“Hmm.” An eyebrow lift, and Aguirre added, “What, you going to write about this, put it in the paper? Ain’t nobody gonna believe a word of it.”
Of that, Colin had little doubt. Luckily, his goal here wasn’t to write an exposé, but to get outside evidence that the McAllisters truly were a family of witches. So far, he’d say he’d been successful. Yes, one could argue that Tomas was feeding him a line of bull, but Colin didn’t think so. He’d spent a lot of years interviewing people, learning how to interpret their tells, the small twitches and reactions that they probably didn’t even realize they were making. But they might as well have been waving semaphore flags for all they good they did at hiding what they were thinking or feeling. Jenny was better at hiding her feelings than most people he’d met, but Tomas didn’t even seem to be trying.
“Probably not,” Colin agreed. “But I guess that’s between me and my editor.” He paused, wondering whether he should ask the question. It would be rather like rubbing salt in an open wound. Then again, what consideration did Tomas Aguirre really deserve? He’d helped his cousins kidnap two girls and murder one of them. As far as Colin was concerned, the man sitting behind the glass partition didn’t deserve squat. “So…what was your talent?”
The smallest of flinches at the word “was.” Colin made sure to look for it, and allowed himself some small satisfaction that he’d managed to get in that verbal dart.
But then Tomas lifted his shoulders, affecting a nonchalance he probably wasn’t actually feeling. “I could find people. Witch-kind, that is.”
“What…you could sniff them out like a bloodhound or something?”
“Or something.” Aguirre shifted on his chair once again, running a hand over his hair so he could smooth back a stray piece that had come loose from its ponytail. “I mean, it started out as just finding stuff people had lost. It’s kind of a common talent.”
“So they’re not all unique? Your gifts, I mean.”
“No. There are healers and weather-workers and people who can find things, or people who can see the future. That kind of shit. But then there are people like that pendejo Alex Trujillo. Ain’t nobody ever heard of a talent like his before, at least as far as I can tell.”
Fascinating. Colin wished he could explore that side of things more, ask how prevalent psychic powers were among witch-kind, as Tomas had referred to them. But he didn’t want to get too specific, because he didn’t know how much the warlock sitting in front of him knew about Roslyn’s family. After all, they’d held her for almost a week. They could have gotten her to talk.
He decided he’d better leave that question aside for now. “You said your powers started out as just finding objects. When did you start being able use it to locate other witches?”
Tomas scratched the side of his nose. “Well, we can always tell when we’re around other witches if we get close enough. Like, within a few yards, I guess. But it started to be more than that for me when I was in high school. I could tell when witch-folk were within almost a mile radius of me. So that’s how I was able to find the girls.”
“Danica Wilcox and Caitlin and Roslyn McAllister.”
Was that a flicker of remorse in Aguirre’s eyes? Maybe. Colin wouldn’t allow himself to feel sorry for the guy, though.
“Yeah, them. Matías wanted me to find some witches who weren’t part of the de la Paz clan.”
Colin didn’t bother to ask why. If you were going to use young witches to power your ritualistic spells, best not to kidnap them from the clan whose territory you were currently occupying. He did find himself compelled to say, “And you didn’t care about what he wanted them for?”
This time Tomas scowled again. “He said he just wanted their blood. Jorge and I didn’t know that much about the kinds of spells he planned to use. We didn’t think — ”
“You didn’t think he was going to murder them?”
“Not at first. See, that was why we needed three of them. Just a little from each one, each day. But then the redhead got away, and we were left with only two, and Matías wasn’t going to let that stop him.”
No, obviously not. Everything Colin had learned about Matías Escobar during the course of his investigations had shown that the warlock was a very driven man. What no one had been able to adequately explain was why he’d been so driven, what he’d hoped to accomplish by murdering Roslyn McAllister. The D.A. had presented the case as pure ritual murder, with no other real motive, but now Colin had to wonder.
“What was the point of the spells?”
At that question, Aguirre’s lips pressed together, and once again he looked down at the tats on the back of his hands. “You don’t need to know that. He didn’t get what he wanted. Fucking Trujillo saw to that.”
So many pieces, and not many of them made that much sense. There had been a girl in the parking lot with Matías, according to Eileen Kosky. Had he been trying to kidnap someone else so he could accomplish whatever he was attempting with those dark spells?
“Look, man,” Tomas Aguirre went on. “We didn’t mean for it to happen, Jorge and me. But Matías kept using Roslyn instead of Danica, and I figured out he wanted to keep Danica for himself, didn’t want to hurt her too bad.”
“So he killed Roslyn instead.”
Was that real grief behind Aguirre’s eyes? They did look a little too bright. His jaw went tense as he swallowed. “Yeah, he killed her. Stupid fucking waste. She didn’t deserve that.”
No, she didn’t. And her family didn’t deserve to be left behind to mourn her. Colin thought of the grief Jenny tried so hard to hide, the way she somehow seemed to blame herself, even though there was certainly nothing she could have done to prevent her sister’s murder.
Voice hard, Colin said, “And you didn’t do anything to stop him.”
This time, Tomas didn’t look away. His eyes looked like scorched black holes in his face. “No, I didn’t. You know why? Because Matías could make you do anything he wanted. That was his power. He could make Danica think she wanted to be with him, and he could make me and Jorge hang around and help him, because we had talents he could use. Stop him? There’s a joke.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone that? It might have reduced your sentence.”
“Who would have believed me?” The warlock straightened in his chair, and, just for a moment, Colin could see the man he might have been, if he hadn’t fallen in with Matías Escobar. “Anyway, we don’t rat out our fellow witches. Ever.”
“But you’re talking to me now.”
“I’m talking to you. One person. I’m not saying anything that’s going to be a matter of public record. Or is it?”
For a long moment, Colin didn’t reply. He met Tomas Aguirre’s defiant but worried gaze, then shook his head and said, “No. This conversation is just between you and me.”
Because, as Tomas had just said, who would believe him?
16
Busy was good. Busy kept Jenny from thinking that she might be going crazy.
As predicted, the tourists had swept into Jerome the day after Thanksgiving, filling the shops and restaurants and bars, bringing the traffic on Main Street to even more of a crawl than it already was on non-holiday weekends. Jenny worked with only half her mind on what she was doing, answering questions by rote, directing people up the street to the restaurants or other shops they were looking for. Somewhat to her surprise, considering that most of her customers appeared to be casual browsers, she did sell one of Connor’s paintings to a well-dressed couple from Scottsdale. The husband handed over his black American Express card and didn’t even blink at the five-figure price after sales tax.
There were days when Jenny would have closed up shop after that kind of a sale, since the gallery’s cut of the sales price was substantial, but she knew she couldn’t get away with that kind of maneuver today. Besides, what would she have done with her free time? Wander around Main Street in the hope of catching another glimpse of the apparition that had upset her so much
the evening before?
Well, actually, she did have something like that planned, but it would have to wait until she closed the gallery at six. The town would still be fairly busy with those who had stayed on to have dinner or who had decided to hang around until the band started to play at the Spirit Room at eight-thirty, but a lot of the people who currently crowded the streets would have packed up and gone back to their hotels in Sedona, or begun the long drive home to Phoenix.
After she made some smaller sales of jewelry and prints, six o’clock finally rolled around, and she was able to lock the front door and turn the sign in the display window around so it read “Closed.” Mason and Adam had gone back to Flagstaff, but Jenny’s mother had invited her over for dinner, an invitation she’d quietly refused. Lysette only wanted to make sure her daughter was all right, but after Thanksgiving, Jenny had had enough family “togetherness” to last her for quite a while.
She turned off the lights in the gallery, then went out the back and up the steps to her flat. Only long enough to retrieve her coat; a cold wind was blowing from the northeast, and she didn’t want to make the same mistake she had the night before, when she’d worn only a shawl for warmth. Anyway, she didn’t know how long she might have to be out.
At least the area around Spook Hall should be relatively quiet, as the building wasn’t in use this evening, and the wine-tasting room a few doors down also closed at six. People had gathered around the entrance to the Spirit Room, chatting or smoking or merely hanging out, but no one seemed to be looking down toward Hull Avenue.
Jenny walked as casually as she could down the alleyway on the south side of the building, the spot where Maisie was rumored to make her appearances. Making sure she was standing in a location not illuminated by the feeble streetlights on Hull Avenue, she called out in a stage whisper, “Maisie!”
There was no answer, of course. The wind picked up slightly, making Jenny glad that she’d buttoned up her coat all the way before venturing forth. And the voices from the people on Main Street sounded strangely ghostly themselves as they drifted down the hill toward the place where she now stood.
Knowing she was going to be calling herself an idiot and several other choice names when she woke up the next morning, Jenny tried again. “Maisie!”
No reply. Maybe if she’d brought Angela with her….
Which would only have made the whole situation that much worse. The prima was up at her house with her husband and family, probably snacking on Thanksgiving leftovers, and no doubt wouldn’t have been too thrilled to be dragged out into the cold on such a fool’s errand. After all, Jenny knew that she probably hadn’t seen anything at all the night before. She’d been worked up and emotional because of the split from Colin and the pressure of being around her family, not to mention missing her sister, and she’d just thought she’d seen Roslyn. What she should really do right now was turn around, go home, and pour herself a big glass of wine. Or two. And then binge-watch House of Cards on Netflix or something.
“You called?”
Jenny whirled around. Standing farther down the alley, her white blouse a blur in the shadows, was a young woman with pale blonde hair piled on top of her head. She had her arms crossed, and gazed up the sloping street toward Jenny with what appeared to be an expression of some amusement on her face, although it was hard to tell in the darkness.
Even though Angela had always said that Maisie looked just as normal as anyone else, except for the way she dressed, and Jenny herself had caught a glimpse of the ghost in Colin’s memories, now that the moment had come, she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. Talking to ghosts was Angela’s talent, not hers.
“M-Maisie?”
“The same.” She came closer, enough so that Jenny could see her skirt was navy blue. Tiny drops of mother-of-pearl hung from her ears, but she wore no other jewelry, not even a pin for the high neck of her blouse. “Seems like you’re troubled, Jenny McAllister.”
“Well, I — ” Jenny broke off there, not sure what she should say next. “How is it I’m talking to you now?”
Maisie’s thin shoulders lifted. “Your need was great.”
“That’s all it takes?”
“For me, yes. Most folks don’t know that, though, so they all think the only one who can talk to me is Angela. Your man, though — he needed to hear from me as well.”
“He’s not my man,” Jenny said, her tone flat. And whose fault was that? Not hers.
“Oh, yes, he is, even if you’re angry with him. You have every right, o’course, but I can’t see how his crime was so terrible that it’s not worthy of some forgiveness.”
Easy for her to say. Maisie had the perspective of a hundred years, while Jenny felt as if her own wound was very fresh. She crossed her arms and glared at the ghost. “Why do I have to be the one doing the forgiving? I didn’t do anything wrong. He was the one who lied to me.”
“That’s not how forgiveness works, is it?”
Was it permissible to start yelling at a ghost? Because that was what Jenny felt like doing then. The only thing she’d been guilty of was a minor indiscretion…followed by beginning to lose her heart to absolutely the wrong guy. “What difference does it make to you, anyway?” she asked. “Are you bored with the afterlife, and so you decided it might be fun to play matchmaker for a while?”
Rather than being offended by that question, Maisie only chuckled. “Laws, girl, I don’t really care one way or another. I’m just trying to do a favor for someone.”
“A favor?” Jenny demanded. “For whom?”
“I’m not sure I’m supposed to say. I’ve probably said too much already.” As she spoke, her outline began to turn blurry, and the bricks of the building behind her started to become visible as she went transparent and then disappeared altogether.
“No!”
Her denial rang off the walls of the buildings on either side. Jenny shoved her hands in her coat pockets and looked from side to side, desperately praying that Maisie’s disappearance was only temporary. But the street was empty, and the ghost had gone.
Despite that, Jenny stood there for several more minutes, hoping Maisie might return. Jenny needed more answers. She needed to know what Maisie had meant about doing a favor for someone. And did she really expect Jenny to simply turn around and tell Colin it was okay, that she forgave him for being a lying bastard?
No. She had to stop herself there, because while he certainly was a liar, she couldn’t go so far as to think of him as a bastard. He’d had his reasons for concealment in the beginning, even if he had allowed the whole sorry mess to go way too far.
Damn it, she thought angrily. Now you really are just one step away from forgiving him.
She stomped away from the spot where she’d had her conversation with the ghost. At the same time, she couldn’t help wondering what Colin might be doing at that moment.
* * *
Colin sat with his sister Kate at a trendy wine bar and bistro in Chandler. She’d chosen it because it had great reviews on Yelp and, although he’d had to drive a good deal farther to get there, was still more convenient than going into downtown Phoenix or driving all the way into Peoria, where Kate’s condo was located. While he might have gone with something a little less hip, the wine bar did have the benefit of being located in a town where no one knew him or his sister. The place was mobbed, but he had a feeling most decent restaurants were packed that night. No one wanted to cook the day after Thanksgiving.
“So you seriously went to a prison?” Kate asked.
“I needed answers.”
“Did you get them?”
He paused, looking across the table at her bright, earnest face. She’d taken this whole witch thing with more equanimity than he’d expected, but he could tell that she was slightly shocked by the revelation about his activities earlier that day. “I think so. The guy basically told me that there really were witch families here and in California — and I have to assume that means they’re prob
ably all over the place, not just in the Southwest.”
“Like Salem?” Kate’s hazel eyes were dancing, and he knew she was teasing him. Even so, he felt a stab of annoyance, because he already knew how crazy the whole thing sounded.
“I didn’t ask. Anyway, I think it’s pretty clear that Jenny McAllister and her family are a little out of the ordinary. I’m just not sure what to do about it.”
An eyebrow went up. “Oh, give me a break. You know exactly what you have to do.”
“What’s that?”
“You like this girl. A lot.”
“Is it that obvious?”
Kate’s French-manicured fingers tapped on the base of her wine glass. “To me it is. Come on, Colin — you’ve been basically living like a monk for the past three years. If you’ve gone on any dates, you sure haven’t talked about them. But then you show up at Thanksgiving looking like you’ve lost your last friend, and you admit you were seeing somebody and you screwed it up and don’t know what to do about it. I doubt you would have gone up to see her in Jerome if you didn’t think it was worth taking the risk.”
Well, when she put it that way…. He didn’t know about living like a monk, but he’d definitely been through a long dry spell in recent years. The divorce was final, and supposedly he was a free man, but he still didn’t feel much like one. To tell the truth, he’d been marking time until the last of those alimony checks were written. After that, he’d be able to call his life his own again. So he’d seen a few women, even slept with a couple of them, but he hadn’t allowed himself to feel that connected. And apparently none of them minded too much, because they’d let things peter out naturally, texts and calls becoming more and more spaced out until they disappeared altogether.
But then he’d met Jenny, and everything had gone sideways. He’d never reacted to a woman like that before, not even Shannon. And he realized that he didn’t care if the McAllister family was full of spell-casting witches and warlocks, or that the world was a much crazier place than he’d ever imagined. All he wanted was Jenny. No matter what.
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