Darkangel (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill)

by Christine Pope

  Like breeding dogs, I thought with some irony, although I knew better than to say something like that to Margot Emory. “So this Jasper Wilcox thought he could just snatch up Great-Aunt Ruby and produce a line of super-warlocks or something?”

  Her mouth tightened. I got the impression that she would have liked to call out my remark for being irreverent but wasn’t quite willing to confront her prima in such a way. “Or something. But it’s why we’ve watched over you so carefully, even before this latest incident.”

  I assumed she was referring to the dark wraith-like figure I’d seen in the store. No one yet had quite been able to figure out that one, although it did seem as if the smartest thing to do was what the clan elders had been doing — never let me out of their sight. “And what if my consort never shows?”

  “It’s best not to borrow trouble, Angela — you’ll find you may end up paying heavy interest on it.”

  As may be. Abruptly, I said, “Adam wants me to marry him if my birthday rolls around and I’m still unattached.”

  “That would solve a few things.” Surprisingly, she seemed unfazed by the prospect.

  I couldn’t say the same for myself. “It would? But I was always told that it was bad for a prima to be with someone who wasn’t her consort, almost as bad as making it to twenty-two without a partner.”

  “It’s not optimal, of course, but given the alternative….” She let the words trail off, and flicked a significant gaze northward. “If you’re not a virgin, you can’t be bound to a primus. Just reaching your twenty-second birthday would not be enough to protect you. Of course you carry your greatest potential for power now, but don’t think that you will be safe as long as you are on your own.”

  This just kept getting better and better. “So why shouldn’t I just go with someone I choose, if my consort bails on me? Why not a civilian?” Obviously, this was not an idle question. Laying aside the problem of not even being able to contemplate going to bed with Adam, no matter what I might have promised him, I didn’t see why I couldn’t make a serious try for Chris Wilson if things went sideways. There was someone I wouldn’t mind losing my virginity to.

  Now Margot did look annoyed. The sweeping dark brows drew together, and she gave an impatient wave of one hand. “Because even a warlock who is not your consort can bring some power to the relationship. A civilian? Never. Not with a prima. At least Adam is a McAllister, and a warlock with some talents, even if of course they’re not equal to your own.”

  It seemed she had me boxed in fairly neatly there. My mother had escaped the trap, but then again, she’d never bonded with a consort, had bolted before that could happen. I’d never been given that opportunity, and I wondered how she’d managed it. Just gotten in her car and told everyone she was going out for groceries, then took off with only the clothes on her back and the money in her purse? I’d never been brave enough to ask Aunt Rachel, as I could tell the subject was too painful, even now, and somehow I guessed Margot Emory wouldn’t exactly be forthcoming if I tried to probe too deeply.

  So I sipped at my rapidly cooling coffee, then said, “Thanks, Margot. That does answer some of my questions.” I didn’t add, That will be all, but she seemed to take the cue, setting down her mug a final time before getting to her feet.

  “I’m glad I could help out. And if you have any other questions, I’ll do my best to answer them.” She smiled at me, although the expression seemed stiff, as if she were forcing it.

  Since it was the sort of thing I really couldn’t call her on, I smiled at her in return and then saw her to the door. A blast of cold air came in as I opened it, but she didn’t seem to notice, only sailed serenely down the steps and in the direction of the restored Victorian where she lived on the next street over.

  I closed the door, and shivered. Maybe it was the cold.

  Maybe not.

  * * *

  Despite everything, the decision was made to go ahead with the shopping trip to Phoenix the week after that. That decision was made without my input; I had a feeling Aunt Rachel had to go plead her case to the elders to get them to agree, but finally they did acquiesce. We wouldn’t be driving ourselves, but would be going in Lester Phillips’ van, along with five bodyguards. Adam wasn’t coming along — not because he didn’t want to, but because the elders decreed he wasn’t a strong enough warlock to make much of a difference, should push come to shove.

  As with any expedition into a neighboring clan’s territory, certain overtures had to be made. Since I was now prima, I was the one who had to call Maya de la Paz — apparently she didn’t do email — and explain that some of us would like to come to town to do our holiday shopping, and would that be all right?

  I’d halfway been expecting her to give me some kind of grief for not latching on to her grandson as my consort, but she only gave a chuckle and said, “Of course you are welcome here. Where will you be going?”

  That hadn’t been set in stone yet, but I told her we’d be focusing mainly in the Biltmore District, the mall itself and some of the satellite shopping areas, like the ones with Nordstrom Rack and Best Buy, and possibly going over to Scottsdale if there were time.

  She said, “That is good. Thank you for asking, but the McAllisters are always welcome in Phoenix.”

  Right then I wondered why I’d been worried about making the call. She seemed very gracious. “You’re very welcome, Mrs. de la Paz.”

  A laugh, and then she said, “No need for that. You are prima, as am I. Have a good night, Angela.”

  I hung up then and gave my Aunt Rachel, who’d been watching, a thumbs-up. She shot me a relieved smile, and then we both headed down to her place, since she’d heard about me eating leftover pizza for dinner and wanted to make sure I got at least one decent meal in me that week.

  Even as we went, I knew I had one more call to make that night.

  * * *

  I sat on my bed and stared at the number in my contacts list. It should have been easy — just dial those ten digits, and….

  But it wasn’t. I’d never cold-called a guy like this before. Yes, Chris had given me his number and told me to let him know when I was coming down to Phoenix. Even so, I found I was having a heck of a time working up the nerve to do it.

  For Goddess’ sake, I told myself. You’re the prima of the McAllisters, and you don’t even have enough of a spine to call a guy?

  Not just any guy. Chris Wilson, who was the best-looking guy I’d ever seen. And friendly. And nice.

  And a civilian, so all this angst really isn’t getting you anywhere.

  I scowled down at my phone. It was probably stupid to call, since I knew anything with him would of necessity be a dead end. But maybe it would be fun just to see him again, meet somewhere for a drink (although how that would go off, with five bodyguards and my Aunt Rachel following my every movement, I wasn’t sure).

  You said you’d call him if you were coming to town. So call him. Stop making this into a federal case.

  Fine. I hit “call” before I could back out. His phone rang once, twice, three times. Then it went into voicemail. Great. Then again, maybe it was simpler that way.

  I spoke quickly, as if that would somehow make this easier. “Hi, Chris, it’s Angela McAllister. I know it’s kind of late notice, but it turns out we will be in Phoenix tomorrow to do some shopping. We’ll be over in the Biltmore District mostly — I know that’s kind of far from Tempe, but maybe we can figure something out. Anyway, I just wanted to call and let you know. We should be down there sometime in the late morning.” Providing any more details would just make me sound desperate…if I didn’t already…so I thought I’d better leave it at that. “Talk to you soon. ’Bye.”

  I hung up then, hoping I’d done the right thing. But I did want to see him, even if it was for the last time. After all, my birthday was only two weeks away.

  * * *

  By the time we hit the road the next morning, I still hadn’t heard anything from Chris. Well, he had said he w
as going to be really busy. I didn’t know exactly what that entailed for someone getting a master’s degree. Did he have finals? If I’d been thinking straight, maybe I would have remembered to look up the academic schedule at ASU online and see when finals even were, but it didn’t really matter now, one way or another. He should at least have time to check his voicemail, and if our schedules didn’t mesh, well, I wouldn’t be happy about it, but I’d understand. Or so I told myself.

  Aunt Rachel kept up a fairly steady stream of chatter on the drive south, asking me if I’d decided how I wanted to redo the kitchen, or whether I was going to tackle the bathrooms first. All of that felt distant and vaguely unreal, as I’d decided to wait until after the holidays to do any of it. By then my life should be very different. Either my long-lost consort would have shown up, or I’d be living in domestic bliss with Adam. Now, with the possibility of seeing Chris Wilson again dancing in my mind, I was beginning to wonder why on earth I’d made Adam that promise. Temporary insanity was my best guess.

  If Rachel noticed that I wasn’t all that engaged in the conversation, she didn’t show it. I did keep wondering why Chris didn’t call, then tried to console myself with the realization that cell service was pretty spotty for long stretches on I-17, and even if he were calling, it would just go to voicemail since it wouldn’t be able to punch through.

  That helped a little, although once we came down into the outskirts of Phoenix and the bars on my phone abruptly shot up, I felt deflated all over again when I looked at the display on my cell and realized I didn’t have any missed calls.

  “…first?” Aunt Rachel was asking, and I blinked.

  “What?”

  She gave me a patient smile. “I was asking where you wanted to go first. I thought maybe we should stop at Nordstrom Rack first, since it’s on the way, and then we can have lunch somewhere at the Biltmore shopping center.”

  “That sounds fine,” I said. It didn’t matter much to me which order we shopped in, although it did make more sense to make the Rack our first stop, since there were more places to eat at the shopping center.

  We cut east on the 101 Loop and then onto a smaller highway that brought close to Camelback Road, which was crowded with shopping centers and strip malls. This wasn’t my first trip to Phoenix, of course, but since it was at least six months and sometimes a year between visits, I always forgot about the vast urban sprawl, the amazing variety of shops…the aggressive drivers. I was glad it was Phil behind the wheel and not me.

  But since we were smart and had come down on a weekday, trying to navigate the roads and get a parking spot at the shopping center wasn’t as difficult as it would have been on a weekend. Also, Phil’s handicapped placard got us a choice spot up toward the front.

  I took one last look at my phone, tried not to sigh, and climbed out of the van, glad of the chance to stretch my legs a little bit. The drive took about two and a half hours, and it was now a few minutes after eleven. Down here it was much warmer than in Jerome, and I pushed up the sleeves of my shirt. I’d thought I was dressing for Phoenix by not wearing a sweater the way I had for the last few weeks back home, but it had to be in the upper 70s here.

  Previously we’d agreed that it would be all right to split up once we were inside the store, as it was not so big that the bodyguards couldn’t be back at my side within a minute if something strange happened. I’d argued that I didn’t want onlookers watching me buy underwear, and neither did I want to be selecting holiday gifts while everyone could see exactly what I was doing. Sort of took the fun out of the whole thing.

  So we all did go our separate ways once we were in the store, with Phil, Boyd Willis, and Henry Lynch heading toward the men’s section, while Aunt Rachel and Allegra Moss and I went straight to the shoes. I wanted a new pair of winter boots, which I found almost right away, nice leather riding-style boots with rubber soles. I loved my cowboy boots, but they were hell on ice.

  I slipped the boots into the heavy net shopping bag I had with me, then said, “I’m heading over to lingerie.”

  They nodded, apparently entranced by the amazing selection around them. Good thing I wasn’t much of a “shoe” girl, or maybe I would’ve felt the same way. As it was, I knew I needed some new underwear, so I figured I’d get that out of the way before heading over to accessories, where I hoped I could find some fun pieces for Sydney and maybe Rachel. Yes, I could’ve made them something, and had in the past, but my jewelry-making had been sort of disrupted the past few weeks, and now I wasn’t sure if I would even have time to get anything put together. Besides, it never hurt to have something different every once in a while.

  After picking up some new pairs of underwear and a bra, I got sidetracked on the way to the accessories section and ended up adding a pair of jeans and a couple of sweaters to the growing pile in my shopping bag. Eventually, though, I wandered over there and started sifting through the earrings and necklaces, wondering if maybe Aunt Rachel would rather have a new watch, or possibly a purse.

  I had just turned away from the jewelry rack after finding a pair of long, sparkly earrings I knew Sydney would love when I noticed the man standing a yard or so away, over by a table full of sunglasses. His gaze was intent on me, and I looked away immediately. True, I’d tried to dress up a little bit, just in case I did get to see Chris, and was wearing the dark green top Sydney had bought me and my favorite pieces of turquoise jewelry, but I didn’t think I warranted that kind of inspection. There were plenty of other girls in the store better-dressed…and prettier…than I was.

  The stranger said, “Hello, Angela.”

  Immediately my hackles went up. “Do I know you?”

  He smiled. Even though he looked as if he were a good deal older than I — maybe as old as thirty-five — he was very handsome. His gaze intent on me, he replied, “My name is Damon Wilcox.”

  Ice flooded my veins, and I immediately took a step back. “How did you know I would be here?”

  “Does it matter?” The smile widened, and I couldn’t mistake the predatory gleam in his dark eyes. “I thought we should talk.”

  “We have nothing to talk about. Except,” I added, “that I’m here with five members of my clan, so — ”

  “Five? I suppose I should be honored that you think I merit that kind of a response.”

  I opened my mouth to reply, but almost out of nowhere my Aunt Rachel appeared, flanked by those five bodyguards we’d just been discussing.

  “You should not be here, Mr. Wilcox,” my aunt said coldly.

  “I needed to do some shopping,” he returned, smile never fading.

  “You can do that in Flagstaff. You have your own mall there, don’t you?”

  “But not this store. They have such a good shoe selection, and I happen to have very large feet.” This last was said with a wink sent in my direction, and I felt heat flood my cheeks. Even I knew what that “large feet” comment was supposed to imply.

  “That doesn’t matter,” Phil put in, voice harsh and quite unlike his usual jovial self. “We had permission to be here. You don’t.”

  “And what makes you think that?”

  “Because Maya de la Paz would have told us, that’s why,” Rachel said. Her normally pretty, rounded features were set in a mask of loathing.

  “Interesting.” He slanted another one of those sly glances in my direction. “It seems we have a stalemate, then.”

  “I don’t see how,” Allegra Moss said in acid tones, “considering there are seven of us and only one of you.”

  “About that….” he drawled, and from the clothing racks in the center of the store came five men and two women, all of them black-haired like their primus.

  Shit. My mind raced, wondering how on earth we were going to get out of this without having a magical showdown right in the middle of Nordstrom Rack. Everyone in my group edged closer to me, clearly ready to do whatever it took to protect me from the clutches of the Wilcoxes.

  “Ah, but you forget that you
are all in my territory,” a new voice chimed in, and I looked past Damon Wilcox and his clan members to see a small woman with gray-streaked black hair and olive skin stop in the aisle just past us, her arms crossed over her chest. Behind her was a group of seven men, one of whom I realized I recognized. Alex Trujillo, Maya de la Paz’s grandson.

  I’d never met her, but I knew at once she was the woman who now stared up at Damon Wilcox with the expression of someone who’d found a particularly disgusting species of cockroach infesting her pantry.

  “You do not have my permission to be here,” she said clearly. “The McAllisters, they know how to follow the rules of propriety. I have allowed you and members of your clan here before, out of courtesy, but I see you do not give me that same courtesy. Leave, and do not expect to come back any time soon.”

  His gaze shifted from her to the watching de la Paz men, then over to us McAllisters before coming to rest on me for a brief second. Another smile, and he said, “If I have offended, I do apologize.” He made the briefest of gestures toward his own clans people, then turned and moved past us, heading toward the front door. The other Wilcoxes fell in behind him. A minute later, they were gone.

  I let out the breath I’d been holding. Maya de la Paz approached me and said, “Prima, I apologize for this intrusion. We were keeping watch, just in case, and it seems our caution was merited.”

  “No need to apologize,” I said quickly. “Really, thank you for coming to help. That could’ve gotten…nasty.”