Under Witch Aura (Moon Shadow Series) (2 page)

“Adriel?”

My pause had been too long.
“Your
brother needs to search for a body,” I squeaked, “to go
with the ghost that showed up on my doorstep.”

He may have dropped his
keys. “Call
me on my cell if it shows up again. I’m on my way.”

I hung up, checked the
window and
paced. There wasn’t time to research ghosts, but there had to
be some basic precautions that would help.

I hurried back to my lab
and surveyed
the shelves full of bottles, beakers, special stones and piles of
notes. The potent cayenne of a rista worked the same way garlic did
against vampires. Since creatures that crept about in the dark were
the problem, it might come in handy.

A gun would do me
absolutely no good at
all, silver bullets notwithstanding. I added another crucifix to my
neck, put a spare in my pocket and kept my silver dagger handy.

On the way back to the
living room, I
caught sight of myself in the mirror. My golden-hued skin was
abnormally pale. The funny green hazel streak in my left eye stood
out against the otherwise ordinary brown.

I smoothed the wrinkles
from my t-shirt
with my hands, but it was hopeless. With White Feather on his way, I
should be wearing something more attractive. My iron hadn't been used
on clothing since...probably ever. It was in the lab for heating
spell packets.

If I had bigger boobs maybe
the
wrinkles would stay stretched out. My figure was average, and like
most Hispanics, on the short side, stretching to hit five six. At
least I wasn’t fat. Witches got a lot of exercise chasing
clients and practicing spells. At least I did.

Thinking of spells
refocused my
attention on the problem at hand. If Sarah threw a ghostly spell at
me, it wasn’t likely to be an act of kindness. “Arrowheads!”
They were an effective tool against evil spirits. Since they tended
to interfere with my own spells, they weren't in the lab.

Scurrying into the living
room, I
counted three stones up from the fireplace mantle and one over,
muttering a release spell. The silver box hiding behind the stones
wasn't heavy.

The arrowheads inside were
almost like
Mother Earth, calling my essence, but unlike the steady drumbeat of
her song, it was a gentle siren, tugging without offering anything
back. It was a calming feeling, but at the same time, a smothering
one.

I selected the obsidian
arrowhead
because obsidian had natural protections against illness. Who knew
what diseases Sarah might have picked up from her new, dead friends?
Maybe those spots on her arm weren't from anything that occurred
while she was alive.

With the arrowhead in my
pocket, I
positioned myself next to the window. If any ghosts attacked White
Feather, they'd better have an open portal to return to their home
base because I'd hit them with enough spells to re-kill them three
times over.

It wasn't long before the
headlights of
his Prius sedan cut across the yard and merged with the light from
the porch. The only things out of place were my unlucky groceries,
scattered on the ground, forgotten.

The car, like the man, was
stealthy,
coasting to a silent stop. White Feather took his time, shutting the
lights off and allowing his eyes to adjust to the dark before easing
out of the car.

Not taking chances, I raced
to the
front door and yanked it open, ready to go out fighting or usher him
in if he had to make a run for it.

He retrieved the grocery
bags without
breaking stride. Only the turn of his head and the tautness of his
shoulders indicated his wariness.

I couldn’t sense his magic,
even
though I knew its caress; the heady perfume of a nighttime breeze,
the elements of heat carried on the wind, and the scents of life in
the air. While my magic was of the earth, White Feather’s
talent was of the wind. He compelled it and controlled it. The way I
spoke to Mother Earth, he spoke to Father Sky.

Tonight, he kept his wind
close. His
magic barely brushed against me as he reached the porch. It was only
the lightest of touches before it was gone.

He stepped inside. I
slammed the door.

He held out one of the
grocery bags. “I
didn’t see anyone.” He smiled at me then, but he didn’t
touch me.

My heart stopped anyway.
His eyes were
the color of trees; a deep green with black lashes that matched his
thick, wavy hair.

“Anything,” I corrected.
“You didn’t see any
thing.
”

I finally accepted the
grocery bags.
Sadly, I heard a sickening crunch. It only took a minute to confirm
my suspicions. “Rats. Only two of the eggs survived.”
Gourmet cook I was not. Since dating White Feather, I had been wined
and dined--until he had suddenly become preoccupied. For the last
two weeks, I had been forced back to my previous diet of omelets and
pasta.

“What happened?” White
Feather asked. His eyes flicked around the living room and kitchen.
A counter divided the two rooms. An ancient round oak table and
chairs sat in the combined dining and living space. My parents' old,
brown leather couch hugged one wall and a newer, beige easy chair sat
next to it. Unless you counted the fireplace, the only other piece of
furniture was a square table where I had kept my television until it
stopped working.

My lab was the largest room
in the
house and the most frequently used. It contained my computer, which,
with the television broken, filled in as a purveyor of news.
Apparently it wasn’t sufficient because when I finished telling
White Feather about the ghost, he seemed to know more than I did.

“Was this Sarah person one
of
those nuts claiming homestead rights on forest land and living in a
shack?” he asked.

She had no address, because
it was
pretty much as he described. “Yes, she lived near the free
range land, but in the hills, toward the ski resort. Her place was an
old ranch or mining property she claimed belonged to her grandfather
before the forest became forest land.”

“That’s the one. No one
could prove she wasn’t the grandkid because no one could prove
who lived there. She’s been squatting out there for five years
while the government argues with her. There was a fire at her cabin
three days ago. My brother mentioned it because of the explosion, and
the fact that he didn’t find anyone. He figured she'd moved
on.”

I gulped. “Not in time.”

“Apparently not.” He
stuffed his hands in his pockets and paced away from the kitchen
counter. “You checked the rest of the house?”

“I went in the lab. I don’t
think she can cross the threshold into my house. I’m not sure
what attracts a ghost in the first place, but she is still a witch,
right?”

“Technically, yes.” His
face was pensive, tired. He combed his hair back with one hand, but
he hadn’t cut it lately so the ends curled against his neck.

“My various protections
against
other witches and evil spirits
should
keep her
out. Of course,
I’m not certain she’s an evil spirit. All I know is that
she didn’t like me raising silver against her.”

“Would that have bothered
her in
life?”

“Not that I know of. She
wasn’t
a shifter.”

“Hmph.”

While I fumbled with
putting the
groceries away, he checked the place over. I felt the flash of his
wind and a stir in the air as he sent his magic out ahead of him.
Neat trick and one I wanted to learn. I had been meaning to ask him
how he did it because I intended to devise a similar spell using
earth magic, but lately, I wasn’t all that sure where I stood
with him. He hadn’t shut me out, but he’d been too
busy—or something.

Just looking at him made my
heart ache. Or tingle. Well, both.

When he returned to the
living room, I
wiped my hands on a towel and asked, “So, uh, what else is
new?”

He laughed either at my
nervousness or
the lameness of the question. “Hell if I know.” He
stepped toward me and then stopped at the counter, bracing his body
against it with his hands in a half leaning position. “I've had
to spend a lot of time at home lately.”

“Oh?” My heart beat faster,
hoping the reason would somehow be good news.

“There's something in the
wind.”
White Feather didn't use that statement as an expression. The wind
for him was a link to a whole different level of information. It
could mean that the wind carried a message from the past or future. It
could be a warning or, on the more mundane side, just portend a
bad storm on the way.

“I've got wards at the
house, and
every time I leave it feels like they’ve triggered, but when I
get home, everything seems fine. I can't figure out what's wrong. All
the way over here, there was pressure from the wards, and this
incident of yours has me thinking. Maybe it's a ghost. At my place.”

“You think so? Sarah didn't
set
off any of my protections. But the silver definitely bothered her.
Did you know Sarah?”

“No, but it wouldn't have
to be
her. I guarantee you that something is messing with my wards. Now
that I'm inside your house, the warning isn't as intense, but if I
hadn’t already had dozens of false alarms in the last couple of
weeks, I’d be positive that someone was at my house breaking
in.”

The protective spells
around my house
were set to keep out all forms of evil, spells and other mischief.
His were likely similar only in a wind form rather than earth. “My
spells might be blocking whatever is in the wind. Or even the wards
from your place.”

“Possibly. After adding
more
wards, I was certain I was closing in on the problem, but now I’m
not so sure.” He tapped one finger on the counter. “One
problem at a time. First thing we should do is take a look at Sarah’s
house in the morning. We might spot something Gordon missed. The
police crew wouldn't have expended more than the basics on the case
because with her gone it was actually a problem solved.”

“Okay.” I turned and hung
the towel across a cabinet door to hide the confusion in my eyes. Why
hadn't he told me something was in the wind two weeks ago? He hadn’t
asked for my help either, and that stung a bit. More than a bit.

“Was Sarah a wind witch?”
he asked.

“Not that I know of. She
was into
aromatherapy, but her main talent was healing auras—grounding
oneself, finding spiritual peace and stuff like that. Matilda would
know more about what she might have been into lately.” White
Feather had only met my best friend in passing, but everyone knew
Mat.

She ran the most popular
witch shop in
Santa Fe, flaunting her abilities in front of the world. Since most
witches didn’t want a public face or reputation, Mat was also a
rare witch who sold other witches’ spells on consignment.
“Before we go out to Sarah’s house I’ll talk to
Mat. She might have some of Sarah’s spells for resale that will
help us trace her.”

“You don’t have anything of
hers?”

“Not a thing. It doesn’t
make sense that she came here. We weren’t close at all, even
though I’ve known her since high school. She admitted openly
that she was a witch, but she didn’t like competition.”

“She must have been keeping
track
of you.”

“She had no reason to. I
see
her...” The truth still hadn't settled in my brain. “I
used to see her around Santa Fe a few times a year in the grocery
store, but that was it.”

He said, “Well, if she’s
dead,” I snorted rudely, but he continued, “I’m
guessing there’s a body out there somewhere. We may as well
find it.”

Someone had to look for
her, and it
appeared that we had been nominated. “I’ll stop by Mat’s
shop as soon as she opens at ten and see if she has something of
Sarah's. We could head up the mountain by eleven or after lunch.”
Matilda was not a morning person. If she hadn’t had four cups
of coffee, I'd get a dose of attitude with muddled answers to my
questions.

It would also be nice if we
could go to
lunch together before hiking up the mountain, but I didn't want to
push it. Feeling vulnerable, I avoided his eyes.

As my gaze shifted
nervously, I noticed
his knuckles. He held onto the edge of the counter hard enough to
bruise his hands. The muscles across his wide shoulders were bunched
and tight, but his voice didn't betray any tension.

“Sounds good. I’ll pick you
up at eleven.” He turned toward the door. “You’ll
be okay tonight?”

“Sure,” I said, not having
any idea if it was a lie or the truth.

“I’ll take one more look
around before I go.”

I stayed in the kitchen,
pretending
there were still groceries to put away while he prowled through the
two bedrooms and my attached workroom.

“Nothing and no one,” he
announced as he came back into the living room.

“I’m pretty sure she can’t
come into the house. I’ll do some research on ghosts and see if
there are protections I can add.”

“Good idea. I don't want
you in
any danger. Maybe she found you through me somehow.”

“That doesn't make any
sense.”

“Neither does whatever is
in the
wind. Call my cell phone if she shows up again.”

I nodded.

He started to leave, but
changed his
mind and pulled me in fast. As kisses went, it was almost sterile;
quick and hard, but I wasn’t about to complain. He let me go
and grabbed the doorknob. “Do you have any salt? It’s a
weak protection, but it will keep most ghosts at bay.”

Salt was a good blocker
against evil
spirits, and the adobe already had some baked in, but an extra
sprinkle wouldn’t hurt.

My kitchen cupboard yielded
a large
container of Morton’s best.

He took it from me and
said, “Lock
up.”

From past experience, I
knew he would
listen for the locks. From the window, I watched him disappear
around the side of the house, sprinkling the salt over his shoulder.
The porch light showed the salt landing in a precise line, pushed
there by a helpful air drift from White Feather.