Magic, New Mexico: In Graves Below (Kindle Worlds)

by Carol Van Natta

  He did as she asked, and the mechanism audibly unlocked. “How do I lock it again?”

  “Tap anywhere on the door twice, then say your word.”

  He tried it, just to get the hang of it. “Slick spell. Yours?”

  “No, I suck at creating durable spells. I traded for it.” She smirked. “A dragon shifter was too embarrassed to admit he forgot the combination to his treasure vault, so I opened it for him.”

  He hadn’t realized how versatile her talent could be. “Can you open any door?”

  She shrugged. “Most of them. Doesn’t stop alarms, though.” She laughed. “When I was about four, my cloud-spirit older cousin, who was supposed to be babysitting me, took me to a casino in Monte Carlo and got me to open the bank room, but she didn’t disable the alarm. She turned misty and escaped, leaving me, still dressed in my nightie, sitting in front of the open door, crying. My parents were not amused.”

  He wanted to hear her laugh again, but it was late, so he went outside to his truck for his overnight bag.

  By the time he got back, she’d opened the futon, covered it with a fitted sheet, and spread out the top sheet and blankets.

  “The big blue jug in the refrigerator has cold water.” She’d said her real kitchen was upstairs, but kept a dorm-size refrigerator, microwave, and coffeemaker downstairs. “I have to work tomorrow morning, and I should probably go to the theater early for rehearsal, to make up for ditching last night, but we could have lunch.” She shrugged and looked away. “Or not. You’ve probably got things to do besides visiting the VA clinic.”

  He gave into the need he’d been denying for the past ten minutes and put his hand on her shoulder. The familiar connection filled the hollow place in his chest. “Lunch would be good.”

  She slid into his arms with a sigh and rested her head on his shoulder, just like she’d done in dreamwalk. “I’m glad you found me.”

  He tightened his arms around her. “I’m glad I looked.” He rested his cheek on her head, breathing in the scent of her, more subtle and more complex than it was in dreamwalk. “It’s been a very long day for both of us.”

  He reluctantly loosened his hold, and she stepped back and looked up at him with a teasing smile. “God, but you’re a handsome man. If we both weren’t so tired, and this weren’t such a weird way to meet, I’d be putting on some music so we could dance.”

  “I can’t dance.” He flinched at the memory of his ex-girlfriend taunting him for it, and dancing with other men because he couldn’t. He wasn’t handsome; he was damaged. What the hell was he doing?

  “Hey.” Riya fixed his attention by touching warm fingers to the scarred side of his face. “I know you can. I’ve seen you dance in dreamwalk, remember? We’ll find what works for you here. Help you find the peace and joy that dance can bring. ” She smirked. “We can even make you a loincloth if you’d like.”

  He chuckled in spite of himself. “Gym shorts are a lot more comfortable.”

  “But not as inspiring.” Her eyes twinkled. “Goodnight, my dreamwalk warrior.” She kissed him on the mouth before he could react, then twirled away gracefully toward the spiral staircase. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  He watched her go up the stairs with the feeling that he’d never get tired of seeing her.

  The moment she vanished, Black Fox appeared directly in front of him. “What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation? Go after her! She wants you up there in her bed.”

  Idrián shook his head. “It’s too soon.” He deliberately walked through Black Fox’s ghost toward the refrigerator. It wasn’t polite, but Idrián wasn’t in the mood for his grandfather’s meddling.

  “Too soon?” Black Fox sputtered. “It’s too late! Women respect a man who takes charge.”

  Idrián took the jug out of the refrigerator and filled the empty glass Riya had left for him.

  Black Fox flapped his hand in front of Idrián’s face. “Hey! Rocks for brains! While you’re wasting time, your seed is dying. You should be making babies with her while you still can. While she still can.” Black Fox had become obsessed by the fact that male sperm died every day, a fact he’d learned from educational TV. It didn’t matter that new sperm were created every day, too.

  Idrián rolled his eyes and carried the glass back to the chair that Riya had pulled close to the bed to serve as a nightstand. “My seed is just fine, thank you.” He pulled a telescoping stand out of his bag and set it up on the floor. “Riya will tell me when she’s ready.”

  “Hah!” Black Fox scoffed. “Women don’t know their own minds. She just needs an excuse to hump you dry.”

  Idrián froze in the middle of unbuckling his brace and glared at his grandfather. “If you’re trying to make me mad, stop it. If you really meant that, go away and don’t come back until you can be respectful to my dreamwalk partner.”

  “So you do want her.” Black Fox looked smug.

  Idrián ground his teeth. “You could have just asked.” He finished removing the brace and laid it on the floor. The VA clinic had adjusted it so it didn’t rub him raw, but now it creaked.

  Black Fox vanished for several seconds, then came back. “She’s almost naked now, and her breasts are very ripe. Go surprise her.”

  Overwhelming anger made Idrián surge to his feet. He called up the power of the deep earth and channeled energy to the fingertips of his left hand, turning them molten red. “I will court this woman my way or not at all.” His left eye twitched.

  Black Fox’s chin thrust forward pugnaciously. “You’re wasting your real-world magic on a spirit you can’t touch. You’re afraid she’ll reject you.”

  “That’s my problem, not yours.” Idrián made a fist, not caring that the skin of his palm stung with heat. “If I ever find you spying on her again like some perverted skinwalker, or saying anything to hurt her, I will find your grave in dreamwalk and burn it to ash.” He opened his fist and splayed his white-hot fingers.

  “Lazy, cowardly, selfish boy,” Black Fox snarled. “The death of the To’Piro tribe will be on your head!” Black Fox conjured a storm ball in his hand and threw it at Idrián’s chest, then vanished.

  Cold water hit the heat of his hand and instantly became steam, drenching him with the mist. Idrián was too mad to be impressed that Black Fox had figured out how to manifest more than his ghost image in the real world.

  Chapter 8

  Idrián sat in the theater audience again, this time visible to anyone who looked. He was pleasantly full after a late buffet lunch of East Indian food, which he’d never tried but found he liked. If he was honest, Riya’s company would have made even military rations palatable.

  She still didn’t seem to see his injuries, but as usual, others did. He was used to the sidelong looks, avoidance, and mumbled comments. She wasn’t.

  “He’s so brave, going out in public like that,” a woman in the buffet line had said to Riya, apparently unaware they were together.

  “Yes, he’s very brave,” replied Riya, her tone overly innocent. “Women throw themselves at him all the time. He has to beat them off with a stick.” She leaned in and lowered her voice confidentially. “Why do you think he carries a cane?”

  The startled woman turned red and found an excuse to leave the line. Riya shook her head and muttered about some people’s children.

  He’d enjoyed the rest of the meal, bantering back and forth with Riya about what they were eating and trading stories of their encounters with strange foods in other countries. He got the impression her parents were wealthy, which had him wondering why she was living like a starving artist in a quasi-industrial neighborhood. He couldn’t think of a way to ask that didn’t sound judgmental or mercenary.

  At the theater, he asked her for a grand tour, mostly as a way to spend more time in her company. He found himself constantly making excuses to touch her, and she responded by moving closer to him, brushing dust off his shoulder, or slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. When their skin t
ouched, the connection came alive, but he felt a hint of it from a few feet away.

  She introduced him to the theater’s technical director, then showed him the dressing rooms, and pointed out the technical booth, above and behind the audience, where the lights and sound were operated.

  Once they got to the backstage area, she swore when she saw set pieces stacked haphazardly in one of the wings and a rolling rack overstuffed with hanging costumes. “St. Peters should be here, organizing this. Whitney said he canceled last night’s tech rehearsal after I left.” She pushed some small but heavy boxes of printed programs out of a marked traffic lane. “If I do it, I won’t get paid for it and that sleazy bastard will get all the credit. If I don’t, tonight’s rehearsal will be a disaster.” She sighed and crossed her arms grumpily. “I’m screwed either way.”

  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. “I don’t know enough to fight this battle for you, but I’ll have your back.”

  After a moment, she relaxed and wrapped her arms around him. “You say the nicest things to me.” His body responded to hers immediately with a flood of heat that sent his blood straight to his groin. He’d been semi-aroused since the first time he’d seen her in person. And when he was miles away, like his morning’s trip to the VA medical clinic, she was always on his mind, like an unforgettable song.

  Her phone played the famous opening notes to Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, and he felt her tension return. She sighed as she pulled away a little so she could dig in her bag. “It’s Denise, the executive director. May as well get this over with.”

  He started to step back, but her grip on him tightened. He was happy to stay where he was, connected with her. He listened unashamedly as she gently strong-armed the director into meeting her at the theater. She ended the call, then kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for being here.”

  “My pleasure.” He brushed back a wisp of her hair that had escaped her bun. The turquoise ends reminded him of her sleek feathers in dreamwalk that tickled his skin teasingly. “I know you have things to do. Should I get out of your way?”

  She gave him a cheeky grin. “You’ll never be in my way.” The same words he’d said to her the night before in dreamwalk. Her expression softened into seriousness. “You’re my rock. I didn’t think I wanted one until I met you.” She kissed his lips lightly, as if they’d been together forever. “I hope that doesn’t scare you off.”

  “Nope,” he said. He smiled crookedly. “Black Fox says I have rocks for brains.”

  She laughed. “Is he here? I don’t see him.”

  Idrián shook his head and couldn’t keep the frown off his face. It had taken him a good hour to cool off after their argument, and he was still simmering. Black Fox wasn’t always an easy man… spirit to live with.

  She started to speak, then seemed to think better of it. Instead, she gave him a long, tight hug. He wanted to sweep her off her feet and carry her to the couch he’d seen in the pink-and-yellow room she’d inexplicably called the “green room,” but he couldn’t figure out how to carry her and his cane. He took solace and delight in the feel of her against him.

  She kissed his chin. “If you want to sit, the best places are the dressing rooms or the house, where the audience sits.”

  “The house would be safer, I think.” He didn’t want to distract the other dancers. Besides, he wanted to ask the factory worker ghosts for a favor, and he needed quiet to do it.

  Safely ensconced in the same seat he’d been in yesterday, Idrián squeezed Riya’s hand. She was seated next to him, waiting for the director to arrive. She stroked the back of his hand with her thumb. “The last row of a movie theater was where I had my first kiss.”

  “Mine was the playground of Magic’s elementary school. She was so startled she shifted into her weasel form and bit me.” Because events before his last tour in Afghanistan seemed like someone else’s life, he didn’t often talk about his past, but she made it seem more real.

  Riya laughed, and Idrián decided he was addicted to the sound of it. His former girlfriend’s laugh was always mean, usually at someone else’s expense. Riya’s laugh sounded like spring and sunlight, and he wanted to hear it often. He fought his impulse to pull her into his lap and give her a kiss that would obliterate the memories of anyone else’s but his. Take it slow, he ordered himself.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything.” He wanted no secrets from her, except maybe how much she already meant to him. He’d even tell her the details of the incident that took his lower leg, and the long road back, if she wanted to know.

  She squeezed his hand. “Do we have a connection here, the same as in dreamwalk? Or is it wishful thinking on my part?” Her expression was vulnerable, the first time he’d seen it in her.

  He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss on the back of it. “It’s very real.” He loved the soft smile on her face.

  A voice that was little more than a breeze with vowels and consonants whispered in his ear. “An angry woman is in the lobby.”

  Idrián nodded his grateful respect. The ghosts of the factory workers didn’t like trouble in their midst.

  “I think Denise is here.” He kissed the back of Riya’s hand again, then released it.

  “Thank you.” Her smile was fleeting as she stood and squared her shoulders, then exited the row and stood at the top of the aisle, facing the lobby.

  Denise turned out to be a short, plump woman in tall shoes and a severe black suit. She zeroed in on Riya and immediately went on the attack.

  “The board is very disappointed in your behavior, Riya, and so am I.” Indignation and condescension colored her tone. “Canceling last night’s rehearsal wasn’t within your authority, and you were insubordinate with Jonathan.” The corporate-style phrasing was undoubtedly designed to imply Riya’s job was on the line.

  Riya looked singularly unintimidated. “Only insubordinate? I was going for hard-ass bitch. He told Spencer Emerson that he choreographed Red Dust Warrior.” She crossed her arms. “If he told you I canceled rehearsal, he’s lying.”

  “He said Mr. Emerson didn’t believe Red Dust Warrior was yours. Jonathan said he gave you credit.” Denise shook her head. “You didn’t hear all of the conversation.”

  Riya frowned, and Idrián wished he knew whether or not to come to her defense. The choice was taken out of his hands when Denise finally noticed his presence and rounded on him.

  “You can’t be in here, sir.” Her frosty tone brooked no argument. “You’ll have to leave.”

  “He’s my guest,” countered Riya. “He’s my combat consultant and Native American culture expert.”

  Denise frowned and started to speak, but he beat her to it.

  “I overheard all of Mr. St. Peters’ conversation with Mr. Emerson last night. St. Peters said the choreography was all his, and that Riya only did the rehearsing.” He cast a quick illusion to keep the left side of his face in shadow, so she’d focus on his words, not his appearance.

  She looked taken aback for a moment, but regrouped quickly and turned back to Riya.

  “There, er, must have been a misunderstanding.” She shook her head disapprovingly. “You haven’t acted professionally, but I’m willing to give you another chance to show the board you deserve to be considered for the artistic director position.”

  Something in Denise’s words caused Riya to narrow her eyes. “Really.” She cocked her head a little sideways. “Second thoughts already about giving my job to St. Peters?”

  Denise’s jaw tightened, like she wanted to bite something. “He missed two interviews this morning and a sponsor luncheon. He’s not in his hotel room, and he’s not answering calls or texts. And he hasn’t been in an accident that we know of.”

  Riya raised an eyebrow. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Handle all the production stuff”—she waved fingers vaguely toward the stage—“so we don’t have to refund tickets.”

  “How much does it pay?�
�

  Denise looked relieved. “I’m sure we can arrange something after—”

  Riya interrupted. “No. I’m not lifting a finger until I get a new, fully approved contractor agreement that spells everything out. You can pay me the same as St. Peters.”

  Denise pursed her lips sourly. “Prorated.”

  Riya shrugged one shoulder. “Sure, if you pay me for the two months I’ve already been doing the job, and I get paid tonight.” She stared steadily at the other woman.

  Denise hesitated, then heaved an aggrieved sigh. “Deal.” She pulled out her phone. “I’ll get the agreement and a check to you in the next couple of hours.” She started stabbing the screen of her phone as she turned and exited into the lobby.

  Riya sat on the arm of the nearest aisle seat. Idrián stood and exited the row as fast as he could. “You’re shaking.”

  “Adrenalin. I’ll be okay in a minute. I don’t like fights.” She sighed. “No way they’ll give me the job after this. I guess this is Fate’s way of telling me it’s time to look for new opportunities.”

  He nodded as solemnly as he could. “Been there, done that, got the wooden leg.”

  She laughed, as he’d hoped. “Come on, Mr. Funny Guy.” She stood and kissed him on his jaw. “We’ve got another hour before the dancers get here. Help me figure out how to organize the set pieces, and I’ll show you the best places in the theater for making out.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

  It was his turn to laugh. “I like your priorities.”

  Chapter 9

  “Top of the show in ten,” Riya announced to the dancers, who all stood on the stage. She turned and gave a thumbs-up to the crew in the booth and the stage manager in the wings, who’d luckily been as easy to work with as her company of dancers.

  When everybody had arrived, she’d promised them the blessings of the Hindu dance goddess if they got through the technical rehearsal and a run of the concert in full costume. She’d been diplomatic about St. Peters’ absence, but she knew everyone was as relieved as she was that he wasn’t there. With Idrián’s permission, she’d introduced him as her friend and “intern,” which made everyone laugh, then bluntly explained his injuries so he wouldn’t have to repeat the story a dozen times.