“Conditioner?” he asked, reaching for the bottle.
* * *
A few hours later we were back in the FJ, heading out of the downtown section of Flagstaff and up toward the hills, going in the same direction we had that morning, although we passed the turn-off that had led up into the woods and continued to follow the road as it wound through the rolling landscape on its way out of town. By then there were more people on the highway — possibly heading to their own holiday parties. However, I sort of doubted most of them were going to the kind of get-together that lay at the end of our route.
I don’t know if I was fidgeting or what, but Connor lifted one hand briefly from the steering wheel to give my fingers a reassuring squeeze before redirecting his attention to the icy road. “It’ll be fine,” he said. A quick glance over at me, and he added, “You’re beautiful.”
Despite my nerves, which felt as if they had all been twisted into a knot and then dumped somewhere in my stomach, I had to smile. After we’d emerged from the shower, laughing and tingling, I’d gotten serious as soon as I contemplated having to face a horde of Wilcoxes. Guessing my mood, Connor had left me to primp, a process that took much longer than it normally would. I didn’t have much to work with, my wardrobe here consisting of five camisoles, three pairs of jeans, and three sweaters. I had to recycle one of the sweaters I’d worn over the weekend, but I had to hope it would be enough. Then of course I berated myself for caring what the Wilcox clan might think of me. It seemed I couldn’t win either way.
“I’m still trying to wrap my head around this potluck thing,” I told him, trying to keep my tone light even as I stared out the window at the snowy woods passing by and wondered how far out of Flagstaff proper Damon lived. The houses were set far apart here, and getting bigger. It looked as if the Wilcox primus lived in what Sydney liked to refer to as “Richie-Rich Land.”
“It got started back during World War Two, from what I’ve heard,” Connor said. “The Wilcoxes actually marry civilians a good bit, and I guess one of the wives got this idea that everyone should do more together as a family. There was some rationing during the war, so they decided to pool their resources and make it easier on everyone that way. And the tradition just sort of kept up after that.”
That all sounded perfectly pleasant and innocuous…or would if you didn’t know anything about the Wilcoxes and their history. However, what Connor had just related to me did jibe with what Margot Emory had revealed during our talk, that the Wilcox clan, having a smaller pool of family members to work with in the beginning, often married civilians to keep themselves from getting too inbred. I wondered how they selected these people. Did they truly care for them, or simply choose those who were attractive, intelligent, resourceful…whatever qualities might do best to improve their “breed”?
It was a question I decided I really didn’t want to ask Connor. Not when I was about to meet a bunch of people who were the result of such matches, anyway.
We turned off the “highway” and onto a smaller lane that curved around past some eye-popping mansions, then pulled into a wooded drive already choked with cars. Apparently even here the clan was following protocol, though, since there was still room to maneuver, and a choice spot left open right in front of the multi-bayed garage. The house itself was massive and sprawling, its peaked roofs heavy with snow.
I stared at it, wide-eyed. “Okay, and no one thinks it’s odd that a college professor lives in a place like this? I mean, I know they make a little more than minimum wage, but this looks like something from one of those shows on HGTV where they give you tours of celebrity houses. My friend Sydney loves those.”
A shrug as he turned off the engine. “We just say it was our father’s investments. He owned property all over town, so no one thinks it’s that strange.”
“It still seems like a lot of house for just one person,” I replied, then unfastened my seatbelt.
He shot me an unreadable look. “Well, he hadn’t really planned to be living here alone.”
No, I suppose he hadn’t. I realized then that this was where Damon Wilcox would have brought me, if he’d succeeded in his mad plan and actually forced a consort bond upon me.
For a long moment, I said nothing, only stared at the house. Connor reached out and took my hand in his. “You don’t — don’t regret anything, do you?”
At first I couldn’t quite understand what he was saying. Then I realized he was uncertain, was wondering if some part of me wouldn’t have rather been here in this mansion than in his apartment, which, while very nice, was an order of magnitude removed from this place. “Goddess, no!” I replied with such vehemence that he startled a bit. “I would rather be stuck in a drafty single-wide with you than be here with your brother.”
“Well,” he said, sending me a relieved grin, “I wouldn’t exactly call my apartment a single-wide.”
“No, of course not. I love your apartment. It’s cozy and warm, and just right. Besides,” I added, recalling the open countryside we’d just driven through, “I have a feeling you’d have to go a lot farther to get some decent tapas in this place.”
He actually laughed at that. “You’re right. I can’t guarantee you tapas today, but we usually put on a pretty good spread. So let’s go. I’m hungry…we used up all that breakfast.”
That we did. I’d actually begun to feel a bit peckish right before we left the apartment, although now my appetite seemed to have taken a back seat to nerves. “Okay,” I said reluctantly. I’d agreed to this, so sitting in the car and not moving at this point was a little silly. The time for protests was long past.
I wrapped my fingers around the door handle, opened it, and got out. The biting air was all around me, although a little more bearable now, since the sun had been up for hours, and the temperature had warmed a bit. Most of the snow had already melted off the tree branches, although it was still thick on the ground.
Connor paused at the hatch to the Cruiser’s cargo compartment and got out the two bottles of wine we were contributing to the potluck. His cousin Marie, whoever she was, had supposedly already brought up the tamales I’d made, but at least this way we weren’t walking in empty-handed. Then he came up to me and took my hand with his free one.
“Ready?”
I nodded. No, I wasn’t ready — talk about walking into the lion’s den — but I certainly couldn’t back out now.
He squeezed my fingers. “It’ll be fine. Like I said, we don’t bite…much.”
Even in the freezing air, I could feel my cheeks flush. I’d done my best to arrange my hair so it covered some of the more obvious bite marks on my neck, but they were still there. The little supply of makeup I’d been given hadn’t included foundation or cover-up; I didn’t know if that was a vote of confidence for the quality of my complexion, or that whoever had been buying the stuff didn’t trust themselves to get me a correct match. Either way, I’d been pretty limited in what I could do to make it look as if Connor and I hadn’t spent the last eighteen hours jumping one another’s bones.
I’d asked him if he could do anything about it, just a little camouflage spell or something, but he’d shaken his head. “No, I can only alter my own appearance. I can’t do anything about those.” And he’d reached out to brush his fingers against the smudged-looking bruises on the side of my neck.
Just that light touch was enough to ignite the fire within me once more, but somehow I’d managed to push it away. I certainly didn’t have time for another shower at that point, and I was already nervous enough about facing the Wilcox clan without walking into Damon Wilcox’s house reeking of sex.
Now I saw that someone had swept the snow off the walk leading to that house, so the footing wasn’t as treacherous as I’d feared. I still clung to Connor’s hand, just to be safe. Or maybe that was just me trying to get whatever reassurance I could.
The oversized door had an equally oversized pine wreath, complete with red bow, hanging from it. I wondered if Damon himself h
ad put it there, or whether one of his relatives had hung it to give the place a more festive look. Somehow I just couldn’t imagine Damon Wilcox being the cheery holiday-decorating type. Then again, I never could have imagined him hosting a potluck, either.
Connor opened the door and led me in. I suppose he didn’t see the need to knock, as it was his brother’s house. Or maybe it was locked against anyone who wasn’t a Wilcox. All I knew was that I didn’t intend to touch the door handle to find out. Those magical shocks were strong enough that I’d still be able to feel them even through my gloves.
When we entered the place, my first impression was of sound and light — people talking and laughing, pale winter sunlight shining through the pine trees that surrounded the house and slanting through the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows in the room opposite the entry, windows that surrounded an equally enormous stone fireplace. Logs crackled and snapped within. I pulled in a breath and wished I knew a good invisibility spell. Or one for teleportation. That would do just fine, too.
Neither of those spells was at my disposal, however, so I followed Connor’s lead and took off my coat, then hung it on one of the overcrowded racks clustered by the front door.
“Connor!” an unfamiliar voice called out, and I saw a tall dark-haired man smile and wave. He had the Wilcox look about him, with his sooty hair and eyes and high cheekbones, but his expression as he approached us was far friendlier than I imagined Damon’s could ever be.
“Lucas,” Connor said, “I want you to meet Angela.”
The man came to a stop even as his eyes widened. I could see the astonishment in them, that I would be here at all. But then he seemed to gather himself, and he smiled at me. “Angela. It’s so very good to see you here. I’m Lucas Wilcox, Connor’s cousin.”
“Fourth, right?”
“Something like that. Who’s counting?”
I couldn’t help smiling a little, recalling how I’d always thought of Adam that way. Third…fourth…five times removed…when the connection got that tenuous, it started to not matter very much exactly what degree it was. Thinking of Adam probably wasn’t wise, though, because then all I could do was wonder who else among these dark, handsome people had been wearing a hooded cloak that night, and had been there when the Wilcoxes invaded my home and stole me away.
Although my smile had faded, I still managed to say, “It’s very nice to meet you, Lucas.”
His dark eyes twinkled a little, as if he guessed I was only uttering the words custom expected me to say. But his only comment was, “Don’t even try to remember all our names, because it’s impossible. Just smile and nod…and make sure Connor keeps your glass filled. Assuming you drink, of course.”
Oh, I drink. Right now I want to drink…a lot.
I gave a foolish sort of nod, not knowing exactly how I should reply. Connor rushed to my aid, saying, “Looks like I’m already falling down on the job in that department. Angela, let’s get these bottles over to the table in the family room — that’s where we set up the food — and then I’ll get us a couple glasses of wine.”
“Sure.” I allowed him to lead me away from Lucas, who seemed to watch me as I went, a speculative look on his face.
I couldn’t figure out what that meant, though, because once we were moving through the living room we were approached from all sides, people saying hello and introducing themselves, a blur of smiling faces and names that, as Lucas had said, I couldn’t possibly begin to remember. Looking at them, I wondered what their talents were. We had a good deal of variation in Jerome, as there weren’t as many of us, and somehow the different skills seemed to get distributed evenly amongst a witch population, but there were so many Wilcoxes it seemed there had to be some doubling up. Not that I could ask; it was one thing to discuss such things privately, but going up to a witch or warlock and asking them to identify their talent was about on par with walking up to a stranger and inquiring about their weight.
We’d just set down the wine bottles when a woman approached and said, “So you were able to make it.”
As I focused on her features, it was all I could do to hold in a gasp. This was the woman from that nightmarish scene when I’d first been brought here to Flagstaff, when I’d been held down on a makeshift altar by one of Damon Wilcox’s unnamable spells. The Native American blood in her features was far more pronounced than it was in many of the other Wilcox clan members, and I wondered at it.
“Hi, Marie,” Connor said. “This is Angela.”
Her cool dark gaze slid over toward me, and she smiled, although it didn’t quite reach her long-lashed black eyes. “So glad you came. And you really made those tamales Connor brought over the other day? You are quite an amazing cook.”
So this was Connor’s cousin Marie. He’d mentioned her several times, and she appeared to hold a position of some importance in the clan. If nothing else, she seemed to be one of the few people with the strength to stand up to Damon Wilcox.
Belatedly I recalled that she was also the one who’d done most of the shopping for me, so I said quickly, “Thank you, Marie. And thank you for choosing all those wonderful clothes. They all fit perfectly, and the colors are great.”
Another one of those cool smiles. She herself was dressed very well, if simply, in a long black skirt, slim-fitting black sweater, black boots, and some eye-popping turquoise jewelry. My Aunt Rachel would’ve positively salivated over that squash blossom necklace. “You’re very welcome. It’s good to see that you’ve…adapted…so well to things here.”
“She really has,” Connor put in. “Although I’m hoping after today the two of us can get out to do some hiking or something. If she keeps feeding me the way she has, I’m going to need some way to work it off.”
“Better buy me some snowshoes first,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. Something about Marie seemed to set me on edge. Maybe it was just that I did clearly remember her from that hideous night when Damon had tried to make me his consort, and couldn’t forgive her for the role she’d played. Or maybe it was the faint hint of disapproval that seemed to emanate from her, although I couldn’t figure out why. After all, she hadn’t seemed all that upset at the time when it turned out I was Connor’s match and not Damon’s.
Well, this probably wasn’t the place to attempt to figure it out. I’d try to pick Connor’s brain on the subject later, when we were safely home and away from here.
Home. Funny how I already thought of the apartment as my home, when I’d only spent a few days there. But somehow I knew that wherever Connor was, that was home.
“The snow melts pretty quickly on the lower elevations,” he said. “And it’s supposed to warm up through New Year’s. So I don’t think you need to worry about snowshoes.”
“Hiking boots, then.”
“Not a problem. We’ve got two hiking stores in walking distance.”
I couldn’t really argue with that. What I found more interesting was the way Marie seemed to watch our interchange, as if she were carefully studying our interactions. What, was she surprised by the way Connor and I got along? Didn’t she know that was how it worked with a prima and her consort, that our bond made us more than mere mates, made us lovers who were intertwined on every level, body, mind, and soul?
Maybe she didn’t. After all, things were done very differently here in Wilcox territory….
But of course she made no comment, offering another of her Mona Lisa smiles before saying, “There are quite a few diversions here in and around Flagstaff, Angela. I hope you and Connor have fun exploring them.” Her gaze drifted away from us. “But it looks as if Taryn is waving me over. You two enjoy yourselves.” She moved off into the crowd.
So many questions filled my mind, I didn’t know where to start. But I had one thing uppermost in my brain. “I’ll take that glass of wine now, Connor.”
* * *
After a few gulps of some local wine — a red blend from Arizona Stronghold — I was feeling a little more in control of myself. So
far no one had tried to hex me straight back to Jerome, or turned me into a frog. Then again, why would they? In their eyes, I was one of them now. I’d bonded with Connor, brother of the primus. Now we were all just one big happy family.
Well, more or less.
More introductions, more smiling at attractive dark-haired people whose faces I wasn’t sure I’d be able to recall the next day. Okay, maybe their faces — I was always fairly good at that sort of thing. But names? As Lucas had advised me, I didn’t even try.
We ate and drank, and then drank some more. I felt as if I were in a sort of dream, as if all the introductions were happening to someone else, someplace else. I couldn’t be in Damon Wilcox’s house, chatting with his relations, talking about the weather and the food in downtown Flagstaff (not that I was an expert, except for the tapas Connor and I had shared my first night here), and talking about my aunt’s cooking and providing tips on making tamales as if doing so was the most natural thing in the world.
Through all this, I wondered where the man himself actually was. I hadn’t seen anything of him since we’d entered the house. Was he avoiding Connor and me, not wanting to see the two of us together, not wanting to look at the prize he’d had taken from him?
No, that was ridiculous; I shouldn’t flatter myself. The place was huge, after all; laughter and chatter echoed from the open area on the second floor, which looked like a game room of sorts, and there were many other rooms down on the ground floor that I hadn’t even seen yet. Connor seemed to understand that I was more comfortable staying here in the family room, close to the food and the wine. Everyone flowed in and out of the space anyway, since they needed to refill their own glasses and plates.
We’d been there for a little more than an hour when Connor leaned down and murmured in my ear, “I need to go to the bathroom. Will you be okay here for a minute or two?”
Darknight (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 2) Page 11