Under Witch Aura (Moon Shadow Series) (7 page)

“I don’t…I don’t
have any place.”

Okay, she didn’t know how
to
center herself. “Your room at home. Walk into it and list every
object.”

Again the furrow of
concentration. By
the time we were done here, her makeup would be permanently creased.
“Out loud,” I instructed. “Close your eyes. It’s
dark and you are in your room to retrieve an object from your desk.”

She blinked at me. “My desk
is on
the other side of the room. My bed is in the center.”

“Turn the light on.”

Reflexively, her right hand
relaxed as
her mind thought of reaching up. The stick in her hand swiveled
toward the faucet. Predictably, she tightened her grip.

“Uh-uh. Let it go where it
wants. You’re busy in your room.”

She stared down at the
stick in her
hand. “It moved.”

No matter how hard White
Feather had
tried, Tara had not believed in magic. If it had ever moved for her,
she had never believed.

I smiled. Her mouth gaped
as though she
had just witnessed a miracle. “List the contents of your room,”
I said softly.

We went through several
iterations, but
the girl was seriously stressed over the whole magic thing. When she
finally got both sticks to swivel simultaneously in the direction of
the faucet, I was almost as happy as she was. Unfortunately, she
forgot to breathe, which became evident when she suddenly staggered
sideways and hit the bookcase.

“Easy, take it easy.” I
shoved the stool under her. “Put your head down. I think you’re
getting a handle on it.”

She leaned over, her head
in her hands.
“This is hard.”

The problem, of course, was
that it
wasn’t. I’d never seen a witch or even a normal nearly
pass out from trying so hard. “Yes,” I lied, “it
is.”

She glared at me through
the curtain of
her hair. Maybe she sensed the lie, or maybe she hated showing
weakness because she said, “You know my brother will never date
you.”

I blinked. “What?”

“I know that’s why you’re
helping me, but it won’t matter. Even if you teach me.”
She waved one of the willow sticks. “After Claire, he won’t
ever date anyone again that knows he’s a warlock, no matter
what.”

At the name of another
woman, my heart
jerked to an uncertain stop, as frozen as the rest of me. Then it
pounded hard, sending blood up my neck, flushing my cheeks. By the
smirk on her face, it was obvious she was satisfied with stabbing me.
The little bitch could be lying, but she probably knew it wouldn’t
be easy to ask White Feather about it.

“Be that as it may,” I
managed, “we teased a little bit of talent into showing today.” I
indicated the sticks with the wave of my hand. “Take those
home with you. See where they lead you. Next time you come, tell me
what they are set for.”

Petty, yes. I could have
told her they
were set to water, and she could have practiced. But this way, she
couldn’t cheat by forcing the sticks to lead when she wasn’t
centered and relaxed properly. And if she didn’t discover what
they were drawn to, I’d know she hadn’t been brave enough
to practice—or that she had failed.

I smiled for real. She
could push me if
she wanted to, but she had better know that White Feather’s
sister or not, bitchy could be a two-way street.

I turned my back on her and
led the way
out of the lab. Reciting the ingredients to a basic spell almost
kept me from gnashing my teeth while we waited in the living room for
White Feather to arrive.

The first car to roll up
the dirt
driveway was not White Feather's Prius. It was a white Mustang.

My jaw dropped when Lynx
climbed out. I
knew that one of his more unsavory cohorts had sold him a fake ID,
because Lynx had rented his first apartment. He wanted a house, but
couldn’t pass the tougher scrutiny into his background or
earnings.

There was a part of me that
wanted to
help him with a house deal, but the more intelligent part of my brain
recognized he was not a good credit risk. Despite a steady income
from the underground, the kid knew way too much about abandonment. He
was a survivor, first, second and last. He was not capable of placing
any other person—and certainly not their money--above his own
survival, not after living on the streets for so long.

Scrutinizing the pristine
car and the
kid sauntering up my porch steps, I was stunned at what a fake ID
could do for a person these days. What did he want with a car anyway?
When he needed speed or stealth, he went bobcat.

Then again, he was entering
the world
of grownups, including the normal world. The Mustang indicated that
he was entering on better terms than I had when I turned eighteen.

He paused to wait patiently
for White
Feather, who drove up and parked next to him.

Since I was being nosy and
making no
attempt to hide it, I opened the door before either could knock.

“Hi.” I raised an eyebrow
and tilted my head toward the Mustang. “Nice wheels.”

“Thanks.”

If he knew I was choking
back questions
like, “When did you learn to drive?” and “Where did
you get a car like that?” he didn’t bother to assuage my
curiosity.

“How did it go?” White
Feather asked, replacing my worries with his own.

Lynx smiled at Tara. “Bet
it went
okay.”

Tara nodded. “Can’t
complain.”

“Told you she’s good. You
ready for some chow?”

She smiled. “Anything. I’m
starved.”

Lynx, in a gentlemanly
manner I had
never before witnessed from him, took the door from my limp fingers
and held it open for Tara. They both walked out.

White Feather and I stared
after them,
speechless. My mouth moved, but no sounds came out.

After the dust settled in
the driveway,
he faced me. “I thought you said if I didn’t tell her who
to date, she’d pick better dates.”

“Didn't they just meet?”

“Far as I know.”

“How could they—what just
happened here?”

“I think
Lynx
just
took
my sister
on a
date.”

I tried to think of a
silver lining.
“It could be worse.”

His eyes widened. “He’s a
shifter.”

“She’s a witch,” I
said. “Probably. She should be able to handle herself and,
well, it is Lynx.” On second thought, that really wasn’t
a huge reassurance.

“Are you trying to tell me
that
he isn’t like every other guy out there, more than happy to
take advantage of my little sister?”

“She’s not that little! And
neither is Lynx. I don’t think I know how to handle this.”

He indicated the still open
door. “I
think it’s been taken out of our hands.”

There was that.

I had obviously missed out
on several
conversations, including the one I should have had with White Feather
about his past relationships. It took superhuman effort to keep from
blurting out questions about the mysterious “Claire.”
There was no point in coming across as a jealous shrew. If I couldn’t figure out who she was on my own, maybe I’d hire Lynx.

The very thought made my eyes water.
Hire Lynx to look into my private business? Was I losing my mind???

White Feather misread my
upset. “It's
just food. It can't be that bad. It is Lynx.”

I nodded. “Right.”

He let out a huge, pent-up
breath. “I
brought something to show you, although I was planning on waiting
until later. Since Tara left, now is as good a time as any.”

“Okay.”

“It’s...ugly. Maybe this
isn’t such a good idea.”

“Can’t hurt to look.” In my
opinion, it was past time he asked for my professional opinion
with whatever was going on.

He stalled. “That arm
doesn’t
look good.”

I lifted it. My entire
forearm was
puffy. “Cactus needles. They’ll work themselves out.”

His eyebrows drew into a
frown, but the
arm couldn't be helped at the moment. Reluctantly, he led the way to
his car. From the passenger side, he extracted a clear plastic bag
from the glove box. It was labeled, but I didn’t need to read
it to know its contents.

Charred, human bone. An
aura came from
it that reached me all the way to where I stood near the hood.

“Gordon did a quick search
with a
cadaver dog at the site this afternoon. He found three fragments like
this one, probably the same person. Gordon is running tests, of
course.”

The aura was a spiteful,
hateful wave.
I had feared Sarah and her ghost. This aura was even stronger and
more defined. My skin crawled now, just as it had then. “I
think it’s Sarah.”

White Feather didn’t
respond. He
stared down at the bones, fingering the side of the plastic. His
focus bordered on fixation.

My eyes widened. The damn
bone—or
the aura--was beckoning him. I swooped in and snatched the bag. My
arm jerked with pain. It felt as if someone had just rubbed sandpaper
across the embedded cactus needles.

I dropped the bag and
leaned over,
suddenly needing more oxygen.

“Hey,” White Feather
protested. “That's evidence!”

When he leaned to retrieve
it, I kicked
it aside. “Don’t touch it! Don’t pick it up without
silk!” My kick did little to move the bag. He easily scooped
it up.

“This is crime evidence,
not a
football!”

“White Feather.” Still bent
over, I held up a flat hand to indicate I wasn’t the threat.
“Drop the bag.”

He looked unreasonably
hurt. “My
brother expects this to be returned intact. You can't go around
destroying evidence.”

“It’s contaminated, White
Feather. You need to put it down.”

“It’s in plastic. It’s
fine.” He wasn’t letting go of the bag.

“It's toxic. That magic is
not
contained by that plastic bag.” Even though I was no longer
touching it, the vibes stabbed at me with malicious intent. We
needed some silk or more silver. Or a miracle.

“Don't be ridiculous. I
knew I
should have left you out of this.”

I removed my bracelet.
“Here.
Put this around the bone.” My heart stuttered a protest. My
bracelet had years of accumulated magic associated with it.
Direct
exposure to the bone
could ruin it.

White Feather glared at me
in disgust.
“I need to check the house.” He slammed the passenger
side door and headed for the driver's side.

“White Feather!” I grabbed
his arm, but he didn't slow down. “Wait!” The sandy
driveway provided zero leverage. “Don’t you want to know
if it belongs to Sarah?”

He kept the bone protected
with one
arm. “We can’t prove it without something of hers.”

“I have something of hers,
remember? I can do the test!” My grip on him was hampered by my
bracelet so I let it drop to the ground. The result was instantaneous
and disastrous.

The full force of the aura
hit me. The
smell of burned sulfur and rotting meat knocked me off my feet.
“White--” But it was only a choking noise. My lungs
compressed, hungry for oxygen as though they had collapsed
completely.

Half on the ground, I
floundered until
my fingers found my bracelet. It took a second or two, but my lungs
expanded. The stench of sulfur lessened enough for me to breathe.
“White Feather! I can do the test.”

He blinked, but instead of
looking at
me, he stared at the spot where I had been standing. “Do you
really have something of Sarah’s?”

“I told you so at the
cabin,
remember?”

His hold on the bone didn't
lessen, but
his hand dropped from the car door handle.

I stood, relieved.

His gaze remained focused
somewhere
behind me. The green of his eyes was dull, faded. He didn't seem to
know I had fallen or that I had gotten back up. He stared at the
house without blinking.

“Oh my God.” I hadn’t
reached him at all. The aura, whatever it was, had living ears. It
had attached itself to White Feather, and it wanted to know what I
had that belonged to Sarah.

That bone was not coming
into my house.
Given all my protection spells, I wasn’t sure it would even be
possible. My house had enough wards against evil spirits, other
witches, and bad auras that sometimes I worried I’d be kept out
if my mood was sour enough.

“I do have something of
Sarah's.” My feet pedaled slowly toward the front door. “Let me bring
it
out here.”

White Feather blinked.
“What is
it?”

“I have one of her spells.
Wait
here.” I sprinted madly for the porch. My mind gibbered,
not
White Feather, not White Feather
. How could he let this
happen?
He was a warlock. Of considerable power! How had it penetrated his
defenses?

What if I couldn't save him?

“It’s an aura! He’s
not dead. He’s there, he’s under there.” I slammed
the front door closed and locked it. It was rude, but there was no
point in counting on spells when the mundane would do. Whatever that
thing was, it wasn’t worming its way inside my home.

Some evils had to be
welcomed, some
merely had to be accepted, some were insidious. A few complex ones
triggered after certain conditions were met, stealing control so
stealthily no one noticed until it was too late. Almost certainly
that was what had happened to White Feather. He had associated the
bones with nothing more than a harmless bag of evidence from his
brother. “Mayan
Sacrifices
!”

Searching frantically
through my herbs,
I dropped one bottle, but managed to save the other. Was that my
heart thumping loudly, or had a car engine just started up? “Don’t
go!”

I snatched up a red silk
scarf, but
stowed it under my shirt where it wouldn’t be noticed. If he
had driven off, I would trail him to the ends of the earth.