Under Witch Aura (Moon Shadow Series) (3 page)

When he finished, he didn’t
bring
the salt back inside. He stood still for several seconds, his head
tilted as he listened to the secrets that the wind shared only with
him.

He was in his car and
driving away
before I accepted he was leaving. He’d never made me any
promises unless you counted him saving my life. My heart counted
that, even if my mind was willing to let it go. Him leaving wasn’t
precisely a rejection, but my heart didn’t seem to know that
either.

My brain barely overpowered
the part of
me that wanted to burst into frustrated tears. He hadn’t
stopped calling. He had been worried enough to come over here…he
was obviously tense. Very tense.

I tapped my foot. Something
was amiss.
While he'd said he felt better inside my house, he hadn’t
exactly been relaxed. He hadn't even seen the ghost, but he had been
plenty on edge.

Hard as it was to put my
ego aside,
maybe this wasn’t about me. White Feather was obviously holding
something back, and if he thought something in the wind was
dangerous, he wasn’t likely to invite me to investigate.

Well, lack of details had
never stopped
me from tackling problems before. He might not be willing to ask for
help, but as far as I was concerned, an invitation was an unnecessary
formality.

If I had only wanted
Matilda to check
her inventory of spells, I could have called earlier than ten. She
would have grumbled, but even half-zombie, she could check her
inventory. More important than Sarah’s spells, I was curious
about whether Mat had seen Sarah as a ghost. That wasn’t the
type of conversation to have over the phone with Mat half asleep.

Matilda knew almost every
witch in New
Mexico and probably a great many more elsewhere. While most of us
were either too competitive or too secretive to openly discuss
witchery, Matilda ran her business openly just off the Santa Fe
plaza. She sold to tourists, groupies, regular clients, and artists.
If there was ever a group of people likely to hire a witch, it was
the artists. Whether they needed to get in touch with their inner
self or touch someone else, sooner or later, nearly every artist in
the area made their way into Mat’s shop.

My friend played to the
needs of her
clients well. She embodied mystical; cultivating the persona like an
ever-changing work of art. When I walked in, she was fluttering
about the shop in full regalia. Her swirl of tie-dyed robes,
multiple rings and bright colored makeup were fit for a crystal ball
queen. Strangely, she was missing her usual headpiece, which varied
between a tiara and a veil. Today her hair was in an elegant French
twist rather than a teased mass of red curls that shouted, “Goddess.”

Instead of greeting me with
her usual
happy squeal, she was a quiet mouse fretting over a customer. Said
male customer was intently perusing the shelves as though they
contained great tomes of knowledge rather than pretty bottled potions
that promised to grant wishes.

Matilda offered me a
subdued wave. Her
eyes flicked quickly from me to the customer. I had no idea what she
wanted me to do.

“I can come back—“

She shook her head sharply.
Bad guess.
I tried again. “I’ll just browse—“

Her hand fluttered in
panic. Well, if
I couldn’t leave and couldn’t stay, what was I supposed
to do?

The guy swiveled my way.
Matilda
immediately pasted an innocent expression on her face, while I stood
there sputtering like a fish out of water. He smiled at Matilda and
then at me. “I’m Jim.”

Jim reminded me vaguely of
White
Feather, with dark good looks. He was shorter than White Feather, but
probably close to the same age, thirty or so. His shoulders were
wide, like a wrestler. Dark eyes smiled and his skin was pure
Hispanic gold, a lovely shade of tinted sunshine and Mother Earth.

“Uh, hi.” Matilda didn’t
introduce her customers to one another because anonymity was part of
the creed in her shop. I certainly couldn't start asking my questions
in front of him.

Jim and I both looked at
Matilda for
cues, but she had become as still as a store mannequin.

“I’m Adriel,” I
ventured cautiously.

Mat’s eyes lit up and her
shoulders relaxed. Ah. She wanted to introduce us, but with the
unspoken rules, didn’t want to overstep. She rushed to fill in
the gap. “Adriel, I’m so glad you stopped by. Jim, this
is Adriel, my friend.” She batted her eyelashes at him, but in
a subtle flirt rather than her usual flamboyant show.

He offered his hand over
the clothing
rack that marked the middle of the store. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” Since the cat
was out of the bag as far as us being friends, I added, “I’ll
wait in the back. I stopped in to ask Mat about getting together for
dinner later this week.”

Jim smiled and returned his
attention
to Mat. “Oddly enough, so did I.”

It was hard to keep from
giggling at
the pleased expression on my friend’s face. Since I hadn’t
come about dinner, and we could eat together any old time, Mat’s
happiness certainly wasn’t on account of my suggestion. I
ducked through the scarves that separated Mat’s living quarters
from the store. It was impossible not to eavesdrop, especially since
her couch faced the shop.

There was no point in
pretending
disinterest. Giggles overtook me the second the shop door closed
behind him.

Mat appeared in the
doorway. We both
waited until the bell at the front door stopped jingling. Mat even
checked over her shoulder to make sure he was gone before saying
anything. Then, we both talked at once.

Mat said, “I met him at the
Small
Business Association meeting. He didn’t know I was a witch, but
after we went out twice, I mentioned it in passing, and he didn’t
bat an eye!”

“Niiiice,” was my comment.

“This was his first visit
to the
shop. He was in the middle of checking everything out when you came
in. I wasn’t expecting him or anything!” She wrung her
hands for a half second and then said, “Hang on, I’m
gonna close the shop for fifteen so we can talk!” She raced to
the outer door, glanced outside, put her sign up and threw the locks.

I asked from the doorway,
“What
if he returns, and you just closed for a break?”

She skidded to a halt, but
then she
gave me a chiding glance. “Oh, stop it. He won’t come
back right now.” But she did double-check the walk outside,
which prompted a stifled laugh from me.

“I’d ask what you think,”
she said, “but it isn’t like it
matters.”

“Of course not.” I shook my
hand and blew on my fingers. “Hot.”

“He is all of that, isn’t
he?” It was her turn to giggle. “We’ve only been
out a couple of times. I figured once he got a bead on my business,
he’d drift off, but he doesn’t seem to care.”

“Awesome! It’s hard to find
a good man, and it’s almost impossible to keep one after you
come clean.” Normals came in three types: They either didn’t
believe in witches, they believed, but were drooling groupies, or
they thought all witches were loons. “What does he do?”

She shrugged. “He’s an
engineer.”

“At Los Alamos?” My heart
gave a nervous flutter. The engineer status wasn’t the problem.
When White Feather wasn’t helping Gordon, he consulted on wind
projects, but unlike the majority of engineers in Santa Fe, White
Feather wasn't employed at Los Alamos. My limited experience with
scientists there hadn't been all that positive.

“No, Jim works with
computers.”
She smiled reassuringly, because she knew about my recent experience.

“Ah. That sounds safe.”

We chitchatted for a couple
of minutes,
but once her nervous energy dissipated, I said, “I wanted to
ask you about Sarah Damico.”

“Sarah? Up on the hill?”
She waved in the direction of the eastern mountains.

I nodded. “What was she
into? Did
she mess with wind?”

Mat shook her head, but
then clarified,
“Well, aromatherapy and spiritual healing could be considered
air arts.”

“Did she sell much here?”

“Oh, yes. She’s exceptional
with aromatherapy potions. You bought some of her stuff for that big
party you went to, remember?”

“I did?”

“I know, I know, I don’t
identify who sells what, but that’s the kind of thing she does. She
makes potions for atmospheric effects with a lot of herbs to
create the right vibes for healing and stuff. I don’t know if
you used it because you had several potions from different witches.”

Even without a more obvious
hint, I was
almost certain which spell had been Sarah's. I also had an inkling
of how and why Sarah might have chosen to visit me. “Have you
seen her—I mean—“

Mat answered before I could
explain.
“It’s been, oh, a couple of weeks at least. She comes in
about once a month to collect her profits and ask if I need more
inventory.”

“I meant--” I gulped and
started again. “I’ve got some bad news.” Haltingly, I shared my
encounter with Sarah's ghost.

Mat stared at me, her mouth
working.
“Oh. My. But...Well.”

“I must still have one of
her
spells.”

Mat frowned. “You probably
do. But if she came to you because you have some of her spells, why
didn’t she appear in front of me?”

“Maybe you were in bed
where
normal people belong at ten at night?”

She shook her head.
“Lately, I’ve
been out past ten a lot.” She blushed. With her milk-white
complexion there was no hiding it either. “Oh my gosh, can you
imagine how embarrassing it would be if Jim dropped me off and she
appeared?” Her eyes bulged, and the becoming flush deepened to
a crimson of worry.

“Maybe the concrete around
here
interferes with her ghost abilities. It tends to block me from Mother
Earth to some degree.”

Mat nodded, but then shook
her head.
“My magic works fine.” She chewed on her lipstick. “She
might still show up here. Wouldn't that be interesting?” She
obviously couldn't decide whether seeing the ghost was more important
than the consequences if she did.

“You might want to try to
avoid
her until we figure out what is going on. In the meantime, can I buy
one of her spells? I want one that is definitely hers.”

“Hmm. Let me see what I
have
left. I keep records of what everyone buys also. If she is
attracted to something you still have, I can tell you which spell it
is.” Mat moved to her desk.

Sorting the records on her
computer
only took her a few seconds. “Oh darn. I only have one of hers
left. I'll have to charge a premium since it can't be made again.”
She cross-checked her shelves and quickly located a coarse pottery
jar. Her thumb rubbed along the edge as though soaking up the vibes.

“You might not want to sell
it to
the general public until we determine whether or not Sarah plans to
follow her spells around and make appearances.”

Mat tilted her head.
“You’re
right. That might make it even more valuable.”

That hadn’t been what I was
getting at. “Mat--”

“Let’s check which spells I
sold you.” With great care, she set the jar on the computer
table. Her fingers danced over the keyboard again. “You bought
two of hers. Serenity—it’s a gorgeous blue smoke that
sets a soothing mood spell, and one other that does essentially the
same thing in a green jar labeled, 'Forest.'”

It wasn't hard to remember
which spells
I had employed during the party because the special effects had saved
the life of my client and quite possibly my own skin. “I must
still have Forest.”

Mat touched the jar. “So I
can
keep this? I'll sell it to you if you need it.”

I smiled, completely
understanding. The
spell was valuable and likely to grow more potent over time.
Depending on the witch and how each spell was ultimately used, in the
hands of the right witch, the remaining spell held a lot of
potential.

“I'm certain I still have
the
forest one. If I can't find it, I'll let you know.” I hated to
think what Mat would charge me. We were friends, so she would be
reasonable, but that in itself was a charge—on our friendship.

Mat grinned happily and
followed me to
the front where we exchanged hugs. She stood in the doorway while I
retreated across the broken sidewalks of Santa Fe. No doubt she was
daydreaming over whether she could make more money by waiting to sell
the spell or by selling it now because it might come with a ghostly
visit.

I rubbed at sudden
goosebumps. No one
deserved to run into Sarah's miserable ghost.

I drove home, eagerly
anticipating the
next couple of hours with White Feather, even if it meant
investigating Sarah's musty old cabin.

My mood took an instant
nosedive when I
pulled in my driveway. The scrawny brown cat from the night before
waited on the porch railing. Its tail twitched as it watched me watch
it from the car. There was no howl this time, and it was broad
daylight, but I surveyed the area very carefully before edging out of
the car.

The cat was even smaller
without
nighttime shadows dancing across it. Hunched down, it was barely
bigger than a kitten.

My heart beat faster. I
listened so
intently it was impossible to actually hear anything.

We stood, facing off, for
at least
thirty seconds. When the blood stopped rushing around my head and
nothing suspicious appeared, I finally asked, “Well? What are
you here for?”

It regarded me unblinking
and
soundless.

My yard wasn’t overgrown,
but it
was outside the city limits with no close neighbors so it was in its
natural desert state. It could hide a careful live person and
certainly a determined ghost.

I approached the house
sideways to
prevent anything from sneaking up behind me.