Mysterious Ways

by Christine Pope

  The bedroom didn’t have a lock. Not that it mattered, because a regular lock wouldn’t stop the least skilled witch or warlock, let alone someone like Simon Escobar. Hoping for the best, I quickly stripped out of my funeral attire and into the jeans and sweater I’d selected, then zipped up my boots.

  There, that was better. At least I didn’t feel as though I was quite as on display.

  Since I hadn’t been given a time limit for my “settling in,” I took my time hanging up the clothes I’d been wearing, then went over to the window to do my best to get my bearings. It was still just early afternoon, even though the day felt as though it had already been a hundred years long. The sun shone brightly, the deep blue sky streaked here and there with wisps of high, thin clouds.

  From what I could tell, the property here backed up to a creek, just as Rafe had surmised. Cienega Creek, I told myself. Like every other river or stream I’d seen in the southwest, this creek was lined with cottonwoods, now mostly bare, although a few brave yellow leaves still clung to some of their branches. On either side were more bare-limbed trees: aspens and sycamores and oaks. Unlike a lot of places in this part of the world, the backyard appeared to have a real lawn, even though it was now yellowed by frost. When everything was green, this was probably a beautiful spot. Now it just looked forlorn and a little sad, even with those bright skies overhead.

  I wondered if this place was another property management job Simon had lied his way into, or whether it was simply a vacation rental he’d taken over. Early November wasn’t exactly prime tourist season in these parts, so he’d probably gotten a deal. And this house, while nicely decorated and updated, certainly wasn’t on a par with the estate where we’d been staying in Tesuque.

  Unfortunately, even while bare, the trees provided enough cover that I couldn’t tell how close the neighbors — if any — might be. Not that it really mattered. This wasn’t the kind of situation where I could break out and go knock on their doors for help. No civilian could give me the kind of assistance I needed, and that realization made me feel even more trapped.

  I’d just have to hang on until Rafe found me. While my magic had been getting stronger and stronger, and I might — might — have been able to put up a credible defense against Simon, I didn’t quite dare to take action. If I failed, I knew he would be merciless. He’d already proven to me that he didn’t give a damn about human life. I just couldn’t allow any more members of the Castillo clan to be hurt.

  I didn’t even have my phone with me, because my purse had been sitting on the front pew in the church when the demons attacked. Presumably, it was still sitting there, unless Rafe or Eduardo had noticed it and taken it with them when they left.

  Thinking about Rafe hurt too much. I didn’t want to remember how wonderful it had felt to lie in his arms the night before, or how good it had been to share even the little moments, like teasing him about how good he looked in a suit. We were meant to be together, I just knew it, and yet I couldn’t see how I was supposed to get from where I was now back to the place where I was supposed to be. But I wouldn’t allow myself to despair. That would be letting Simon win.

  One step at a time, just like everything else.

  I took a breath, smoothed my hair as I looked into the pretty mirror of Mexican tin that hung over the dresser, then went to the door and opened it. There was no point in delaying any longer; I couldn’t stay up here forever. Besides, the longer I lingered, the more risk I ran of annoying Simon.

  Despite my resolve, I descended those stairs slowly, experiencing with each step a mounting tension that clenched my gut. I didn’t know for sure why I was so much more tense now than I had been when Simon first brought me here less than a half hour earlier, but I guessed it was because we had already gotten the preliminaries out of the way. Now I would see exactly what he had planned for me…and to say I wasn’t looking forward to learning the answer would have been a massive understatement.

  He was there in the kitchen when I approached. Judging by the assortment of food on the polished stone counter, it appeared he’d been assembling some fairly complicated sandwiches.

  Was he really expecting me to eat?

  Apparently he was, because he paused and looked up at me, smiling. If he was disappointed that I’d changed out of my short dress and heels, he didn’t show it.

  “Mustard or mayo?” he asked.

  “Neither,” I said. Sometimes I didn’t mind the tiniest bit of mustard, but right then, with my stomach churning away and clenched with tension, I knew even a small taste would make me want to vomit.

  My response made him lift an eyebrow, but then he shrugged and put a piece of bread on top of one of the half-completed sandwiches, set it on a piece of cheerful hand-painted Mexican dishware, and pushed it across the counter toward me. “I thought you might be hungry.”

  “I’m not,” I said. Well, that wasn’t precisely the truth. Physically, I could tell I was hungry — it had been hours since the breakfast burritos Rafe and I had shared that morning — but I didn’t know whether I’d be able to force anything down without wanting to throw it right back up afterward.

  He didn’t seem put off by my reply. “Even after expending all that energy fighting off demons?”

  Damn it, he knew me too well. He’d seen the way I gobbled almost everything in sight after our magical practice sessions, and so he had to know that my body was craving some of the fuel it had used up.

  Still, I hesitated.

  “It’s just a sandwich,” he said. “Eating it isn’t going to condemn your eternal soul to hellfire or anything.”

  “That’s not what I was thinking.”

  “Really?” Simon smeared some Dijon on the piece of whole-grain bread he’d just picked up, then placed the slice of bread on his own sandwich. “Your expression says something different.”

  I crossed my arms. “My expression is probably saying that I can’t believe you’d expect me to act as though all of this was normal, that I’d just accept food from you like it was no big deal.”

  “You’re going to have to eat sometime, aren’t you?” he said reasonably. “I mean, I suppose you could try to go on a hunger strike to guilt me into letting you go, but I’ll tell you in advance that that’s not going to work.”

  No, it probably wouldn’t. Simon had enough tricks up his sleeve that he could probably come up with a way to force-feed me, or to use some kind of stratagem to fool me into eating his food.

  “It’s fine,” he went on. “All this stuff just came straight out of the fridge. I haven’t done anything to it. See?” And he took a big bite out of the sandwich he held.

  Which still didn’t prove very much. He could have doctored one of the components of my sandwich while leaving everything that went into his alone. It wasn’t as though he’d poured us both soup out of the same pot or something.

  Shaking his head, he picked up the knife he’d just used to spread mustard on his bread, wiped it off on a paper towel, and then cut a corner off the sandwich he’d prepared for me. Making sure I was watching, he lifted it to his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

  “See? It’s fine. Bread and cheese and sliced roast beef. It’s not going to kill you.”

  That was a more convincing display. Still, I couldn’t quite put my hand out to take the sandwich, even though my stomach gurgled a little, telling me that it was probably about to growl loudly if I didn’t do something to shut it up.

  Fine. While I knew Simon was capable of just about anything, I didn’t think he’d poison me right off the bat. He wanted me here, wanted me to go along with his crazy schemes. Doing something outrageous this early in the game wouldn’t be smart.

  Holding back a sigh, I picked up the sandwich from the plate and took a bite. “Satisfied?” I asked after I’d stopped chewing.

  “I don’t know about satisfied,” he said. “But at least it’s a step in the right direction. Want something to drink? There’s water, or Coke, or iced tea — the bottled kind.”
/>
  “Tea,” I replied. If it was bottled, it was probably safe. Anyway, I could use the kick of caffeine, and I didn’t drink soda, so Coke wasn’t an option.

  “Got it.” He went over to the fridge and got out a bottle of iced tea for me and a can of Coke for himself, then came back over and set them down on the counter. “We can go sit in the dining room, or the living room, if you want. We don’t have to stand here.”

  “This is fine,” I said firmly. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I was softening toward him, an impression that sitting down with him to eat like civilized people might too easily give.

  That response earned me a sideways glance, as if he’d guessed exactly why I’d declined having our late lunch in a more comfortable place. But at least he didn’t say anything, which meant I was able to eat my sandwich and drink my tea in relative peace — very relative, because although I hoped I looked calm enough on the outside, all I could do was keep thinking about what Rafe might be doing at that very moment, and whether Simon’s attacking demons had really hurt Cat or whether she’d just passed out from all the psychic tumult.

  And, as much as I hated to eat any food Simon might give me, I really didn’t have the choice to go on a hunger strike, partly because I doubted he’d even allow me to do such a thing, and partly because I knew I needed to keep my strength up so I could exploit any opportunities for escape, should they arise. The sandwich was tasty enough — the roast beef tasted like real deli meat, not something out of a package, and the bread was fresh — so it wasn’t too much work to get it all down.

  When I was done, I took a large swallow of tea. Simon was still chewing, but I found myself compelled to ask anyway. “What is your end game in all this, Simon? I mean, what exactly do you hope to achieve? You might have the upper hand right now, but you’re only one person. Even a warlock as powerful as you really isn’t capable of taking on an entire witch clan.”

  He didn’t appear too troubled by my remarks. After finishing the last bite of his sandwich, he drank some Coke, then put the can back down on the countertop. “You so sure about that? After all, I just beat some of the Castillo clan’s strongest witches and warlocks back there at the church. Who else are they going to throw against me?”

  I really didn’t have an answer to that question, mostly because I hadn’t been acquainted with the Castillos long enough to even begin to know who they all were, what their individual talents and strengths might be. Despite that particular lack of knowledge, I couldn’t believe that Simon thought he alone would be able to prevail against them, even with a bunch of demons under his control. They’d mounted a fairly serious attack, true, but Simon had only had seven or eight demons fighting on his side. It would take a lot more than that to beat a clan made up of hundreds of witches and warlocks.

  “You tell me,” I returned. “You’re the one who’s made such an in-depth study of the Castillo clan.”

  “They have a few powerful witches and warlocks,” he allowed. “But not enough. Their new prima is a joke. And now that they can’t bring in outside help — ”

  “Yeah, how did you manage to do that, anyway?” I cut in, genuinely curious. Just because I didn’t approve of Simon’s methods — to put it mildly — that didn’t mean I wasn’t eager to learn something of the spells he’d deployed.

  His mouth curled slightly, as though he was amused by my question. A wicked light in his black eyes, he said, “Trade secret.”

  I should have known. No way was Simon going to tell me anything that might allow me to subvert his efforts — at least not until he was sure of my loyalty.

  And that was never going to happen.

  “But Miranda,” he went on, moving closer to me. My entire body stiffened, although I refused to retreat. I didn’t want to give him that power over me. “You want to know what I want out of all this? That’s easy enough. I want you, of course, but you at my side, not some kind of hostage. Like I told you before, we’re two of a kind. There are no other witches or warlocks like us in the world.”

  “That you know of,” I said, my voice sounding shaky even to myself.

  He didn’t appear put off by my comment. Instead, his smile only returned, wider this time. “Oh, I’m pretty sure we would have heard of it, even as isolated as the clans tend to be. I know word about my father’s exploits — ”

  “Crimes,” I cut in.

  “ — went everywhere in America, maybe the world,” Simon went on without missing a beat. “People knew, because he was so out of the ordinary. Which means if there was anyone else like him out there — or me, or you — then we would have heard about it, if only for word to get out in the clans that people needed to keep their guard up.”

  I supposed he had a point. However, since I really didn’t want to admit that he might be right, I only shrugged and said in grudging tones, “Maybe.”

  “Anyway, it makes much more sense for us to work together, rather than being at odds. I have no idea why Isabel Castillo thought it was so important for you to be here with her grandson, because it’s so obvious that you don’t belong with him. You belong with me.”

  “No, I don’t,” I said. “If you think I would ever agree to go along with your horrible plans, you’re crazy. And you’re just as crazy if you think I’m going to suddenly switch off my feelings for Rafe and transfer them to you.”

  For a second, Simon’s expression clouded. Then he shook his head, clearly doing what he could to shrug off my protests. “I don’t think so. You’ll figure it out soon enough. Rafe can do nothing for you.”

  “Except love me.”

  This time, the frown that twisted Simon’s features lingered, and once again he moved toward me, this time so less than a foot separated us. More than anything, I wanted to turn and run away, although I knew that he could catch me easily. Besides, even teleporting out of here wouldn’t do anything except make him so angry that he’d probably send his demons after me, or, worse, after the people I cared about — Rafe, Cat, Eduardo.

  “You think I don’t love you, Miranda?” Simon asked. Fear held me still, because I was worried that if I tried to move away, he would only reach out and grab me, pull me toward him. “Everything I’ve done has been for you.”

  There was no mistaking the intensity in his voice, his expression. He really did believe he loved me, which only made him that much more dangerous.

  “No, Simon,” I said carefully. “I think you’re obsessed with me, which isn’t the same thing. If you love someone, you don’t want to hurt them, or the people who are important to them. But all you’ve done is prove how much you enjoy hurting the Castillos.”

  “Maybe it’s more that they’re so easy to hurt,” he replied. Eyes still glittering, he reached out and took my hand. As much as I wanted to snatch it back, I knew I didn’t quite dare. “Weak, all of them. Neither Malena nor Louisa should have fallen into comas like that, but their spirits weren’t strong enough to handle the backlash from my demon-summoning spells. Is that my fault? A true prima — hell, even a true prima’s daughter — shouldn’t have succumbed that easily.”

  Was it true? I didn’t know what to believe, and yet, strangely, I thought Simon was being honest with me here. “As opposed to the spell you sent against their mother,” I said.

  His mouth twisted. “Oh, yeah, I already told you I wanted that bitch dead. And I wanted her to drop dead in front of her family members. That was why I sent the spell when I did, rather than waiting until she was asleep, or at least alone in her house. I wanted all of them to know how vulnerable they were.”

  “But…why?” I asked, still wishing I had the courage to pull my arm from his grasp. “What twisted reason could you have for making them all afraid, when it was Genoveva you had a vendetta against?”

  He let go of my arm, but I couldn’t be all that relieved, not when he lifted the same hand and used it to brush a tendril of hair away from my face. Still wearing that twisted smirk of a smile, he replied, “I thought that should be obvio
us.”

  “Well, it’s not.”

  His gaze moved from me toward the window. The Sangre de Cristos were much farther away from this vantage point but still recognizable, which was how I knew he was staring straight into the heart of Santa Fe.

  “It’s because I plan to take them over, just as my father took control of the Santiagos.”

  11

  Reaching Out

  Rafe

  He hated this. He hated having to be here in his house, packing enough stuff for a time away of indeterminate length. He hated the thought of having to go stay in the home where his mother died.

  Most of all, he hated the thought of Miranda in Simon’s clutches, with absolutely no idea of what might be happening to her.

  Unfortunately, Cat was probably right. It would be safer for them to be together. Rafe didn’t really know what either his father or his sister could do to protect him, but he figured if he was in wolf form, he might be able to rip out the throats of a few of those miserable demons if they dared to show their ugly faces anywhere around here.

  That is, if he didn’t completely choke again. He still couldn’t quite figure out what had prevented him from shifting into wolf or coyote form and going after Simon, despite the odds stacked against him. Was it some strange kind of worry about having Father Francis see him make such a transformation?

  Possibly. Cat had been able to bald-face her way through an explanation of the demons, but watching the son of one of his most prominent parishioners turn into a wolf before his eyes would have needed a lot more explaining. Even Cat probably couldn’t have convinced the priest that there was nothing strange about that kind of a display.

  Whatever the reason, there wasn’t much Rafe could do about it now, except vow that it would never happen again. Unfortunately, he very much feared he might not get a second chance to prove himself to Miranda.