Under Witch Curse (Moon Shadow Series) (21 page)

White Feather beat me into the kitchen the next morning. He whistled while preparing breakfast. When I came in dressed in jeans and hiking boots, he raised an eyebrow along with his spatula.

I sniffed. “Is that hash browns I smell? Mmmm.”

“We can’t live on bacon entirely, even if Tracy and Lynx vote that way. You look set for spell practice.”

I hesitated, still not really used to running my less-than-logical ideas by anyone. “Martin mentioned something about demon spit, ghouls and black magic. I was wondering whether it has anything to do with constructs.”

“Demon spit. To form tats?”

I shrugged. “What Martin calls things and what black magic really is could be one and the same. The energy comes from somewhere.”

“From the dead bodies, it looks like the victims are providing the energy. Throw some Zandy blood in there, maybe some blood from the conjurer and how much more bad energy do you need?”

“True. But I started wondering how much Martin can see. If he sees black magic or demon spit coming through to our side, maybe he can see who is casting the construct spell.” I dumped Mom’s leftover salsa on my eggs and hash browns.

“And he might be able to tell us where the person is?”

I nodded. “Or describe the person. Or something.”

“Would Martin pay attention to details like that?”

“Who knows? Not when he was living, not unless he was sober, and that wasn’t very often. At least now he’s sober.” I thought about it. “Well, I think he’s sober. He’s so weird it’s hard to tell for sure.”

I finished breakfast and decided that if we kept eating big meals, I would have to do more outdoor spell casting—like about ten miles up a canyon. My jeans were definitely squeezing me. “Martin always noticed magic. That’s what enabled him to excel at finding stones. He’s like Tracy. He hears magic.”

“I’ll go with you,” White Feather said, joining me at the sink to wash his own plate. “No need for you to meet up with a ghost by yourself. We don’t know his intentions.”

“What?”

“He flirts with you.”

I blinked up at him, not sure if he was teasing. “He’s dead. I don’t think he has any serious intentions, good, bad or otherwise.”

White Feather swallowed the last of his mocha. He set the cup down and wrapped his hand around the back of my neck, bringing me closer to him. “May as well let him know that when you cross over, you’re still mine.”

He kissed me good morning and made me wish we’d never gotten out of bed.

* * *

There were a few necessary chores to take care of before leaving. I couldn’t put off adding my magic to White Feather’s lab any longer. At the rate Tracy erected walls, if I didn’t do it today the lab would be completed before I had a chance. Plus, helping Tracy might teach me how he talked to Mother Earth.

I was up to my elbows in mud and dirt when White Feather came outside to tell me that Gordon had called. “He has some mug shots of tat artists who are known or suspected of dabbling with some dangerous inks.”

I snorted. “From what I read, all the inks are potentially lethal.”

White Feather nodded. “They’re made from noxious chemicals even before magic is involved. Gordon collected samples of inks from about four shops. It’s a long shot, but we might be able to pick up an aura that matches the stuff that came out of me. A match would point to the artist responsible. Since you’re knee deep, I’ll go while you finish up here. Gordon’s at Mat’s place, minding the store.”

My head whipped around. “Minding the store? No one minds the store except Mat.”

“He said she had an important errand.”

“Hmm. Well, we can hike Tent Rock this afternoon. I won’t be much longer at this.”

He left to take care of his business, while I continued to stack my rows of bricks. If Tracy thought it was odd for me to build parts of each wall, he never said anything. Of course, he rarely said anything anyway, so what was the difference?

While I slathered mortar around, I listened. Tracy didn’t so much hum as vibrate, but whatever it was, my bracelet sang back. I hummed a version of the tuneless little notes, but the vibration wasn’t really his voice, it was his magic. He drew Mother Earth into his work as surely as I did.

As I headed inside to clean up, Mat drove up.

It was a few minutes before ten o’clock, which was usually when she opened shop. Her red hair was braided and looped up. She wore jeans, albeit Ralph Lauren ones, but worst news of all, she had on running shoes. Even though she was dressed in her version of battle gear, she oozed delicate beauty.

The good news was she probably hadn’t stopped by to ask me to kill Gordon because her eyes were no longer red-rimmed or puffy. Plus, he was minding the shop, whatever that meant.

“You look dressed for special projects this morning,” I said after waving off her hug. “I’m filthy. Let me wash up.”

“Your kind of job, not mine. Patrick stopped by last night. His vamp friend is dying. He asked if I had any potions or ideas.”

“Guy named Joe?” I rinsed off the worst of the dirt at the kitchen sink.

Mat sat at the bar and rested her chin in her hands. “I didn’t meet him. He’s at the hospital. Patrick said you’d know where. He said they would both be there even during daylight if I thought of anything. The only thing I thought of was you, but he said he’d already asked you.”

I dried my hands and arms. “And so you stopped by because?”

“Wits end. I know you don’t deal with the vamps, and I don’t deal with them much either, not anymore. He’s desperate.”

“What if he thinks witch’s blood is the cure?”

Mat shrugged. “He would have asked me to sell him some if that were the case.”

I gasped, but she just grinned at me. “I didn’t say it would be
my
blood. But there are always those willing to sell for a price. I don’t actually carry the stuff, but could put him in touch with someone.”

“Unbelievable,” I muttered.

“There’s ways to provide it that are anonymous, and apparently it carries a lot less consequence if not done directly, but it’s not something I normally negotiate. There’s actually a number of clients who would purchase witch’s blood, but I don’t want that kind of responsibility.”

“Unbelievable.”

“You said that already. What do you think? Will you come?”

I fidgeted. “I can’t fix what ails that vamp.”

“Me either. But I’m not sure that is what his request is about. He considers us friends.” She nodded hard at my stricken look. “Especially you. He wants to do everything he can even if it’s futile, and that happens to include us.”

“It doesn’t sound safe.”

“He’s a vamp. It can never be completely safe. Half my clients aren’t safe. What does that have to do with anything?”

She had succinctly stated all the reasons I did business through intermediaries. The less I dealt with the actual client, the better. But I had been dealing with Patrick for a while now whether I wanted to or not. “You’re asking me to go chat with Patrick as a show of support?”

“Unless you actually have a spell that would cure Joe?”

“That has got to be one of the most messed up pieces of logic I’ve ever heard.” I headed around the bar to the living room. “Let me sort through the lab. Maybe I’ll think of something. Patrick did let me rescind the invite into my house. Maybe he did it knowing he needed a favor. Maybe not. Why are we allowed to do this in broad daylight?”

“Gordon’s watching my shop for me,” Mat said. “He owes me, and I didn’t want to show up early, wake you and drag you to the hospital at all hours. Vamps are also weaker during daylight so if we must take chances, we may as well have the timing on our side.”

I invited her into my messy lab. About the only spell that came to mind was holy water. What good would any healing stones do? He was
dead.
He didn’t need to be healed, he needed the opposite.

I shook my head and was pretty sure something rattled. Obviously there was more than one screw loose up there. “If he’s dead and doesn’t want to cross over, does that mean he isn’t dead enough? Or is he too dead? If you don’t heal someone, you injure them.”

I ransacked my boxes again and selected a string of coral. “I don’t know if this stuff works against the evil eye after you’re dead. It will block witchcraft, and I would think that would work after death, but who knows? I have some arrowheads too.”

Arrowheads were a ward against evil and evil-minded witches. Because of the possibility of them being effective against witches, I didn’t normally house them in my lab, but because of the move, they were currently locked inside a metal jewelry box and secured behind another lock inside my cabinet.

“What about bloodstone? It’s a healing stone,” Mat suggested.

I shook my head, while I tried to decide which arrowhead was best. “Bloodstone isn’t likely to help because healing stones are gifts for the living, not for the dead and not gone. Mother Earth is very happy to take back what is hers, ashes to ashes, but don’t ask me how she feels about vamps. Plus if a normal healer would be of any use, he’d have hired Tara or someone like my mom.”

“Probably so. I thought the bloodstone might cure him if whatever he had was some sort of vamp blood disease.” She reached into her purse and extracted a dark green piece of bloodstone, aka heliotrope. “I ordered a bunch more heliotrope since I’m in short supply.”

“Thinking of enticing me to trade for Martin’s last stone?” I grinned. “No way. It’s a done deal.” I told her about the Martin sighting in the desert. Only Mat could be disappointed to have missed something like that.

“Next time you see him, ask where he parked his trailer and who inherits all the stuff he collected.”

My eyes widened. “I hadn’t even thought about it.”

“I asked Gordon to be on the lookout now that I know he’s a cop. I could use Martin’s stash, even if I have to purify it.”

“Hmm. You’re right, it would be nice to find.” And I could possibly, remotely possibly, find it using the heliotrope he had gifted Mat. It was twice removed from him now, but he had felt the stone and come back to talk to me. “I’m pretty sure we won’t be able to explain to a court that a ghost left us a bunch of stones.”

She raised coy eyebrows and smiled. “Who else will want them? He didn’t have any relatives.”

“Maybe.” Tracy didn’t act as though he had any relatives. But being a loner and hoboing around the states didn’t necessarily mean you didn’t have relatives.

“Just a few more things and I’ll be ready.” I collected several extra loops of silver, a turquoise and silver ring, and four silver bangle bracelets with crosses dangling from each one. I handed her a crucifix, but she shoved her shirt sideways, revealing the one she was already wearing.

“Looks like we’re set.”

We jingled worse than wind chimes all the way to the car.

On the way to the hospital I said, “I take it that you didn’t tell Gordon about this mission of mercy?”

“Need to know basis,” she replied tightly.

I sighed and dialed.

She nearly jumped a curb, protesting. “You hate telling people what you’re up to.”

“I’m finding it’s easier to do before rather than after. And if something goes wrong, he’d know and then...it’s just easier.” I wasn’t about to confess that if Patrick came after either one of us, White Feather would know almost as soon as it happened. It wouldn’t be a pleasant way for him to find out about this endeavor. Slightly better was the phone call ahead of time.

After a single string of curse words, and several questions, I heard Gordon say in the background, “They’re going
where?
”

White Feather was almost more mature about it. “I’ll head over and meet you since it’s on the way home.”

“On the way” wasn’t even a stretch because it was so far out of the way. “You can’t go everywhere with me,” I said. “Not all the time. You married a witch. It’s my job.” I wondered just how much he was regretting marrying me.

“You aren’t the problem,” he bit out. “Neither is your job.”

He hung up, leaving me unsure exactly what he meant by that.

Chapter 28

The hospital where Patrick was employed as a nighttime nurse was on the opposite side of the road from the Santa Fe Indian Hospital. Its location made it natural to associate it with Indian Hospital, but lately I’d begun to suspect it was not funded by the same sources.

The only sign on the building read, “Specialty Center.” There was a trauma entrance and a regular entrance in addition to the back one, which was the only entrance I’d ever used. My latest impression was that the hospital was privately run by an organization that didn’t answer to a typical hospital board. Maybe a check with Mom and her buddies was in order. If her network didn’t know for certain who funded and ran it, they’d have some scintillating rumors.

Of all things, Patrick had given Mat a key to the back door. The key might not unlock his direct haven, but the outside door swung open to reveal the concrete steps that led down to a long, dark corridor and his special room in the hospital basement. There were no visible windows in the underground cavern. The doors along the corridor were ancient metal ones with sturdy locks. It screamed “dungeon” rather than “hospital.”

Quiet as a tomb, it was a perfect daytime lair for a vamp.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” I muttered.

Vamps had acute hearing. Patrick whispered into existence outside one of the cinder block walls. I distinctly remembered there being a visible door when I last left the lair, but it wasn’t evident now. I studied the bricks behind him. I’d never have found the door if he hadn’t been standing right in front of the outline.

His guidance might be a necessary evil, but chills still traveled down my spine.

“Welcome.”

My nod was cursory. There was no point in chit-chat. Patrick looked as he always did to me, mostly handsome and debonair, but with a blurriness that upon close inspection, revealed hints of something else. “How’s Joe?”

“Another day or two in this state, and it will be merciful to put an end to it.”