The Witches of Canyon Road, Books 1-3

by Christine Pope

  The words drifted into silence, and Oscar shut his eyes for a moment, then expelled a breath, wincing slightly as he did so. “She’ll be all right,” he said after a long pause. “She has to be.”

  Yes, she did. Rafe didn’t want to think of what would happen to their clan if Louisa’s injuries were serious enough to prevent her from functioning as their prima. This was always a difficult time, that short period when a prima took over a clan but hadn’t yet chosen her successor. In general, the new prima usually had someone in mind, but if Louisa had already made her selection, she hadn’t spoken of it. They’d been a little busy the past few days.

  Cat went over and brushed the hair back from her sister’s face. Louisa’s eyes were shut, her face slack and pale. Rafe could just barely see the way her chest rose and fell, but how much did that mean? Malena was also breathing, but she was in a coma, completely unresponsive. Despair congealed somewhere in his center, cold and heavy and unrelenting.

  But he had another sister he needed to look after.

  “What about you?” Rafe asked Cat, and she blinked at him.

  “I’m okay,” she replied. “My head hurts a little, and I feel kind of woozy. But it’s not a big deal.”

  “You collapsed, too,” he pointed out.

  “I know.” She paused for a moment, gaze moving to the stained-glass windows on the wall beyond him, to the sunlight that streamed through them. “I think it was the demons.”

  “They’re what made you faint?”

  “I think so.” Another hesitation, as though she had stopped to try to put the pieces together as best she could. “I’m not sure how, but I wonder if my sensing that weird pressure has something to do with my ability to see ghosts, to communicate with them. I know that ghosts and demons are two different things, but they’re both not from this plane, if you know what I mean. There’s a wrongness to the demons, though. Maybe they create some kind of weird feedback loop when they come into this world, and somehow I can sense it.”

  This all sounded plausible to Rafe. He wanted to believe Cat’s hypothesis, because at least then these weird episodes she experienced would have some meaning to them. “And so you actually fainted this time instead of just getting a headache because they were so close?”

  “I think so. Maybe. I never experienced anything like this until Simon Escobar came to Santa Fe, so it makes sense.”

  Fucking Escobar. The anger still seethed deep within Rafe, overriding even the concern he felt for his sisters, for his wounded brother-in-law. “We have to find him, Cat.”

  She laid a hand on his arm. “We will. You found him the last time, right? And we know that Miranda has the ability to hold him off, because she did it before.”

  Rafe wished he could share his sister’s confidence on that particular point. When he’d come on the scene at the estate in Tesuque, Miranda hadn’t looked as though she was holding her own. No, she’d looked a couple of minutes away from being a rape victim.

  Worry churned in his gut, sour, acid. He had to put that image out of his mind, because otherwise he’d convince himself that that was what was happening to Miranda right now, and he couldn’t bear it.

  “I hope so,” he said, his voice tight.

  The doors at the far end of the chapel opened, and both Rafe and Cat got up from where they’d been kneeling next to Louisa. Yesenia came hurrying in, her hair, which she usually wore pulled back in a long ponytail, windblown and messy, her expression strained.

  “I was at Malena’s house when you called,” she said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be quicker.”

  “It’s all right,” Eduardo replied. He’d been sitting in the front pew, listening to Cat and Rafe talk, watchful gaze never leaving his eldest daughter’s slack face. “We know you came as fast as you could.”

  She nodded, then went and knelt next to Louisa, her expression growing grave as she ran her hands over the prima’s body, sensing the energies deep within and how they might have been disrupted. “I can’t feel anything intrinsically wrong with her,” she said. “Her mind has been taken far away, just like Malena’s. But she breathes, and her heart sounds strong. I think the best thing to do is take her home and put her in her own bed. Perhaps if she is given enough time to heal….”

  Yesenia stopped there. While she didn’t quite shake her head, Rafe could tell she was mystified by this strange malady, something that seemed to have no real source. From what she’d said, there didn’t seem to be any real reason why Louisa should be in a coma…or Malena, for that matter.

  But magic could be unpredictable, and none of them had any real idea what type of terrible spells Simon Escobar had been using. The very blackest kind, obviously, because no witch or warlock who walked in the path of light would stoop to summoning demons, or using magic to inflict harm on another.

  And, thanks to more of that dark magic, Rafe couldn’t even reach out to the one person who might know something about all this. Miranda’s father, Connor Wilcox, had never used these sorts of foul spells, but his brother had delved into all kinds of forbidden magic. At least Connor might have been able to offer a few words of advice on how to deal with it, to counter it, even though he himself had avoided falling into those traps.

  “All right,” Rafe said, and let out a weary breath. “Go ahead and see what you can do for Oscar.”

  Yesenia nodded, then went over to Oscar and knelt at his side, running her hands over him just as she had with Louisa a moment earlier. When she was done, she nodded. “You have cracked two of your ribs and strained your back.” With a faint smile, she went on, “All of which is easy enough to fix.” She brought her hands down closer to the injured ribs, a warm, faint glow emanating from her palms as she used her power to send the healing energies forth into her patient. After a moment, she laid her hands against his back, again waiting for the magic to do its work. When she was done, she sat back on her heels. “How do you feel now, Oscar?”

  Cautiously, he pushed himself to a sitting position, hands flat against the wooden floor. “I feel — well, I still feel as though someone used me for a punching bag, but the worst of the hurt is gone.”

  “You will probably be stiff and sore for a day or so,” she told him. “But at least you won’t have to worry about those ribs or your back.”

  “No,” he said, gaze moving past her to Louisa, who still lay as quiet as though she was dead, although Rafe knew she breathed. “Now I can just worry about my wife.”

  Looking solemn, Yesenia got to her feet and went over to Eduardo, laid a hand on his shoulder. “And how are you, Eduardo?”

  “Sore in heart but not in body,” he replied. “The demons did not attack me, for whatever reason.”

  Because of his inborn luck, Rafe guessed, and also probably because that same magical talent offered no outward threat to them. He recalled how the demons had pushed back hard enough on Miranda that they’d sent her flying. Apparently, she hadn’t been hurt by their attack, but he had to wonder whether Escobar would give his flying monkeys a chewing-out for daring to strike the woman he wanted.

  The woman he wanted….

  Once again, worry rose in Rafe, sick and foul in his mouth. The mere thought of Miranda in Simon Escobar’s hands made him want to retch.

  “Well, that is something,” Yesenia said, bringing Rafe back to the moment. “Rafe, can you and Eduardo carry Louisa to her car? I don’t think Oscar should be lifting her yet, not when he’s so newly healed.”

  “Of course,” Rafe said automatically. He might as well be of some use to his sister, since he’d certainly been no help to the woman he loved. During the demon attack, the beast had risen in him, wanting to be let out, wanting to go for Escobar’s throat, but he’d hesitated just a moment too long. He still wasn’t sure why exactly, although he knew deep down that his wolf form couldn’t have prevailed against the dark warlock. The first time, he’d gotten lucky. That was all.

  Eduardo got up from the pew where he’d been sitting, and the two of them went to
Louisa and eased her up off the ground. She felt very heavy in Rafe’s arms, even though she was slender enough. Maybe it was just that the life force within her seemed as though it had gone very far away, leaving behind only dead weight.

  Despite that, Rafe and his father were able to carry her outside without too much trouble, pausing for just a moment as Oscar unlocked the rear door of his car and opened it wide so they could lay her on the seat there.

  “I’ll follow you back to your house,” Yesenia said. “Then we’ll do what we can to get her comfortable.”

  “What if she stays in the coma for days and days?” Oscar asked, worry pulling at his brows. “Won’t she need an IV or something?”

  “Hopefully, she won’t stay unconscious that long. But yes, if she’s out for more than twenty-four hours, we’ll have to take more drastic measures.” She gave him a reassuring smile, laid her hand on his arm. “I am a healer, but I also have training in these things. I can take care of Louisa as long as her condition doesn’t worsen.”

  “And Malena?” Eduardo asked. He’d stepped back out of the way once Louisa had been safely set down on the back seat.

  “Her condition is the same. Actually, her coma isn’t as deep as I feared, because when I squeezed some water into her mouth, she swallowed. Her reflexes are there.”

  “That’s a good thing, right?” Cat asked. Her arms were crossed tightly, almost as if she hugged herself, although Rafe had a feeling she wasn’t so much cold as trying to reassure herself that she was actually okay.

  “It’s a very good thing,” Yesenia replied, offering a reassuring smile. “That’s what I told John. If we can keep getting her to drink, then she runs less risk of becoming dehydrated, and we won’t have to give her an I.V. Since Louisa’s condition looks similar, I have to hope we can do the same for her.” She turned toward Oscar, who was now hovering near the driver’s door, the key fob to the Volvo in his hand. “We should get Louisa home. Even if she can’t consciously feel it at the moment, she’ll be more comfortable in her own bed.”

  Oscar nodded, then gave a half-hearted wave to everyone watching as he got in the car. Yesenia murmured a quick goodbye to Eduardo, Rafe, and Cat, then went over to her Ford SUV and climbed in.

  “What now?” Cat asked.

  Eduardo’s gaze moved back toward the chapel. “I would like to say goodbye to Genoveva. José’s people will be here soon to take the coffin away, and since we can’t be there at her graveside when she’s interred….”

  Oh, God. Rafe had almost forgotten about that, thanks to all the tumult. He supposed he should be glad that the demon attack had left his mother’s coffin undisturbed, since that would have made an already horrible situation truly dreadful. Deep down, he had a feeling that they would be perfectly safe going to the cemetery and being there as Genoveva’s coffin was lowered into the ground, since Simon Escobar now had what he wanted — Miranda — but he kept his thoughts to himself. They’d already mentally prepared themselves to not be present, and he didn’t see the point in changing their plans now.

  Besides, even if he thought it might be safe, Rafe couldn’t be absolutely sure. For all he knew, Escobar would go back on his promise to Miranda as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Better that they not make targets out of themselves.

  “Sure, Dad,” he said. “I think I’ll wait out here, though.”

  Eduardo nodded, as though he wasn’t too surprised that his only son would want to excuse himself from such a vigil. “Cat?”

  “You go on inside,” she said. “I’ve — I’ve made my goodbyes. And I really don’t want to go back in there.”

  Although her reply clearly saddened their father, he didn’t try to argue with her. “Of course. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  “Take as much time as you need,” Cat told him, laying a hand on his arm and giving it a squeeze.

  A resigned smile, and Eduardo went back into the church. Rafe watched him go, hating the slump of his shoulders, the way he didn’t seem quite as tall as he had been a few days ago. Once he was gone, Cat looked up at Rafe.

  “What now?”

  “I don’t have a frigging idea,” he said. God, he hated this feeling of impotence, of knowing that the woman he loved was in Simon Escobar’s hands and that there wasn’t a goddamn thing he could do about it. “I guess we put our heads together and try to figure out where that son of a bitch is hiding.”

  She nodded, gaze moving past him to the street just beyond the church, where cars moved along placidly and people made their way along the sidewalk, pausing here and there to look in a storefront, or to consult their phones. Despite the brisk wind — or maybe because of it — the day was clear and bright, if cool. Santa Fe appeared completely serene.

  Too bad Rafe knew that all kinds of ugliness lurked just under the surface.

  “I think you should come stay with Dad and me,” Cat said. “I don’t like the idea of you being alone in that house.”

  “Miranda put a protection spell on it,” he protested. While he knew that Cat had a point, he didn’t want to go back to the big house where he’d grown up. He’d never liked it, and now, knowing that his mother had died there….

  “I know,” Cat replied calmly. “But there’s also one on our house. And I’d just feel safer if you were with us. Please?”

  He stared down at her, saw the naked pleading in her face. None of this could have been easy for Cat — her mother dead, her two older sisters in strange, magically induced comas. And that didn’t even include having a strange psychic reaction every time Escobar decided to deploy his demons for a new bit of nastiness.

  Of course Cat would want her family around her. Really, it was selfish of him to remain on his own, especially when he knew she’d be worrying about him every single minute he was alone in his house.

  “Okay,” he said, doing his best to keep the reluctance out of his voice. “Just let me get back there and pack some stuff, and then I’ll come over.”

  Some of the tension seemed to leave her face, and she gave him a relieved smile. “Thanks, Rafe. I really appreciate it.”

  “No problem. It’ll make it easier for us to work on finding Miranda.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  She sounded almost hopeful. Rafe didn’t want to discourage her or make her worry that much greater, but he had a feeling this search would be far from easy. However, as Cat had pointed out earlier, he had been able to track down Miranda before, although at least then he’d had a few leads, nebulous as they might be.

  Now, he had nothing. Sooner or later, though, he’d find Simon Escobar. And when he did….

  I’m going to kill him.

  10

  Gilded Cage

  Miranda

  As soon as solid ground touched my feet again, I pulled away from Simon Escobar, leaving him clutching empty air.

  However, he didn’t seem angered by the immediate distance I’d put between us. Again he wore that almost lazy smile, as though he knew he had the upper hand here. “Welcome home,” he said.

  I took a quick glance around. As far as I could tell, his new hideout looked like a typical pueblo-style Santa Fe house, with high beamed ceilings and tile floors. We stood in the eating area off the kitchen, which was shiny and appeared to have been recently remodeled, all top-of-the-line stainless appliances and polished stone countertops. “This isn’t my home,” I flung back at him, and he shrugged.

  “It is now. You agreed to come with me. Remember what will happen if you change your mind.”

  I swallowed, recalling how Louisa lay on the floor of the church, not moving, how Cat also had appeared to be knocked out, or worse. As much as I hated the sight of Simon Escobar, the sound of his voice, I hated even more the thought of being responsible for the deaths of any more Castillos, especially Cat or Rafe.

  God, Rafe.

  His voice cracking as he called out to me, the utter despair on his face. The memory tore through me even now, reminding me that, no
matter how much I loved him, I had to walk away if I wanted him to live.

  “Fine,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere. That doesn’t mean I have to be nice to you.”

  One eyebrow lifted. “Really? You’re going to play it that way, Miranda?”

  “How else am I supposed to play it? Threatening to hurt or kill the people I care about isn’t exactly the best way to endear yourself to me, you know.”

  For a moment, Simon didn’t reply. He only stood there, watching me carefully. Then he gave the faintest hitch of his shoulders, as though he’d assessed my current mood and realized there was no real way to gain any ground with me. Not right away.

  Not ever, I thought.

  “I only wanted to point out that they weren’t worthy of you, Miranda,” he said. “The prima of the clan, your supposed fiancé, Genoveva’s youngest daughter — none of them mounted any kind of a defense. You were the only one who stood up to my demons, who had any kind of an effect on them.”

  “That wasn’t their fault.” I crossed my arms, even though it wasn’t that chilly in the house. Actually, the temperature inside was almost uncomfortably warm. I would have pushed up the sleeves of my sweater, but I didn’t want Simon to think that I’d been put off balance by my new surroundings. “We’re witches, not demon hunters.” Narrowing my eyes at him, I added, “How were you able to summon those demons, anyway?”

  A careless shrug. “It’s a talent that runs in my family. Supposedly, my brother could perform the same kind of summonings. It’s not so difficult, if you know what you’re doing.” He came closer, and I had to force myself not to flinch, even though he made no move to reach out and touch me. “I’m surprised no one told you about how he once sent demons to your little town in the mountains.”

  Actually, I had heard the story. Before I was born, when my parents and the three Arizona witch clans fought against Joaquin Escobar and the Santiago clan he controlled, demons had attacked on the border of Jerome. Levi, one of the elders — although he hadn’t been one at the time — had driven them back, then done what he could to help ward the town against any further incursions. If it hadn’t been for him, I really didn’t know what could have happened. The McAllister witches and warlocks weren’t known for the defensive magic, and could have been easily overcome. Possibly my parents working together might have succeeded, but they hadn’t come into the fullness of their combined powers yet. At any rate, it had been a scary time, and when Matías Escobar died someplace in the otherworld, everyone had hoped that the ability to summon demons had died with him.