Under Witch Aura (Moon Shadow Series) (10 page)

Things were vibrating
now--everything
except the witching fork. We entered the guest bedroom like dance
partners, matched step for step, our magics still merged through the
witching fork.

He opened the window.
Without any help
from me, he spun the essence on the fork outside, exploring the
perimeter of the house.

“She’s not here.” His
hand captured my fingers. “Not inside or anywhere near the
house.”

“You’re right. So what here
is causing problems?” There was my magic, his magic and a lot
of hormones in the room. There was definitely no Sarah. He kissed
me. The brush of wind he had sent outside wafted back in around us,
swirling with the breeze from the open window.

He drew me in from the
waist. I met him
more than halfway, fingers splayed across his chest, ready to
explore.

“Son of a--” he swore and
jerked away. Even as he pulled his hand away, I felt the heat from
the ring. My grandmother’s bracelet, part of the same silver,
reacted in sympathy, flashing red-hot for an instant.

White Feather yanked at the
band around
his finger. I stared at the witching fork in disbelief. The wand
remained completely dormant.

White Feather ripped the
silver ring
off. I snatched it before it hit the ground. Even with the ring in
one hand and the witching fork in the other, there wasn't a twitch
from the fork.

The skin on my face was
suddenly dry
and tight, stabbed by a thousand needles. The presence from Sarah’s
cabin was with us in the room, but according to the witching fork, it
wasn’t Sarah.

My heart pounding, I spun
on one foot
and slammed the window closed. There were no trees or soil under me,
but the foundation of a house did little to prevent my silver from
reaching Mother Earth.

White Feather stopped
breathing. He
drew me close, my back tight against his front. “Shh,” he
whispered in my ear.

I tried to ground us both
as I had at
the cabin, hoping to keep whatever it was away from him.

The length of his body was
hard against
mine, but his magic was gone. Completely shut down. I reached behind
me, anchoring my hand around his arm, but even then, there was
nothing but a man tensed and ready to fight.

We stood, both of us
holding our
breath. White Feather took a quick sip of air, but held it again.
Puzzled, I followed his example. From his tight hold on me, it was
obvious he was angry, but he had tamped down so completely on his
power, his warlock aura was invisible.

How could he do that? My
power was
strongest in my home, but...yes, perhaps more under my control than
anywhere else.

The tiniest of breezes
touched my hand
through the closed window. Needles stabbed. My silver flared hot
across my wrist. I looked down at my hand expecting blood, but
instead realized
that I
still held
the witching fork with Sarah’s aura.

“Moonlight
madness!” I held the fork up, gaining White Feather’s
attention. Sarah’s aura seemed to attract the ill wind; it must
be linked to her somehow. Every time White Feather used wind around
Sarah's essence it drew the prickling wind like a magnet.

White Feather grabbed the
fork and
shoved the window open. I would have worked the screen free, but he
tossed the fork with such force, the screen blew outward.

His anger rocketed the
screen and fork
away as though propelled by a mini tornado. A strange, almost dead
calm engulfed us while the witching fork spun away end over end.

White Feather drew his
power back then,
but it was too late. A vacuum sucked up the witching fork as if were
the best of the Halloween candy. It splintered into tiny pieces,
lost in a swirl of wind.

Instead of a satisfied
burp, the hungry
zephyr bounced as it tested the air. A tendril, like an arm, funneled
our way. The main rotation touched the ground and started growing.

White Feather cursed. He
clamped down
completely again, but the wind circulated in bursts, sucking in dirt
and sand. When the dirt devil had enough momentum, it began to move
toward us.

“Go!” White Feather grabbed
me around the waist and propelled me into the hallway. My eyes
remained fixed on the tunnel of wind, wondering if it would do any
good to pull at the earth elements joining the fray.

With me in tow, White
Feather rushed
down the hallway and into the master bedroom. “Time to hide.”

“Hide?” I squeaked. “How
do you hide from the wind?”

“That thing, whatever it
is, has
never responded to me. I can’t control it.” White
Feather braced his arms against the dresser. It slid sideways,
revealing a narrow hallway lined with tree roots.

There wasn’t time for White
Feather to explain, but I needed no urging. The wind outside had
risen to a roar.

The moment we were both
tucked inside,
he slid the dresser back in place. White Feather’s harsh
breaths punctuated the darkness next to me. I worked to quiet my own
breathing.

I wasn’t certain where we
were,
but magic radiated all around us. You'd have to be dead to miss it.
The beat was Mother Earth, but more than that, it was the lifeblood
of the desert, earth and forest.

My silver sang as it joined
the choir
of sand, soil, water, and that which had turned into the magic of a
bountiful tree. I molded myself as close to White Feather as
possible, surrounding him with my magic, happily burying us both in
the earth around us.

“Grandfather came to this
spot on
his vision quest.” White Feather's voice was barely audible. “He
found a stand of mesquite with a single oak and a cedar tree. He
added other tree roots as he carved and infused his own magic here.”

“Incredible.” My skin
tingled from the warmth of it. “I thought your grandfather was
a wind witch?”

White Father gave a low
chuckle. “I
never said that. I said he trained me. And this was built by my
grandfather on my mother’s side. My grandfather on my father’s
side trained me.”

“Wow.” No wonder White
Feather commanded so much power. He came from two strong lines. I
was in awe, not only of the magic around me, but of White Feather. His
house was built around a sacred, magical place. That made him a
guardian.

“His talisman was the
forest.”

“That would have been my
first
guess.” As magicals went...well. Not only did he tap directly
into an element for his power, he was a keeper of another, completely
different power.

There was no escaping it.
The roots of
the tree beckoned me. I traced the silky, craggy surface with my
fingers even though it was too dark to see its beauty.

Like a mini landscape,
there were
ridges, valleys, wonderful bends and alleys. I envisioned the copse
of trees as if it still stood in front of me. “The trees must
have been closely knit, sharing water.”

White Feather guided my
hand. “The
cedar was bent over from strong winds. The mesquite not as much.”

I felt the carving of a
wing, the
smooth wood like a balm on my fingertips. Knowing White Feather’s
grandfather was of the forest, I guessed an eagle or a hawk. The
sleek edges indicated Mother Nature had designed the wing, not man.

“Owl,” White Feather said,
spreading my hand across the polished, burled face of the bird. He
moved my fingers to another large carving in the mesquite. “His
mother’s strength was the bear.”

The next section was flat
and long,
ridges notwithstanding. “Wind,” he said.

“It’s gorgeous.” I
inhaled the soaking magic of the cedar, letting the magic wash
through me.

Just past the doorway, we
traced
another carving, one where sharper cuts indicated it had extra help
from his grandfather. Parts of the face were from nature, but the
chin and eyes were gently etched. Hair flowed like a waterfall down
into natural carved robes.

“My grandmother.”

There was a pulse through
my
fingertips. Walking the trail of his ancestors was a power completely
separate from that which was forest, roots and trees. It was his
essence, it was his heritage.

White Feather brought my
fingers to his
lips. Gently he kissed them. In this time and place, it was not a
mere romantic gesture. It was a question; it was a promise. Whether
I answered or not, White Feather had made a pledge to me. It was the
equivalent of a vow in a church, but it was not complete because a
vow required a response.

My heart beat furiously.
“I--” Words failed me.

He moved my fingers to my
lips. “Shh.
You don’t have to answer.” Faint regret edged his voice.
“I’ve been a complete idiot. First I get marked by some
rogue spell. When you show up to help, I invite an ill wind down on
us. I know better than to fight wind with wind.”

For a scant moment, there
was nothing
but silence. Of course there was only one answer, and it wasn’t
words that I lacked, it was courage. How could I live up to any
promise I made him?

Surely, I would fall
entirely too
short.

Nevertheless, I turned his
hand to my
lips and kissed the palm of his hand.

Time stopped. I should have
been
contemplating a spell in case the roof of our haven suddenly blew
off. But at the moment, the wind outside had no meaning.

White Feather crushed my
lips with his
own. It was the same promise, only this time there was no question. I
answered it anyway.

Magic swirled. White
Feather’s
wind flared for only an instant before he yanked back as though
burned. “Now would not be a good time for me to be visible. Not
even here. Especially here.”

It was impossible for me to
stop. I
reached up, my hands on either side of his face, and offered him
another kiss, a promise, perhaps a rash one. I had been kept away
from him for too long.

He did not resist. He
traced my lips
with his tongue, pressing me against the hard wood wall. Our tongues
tangled, and he nearly ripped my shirt, one hand under and one not.
My whole body responded with a rush--as did White Feather’s
wind.

He cursed vehemently.

I panted out a half laugh.

“We need to...that thing
has my
scent. I'm not inviting it in here.”

He was right. The magical
protections
might be the strongest I’d ever felt, but there was no point in
advertising the shelter to the enemy.

My hands trailed down his
arms,
lingering long enough to knead his muscles with great longing.

He gave my ribcage a tight
squeeze.

With regret, and a huge
sigh from me,
we eased apart. “That wind can’t last forever,” he
said.

“I’ll check.”

“No, you won't.”

“You can’t go out there. If
you search ahead with your wind, you'll be detected. It doesn’t
know me. And even if it does, it's not gunning for me. It's attracted
to you or something that links you to Sarah.”

The grinding of his teeth
was very
audible in the quiet. “Not going to happen. If I don’t go
out obviously fighting, I’ll be safe enough. I don’t hear
anything still storming out there.”

I wouldn’t know; I had only
heard
his heartbeat and mine. “I’ll check and then--”

“You are not going out
there
alone.”

No way would I allow him go
alone
either. “Stay linked to me,” I urged, giving up the
argument. “I can’t conceal us completely, but I can
reflect Mother Earth. We’re a blank stretch of sand. We’re
nothing but a bit of this mesquite.”

“Don’t use too much of this
place. It’s imperative that it remain hidden.”

I nodded, but he couldn’t
see me.
“Of course. I only borrow the tiniest bit of essence.” I
removed his ring from my finger and returned it to him. “Take
my bracelet too.” As long as I was sharing, I tore open the
sage packet that was around my neck. “Put these leaves in your
pocket. We are nothing but plants and soil. No threat, no power.”

He didn’t argue.

It was easy to borrow from
the roots. I
was on solid ground as far as magic was concerned. Tying the pieces
from the roots to the sage and silver was as natural as breathing for
me.

When I was ready, I gave
his fingers a
quick squeeze. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

In the quiet of the
retreat, the
tornado hadn’t existed. The lack of noise had fooled me,
creating the illusion that the wind had dispersed as soon as we
disappeared.

White Feather’s room was
nearly
untouched, but the computer monitors were all black. “There’s
a shutoff on the windmill and the feeds,” he said.

I hoped that was good news,
but as soon
as we stepped outside the bedroom door, my hopeful relief turned to
nausea. The entire back of the house, including the guest room where
we had stood, was sheered off. The walls had been crushed and
scattered as rubble.

My mouth gaped. A gentle
breeze and
sunlight bathed my arms. With no walls, it was easy to see into the
backyard where White Feather’s lab had once stood. Like Sarah’s
house, a few pipes remained, one not even twisted. Unlike her house,
White Feather had a concrete foundation under the lab. It was now
almost as pristine as the day it was poured.

White Feather cursed, but
kept his
magic completely quiet. I pulsed the gentle smell of earth around us.
He muttered, “No need. It’s gone.”

“The wind?” I wasn’t
sure if he meant the wind or the house.

“The wind, half the house,
the
lab. The windmills, the solar panels.” He rubbed his chin.
“Most of the kitchen.”

“Oh...no.” I squeezed
White Feather’s hand tighter. The windmill was lying halfway
down the hillside, at least one blade snapped. A slight stirring
moved the air. Was it an innocent breeze?

I took no chances,
countering with more
of Mother Earth, letting it trickle through my silver, running like a
current.