Under Witch Curse (Moon Shadow Series)

by Maria Schneider

  “He’s an artist? As in a tattoo artist?” Gordon sat up straighter.

  “Not saying he does tats or has anything to do with these. But he does the artwork for the front of the shops, and he’s offered Mat designs for her new purses.”

  Mat’s eyes widened slightly. “He’s good. But why would he rob his own parents?”

  “He must have a key to the place,” Gordon said.

  “Both the home and the shops. And he’d also know the money was at the house the day it was robbed.”

  “They didn’t leave any money at the salon,” Gordon said. “I assume White Feather told you the break-in there probably wasn’t the first time someone used the nail salon as a place to do the body art. We’re checking all the employees out. I’ll add the son to the list. What is his name?”

  “Lynx can check him out too. His name is Kevin, young guy, still in high school or maybe just out. Definitely has talent.”

  Mat sighed. “That he does.”

  “You’ve seen his work?” Gordon turned to her. “Anything resembling any of these?”

  Mat swallowed, sounding like she was forcing down more than coffee. “There were dragons in his notebook, I remember that. I didn’t pay close attention to them because I was after much cuter designs, ones that would match the nail designs or the spells I sell.”

  “An employee or the son in on it would explain how someone happened to walk in and out of the salon through both the front and back doors. Whoever it was had a key,” Gordon said.

  Mat’s place wasn’t large enough for White Feather to pace, but he made two attempts back and forth between the kitchenette and living area. “They didn’t have a key to either of the jewelry stores. Tam’s house matched those two robberies pretty closely—break in, leave body, get out.”

  I frowned. There were other inconsistencies. Zandy had come after Mat in broad daylight. He’d approached a homeless guy and lured him to the nail salon at nightfall. Had Zandy intended to keep Mat quiet in her own shop and do a tat on her? They could rob her place and then use her later to feed a construct. “Moonlight madness. It’s almost as if they are testing techniques, trying to figure out the best way to create and control the constructs.”

  “It has to require practice,” White Feather muttered.

  “So do break-ins,” Gordon added. “The first jewelry store netted them almost nothing, but they took almost everything of value from the second one. The burglary at Tam’s house was obviously premeditated. They knew exactly when the money would be there.” Gordon made a note. “And if they perfect their methods, they could break in just about anywhere. Since the constructs disappear when the body fueling them dies, half our evidence is gone.”

  Gordon handed White Feather copies of the recreated body art to take with us. I didn’t hold high hopes for finding any additional clues at the jewelry store, but it wouldn’t hurt to check.

  Piercing Hoops was already open for the day. From outside the door, I studied the drawing Gordon had provided. “Those dragons that attacked us had more bulk than I would have guessed from the tats on the guy’s arm, but they weren’t huge.” I spaced my thumb and forefinger across the body of the lizard. “A small lizard could fit under this door, probably even before the weatherstripping was removed.”

  “Easily,” White Feather agreed.

  We went in. The proprietor had the golden tones of a Hispanic or Native American, and he wore his dark hair braided with a beaded headband. That would convince most tourists that this was an authentic place to shop for American Indian art.

  The jewelry in the counters had been replaced. Small works of pottery and at least two copper sculptures were arranged across the top of the glass display cases. The paintings of the Rio Grande remained on the left wall, opposite the camera system. A red light on the camera indicated it was running.

  The door to the closet office was partially open.

  “What can I show you today?” The man behind the counter stroked his bushy thinking-about-graying beard.

  “Just browsing,” I murmured, making sure to do so. There was nowhere in here that wasn’t accessible to a construct. I hadn’t paid attention to the bottom of the office door when we were here before because it hadn’t seemed important. But a lizard could have easily slid through the one-inch gap even if the door had been locked.

  Once in the office, the lizard could shimmy up the desk and tap keys on a keyboard. It could probably climb the sheetrock walls, especially if it had claws that were anything like those of the dragons we’d seen. Whoever controlled it would have to be able to see through the lizard’s eyes. That kind of trick required a lot of power, the type that might easily drain a victim of every ounce of life.

  White Feather asked the guy about the origin of the new inventory while I checked out the actual items. The guy had quality, but modern, jewelry. The sculptures were all abstract. If they were supposed to be recognizable, it was completely lost on me.

  One of the pieces of jewelry, however, did catch my eye. White Feather must have heard my breath catch because he turned quick enough to elicit a gasp when he twisted his injury.

  “Sorry,” I said to him. I asked the owner, “Who made this piece?”

  “The obsidian wrapped in silver? It is lovely, isn’t it. New artist. I’ve not carried her stuff before, but was recently robbed. It allowed me to procure some new things.” While he talked, he slid a green velvet pallet onto the top of the counter, unlocked the jewelry case, and carefully displayed the sunbeam shaped rock.

  Obsidian flaked easily and formed a sharp edge; it was prized in making arrowheads because the first cut from a new edge was sharper than a steel knife. These edges were protected by silver drizzled around the sides. The obsidian was rounded, and either in the making of it by Mother Earth or by the hand of the artist, a hole had formed in the center. The artist had filled it with molten silver. The obsidian and silver design resembled a sun symbol, a throwing star with sharper edges.

  “It’s nice.” I downplayed my interest. “Do you know the artist’s name?” I was buying the thing anyway, if for no other reason than to see if it could be duplicated. I created my own pieces, but that didn’t mean I ignored special talent when I saw it.

  “Goes by the name Amber. Would you like to try it on?” He moved a mirror to the counter.

  I picked up the chain, an exquisite collection of five strands of liquid silver that came together at the center of the pendant.

  White Feather rolled his eyes. “We better discuss price before she falls any more in love with it.”

  “Ah, now, can you really put a price on keeping your wife happy?”

  “Yes,” I said before White Feather could. “He’s not buying it for me.”

  We haggled. White Feather haggled. We paid too much, but not more than it was worth. I’d find Amber and buy direct next time, but this was a one of a kind piece. I was fairly certain that the odd shaped hole in the obsidian was a gift from Mother Earth rather than a carefully carved addition. Obsidian chipped easily. The artist had recognized the gift and enhanced it.

  I left wearing the chain. “If I can duplicate this design, it would be an incredible weapon. With the silver embedded like it is, I bet I can shoot this thing several yards and hit a target.”

  White Feather reached to tuck me to him, but the second he raised his arm, he winced and grunted with pain. His wind magic brushed against me as though in defense.

  I squeezed his arm. “Don’t hug me. You already bought me this gorgeous necklace.”

  He kissed the top of my head, but his face remained tight. “Try not to send it into battle first thing.”

  “That’s why I want to duplicate it. I need material I can drill and fill with silver. It will be great. Next time something big and ugly comes our way, I’ll be ready.”

  He sighed. “You’re such a delicate wife.”

  “I know.”

  Once in the car, White Feather asked, “Did we learn anything? Besides how to make
an arrowhead that you can push and pull at will?”

  I nodded, dreading the truth. “Whoever is driving these constructs is not only siphoning energy from the victim to power them, he’s attached to the constructs in some way.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because no lizard is intelligent enough to scoot under a door, find the alarm box, climb the wall and read the code on the wall. The pilot had to be watching through the eyes of the lizard.”

  White Feather stared out the window. “Given that you noticed all that, I suppose you are also assuming that whoever is powering them saw us last night?”

  My hand cramped from clutching the steering wheel, but I forced my voice to stay even. “Fighting instincts in a construct wouldn’t require being controlled by higher intelligence, but the nature of the break-ins does. And if he was seeing through the eyes of the constructs for the break-in, why wouldn’t he do it when he left the constructs on guard at the nail salon?”

  “That’s a lot of power to maintain.”

  “And whoever is doing it is getting stronger because at Tam’s salon there were two constructs rather than one.”

  “These break-ins feel like an effort to obtain something more than money or jewelry,” White Feather complained.

  I agreed. “Even if it didn’t start out that way, whoever is creating the tats is learning. It won’t stop with the theft of a few pieces of jewelry here and there. There’s a lot of bad blood in that spell.” And right now, some of it was embedded in White Feather.

  White Feather kept his face turned to the window when he said, “Some of the blue ink has shifted.”

  My silver flared hot, then cold as I struggled to control my reaction. I pulled over rather than crash into the car in front of me. “You’re sure?”

  White Feather nodded. “After we left the house. The ink may not have physically moved, but there was a pull, a...it doesn’t matter. I’m able to block it.”

  I didn’t mention that he had to sleep. I didn’t grab his shirt and rip it off to check the wound. I dialed Lynx and left him another message. I dialed my mother next. White Feather swallowed his protests when I glared at him. He muttered, “I’m blocking it.”

  I didn’t mention that whoever was creating the tats was a black magic user on the hunt for new techniques and was gaining strength. Talking to Mom without screeching was only possible because she understood the urgency.

  “I’ll find someone today.” She hung up without wasting time on platitudes.

  I pulled back into traffic and said, “If Lynx doesn’t show up soon, and Mom hasn’t found a witch who can use light to force the tat ink out in a few hours, we’ll find a doctor to cut it out.”

  “I’d almost rather your dad burn it.”

  “There is always that option.” It was only a matter of time before whoever controlled the constructs found a way to piece the remnants together and call it, control it, or destroy White Feather trying.

  Chapter 24

  White Feather didn’t take long to fall asleep after we arrived at my place. From the color of his drawn face, it was obvious the wound and the tat was taking its toll. I packed the wound with blocking herbs and warded the room with every dream catcher left in the place. My house had even more wards against hostile magic than his did, but only because parts of his house hadn’t been rebuilt.

  I spent the day packing, checking on him and searching through an old phone book for possible doctors. White Feather was right though. Dad burning it would not only be faster, it wouldn’t require long explanations or finding a doctor who could do it now.

  I paced and muttered protection spells, willing the phone to ring with a call from Mom or Lynx.

  By five-thirty, I was greatly relieved when White Feather woke himself up. Sleep would help him heal, but awake, he and his magic were on full guard.

  We headed back to his place with the final load of my belongings. Dusk brushed its fingers along the hillside. It echoed the claws of worry and exhaustion dragging at my heart. “Dad must have come for Tracy,” I said, leading the way in. The house was blissfully quiet. The kitchen wall was also nearly finished.

  “The roofers will be able to finish your lab and start the kitchen roof,” White Feather said.

  “I’ve never seen anyone with Tracy’s skills. And he’s fast.” I rested my hand on the new wall. There was the faintest echo of the tune Tracy hummed. Or maybe I imagined it because surely the wall couldn’t sing the magic for long.

  White Feather was no better rested than when we had started out in the morning, but he pulled items from the fridge anyway. Protesting wouldn’t do any good, so I scooted out to retrieve the last of the things from the car and make the phone calls that needed to be made.

  As soon as I opened the door, the gold in my ring tingled a warning. It wasn’t completely dark yet, but I snapped the porch light on. Ordinarily, nothing came this close to White Feather’s domain without him figuring it out, but he wasn’t in top form. The second I knew, he knew. He was behind me almost before I sensed him moving.

  I had always been afraid of Patrick, but since the rogue vamp had attacked, my fear was worse.

  Patrick waited politely off the porch, exhibiting his usual control.

  “Did you dispose of the rogue vamp?” I blurted out. “For good?” How did you ask a vamp if he had killed another vamp when they were dead to start with?

  Patrick stepped closer to the porch, but kept his distance. “The only good vampire is a dead vampire,” he said without a trace of humor on his face.

  I rewarded him with a glare for his bad pun. “I already knew he was dead. I meant is he gone completely?” There was no polite way to say it. “He’s destroyed, won’t come back, buried, incinerated, gone?”

  Now, he was full of humor. A hint of fangs and even a chuckle. It had that sexy vamp undercurrent, almost a caress. I’d never been fooled by vamp glamour, but around the time I started wearing White Feather’s ring, there was an additional doorstop against the illusion. One ear heard a sexy laugh, but the other heard a quiet inhuman whine. Instead of shaking off a flirtatious laugh, my insides froze in fear. My body screamed hunted and demanded I conceal myself.

  Patrick switched off the chuckle in an instant. He either smelled my fear or heard my heartbeat tick up as it prepared to run. He was never all warmth and friendship, but my reaction switched him instantly to wary. Couldn’t say as I blamed him. Someone not fooled by the glamour of vamps was a danger to him.

  I held my ground, but avoided his direct gaze. He was a beast who hunted human blood. It didn’t matter if he obtained his blood from the hospital blood bank; it barely mattered that he had ethics.

  “I’ve never met anyone who can push back glamour,” he said quietly. “And your skill is improving.”

  I made a fist over the ring. “Sorry.” But we both knew I wasn’t.

  He smiled, no fangs. “What do you see when you look at me?”

  “Exactly what you show the rest of the world.”

  Fangs. “And that is all?”

  I nodded. “That is all.”

  He didn’t believe me, and it wasn’t because of his vamp powers that he saw through the lie. “Is it because you believe so strongly in what I am that you overcome what your eyes tell you?”

  I hated his questions. Even if the answers didn’t matter to me, once the question was asked, there was no stopping my brain. Answering was a bad idea, but avoiding doing so was a type of sparring that was nearly as risky. “Spells aren’t visual. I don’t rely on sight to know if they are active. Magic for me functions on a different level. You are a different level. It doesn’t matter what I see.”

  “Thus, anyone who has grown accustomed to using enough of their senses can see through the guise.” He gave a sharp nod. “It’s possible. And you’re gaining in your ability, but it doesn’t matter. You were never fooled in the first place.”

  We stared at each other, stalemate. Patrick finally acknowledged White Feathe
r positioned protectively less than a step away. Of course, that only meant he spared him a polite nod, as if White Feather wasn’t prepared to blast him with a tornado at the slightest threat.

  “You’d have been perfectly safe from me had you decided to remain in your own house.” Patrick’s tone was flat, not angry or charming. From this, I deduced he was furious about me moving out.

  “Until you changed your mind? You’re faster and stronger than I am. I sleep during your waking hours, you’re stealthier than night and my spells can only succeed to a degree in protecting me.”

  “I would not change my mind. And you could have rescinded the invitation.”

  I hadn’t known that for certain, but it wouldn’t have changed things. “I would have had to do so in person, yes?”

  Now, there was a tiny flash of humor before it evaporated behind the cool beast. “You did know about it.”

  “One does wonder about such rules after having two vampires in her living room—one of whom was uninvited. I figured if the uninvited vamp won, you might get bitten and go rogue. If you came back with that same—” I almost didn’t say it, but what was the point in pretending? A hunter was a hunter. Pretending otherwise would be no different than him ignoring my ability with spells. “You might come back with that same uncontrolled hunger.”

  His eyes were already flat pits of darkness. My words caused them not to darken, but to suck at my soul. “I take it the invitation is rescinded.”

  He had already offered the olive branch of admitting it could be done. That had been generous in its own right, but to actually go through the ritual? My eyes narrowed. Patrick wasn’t doing this out of the kindness of his heart. There was either some unknown danger to me from the rogue or some other reason for the gesture.

  “It is rescinded.” The slightest bit of regret tinged my tone, regret that he was no longer living, regret that it felt like a slap in the face. I feared Patrick, but hurting anything without a purpose was not my way. “I do not owe you for taking care of that trash, but I take back any welcome over my threshold.”