a cowboy and being one? A beige felt cowboy hat and black jean jacket were hooked on the side of the bench seat and she was wearing faded western jeans, a t-shirt and cowboy boots that had obviously been used hard. She sat still as a statue, gazing out the window, although he doubted she was seeing the people passing by on the sidewalk or strolling in Ellis Park across the street.
Damn, she was hot... It wasn’t just the small but perfectly formed body, the silky mane of blond hair, or that perfect face. Her aura was more noticeable today. Still pale, but moving from bland beige towards gold. Could it be a trick of the sunlight from the window? Or is she gaining power for some reason?
He had too many questions and no answers. He probably should have reported her existence to the Witches Council las
t night. But she wasn’t what he’d been sent to Bandit Creek to investigate. He didn’t have the answer yet to who killed the Gwynn witches. Or why. He couldn’t deny Avy was a discovery worth reporting. On the other hand, he didn’t have anything to tell them about her either. He didn’t know how much magical power she has. How effectively she wields it? If she even knows about her parents’ past or The Otherland? And, of course, the cataclysmic question—does she know where her parents’ amulets are hidden? But, unless he can secure the amulets, she could destroy the magical world and quite possibly the human one, either intentionally or unwittingly. It didn’t matter to him—the result was the same, and so he had to prevent it.
He signaled to Lucy for coffee as he headed towards his target. Avalon probably wasn’t aware how much her body language said. She looked like she was carrying the weight of the world on her bowed shoulders. She hadn’t looked up with everyone else when the bell over the door announced his entrance. She seemed lost in thought.
He studied her as he walked to her table. He just couldn’t get a fix on her.
She wiped at her eye as if to catch a tear before it fell. Had she been close to her parents? He was surprised to feel a spark of compassion for her. Council Guardians were descendants of the most powerful magical people, the warriors. His kind weren’t big on feelings.
As he reached her, he pulled off his hat before dropping into the bench seat across from her. “Starting without me?”
She jumped at his words but quickly smiled when she realized who it was. “Morning.”
As soon as he met her gaze, she stared at his eyes almost as if—
No. Marcus always used his best camouflage spell when he was on assignment to keep even other witches from seeing what he was. This one could not be seeing his eyes. The old saying about eyes being the window to the soul was particularly true for Council Guardians. Their magic was so strong it glowed behind their eyes giving them an alien color.
“Sun’s bright this morning?” He smiled as he pulled his sunglasses from his t-shirt and put them back on. Just in case. He tried to relax.
Witch in the Wind (Bandit Creek Books) Page 3
