That left me to wash up and change clothes before putting together a salad. At the rate we were plowing through food, I had better cook up some refried beans and beg tortillas from my mom.
Lynx finally joined me in the kitchen, but turned up his nose at my offer of a carrot. I chopped vegetables and snacked on the results. On my worst day I wouldn’t have asked Lynx why he and Tara had broken up. Even asking him innocent, well-meaning questions was often dangerous.
Lynx glowered at the carrot on the counter with artistic disdain, ears stretched back as though he was half switched to cat. Instead of commenting on the inedibility of vegetables he said, “Tara called me Bob.”
My hand jerked involuntarily. The celery stick I was dipping into the ranch dressing nearly sent the bowl over the side of the counter. “What?”
He picked up the carrot from the bar and chewed as though eating poison, smacking his lips rudely. “When I left her at your house and wouldn’t take her with me to the job at Tent Rock.”
My mouth dropped. “Tara called you Bob instead of Lynx?” The deliberate use of his shifter form of “bobcat” rather than his chosen name of “lynx” was either an insult or a threat to expose his true nature. Lynx was already sensitive. He didn’t need a girlfriend touting that she knew he was a bobcat rather than a lynx. He definitely didn’t need her implying that a bobcat was somehow inferior to the name he’d chosen to call himself.
Lynx did not glance my way, but one ear swiveled, and his eyes flashed bobcat yellow.
“Oh.” I had no idea why Lynx had chosen the name he had. Maybe it was because a lynx was larger—although definitely not meaner—than a bobcat. Then again, the kid had been younger than twelve when he found himself on his own, living in the streets. He might not have known the difference between the two cats when he picked the name. I choked on my next bite of food rather than ask.
Lynx happily smacked me across the back while my eyes watered.
“That’s exactly the way I felt.” He seemed deeply satisfied with my reaction, even though my choking had little to do with Tara’s words.
“Enough,” I gasped out, waving him off before he killed me. I swallowed a sip of iced tea. “She has a lot of issues, you know.”
He cut his eyes to me, eyes that had reverted to full human.
I held up my hand before his attitude went further downhill. “Not excusing it. But you may as well find out early how mean her mean streak can be.” With Tara it went past nasty, circled back to ambush, and had no trouble escalating from there. “Bottom line is she has family and because of that, she’s used to being forgiven for just about anything.”
Lynx didn’t have family. He’d never had family. Tara was the baby of the family. They had tried to train her, coax her to do the right thing, coerce her—and even when it all failed, they still loved her. This was not a concept that Lynx could understand, but I tried to explain anyway.
He finished his soda and half a package of crackers long before I was done stuttering on about family nuances. He scratched his chin. “Are you saying I was supposed to,” he cocked his head, “just forget about it?”
“Oooh, no,” I shook my head. “If Kas had pulled something that dirty, there would be hell to pay. She’s my sister and I love her, but no. No, you don’t take that sort of thing sitting down.”
His lips curled in either a smile or a snarl. This was language he understood. “Exactly.”
“But,” I finished setting out plates and utensils. “That’s where it gets tricky. See, I could stop talking to Kas, but she’d still be my sister. Because she’s my sister, I can’t throw a harmful spell at her.” I looked down, guilty. “Well, nothing lethal, you understand.”
Lynx never made noise when he laughed. From the way he leaned over and the delight on his face, he was probably almost hysterical with mirth.
“Are you sure Tara is worth bothering with? It’s not like you’re related, and there might well be someone...less...a lot nicer out there.”
He turned his back on me, putting distance between us. “That’s the thing. I don’t know.”
Obviously, the kid missed her. Tara had probably attempted to make amends, and the note proved she wasn’t done trying. “Well, I can’t answer that either. That’s something only you can figure out. I can tell you that her insult doesn’t mean anything other than stupidity. She’s spoiled and not used to paying for stupid remarks or even idiotic actions that put other people at risk.”
Tara had put me in danger, herself in danger, and if Lynx hadn’t been bobcat, he’d have been in danger too. “Yeah, that part I learned. She doesn’t think very hard before she decides she has a great idea.”
Lynx had followed her “thoughtless” ideas a time or two before he wised up. I hesitated, but it needed to be said. “I also don’t know her well enough to know if she likes you for you or if it’s because you’re a shifter.”
His back stiffened.
“Don’t go all feral cat on me! You want to hear it from me or do you want to find out the hard way?”
When he whirled to face me, his hand was raised in a warning cat-swipe.
I folded my arms over my chest. “I mean it, Lynx. I’ve been down this road playing the helpful friend and then gotten blamed because the message was ugly.”
For almost a full minute we stared at each other.
“Women!” he said with some heat.
“Yeah.” His eyes stayed brown with no hint of cat so I told him, “Back when all those women were getting killed by shifters, Tara claimed she wanted to date a werewolf. She spent a lot of time telling White Feather it was perfectly safe.”
“It is.”
“Not then it wasn’t, and you know it. But the thing is, I don’t know if she was yanking his chain or if she wanted to flirt with danger. I don’t know if she really cares about you or if she has some other game she’s playing.”
He was quiet for a bit, but then he asked, “What’s White Feather’s beef with shifters?”
I grinned. “Nothing. So long as they aren’t dating his sister.” Before the fur on his neck could ruffle, I added, “He’s got a thing about any guy dating his sister. My dad is like that. Some sort of an overprotective, all guys are trying to get in a girl’s pants thing.”
His face relaxed into a smirk.
“It’s also one of those family things I’ve been explaining. If you have a daughter, you’ll be the same way.”
He blinked once, fast. Then his eyes widened as if it was the first time he connected “relationships” to kids. Or in his case, maybe it was the first time he connected kids to family.
It took him a moment to get his feet back on the ground, but he finally asked, “How does a guy figure out if a girl is for real?”
I sighed. “The same way us women have to figure out if a guy is worth the trouble. Roll the dice.”
“Doesn’t seem like good business.”
“It’s not. But you shouldn’t do it for business reasons anyway.” I bet he had tallied every business and logical reason for dumping or dating Tara. The kid had perfectly normal hormones, but he had survival instincts second to none. “Survival and love don’t always mesh well. When the combination is right, it makes you stronger. When you get it wrong—” I hesitated. “It might not kill you. Presuming you don’t date anyone who is even more lethal than you are.”
Speaking of lethal, I provided Lynx with the rundown on Zandy breaking into Mat’s. “He was feeding a vamp a few days ago. What’s he up to?”
Lynx shrugged and did his human-cat hiss, which was close enough to the real thing that it included a guttural growl. “He sticks to the hills mostly. Lately he’s been in town telling everyone he’s a chupacabra on account of that witch, but it ain’t true.”
“Given that rumor has it a chupacabra is a crossed coyote and a wild pig, I’d almost believe it, except I saw him changed. He’s still just a mangy coyote.”
Lynx nodded. “Plus I’ve seen chupacabras, and he ain’t one. They’re mean
as a wild pig, so that’s the only reason he’s been bragging about something that stupid. But he was short more’n a few circuits before Sheila the witch started injecting him with her experiments. She didn’t improve him any.”
“So what’s he into?”
“Same as always. Mostly stealing, because a coyote can weasel around things that a human can’t.” He tilted his head, listening to something only he could hear. Maybe cats did that to hear their own thoughts. “Thing is, he never minded staying coyote, especially in tough times. Oh, he liked the action with the ladies, but it was the easy money that attracted him to that deal. Mostly he’s too lazy to work.” Lynx nodded sharply. “I’ll do some looking. See what easy cash is keeping him around town instead of eating some dead carcass something else already killed.”
“Lynx, he’s dangerous. If Patrick is right about his blood making it possible for a vamp to enter my place, you better watch yourself. It’s likely that last concoction Sheila injected in him had your blood too.”
I heard the growl without the hiss. “I know. I don’t mess around with him and his crap. That’s why I don’t know what he’s into. But I’ll find out.”
Chapter 18
My new lab had walls, and it now contained my equipment, but it wasn’t finished. I scowled over how the equipment had appeared without my permission. Maybe White Feather felt this same sense of crowding when my Dad showed up and tried to take over building his house.
My foot tapped. That last visit from Patrick had not helped things. White Feather was determined to protect me, whether I wanted to be protected or not. I stared at the diamond on my finger. If it indicated he was in trouble, I’d go to the ends of the earth, right through her if I had to. Hmm. I still didn’t like being moved over here without him asking.
Because Tracy had agreed to help repair Mat’s place for the next day or two, progress in the new lab was stalled. I pondered my choices. I could still use my old lab for testing purposes, even though it was now empty, but if there was ever a spell that needed improving, it was the flying spell. Testing it meant an outdoor excursion. For a lot of reasons, it fit the mood of the day.
I dug through boxes until I found the heliotrope I had purchased from Mat. It was one of Martin’s stones. Since Martin was dead, getting more magic from him wasn’t possible. That made this particular heliotrope very valuable.
White Feather was in the bedroom sorting through a box of items we had recovered after the storm blew his lab and half his house across the landscape. Haunting notes drifted across the room even though his lips were nowhere near the mouthpiece of the flute-like instrument he held in one hand.
“I didn’t know you played an instrument.”
The music stopped. He’d been concentrating so hard, he hadn’t sensed me coming. “Learning. It’s good exercise to direct air precisely rather than let it flow through all the tiny holes at the same time.” He held up the wooden flute and demonstrated. Without his fingers ever covering a single opening, he played the melody to “Blowin’ in the Wind.”
“Wow. I couldn’t do that using all ten of my fingers!”
White Feather shrugged. “I had five of these in the lab, but could only play two of them at the same time. This is the only one I found intact.”
Only another witch would understand the need to practice controlling five spells at the same time. I smiled. “Can I borrow some helium for my measly rock that doesn’t make any music at all?” He already knew the heliotrope could hold helium because he’d used the stone before. “I want to practice the flying spell.”
White Feather lifted one eyebrow. “Something tells me I’m not invited to this practice session.”
I frowned. “Not yet. Not until I’m closer to success.”
He eyed me thoughtfully, but didn’t argue. He hit the heliotrope with a blast. The stone sucked up the energy. When the breeze came around the edges, he stopped.
“Be careful with that thing,” he warned.
“Of course.” I wasn’t even considering blowing my way to the top of Tent Rock like he had done.
White Feather wasn’t impressed with my easy agreement. He chased me down the hall with the piercing sound of Kenny Loggins’ “Danger Zone.”
Thinking about the last time we’d used heliotrope is probably why my car found itself in the parking lot at Tent Rock. The air was crisp with cold, the sun mostly behind low, snow-threatening clouds. The burned area at the top of the climb didn’t beckon me. In fact, coming here didn’t provide any fond memories. I let the cold wind soothe me, freezing out any dread. Even though the earth was mostly sleeping as winter drew closer, there was still comfort to be found if you knew where to look.
I hit the trail to avoid any people from the two other cars in the lot.
There was more than one source of strong magic in Tent Rock, and that wasn’t counting the individual columns of stone that rose and guarded the place. I easily reached the bowl shaped depression where Mother Earth was particularly strong. It probably wasn’t a bad place to practice, but if there was too much magic it wouldn’t be a very good one either.
I held the heliotrope and felt for the wind, but the power contained in the stone was as alien to me as the errant breezes against my skin. I thought to push it or pull it, but it was not like silver or any of my other spells.
I frowned. My other flying spell worked with magnets and compression. There was compressed wind in the rock, but how to direct it?
The magnets in my shoes would only lift me so high.
“Squeeze it.”
The grinding voice startled me into dropping the heliotrope. I raised my silver and spun around so fast, I nearly fell when my feet lost their purchase in the shifting sand.
It took two searching passes before I saw—“Martin?!?” The color of smooth sandstone, he nearly blended into the rock behind him and in fact, had he not spoken, I’d never have seen him. Then again, maybe he resembled the stone because he had no clothes on and the stone behind him was more visible than he was. His body was nearly transparent.
I blinked. This was the second time in my life I’d seen a ghost. I was even less pleased than the first time it happened.
“Push the rock, not the wind.”
“What are you doing here?” I blurted out.
His chuckle was more crumbling concrete than mirth. In fact, he was more stone than wrinkled human ghost. His arms were not as rounded as human limbs. Harsh planes carved out his face. Oh, his beady little eyes were the same though. They traveled up and down my person suggestively. The only difference was that now his eyes weren’t watering from having imbibed too much alcohol. “Wasn’t quite ready to cross all the way over.” His sing-song voice now had the benefit of gravelly drums. “No rush.”
“You just hang around here?”
Even though breathing couldn’t possibly be required in his current state, he sucked in a snort of air and spit.
“Martin!” I jumped two steps to the right. Who cared if it was ghost phlegm? Stuff was probably poisonous. It was definitely creepy, as was the grinding chuckle that followed.
“I rested a bit,” he said. “The songs didn’t bother me anymore, not like before. I could sleep.”
Right before Martin died—or in his case, blended in with Mother Earth such that the difference was moot—I’d started to suspect that his close tie to the earth was the reason he drank. But there was no way to shut out Mother Earth, not really. She sang through the plants, she reflected back the warmth of Father Sun, she rumbled through the stones and gems of which she was made. She was the mountains and the heartbeat within.
That beat echoed through my own heart. Martin had roamed far and wide hunting her treasures and selling the magic, but he hadn’t been able to stand her constant thunder.
“Now that you’re awake, don’t you think you should be moving along?” Was it rude to rush a ghost through to the other side? Wherever that other side was?
“There are things here, interesting things
, in-between. I closed the gate. But there are these little holes. Tiny ones that pop open when black magic calls dark energy over to your side.” He waved a hand full of knobby fingers. “Then I heard my stone. Nice of you to keep it. To remember me.” He reached out as though to touch me.
I flinched and stepped back. I hadn’t wanted him groping me while he was alive. We all owed Martin, but gratitude didn’t cover pawing—dead or alive. “What little holes? Here in Tent Rock?”
He smiled and swayed side to side as if he were still a drunk. “Magic. Not my kind. Not your kind either. Little bits of demon spit that leak out, hunting blood. Black magic attracts demons and ghouls. If the magic is strong enough, it will call them through. You don’t want to mess with those things even if you’re resting here in-between.” His voice was soft and getting softer. “Nice of you to remember me.”
“Martin, wait! You haven’t explained—”
His mouth was moving, so I shut mine, but being Martin, he just had to get in the last disgusting word. “Squeeze the stone like a fart. You don’t grab farts, you squeez’m out.”
“Oh, for Moonlight Madness on a pin full of Aztec sacrifices!” I whirled around to make sure he wasn’t sneaking up from a different angle. For the first time, I realized my silver hadn’t heated up, not in the least. Of course, Martin hadn’t been a magical threat in real life, and he was an earth witch. A very strong earth witch who had felt me using one of his harvested stones even after he died.
I glared at the heliotrope and bent to retrieve it. Martin hadn’t changed. He was still annoying, and made very little sense. Or no sense at all.
Crouched down, I fingered the green stone with its streak of blood red. Bloodstone and wind stone. I wrapped my hand around it and concentrated on the stone rather than the wind. I squeezed tight with my fingers, trying hard not to imagine anything farting, including the stone. Using my grounding as an anchor, I pressed the stone.
The heliotrope remained hard, but wind leaked out in all directions. “It works!”
I squeezed harder.
Under Witch Curse (Moon Shadow Series) Page 10