The Witches of Canyon Road, Books 1-3

by Christine Pope

  On the surface, this was true enough. It wasn’t as though I was my sister Emily, the prima-in-waiting, who was bound to Jerome and our clan, who couldn’t just up and leave if she got a wild hair about suddenly wanting to see the world. Yes, I had clan loyalty to consider, but it wasn’t quite the same thing. On the other hand, even if I wasn’t the prima-in-waiting, I was still the prima’s daughter. I had certain responsibilities, even if I would never lead the clan.

  Well, one of those primary responsibilities had been to get safely married to Rafael Castillo, and that hadn’t turned out so well. Maybe the most important thing was for me to develop my powers so I could have something to offer the McAllister and Wilcox clans besides an advantageous marriage to a prominent member of a neighboring witch family.

  “It’s not that easy,” I said, and let out a sigh.

  Simon shifted in his seat and even began to lift one hand off the steering wheel, as if he intended to reach over and give me a reassuring touch. Apparently he decided that wasn’t such a good idea, because after a brief hesitation, his fingers wrapped themselves around the steering wheel even more firmly. “I know you think you owe them something,” he said. “But it seems as though you’ve done everything they asked of you. It’s not your fault that this thing with Rafe Castillo fell apart. Don’t you think you deserve to do something for yourself?”

  “I am,” I replied firmly. “Otherwise, I would never have come here with you. I would’ve hauled me and my wedding dress off to Albuquerque to catch the first flight back to Phoenix.”

  He chuckled. “And that would have been something to see. I get it. I can only imagine my parents’ reaction if they knew I was here with you, in another clan’s territory, rather than off taking pictures of stars in the desert.”

  “What’re they like?” I asked curiously. Simon had said very little about his family, except to let me know he was part of the de la Paz clan.

  A small lift of his shoulders. “What are anyone’s parents like? I’m an only child, so they’re protective. And it’s hard to break away, to start making a life on your own. I knew I had to do that, though. And you need to do the same thing.”

  “I will,” I said. Feeling more than a little daring, I reached over and touched the back of his hand, even though I knew he had stopped himself from doing much the same thing to me only a few minutes earlier. He didn’t lift his hand from the steering wheel, but I saw the way a small shiver went through him as my fingers brushed against his skin. “Because you’ll be helping me.”

  I sat at the table in the kitchen and stared at my newly unpacked phone. Simon was over at the refrigerator, pouring us both glasses of water. At last he spoke. “It’s not going to make the call for you, you know.”

  Yes, I did know. Oh, some phones were sophisticated enough that they did have the ability to carry on brief preprogrammed conversations, but this wasn’t that kind of phone. I’d have to do the heavy lifting here.

  Problem was, now that the time had come, I didn’t have any idea what to say. Each dialogue I rehearsed in my head sounded progressively more ridiculous.

  Simon came over to the table and set a glass of water next to me. When he spoke, his tone was gentle. “You need to get it over with. Just remember that they can’t compel you to do anything. And if they’re as awesome as you say they are — ”

  “They are,” I cut in. “They’re great.”

  “Then they’ll understand. No one who loves you could possibly expect you to have stayed with Rafe Castillo, not after what he did.”

  My gaze flicked up toward Simon, but all I saw in his face was concern. His tone hadn’t changed when he uttered the word “loves,” which meant…what? I didn’t really expect him to be in love with me, not when we still barely knew one another, but the attraction was there, whether or not he wanted to admit it right now.

  Which was good. I needed to get my magic sorted out, and maybe then I could decide how I felt about Simon. I should be thanking him for showing so much forbearance.

  And I needed to get this over with.

  “You’re right,” I said. “I’m just being a coward.”

  “You’re not a coward, Miranda.” His voice was firm. “Don’t ever think that about yourself. I’ll be down the hall in the family room if you need me for anything.”

  “Thanks. But I think I’ll be okay.”

  He offered me a reassuring smile. “I know you will.”

  After that he headed down the hallway. A moment later, I heard the TV come on, although not blaringly loud. Just enough to provide some cover so he wouldn’t have to listen to my conversation come echoing through the corridor.

  All right. I made myself pick up the phone, and then I went to the keypad and typed in the number for my mother’s cell phone. In general, it was easier to call her than my father, just because he was often out in the garage or in the yard working, whereas my mother ended to have the phone right with her in case she was needed for clan business, or simply to be on call for babysitting duties.

  Her phone rang. And rang. And rang. Just when I was sure it would roll over to voicemail as it had the night before, the call connected.

  “Hello?”

  Her tone was completely neutral, which I’d been expecting. She didn’t know the number I was calling from. I supposed I should be glad that she’d picked up at all, rather than letting the call go to voicemail.

  “Mom, it’s Miranda.” There. I sounded much calmer and steadier than I’d thought I would. Maybe all the turmoil and stress of the past few days had actually been beneficial, had helped to toughen me up a bit.

  “Miranda! Where are you? We got your message last night, but there was no caller I.D., so we had no idea how to get hold of you.”

  “I’m still in New Mexico.” I paused, trying to think of the best way to phrase what I needed to say. “I’m with a friend.”

  “Yes, you said that. What friend? Where? And what happened with Rafe?”

  I decided to respond to all those questions in reverse order. “He — I’m not sure exactly what happened, Mom, except he called the whole thing off while I was standing at the altar.”

  “He what?” Her voice practically vibrated with shock and anger.

  “I told you — he dumped me.” Gathering my breath, I said, “It’s all right. I could tell things weren’t going to work out between us. He didn’t want to get married to me, and really, I didn’t want to marry him, either. We didn’t know each other.”

  A brief pause. Then, “What did Genoveva have to say about all this?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” I replied. “I left, so I missed all the aftermath.”

  “You left,” my mother said, her tone musing. “And now you’re staying with a friend. What friend? Where?”

  Obviously, she wasn’t about to let any of that go. I couldn’t even blame her, because I knew I would have been asking the same questions if I’d been in her position. However, I couldn’t give her the answers she wanted, not and be able to work with Simon. I needed to keep him safely out of it.

  “I’d rather not say,” I told her. “Mostly because the Castillos don’t have any idea where I am, and I want to keep it that way. There are some…things…I need to get worked out before I even think about coming home.”

  “What kind of things?” Her voice sharpened as she went on without waiting for me to reply, “Miranda, I know you must be hurt, and confused. But I really think it would be much better for you to come home.”

  “No,” I said flatly. “I’m sorry, Mom. I know it’s hard for you to understand, but I’m doing this for all of us, not just me. You have to trust me. Please…trust me on this.”

  A long, long pause. I held onto the cheap little phone, praying she wouldn’t keep arguing with me. I could dig my heels in and be as stubborn as the next person, but I hated having to do that to my mother. I wanted her to understand and not ask any more questions.

  At last I heard a gentle sigh come through the phone’s tiny sp
eaker. “But you’re safe.”

  “Completely safe,” I replied. “I’m fine.”

  “You do sound all right.” Another silence, and then she added, “Okay. That is, I’m not sure how much we could do to force you to come home, since we don’t even know where you are. But I suppose this is where I have to recognize that you’re an adult and that you need to make your own choices. Just…be careful, and when you’re ready to come home, you let us know.”

  “I will,” I promised, relief rushing through me. “I honestly don’t think it will be too long. Maybe a week, or just a little more.”

  “That still sounds like an awfully long time,” my mother said. “Do you need anything from us? Money? More clothes?”

  I thought of Simon buying the phone for me, of the way I’d refused to get any clothes from Walmart. What I had should last me a week, especially since I could do laundry here at the house. A small pang went through me as I recalled all the shops in Santa Fe that I’d never gotten the chance to explore. No doubt I would have been able to purchase plenty there to keep me happy, but that wasn’t an option right now.

  And clothes weren’t important. What mattered was the work I would be doing with Simon, and nothing else.

  “I’m fine,” I said firmly. “I really don’t need anything.”

  “If you’re sure….”

  “I am. Tell Dad I love him, and that everything is going to be okay. I just need some time.”

  “All right.” A small hesitation, and then she asked, “What should we do about the Castillos?”

  “Nothing,” I replied. “I mean, if they reach out to you, then you can tell them I’m all right, but frankly, they don’t deserve to know anything other than that. But you sure as hell don’t need to call them.”

  “You’re angry. I understand that. Somehow, though, we’re going to have to figure out how to repair relations between our clans.”

  “Maybe,” I said, thinking I was glad I wasn’t prima and therefore didn’t have to worry about the diplomatic side of the current situation. “But I think it’s up to them to make the peace offerings, considering it was their prima’s son who caused this whole mess.”

  My mother sighed again. “You’re right. Well, your father and I will handle that, one way or another.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Should I say anything else? Probably not; the longer we spoke, the more chance she might be able to get information out of me that I really didn’t want to share. “I need to go now.”

  “But I can reach you at this number?”

  “Yes,” I replied before adding quickly, “but only if it’s an emergency, okay? I really need some time to myself.”

  “All right. Only in an emergency.”

  I heard the resignation in her tone and knew she wouldn’t argue that point with me. She didn’t like it, that much I could tell, but she’d respect my boundaries. My parents had always allowed us kids to make our own choices without butting in too much — unless those choices might bring us some kind of trouble. And also, they understood that I was an adult. Now that I was apparently on my own, they had to stand back a little and let me make my own way.

  “Thanks. Love you, Mom,” I said, then pushed the button to end the call.

  Well, that was done, and with less damage than I’d feared. I had to hope my father wouldn’t be too upset by the arrangement my mother and I had made, and try to call me himself, but I supposed that was a risk I would have to take.

  I pushed the chair where I’d been sitting away from the table and stood, then went down the hall to the TV room, where Simon was watching soccer, of all things. Well, I’d caught him watching football just the day before, so I had to assume he liked sports, although otherwise he didn’t give much indication of it.

  As soon as I entered the room, though, he picked up the remote and shut off the TV. “You talked to them?”

  “I talked to my mom.”

  “And?”

  “I think we’re good. She understands that I need this time for myself. I even got her to agree not to call unless it’s an emergency, which feels like a minor miracle. So I guess that means I’m ready.” For what, I wasn’t completely sure, but I had to trust Simon, trust that he knew what he was doing. Otherwise, I shouldn’t be here at all.

  “Good.” He got up from the couch and approached me. This time he did reach out to take my hand, to wrap his warm fingers around mine. “Let’s get started.”

  6

  Investigations

  Rafe

  He stared down at his cousin’s slack features, at the tubes attached to Marco’s arm and chest. The beeping of the heart monitor seemed set at precisely the correct pitch to grind into Rafe’s eardrums. “I don’t get it.”

  “What don’t you get?”

  Genoveva’s tone was even sharper than usual, but Rafe figured he could forgive her that much. This whole thing had to have been an enormous shock.

  Doing his best to soften his voice, he said, “Why is Marco in the hospital? Why didn’t Yesenia take care of him?”

  Rafe’s mother glanced toward her husband, who was standing off to one side, Cat next to him. His sister’s features were drawn with shock and sorrow, and Rafe knew exactly why. Marco was so full of energy, so lively…so goddamn young…that it didn’t make any sense why he would now be lying in a bed here at St. Vincent’s Hospital rather than off drinking somewhere with his Santa Fe cousins.

  “I called Yesenia as soon as…this…happened,” Genoveva said. She glanced over at Rafe’s father Eduardo, who appeared almost shell-shocked, as if he still was having trouble processing the tragedy that had overtaken his young cousin. “Thank God we were speaking in Marco’s room at the La Fonda, rather than out in one of the public spaces. His room had a little sitting area, and we were all seated at the table there. He was reaching out, trying to find Miranda, and then — ”

  “And then he went very pale, then stiff,” Eduardo said. “And he slumped forward, his head on the table. We called Yesenia immediately, and — ”

  “And she came to the hotel room,” Genoveva cut in, looking somewhat miffed that her husband had interrupted her narrative. “She said Marco had a stroke, but she should have been able to manage that. And yet when she tried to use her power to repair the damaged blood vessels, to restore the blood flow to his brain, it didn’t seem to help at all. That was when she said we had better call an ambulance.”

  “Which we did, at once,” Rafe’s father said. He rubbed at his temple, as though he had a headache. Rafe couldn’t really blame him; his father was used to having everything go his way, and so much had not gone his way — or anyone else’s — over the past few days, it was enough to give anyone a migraine. “They brought him here. He’s been stabilized, but I don’t know how much that truly means.”

  Probably not a lot. “Stabilized” was hospital speak for “not in imminent danger of dying.” Rafe glanced back at Marco, at his cousin’s slack features. Strange, how much someone’s personality altered their appearance. If he hadn’t known that was Marco he was looking at, Rafe wasn’t sure whether he would have even recognized him.

  “But they’re going to run tests, right?” Cat asked, speaking for the first time. Her arms were crossed tightly against her chest, as though she needed to hug herself to provide some reassurance that everything would eventually be okay.

  “Yes,” Genoveva said. “Cat scans and MRIs and something else I can’t remember. I’ve called Sophia, and she’s on her way down from Taos.”

  Sophia Delgado was Marco’s mother. His father had died some years earlier, in a terrible wrong-way crash on the I-25. Rafe didn’t want to think what his cousin Sophia must be going through now, to worry about losing her only son when she had also lost his father.

  “He’s in good hands,” Eduardo said, although something about his expression told Rafe that his father wasn’t quite as confident about modern medicine as he pretended to be.

  Who could blame him? Most witch clans relied on their
healers to handle these sorts of matters, although so much depended on the strength of a particular healer’s talent. Some could heal everything short of death itself, while others could only manage broken bones and fevers, leaving civilian healthcare professionals to handle strokes and heart attacks and cancer.

  Rafe had to hope the civilians would be on top of this one. “Was Marco having any luck?” he asked.

  His father blinked at him. “‘Luck’?” he repeated.

  “With finding Miranda,” Genoveva said, the usual sharpness returning to her tone. “But no, he hadn’t. Then again, he’d only just begun to make his attempt when he collapsed. Really, Rafe, while I know it’s imperative that we find Miranda, right now we have more important matters to concern ourselves with.”

  He gave an absent nod, not willing to argue the point. It was true that Marco’s health should be uppermost in their thoughts…but at the same time, Rafe didn’t see how he could do much good by being here. Marco certainly couldn’t tell who was standing next to his hospital bed. His consciousness must be buried deep within, focused on healing the damaged nerves and blood vessels that had put him in this coma in the first place.

  “Do you…?” Cat ventured, then paused as everyone focused on her. She cleared her throat, although she looked as though she regretted speaking up at all. “Do you think his collapse is connected to our search for Miranda?”

  “I doubt it,” Genoveva said crisply, although her reply had come almost too fast. Had she entertained that same unsettling thought before she pushed it aside? “Marco has been using his talent safely for almost fifteen years now. It is a horrible thing to acknowledge, but strokes happen, even in young, otherwise healthy people. Not that I would have called Marco the picture of health.”

  No, you wouldn’t, you harpy, because he’s not a perfect specimen, and you don’t much like having to acknowledge that every single Castillo isn’t perfect. Rafe scrubbed a hand against the side of his face, acutely aware of last night’s tequila and this morning’s coffee resting uneasily in his stomach, and how much he really needed something to eat. It seemed a horrible thing to be thinking about at a time like this, but he couldn’t help himself. His stomach didn’t care what was going on in the world; it just wanted to be fed.