Well, there was one thing he could try, although doing so in such a populated area carried its own risks. Still, he knew if he didn’t make the attempt, he’d beat himself up for it afterward.
Jaw set, he backed the Wrangler out of its parking space, then went down to the ground level of the structure. A wave of his phone over the electronic meter at the exit to the garage, and the parking fee was automatically deducted from his account. Then he inched out onto San Francisco Street, turned left, then right and right again, squaring the block so he could come in at the apartment Robert Marquez had occupied from the side off the alley, where it was darker and there weren’t any people around. In fact, Rafe didn’t pull up to the building at all, but instead stopped the Jeep in an open area off the small parking lot, in a space clearly marked “No Parking.”
That didn’t matter. He didn’t plan to be here for very long, and he knew the parking cops tended to be pretty lax on Sunday nights. But he was away from any streetlights, and the Jeep was sheltered by a large pine tree. No one would see what he was going to do next.
Transformations were always problematic. It wasn’t so much that they were painful, but it wasn’t like the movies, where a man would transform into a werewolf and shred the clothes he wore without any real concern for what would happen when he turned back into a man. No, Rafe needed a safe place to remove his clothing and stow it against his return. The back seat of the Jeep worked well enough, and he remembered to unlock the door and leave it slightly ajar so he could push it open with his nose.
Door handles were a bitch to work with when you’d already transformed into a coyote.
The coyote had always been his favorite animal to change into. Rafe couldn’t really say why, except he thought coyotes tended to get a bad rap when they were really beautiful animals — and extremely successful as a species. Also, it wasn’t that strange to see a coyote inside Santa Fe’s city limits, since it seemed as though some of them looked on the city’s streets as an easy means to cut from one wilderness area to another.
Anyway, while he’d been able to pick up on some of the dark magic that lingered in the area, he couldn’t track it in human form. He needed a coyote’s ultra-sharp nose for that sort of thing.
Clothes off, a deep breath, and the man who’d been sitting in the back seat of the ancient Jeep Wrangler was gone. The coyote who perched there now looked around quickly to make sure no one was lurking near the vehicle, then nosed open the car door and slipped out.
This area was alive with scents, from the pungent richness of the dumpster a few yards away to the sharp, aromatic smell of the pine tree he currently was using as shelter. Underneath all those ordinary aromas, however, was something dark and sickening, a smell that was unnatural, that was other.
Black magic.
The coyote trotted to the back door of the building and sniffed around. Yes, the source of the wrongness came from here, but it also trailed along to one of the parking spaces at the rear of the structure. He sniffed here again, although the scent grew fainter, possibly because whoever the odor belonged to had gotten into a vehicle at this point.
And yes, he was able to follow the smell out of the parking lot and down the side street. As he approached San Francisco Street, however, it became so faint that he knew he wouldn’t be able to follow it for more than a few more yards. No point in doing that, not when he had a much greater chance of being seen on that busy downtown route.
Tongue hanging out in disappointment, he retraced his steps and sniffed all around the parking lot. There were no other trails, though. Clearly, the person who’d been using the dark magic had gotten in his car and driven away. And if he’d headed out on San Francisco Street, he could have been going anywhere — turned right on Guadalupe to pick up the route to the highway that led to points north, or jogged over to Cerrillos Road and down to the southern, more commercial part of town.
A low growl escaped his mouth as he climbed up into the Jeep’s back seat. He’d hoped this little excursion would have provided more helpful information, but the little he’d learned wasn’t enough to work with.
As he turned back into his human self and began to grimly put his clothes back on, about all Rafe could do was pray that Daniel would come up with something. Otherwise, he feared he might never find the woman who had just vanished from his life.
3
Safe Spaces
Miranda
Simon’s instructions were clear enough that I didn’t have any trouble finding the kitchen, vast as the house appeared to be. Even the kitchen was something to behold, with an eat-in area that was bigger than the dining room in our Flagstaff house, and an enormous six-burner stove and what appeared to be miles of pale granite countertops. Simon was in there already, standing in front of the massive built-in stainless refrigerator. The door was open as he appeared to survey the contents of the fridge.
However, he shut the door when he heard me approach, and offered me a smile. “Settled in?”
“Mostly,” I replied. I had finally stirred myself to hang up my clothes — mostly because I didn’t want them to get too wrinkled — but I’d only dumped my toiletries on the counter in the bathroom, too tired to figure out where I wanted to put everything away. That was something I could do when I got ready for bed. I lifted an eyebrow at the fridge. “Nothing to eat?”
“No, that’s not it. I got some stuff at the grocery store and at Trader Joe’s. I just wasn’t sure what you liked.”
“I’m not too picky.” I went over and opened the freezer door, then peered inside. There were frozen pizzas and tamales, and also some fun snack-y type foods, like cheese-stuffed phyllo shells and an onion tart. I really wasn’t that hungry, so I said, “Why don’t we make up some of the snack food for now, and then see how we feel afterward?”
“Sure,” he replied. “That sounds good.”
We were both quiet for a moment. I got out all the items that looked particularly tasty, while he pulled out a cookie sheet and started the oven preheating. Then he went over to the wine fridge that dominated one wall.
“Something to drink?”
I hesitated. God knows I could’ve used a drink, but maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to be drinking here with Simon. Then I told myself not to be silly. He hadn’t made a single move on me, had been friendly and sympathetic, but nothing else. After all, just because Rafe had turned out to be such a jerk, it didn’t mean the entire male half of the population would be the same way.
Still, I couldn’t help making a token protest. “Won’t the owner of the house mind if you drink his wine?”
Grinning, Simon opened the door to the wine refrigerator and extracted a bottle of what I thought might be pinot grigio. “This is TJ’s wine — a whopping $7.99 a bottle. So you don’t need to worry about drinking the owner’s Beaujolais and Chateau Rothschild or whatever.”
Maybe it was silly, but I did feel better now that I knew we wouldn’t be dipping into the good stuff. “TJ’s wine sounds great.”
He nodded and got a couple of glasses out of the cupboard. Those glasses did look expensive — thin crystal, fragile as soap bubbles — but I decided I’d better not comment on them. I’d just have to be careful.
For a moment, he busied himself with hunting for a corkscrew, while I opened the packages of hors d’oeuvres and started placing them on cookie sheets. I was done with my task just as the oven beeped, apparently letting me know that it had reached the desired temperature.
“Should I go ahead and put these in?” I asked.
“Sure,” Simon replied, even as he extracted the cork from the wine. “I think there are some potholders in that top drawer by the stove.”
The potholders were exactly where he’d said they would be. I wondered how much time he’d spent here, familiarizing himself with the house and its contents, because he seemed pretty comfortable. But then, he hadn’t said much about the length of time he’d been in Santa Fe before I arrived. For all I knew, he’d lived here for a wee
k or two, maybe more.
I slipped the cookie sheets with their assorted goodies in the oven, spent a few seconds fiddling with the control panel before I figured out the timer, then turned back around toward Simon. “You seem to know this house pretty well,” I commented, hoping the words didn’t sound too accusatory. I really wasn’t accusing him of anything — I just wanted to know the story of how he’d ended up in this place.
He was in the middle of pouring some wine into the two glasses he’d gotten from the cupboard. When he was done, he came over toward me with both of them in hand, then extended one to me. “I picked up the keys about a week ago.”
Well, that answered that question. “You knew I was going to be on that particular train to Albuquerque.”
A lift of his shoulders as he raised the glass of wine to his mouth. “Yes.”
Not sure how to respond, I took a sip of my own wine. Decent, but nothing to write home about. Which was fine. I still felt jagged from the way Rafe had rejected me at the chapel. I didn’t really need any mind-blowing wine right then. “How did you know?”
To my surprise, Simon actually chuckled. “Miranda, it wasn’t exactly a state secret that you were going to be leaving for Santa Fe on your twenty-first birthday.”
I frowned. “No, but it wasn’t like my parents hired a skywriter to advertise it to everyone, either.”
His smile faded, a thoughtful expression on his face. For a second I worried he might step toward me, but he remained a respectful distance away. Thank the Goddess. I knew I couldn’t deal with any forced intimacies right then. “True, your family didn’t talk about it much. But still — your cousin Caitlin is married to my cousin Alex. There was some talk, although most people in the de la Paz clan probably don’t know the whole story, except that you were going to marry someone from the Castillo clan. Still, it was easy enough for me to figure out exactly when you were leaving.”
And there he was, waiting for me in Albuquerque like a spider sitting in its web. No, that wasn’t fair. I did my best to brush the uncharitable thought aside. Maybe Simon had done a lot of plotting behind the scenes, but only because he believed he could help me. I couldn’t exactly applaud his methods, and yet I hoped with all my heart that he was right and that he would be able to bring forth my hidden talents.
“I guess that makes sense,” I said, my tone noncommittal, and took another sip of my wine.
“I know it all seems weird. I mean, it seems weird to me, too, but really, I had to be certain before I told you the truth about who I was. But as soon as I sat down next to you on that train, I knew I’d been right. I knew you had powers. They just needed a wake-up call.”
Well, they’d certainly gotten that, although I wasn’t sure who’d been doing the calling. I couldn’t control them and had no idea when or where they’d manifest, but after talking to a ghost and teleporting a grand total of three times, I knew I could no longer claim to be a witch without any magic.
The timer binged, letting me know the food was ready. However, Simon was too fast for me, because he quickly set down his wine glass and went to pull the cookie sheets out of the oven before I was able to take more than a few steps in that direction.
“The plates are in there,” he said, inclining his head toward the cupboard in question.
I got down the plates — heavy stoneware in a soft biscuit shade, with a raised pattern around the rim — and put them on the counter. Simon fetched a spatula and put a decent assortment of the hors d’oeuvres on both of the plates.
“Let’s take this into the living room,” he suggested. “It’s not really the kind of food you have to eat at a table.”
“All right,” I responded, my tone a little dubious. I hadn’t caught more than a glimpse of the living room on my way here to the kitchen, but it seemed like a fairly formal space, not the kind of place where I’d feel comfortable snacking. Then again, Simon had already told me he would have a cleaning crew come out once we were done with the house. And, thank the Goddess, the wine was white. A spill should have minimal repercussions.
Plate of goodies in one hand and wine glass in the other, I followed him out to the living room. Just like the rest of the house, the room was done in pale, neutral shades, the beiges and grays of the couched accented with soft coral and green tones. A pair of sofas faced one another across a large metal and travertine coffee table, which, I was happy to see, had been supplied with a stack of pale stone coasters. I took two and then set down my food and wine, while Simon did the same.
He glanced toward the large plaster-framed fireplace, and at once the logs within came to life. True, it looked as though it was a gas setup and not real wood, but still, I was impressed at yet another casual display of the powers he possessed.
For a moment, we were both silent as we ate and drank. It did feel good to get some food in my stomach, although I’d feared with the way it had been churning ever since I left the church, anything I ate might come right back up again. Now, though, both my stomach and my spirit seemed to be settling down. I couldn’t say I was precisely calm, but at least my hands weren’t shaking anymore. Maybe someday I’d discover the reason why Rafe had been so brutal to me. For the moment, it was enough to know that I’d wrested back some control. I needed to concentrate on myself, on healing the hurt he’d caused.
“Better?” Simon asked.
“Much,” I replied. “Thank you.”
His eyebrows lifted. “For what?”
“For this,” I said, and gestured toward the living room with the hand that held my wine glass. “There’s something very calming about this place. I do feel better, being away from Santa Fe.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
I shrugged. Probably he could tell how hurt I was, but I didn’t see the point in wallowing in self-pity. Rafe didn’t want me, and yet…it wasn’t the end of the world. I’d show him.
I’d show everyone.
“It’s for the best. I mean, I’d rather get dumped at the altar than get married to someone and have him walk out afterward. Now it’ll be easier to move on.” I swallowed some more wine and added, “Actually, I think I hated it there. So much pressure from everyone. Genoveva especially.”
“I’ve heard she’s kind of a dragon lady,” Simon remarked as he picked up a cheese-stuffed phyllo pastry.
“Worse than a dragon. More like a Gorgon.”
“Well, now you don’t have to worry about her being your mother-in-law.” He paused there and sent me a speculative look, dark head tilted to one side. “Were they all awful?”
“No, of course not,” I said quickly, feeling compelled to defend the Castillos, although I didn’t know precisely why I should care so much. “Rafe’s sister Cat is awesome. And his cousin Tony is really funny and cute. Rafe’s father was pretty nice, too. It was mostly Genoveva who was a pain in my ass.”
“Guess we know who Rafe took after.” Simon was frowning slightly now, straight black brows drawing together.
I wanted to tell him that wasn’t really fair, but then I realized I didn’t need to stick up for my former fiancé. We’d had a few good moments — and a few scorching-hot kisses — but Simon was right. Rafe had treated me like utter shit. There was no other word for it, and no excuse, either. I hadn’t deserved any of it, had done my very best to be honest with him, to be someone he’d want to spend his life with.
Still, I didn’t feel like talking about Rafe. “Maybe,” I said, then took another sip of wine. “Anyway, he’s ancient history. He can drop dead, frankly. What’s next for me?”
Simon’s mouth curved in a smile. “Well, I hope you’ll get a good night’s sleep. Then tomorrow after breakfast, we’ll go into Española to buy you a phone. When we get back, we’ll…start.”
He didn’t elaborate, but I knew he meant we’d get started working on my magic. A little thrill went down my back at the thought. I really had no idea what that kind of magical training would even entail, because that wasn’t how it general
ly worked with witches and warlocks — everyone had a specific talent they were born with, and they didn’t need a lot of help learning how to use it. But Simon had told me earlier that he’d been studying old, old records from the de la Paz clan, stories about how they’d used magic long ago. He must have a plan. After all, he’d been able to detect my buried magic when no one else could.
“Sounds good,” I said.
His eyes met mine, dark, penetrating. “Oh, I think you’ll find it very…enlightening.”
That night I had a hard time falling asleep. I knew part of it was simply being in strange surroundings, even if those strange surroundings involved a huge, comfortable king bed and impossibly high thread count sheets.
But even though I’d resolved to push him out of my mind, I couldn’t keep myself from thinking of Rafe, of how this was supposed to have been our wedding night. My hand touched the empty space in the bed next to me, the space that he should have occupied in another bed, in the room reserved for us at the resort in Taos. Tears stung my eyes at the thought of that empty suite, of our canceled reservations.
Or maybe he hadn’t canceled them at all. Maybe, once he knew he was blessedly free of me, he’d called one of his former girlfriends and taken her with him up to Taos. Maybe even now they were in that very bed, limbs entwined.
No. I quashed that thought with the same force I might use to crush a cockroach under my booted foot. Whatever Rafe had done to me, I couldn’t believe he would be so callous as to go to another woman right after he’d dumped me at the altar. He might be an asshole, but he wasn’t that big an asshole.
I hoped.
And I also hoped he was suffering agonies of conscience over what he’d done to me. Genoveva might have been a raving bitch, but she was also uniquely suited to give her son the maximum amount of grief about ruining her plans for a picture-perfect wedding between her only son and the daughter of northern Arizona’s two clan leaders. It was definitely much more satisfying to imagine her chewing him out than it was to brood over him trying to rekindle past relationships.
Darker Paths (The Witches of Canyon Road Book 2) Page 4
