Under Witch Aura (Moon Shadow Series) (15 page)

But what did the sand
painting have to
do with the ill wind? Was Sarah the witch who spelled the sand
painting for Claire? Or was the ill wind at Sarah's cabin a separate
problem?

Now wasn't the time to find
answers to
all of the puzzles. No matter who was responsible or how, the most
important task was to understand what the spell was doing to White
Feather and stop it cold.

After several trips to the
lab, I
organized the supplies next to the painting. Rune magic was a hidden
magic; its aura was contained in the diagrams. I might sense
something if it reacted against foreign magic, but that was
dangerous, and I wasn’t taking any risks.

I compared the picture to
those in my
reference book on Indian lore and legends. Not surprisingly, the
painting didn't match any in the book exactly, but it was very
similar to the bear and snake story.

I traced out the main
pattern,
examining each symbol against the legend. There were two pursuers,
Big Snake Man and Bear Man, trying to win two maidens. In Claire's
painting, the roles were switched; instead of two maidens at east and
west there was a round head, indicating a male. The butterflies,
which represented the maidens, took the position where the bear and
snake were in the original.

Rather than bear tracks
indicating
pursuit, there was a worm or insect squiggle leading to the male
figure being chased. There was no reference to such a symbol, but the
painting tradition was generally passed down by personal teaching, so
the book didn't cover everything.

As spells went it made
sense for Claire
to replace the original characters with herself and White Feather so
that she could “win” White Feather back. But what Indian
in his right mind would turn a sacred ritual into this abomination?
Had Sarah gotten that desperate for business and gone rogue?

Sand paintings were an
important part
of the Navajo holy tradition. They were the way to the spirits, an
attempt to gain intercession, a healing and a way to return to proper
balance. Colors mattered, the time of creation, the types of sand
used; all were of utmost importance. They weren’t done for
rejected girlfriends.

“How did Claire expect this
to
succeed?” To complete the ceremony, White Feather had to be
present. The Chant had to be completed, the right words recited.

Perhaps she intended to use
herself as
the center rather than the Chanter. She could activate the painting
by duplicating it elsewhere, paint the associated symbols on herself
and hope the holy people responded to her request even though the
required players weren't all present and accounted for.

Thinking of the holy people
focused my
attention on another peculiar aspect. I double-checked my reference,
but Claire's painting wasn’t a duplication of a traditional
painting. It was an invented rune with an entirely different purpose.

“No, that can’t be.” I
shifted to the other side. “Is it upside-down?” Now
I’d have to figure out the orientation of the males and females
all over again.

“What?” Tara's shadow fell
over the picture.

“Back, back,” I waved.
Looking at the text I muttered, “Corn?” The corn in the
original was bottom right. “This picture is wrong. The artist
didn’t know what he was doing!” Then again, sometimes an
item was left out or changed in order to avoid setting off a spell
unintentionally.

I ran my finger down the
text as I
read. “Tobacco…sweet tobacco to lure the maidens. It has
to be there, right?” The literature didn’t tell me about
luring a man. “Maybe to lure the man, the artist didn’t
use tobacco. No, no, that’s it, there at the top left in
Claire’s picture.

“Squash at the top right.
The
bean plant at the bottom right and the corn at the top left.”
Near as I could tell, the sacred plants had been rotated, which, if I
was reading it right, left the opening to the spirits at the
west
side of the painting rather than the east. The painting was a
complete reversal of the original in that aspect.

I needed another set of
eyes. “Lynx,
do you know anything about sand paintings?”

“Nope.” He shook his head
and then crossed himself.

“Hmph.” He was conveniently
religious when scared of a greater power. Unlike Tara, he stood well
back. His hand was wrapped protectively around her arm to prevent her
from getting too close.

“What is it?” Tara asked.

“I’m not sure. The four
sacred plants are in the wrong place in this painting. It could be
accidental, but either way, it’s a problem.”

Lynx finally leaned a
little closer.
“Why?”

I pointed. “All sand
paintings
are a call for help or intercession from the holy people. See these
rainbows along the sides?” Without touching the picture, I
pointed to the three colored bands bordering three sides. “Those
are protection bars against evil. In a real painting, only the east
is left open. It’s patrolled by special guards, but left open
for holy people to answer the call.

“Claire’s picture has three
sides guarded too, but the sacred crops are rotated and the people in
the picture are shifted. I’m not sure which are gods and which
are supposed to represent people.”

Lynx came around to stand
behind me. He studied the book, then the picture on the ground. He used
the sun
to orient the picture, tilting his head as he moved the diagram
around mentally.

His ears flattened suddenly
and his
eyes snapped to mine for confirmation.

I nodded. “The spirit
opening on
this painting where spirits can enter is from the
west
,
isn’t
it?”

Lynx frowned, but he didn’t
disagree.

“So?” Tara shrugged. “Maybe
Claire made a mistake. She isn’t a witch. She probably didn’t
know.”

Lynx took Tara’s arm and
hissed,
“The holy people come only from the east.”

I swallowed and scooted a
bit further
away myself. “Whoever drew this must not have been calling for
help from the holy people.” That left a rather large question
of just who Claire thought she was calling. The other directions were
guarded for a reason; they were guards against evil. “This is
bad news.”

Lynx made a barely audible
growl.

“Claire must have used
something
of White Feather’s to link him to the painting.” That
wasn’t normal for sand paintings. Links usually came during a
purifying ceremony. In this case, who knew what she had tried?

More importantly, how could
I reverse
it? The sand had been sprayed and glued down. A real painting had to
be destroyed in a specific way after a ceremony so as not to anger
the holy people. “Wind,” I muttered. “Sun, earth
and rain.” The elements could destroy this painting and in that
way take back the power. “But I need him here.” I wasn’t
about to destroy a spell unless I was absolutely certain he wouldn't
be hurt by the dismantling.

I wanted to find White
Feather
immediately, dismantle the spell and then hunt down the witch who had
done this. This spell had to be the reason he had felt a need to stay
home. When he had started leaving the house to solve the ghost
problem, he must have unconsciously moved Tara’s purse to the
car, keeping the painting near his person.

“Lynx, can you convince
White
Feather to come here without telling him exactly what we’ve
found?”

“Should be easy enough
since I
don’t know what this thing is.” He whipped a cell phone
out of his pocket, a phone I didn't even know he owned.

“No! Not over the phone. I
don’t
want to warn him in case this spell has some sort of trigger to
prevent him from examining it too closely.”

Lynx flipped the phone shut
one-handed. “You’re the boss. We’ll find him and haul him in.”
He reached for Tara's hand.

“Wait!” I'd rather hire a
murder convict than work with Tara, but she was my best bet at the
moment. “Tara you've already handled the painting so whatever
harm can be done is done. I need you to stay here and help me get
started.”

Tara glanced at Lynx and
then back at
me. Her mouth pursed into a tight line. Finally, sweetly, oh, so
sweetly, she asked, “How about I be the sacrificial lamb when
we get back with White Feather?”

My temper flared, but her
accusation
was on the money for the most part. Asking for her participation in
front of White Feather wouldn't be as easy. “It would be nice
to have your help now.”

She rolled her eyes. “I'm
not
afraid of it. There's no spell on it, and White Feather will know it.
He's way better than you.”

Lynx frowned. His nose
twitched, but
spells like this didn't carry a warning smell. Gently he tugged
Tara's hand, a silent plea.

I'd like to believe he took
my side
over hers, but his decisions were always prioritized by one factor.
Survival. His.

“I'll be back,” he said,
drawing Tara into a kiss. He whispered something in her ear.

I ignored them in favor of
contemplating how to contain the painting. It had a clay base, which
would absorb many evils—and also protect it from
counter-magics. The sands used in the picture were specific earth
elements. If I surrounded it with more earth elements, it might
accidentally strengthen rather than contain it.

When in doubt, use water.
It would at
least block or dilute the magic. It would also soak the clay base and
start weakening the bonds.

“Boxes, bowls...no, ceramic
is
too close to clay. Wood would absorb and also block.” After
all, plants essentially “ate” soil. They were also great
purifiers. If I grew a tree on top of it everything would be just
fine—if only White Feather had fifty years to wait.

“Then again...Aha!” I
gestured to Tara. She had long since given up on my mumblings and
stood wordlessly, looking bored. “Don't disturb anything.”

To the lab I went. Scooting
a stool to
the high window ledge, I picked up the heavy clay pot containing my
largest aloe plant. The pot was clay, but the drainage dish was
clay-colored plastic; my way of saving money.

I made my way along the lab
shelves
selecting and then discarding numerous jars. “Holy water…”
It was only a small vial. I needed a pitcher-full. Maybe I should
start keeping holy water in a five-gallon bucket.

“What is that?” Tara asked
from the doorway.

If I didn't care so much
about White
Feather, I would have spelled Tara to never appear in my vicinity
ever again. She couldn't follow the simplest of instructions. The
idiot was more of a liability than a help. Biting back a rude
reprimand, I said, “Holy water. Come on.”

Thankfully, she stayed
close on my
heels as I raced back outside. “Put the painting in the dish
while I start the garden hose.”

Even though she had touched
it before,
I kept a wary eye on her while she did as I asked. “Okay, stand
back.”

She rolled her eyes and
barely stepped
away from the painting. I emptied the vial of holy water on top of
it.

The water dribbled off the
side,
forming small puddles in the plant dish. Nothing on the picture
moved. The sand was protected by the sprayed lacquer, but not for
much longer.

I trained the hose on the
picture.

The dish filled and
overflowed. Unless
a spell had an affinity for water, it couldn’t travel through
it.

Once the dish was full and
the ground
around it nicely soaked, I returned to the side of the house to shut
off the water. Perhaps because the painting hadn’t reacted to
the holy water, I wasn’t as guarded as I should have been.

Despite closing the tap,
the hissing of
water didn't stop. I doubled checked the faucet, but the tap was
closed. The water was off, but the hissing escalated to a loud
gurgle.

Most of the painting was
hidden inside
the plastic container. “Tara, get back!”

She had never really
believed there was
magic in that painting, not until the gurgle turned into a spray of
steam that burst upwards in a mini volcanic burst.

My heart needed the blood
that drained
from my face. I lurched into Tara with my shoulder, knocking her away
and putting myself between her and the painting.

“Mayan--” The plastic dish
was
melting
.

Tara scrambled to her feet
and then
uttered a very unladylike word. Unthinking, I snapped my elbow back,
jabbing her hard. “Shh! Never use those words around evil.
Don’t give evil spirits fuel, don’t beckon jesters or
demons. Ever.”

I hurried back to the tap
and turned it
on full blast. It gushed across what was left of the plastic and
sloshed onto the painting. “We need some wet wood. There’s
some sage in the garden. Do you know what it looks like?”

She nodded. For perhaps the
first and
only time, she rushed to help without arguing.

“Should have put some herbs
in
there to start with.” My stomach knotted. Water should have
blocked the spell, but what if my messing with the magic caused it to
attack White Feather's mind or bind him tighter?

My jaw clenched. I kept the
water going
full blast.

Tara came running back. Her
face was
always pasty because of the white makeup she wore, but now her eyes
were wide and scared, a lot like my own. “What do I do with
it?”

That was a problem. The
leaves would
float away because of the water. “Keep your foot on the hose
so it doesn't move away.” I waited for her to position her
foot. The painting continued to sit in the growing puddle of sandy
mud.

“I need logs, something to
get it
away from Mother Earth.” I was up the steps before I remembered
her inclination to ignore orders. “Don’t get close. Don’t
use curse words, spells or anything that sounds like a spell. Yell if
anything changes and get yourself on the porch. If worse comes to
worst, hose yourself down. Keep the water between you and the
painting.”