Darktide

by Christine Pope

  Expression deadpan, he said, “Yes, that’s exactly it.”

  Before she could reply, he bent and kissed her, kissed her so thoroughly that all her doubts and worries seemed utterly foolish. Oh, she loved him, loved the way he tasted, loved the way he could be passionate without trying to dominate her, how he seemed to admire her, respect her opinions. She’d never experienced that kind of consideration before, not with her father, and certainly not with Matías Escobar.

  After the kiss ended, she said, “We won’t be living in my parents’ house — that goes to Marisol as the prima. But she said we could take her house instead, if we wanted to.”

  “What, I’m going to be denied the mansion with all the Picassos?”

  Obviously, someone had been talking. Even though she knew he was joking, she answered him seriously enough. “No Picassos. But you know, I always liked Marisol’s house better. It’s friendlier. It’s a Craftsman-style bungalow in a historic neighborhood called Orange Heights. I think you’ll like the house — it even has a bit of a Jerome vibe to it.”

  The teasing grin he wore sobered, and he took his hands in hers. “If you’re there with me, I know I’ll love it…just like I love you.”

  Oh, God, he’d said it. Maybe he hadn’t gone down on one knee, but he’d still told her he loved her. Which meant she had to utter those words as well, the ones she’d been holding close to her heart because she hadn’t known whether it was the right time to say them.

  Well, it was definitely the right time now.

  “I love you, too, Brandon McAllister.”

  He took her in his arms again, and she kissed him, kissed him to let him know how much she cared, how much she wanted him in her life.

  They’d go back to California, and they’d try to make things better.

  26

  Angela

  The corner of the Cottonwood cemetery where the McAllisters were always laid to rest had a new headstone, although there were so many floral arrangements surrounding it, you could barely see the simple marble monument, engraved only with the dates of Boyd’s birth and death, and “Beloved Father and Husband” inscribed beneath those. No doubt if Boyd had been there, he would have shaken his head at what he would have considered the waste those expensive floral arrangements represented. For the rest of the clan, though, it was the least we could do to pay our respects.

  Boyd’s wife Meredith was pale-faced but calm. She’d made her peace with his death before we ever set foot in the cemetery, and his two sons were likewise stoic, their faces almost expressionless. It was only when you looked closely that you could see the strain in their eyes, the taut set to their jaws. This composure might be costing them, but I wasn’t going to take them to task for that. They had too much of their father in them to break down and weep in front of others, even family.

  I noted how Lucinda Santiago and Hayley’s brother Brandon stood off to one side, their hands clasped together. Just the day before, they’d told me of their plans to go to California, to help Marisol get their clan back on its feet and start the road to recovery, now that Joaquin Escobar and his controlling influence were gone. While I was a little saddened that they wouldn’t be staying in Jerome, I knew it was the right thing for them to do. And I was even happier that they’d somehow managed to find one another in the midst of all this chaos, to send another signal to the universe that love would always find a way.

  The simple graveside service over, we all headed back to our respective vehicles so we could return to Jerome and attend the reception for Boyd in Spook Hall. Again, he probably would have shaken his head over such a gathering, and all the food and drink we “wasted” there, but we all needed closure, needed a way to thank him for the long years he’d spent as one of the clan’s elders, making sure we were kept safe from harm.

  Connor helped me up the steps into the hall, his hand sure on my elbow. Maybe it had been foolish for me to put on my only pair of heels for the funeral and the reception, but again, I wanted to show Boyd the proper respect. Anyway, it wouldn’t be too long before my feet and my waistline started to swell for real. I might as well try to look like a lady while I still could.

  Everyone was here. I guessed the hall must be over capacity, although I thought any members of the volunteer fire department in attendance would look the other way at such a minor transgression. Allegra looking red-eyed — she’d been an elder nearly as long as Boyd and had spent most of her life working with him — Tricia weary but serene. I could tell she was relieved that Caitlin and Alex had driven up from Tucson for the reception, and I was, too, if for no other reason than I wanted to see as many of my clan members as possible, wanted to reassure myself that we were all safe now, that we no longer had anything to fear.

  And there were Margot and Lucas, Margot’s eyes shadowed with grief, even as she smiled to see Mia run over to Ian and Emily, whereupon Ian snagged a cookie off one of the trays on the banquet tables and magnanimously handed it over to her. As far as I could tell, none of the children seemed to have experienced any negative effects from their brief time as Joaquin Escobar’s hostages. Ellen, the Wilcox healer, had looked them all over and pronounced them to be whole and healthy, and so about all I could do was hope the incident would soon be nothing more than a distant memory.

  Margot came up to us then, Lucas a pace or two behind her. She surprised me by giving me a fierce hug before stepping back and looking her usual composed self again. “I really do think they’re going to be okay.”

  “More than okay, if the stack of pancakes Mia ate this morning is any indication,” Lucas added with a smile.

  I couldn’t help but smile back at him. Lucas had that effect on people. I wasn’t even angry that he hadn’t been there to protect the children. Marie had explained to me that she thought his absence had only been another manifestation of his peculiar gift for luck, which of course looked after him rather than anyone else. “His gift kept him away,” she’d told me over the phone. “It was the only way to ensure that he would be safe. That’s how it generally works with Lucas — he doesn’t consciously decide to do these things. But his talent makes sure he always experiences the best possible outcome.”

  Would that unique talent have continued to function in Escobar’s presence? I doubted it, which meant that was probably another reason it kept him away.

  “Sounds like someone’s headed for a sugar crash,” Connor remarked with a grin.

  Considering that Mia had just stuffed another chocolate chip cookie into her mouth, I thought he might be right. But since I wasn’t the one who’d be wrestling with her to go to sleep that night, I decided I wouldn’t worry about it.

  Margot, who usually was a very observant parent, didn’t seem to notice at all. Her gaze was fixed on Levi, who stood on the other side of the hall with Hayley next to him. They were chatting with Brandon and Lucinda; all seemed amicable enough, but I got the impression that Hayley wasn’t too happy about her brother’s move to California. I couldn’t blame her, and yet I also knew it was the best thing he could do.

  “I’ve been thinking about Levi,” Margot said.

  “Oh?” I asked.

  “I think he would make a wonderful elder.”

  Startled, I looked at her more closely, but I could tell she was completely serious. “But…he’s not a true McAllister.”

  Her shoulders lifted. In her simple black dress, with her dark hair pulled into a low knot at the back of her neck, she gave off more than ever the impression of a retired ballerina. “In terms of blood, maybe not. But he’s done more to safeguard this clan than most people who were born right down the hill at Verde Valley Medical Center. He’s going to be a McAllister by marriage in the very near future, unless my eyes deceive me. Can you think of a better alternate?”

  She had me there. In the four days since Boyd had died and Joaquin Escobar had been defeated, we’d had a lot going on. Even so, Connor and I had found time to discuss the issue of choosing someone to replace Boyd. An elder didn’
t have to be elderly; he or she just had to be a very powerful warlock or witch. In this case, we needed a warlock, because the McAllisters always had two witches and one warlock function as their elders, but the pickings had been fairly slim. We discussed Henry, my Great-Aunt Ruby’s older son, but he was getting up in years, and we would have preferred someone younger. There was Marcus, Jenny and Roslyn’s father, but we weren’t sure he was a strong enough worker of magic.

  Why neither one of us had thought of Levi, I didn’t know.

  I glanced back at Connor, who stood behind my right shoulder, nursing a glass of punch. “What do you think?” I asked.

  “I think it’s a great idea,” he replied. “Margot’s right. Levi’s commitment to this clan matters a lot more than his origins. And I know he’d be honored to be asked.”

  “Okay,” I said. Frankly, I wanted the matter settled more than anything else, and I knew I could trust Levi implicitly. Where he had come from wasn’t important. What mattered was that he happened to be both very powerful and very honorable, a combination you didn’t see often enough. “We’ll talk to him tomorrow, after” — I flapped a hand at the assembled McAllisters — “well, after all this is over.”

  Margot smiled. “You’re making the right decision, Angela.” She turned to Lucas, saying, “We’d better collect Mia. It looks as though Ian is encouraging her to eat every cookie on that plate.”

  A wave of guilt went over me, because I probably hadn’t been paying as much attention to what the twins were doing as I should have. However, even as I glanced in their direction, I saw Rachel approach Ian and bend down to speak to him, even as she deftly snatched the cookie out of his hand and set it down on a napkin.

  As they say, it takes a village. Or in our case, a haunted mountain town full of witches and warlocks.

  The reception lingered into the early evening, but at last it was over, all of us scattering to our various homes and apartments and cottages. Ian and Emily were sleepy and wobbly, full of sandwiches and cookies and too much punch. Connor carried Emily up the hill, her dark head pillowed on his shoulder, while I held Ian by the hand and helped him along as best I could. Despite protestations of wanting to stay up just a little longer — “it’s not even eight o’clock, Mommy!” — they both conked out almost the moment their heads hit their pillows.

  Right then, I could relate. There might have been a few other times in my life when I’d felt this tired, but I couldn’t remember when they were. It was hard to believe that only several days earlier, we’d been transporting ourselves from place to place in the blink of an eye, had stripped the powers from a dozen witches and warlocks, had somehow managed to defeat the greatest threat the witch world had yet seen. Connor and I hadn’t spoken much of the energy we’d wielded, of the way we seemed to become much more than just a prima and a primus. I thought that both of us wanted to put it aside, to go back to what we once had been. In ancient times, men had hung up their swords when they returned from war, wearied by all they had seen and done, and that was what I wanted to do now. Put those swords away, and hope we would never have need of them again.

  Connor took me by the hand and led me out to the front porch, where the wooden glider we’d set there the year before beckoned. He placed a glass of water with lemon in my hand, and guided me to sit down on the gently rocking bench.

  “I thought you could do with a little decompression time,” he said. “And also, I wanted you to see that.”

  He pointed eastward, where a full moon was just beginning to come up over the Mogollon Plateau. A few thin, high clouds ringed the huge yellow disc, giving it the appearance of a crown.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said.

  He’d remained standing, and stood there and smiled down at me. “So are you.”

  “With butter smeared in my hair from that roll Emily didn’t finish, and my lip gloss long gone.”

  “Especially because of that.” Still smiling, he sat down next to me. We rocked in silence for a moment, and then he said, “It’s going to be okay, Angela.”

  “Is it?”

  Of course I was relieved that Joaquin Escobar was dead, that the Santiago clan seemed to be knitting itself together — and that the Ludlows had slunk off in disgrace once they realized the alliance they’d hoped for was now shattered forever. It also hadn’t hurt for them to understand that we now had an agreement with the Castillos.

  The Castillos. Connor and I had brought Isabel’s body back to Santa Fe at the same time we returned Rosella and Alberto to their home, only a few hours after our confrontation with Joaquin Escobar. How she had known we would be coming, I didn’t know, but Isabel’s daughter Genoveva had been waiting there in the huge hacienda for us.

  Or maybe I did understand how she knew she must be there. Genoveva had to have felt the prima energy flow into her, once Connor and I were done using it. She’d known we were working with her mother, had known of the pact we’d made with her.

  She’d watched, lovely features still and drawn, as Connor laid Isabel down on the living room sofa. Then she’d turned to us and said, “I haven’t forgotten. You will send the girl to us on her twenty-first birthday.”

  “I’m very sorry — ” I began, but she held up her hand, an imperious echo of her mother’s same gesture.

  “‘Sorry’ will not change what has happened. Only remember the promise you made to my mother, and send the girl when the time comes.”

  I’d opened my mouth to speak again, but Connor seemed to know it was better not to attempt to continue the conversation. He’d nodded, and taken me by the hand and whisked me away home before I could say anything else.

  Now, though — all I could think of was the child I carried, and the way I’d signed away her future in exchange for the Castillos’ help. I knew that Connor and I most likely couldn’t have prevailed against Joaquin Escobar without Isabel’s energy to strengthen us, and yet….

  “It will be all right,” Connor said. He laid his hand on mine, his presence warm and comforting in the mild late spring night. “We’ll explain to her everything that happened. She’ll understand. And maybe…just maybe she’ll look on this future of hers as an adventure.”

  An adventure. I watched the rising moon, saw how it shifted from gold to white as it climbed ever higher in the sky. One day my daughter would watch that same moon rise, and see it through her own eyes. She would have to make her own way in the world, make peace with the destiny that waited for her, just as I had.

  And for now…for now I was with the man I loved more than anything else in the world, and the people of my clan were safe.

  I couldn’t ask for anything more than that.

  The End

  Darktide concludes the Witches of Cleopatra Hill series. A spin-off series, the Witches of Canyon Road, will launch in March 2018. Turn the page for a sneak peek at the first book in the series, Hidden Gifts!

  Sneak Peek: Hidden Gifts, Prologue

  Santa Fe, New Mexico, twenty years from now….

  Genoveva Castillo set her phone down on the bulky carved desk that dominated the study, a small smile touching her mouth, like a cat that had just swallowed a particularly tasty canary. “She is on her way.”

  In that moment, watching the quiet triumph on Genoveva’s face, Rafael Castillo thought he’d never hated his mother as much as he did right then. However, he knew better than to betray anything of what he felt; Genoveva was the prima, or head witch of their clan, and her magical gifts only enhanced an already powerful gift of observation. The two of them had shared an uneasy détente for more than fifteen years now, ever since he was old enough to truly begun to understand what the horrible bargain she had made truly entailed for him. No chance to choose the woman of his heart, no opportunity to make his life his own, and all because his grandmother had made a deal with the prima of the McAllister clan in Arizona to provide some desperately needed magical help when they needed it most. Rafe couldn’t even blame Angela McAllister all that much; she’d been stu
ck between a rock and a hard place, fighting a dark warlock whose powers had seemed invincible. This terrible arrangement hadn’t even been her idea, but had sprung from some fancy of his grandmother’s.

  Voice as level as he could make it, he said, “I can’t believe you’re actually going through with this.”

  Genoveva’s smile faded. She turned away from him and went to the window of her study, twitching the heavy tapestry drapes aside so she could gaze out at the grounds of the property. This late in October, most of the leaves had fallen from the sycamores, but the cottonwoods were gamely hanging on, bright gold against the sullen sky. “Why shouldn’t you believe it? We’ve been planning this for the past twenty-one years. You’ve had plenty of time to get used to the reality of Miranda coming here.”

  That was a load of crap. Rafe knew he would never get used to the idea of an arranged marriage, of having someone he’d never met foisted on him. And Genoveva actually thought he was supposed to be happy about all this? “Keep telling yourself what you want to believe, Mother.”

  Her lips thinned. Back in happier times, he’d thought of her as “mom.” But as the distance between them grew, he’d slipped into using the much more formal epithet. Rafe could tell that Genoveva didn’t like it, because she wanted to pretend that everything was fine between them, that they were a model family and an example for the rest of the clan.

  There was a joke. His older sisters Louisa and Malena had managed to make their escape already, Malena to Corrales, Louisa to Tesuque, the village just north of Santa Fe. They had lives and families of their own, and could safely distance themselves from their mother. Cat, his little sister, hadn’t been so lucky, even though more than once Rafe had encouraged her to date on the down-low, to maybe try seeing civilians in her quest for the man of her dreams. But as free-spirited as his younger sister could be in some ways, she didn’t have quite the strength to break away from their domineering mother. He couldn’t really blame her; he knew the only reason he had as much independence as he’d been able to enjoy in his adult life was that his future had already been sewn up neatly — at least, in Genoveva’s eyes.