Darker Paths (The Witches of Canyon Road Book 2)

by Christine Pope

  But someone had come along and stirred up trouble, for whatever reason. Rafe had wondered earlier whether the culprit was some previously unknown admirer of Miranda’s, butting in because he didn’t want to see the woman he loved marrying someone else. That sort of motivation was something Rafe could understand. She was beautiful and smart…and tougher than she appeared on the surface.

  An image flashed in his head of the way she’d looked when he’d kissed her for the first time. Wary, and almost as if she’d wanted to bolt, but standing there in front of him with her cheeks flushed and her full mouth parted, her green eyes glowing. Absolutely beautiful, and so very desirable.

  He wished he could remember how she had looked when she stood in front of him at the altar, but everything about that portion of his day was blurry, indistinct. Part of the spell? Maybe. He remembered driving to the church, and nothing after that until he’d come to himself in one of the meeting rooms at the cathedral, his immediate family clustered around him, demanding what the hell was wrong with him.

  Well, now he knew. And he supposed he could say none of this was his fault, although he hated to face the reality that he was so weak, he couldn’t even fend off a magical attack. Then again, he hadn’t exactly been expecting one.

  Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to send Cat away. At the time, he’d thought it better for his sister to head over to the restaurant where the reception was supposed to be held and check in with his parents, but now he wasn’t so sure. She was good to have around, his little sister. The two of them had always presented a united front, since they were so much younger than their two older sisters, both of whom were married and settled and had families of their own. But he and Cat had always looked out for one another, and she’d always been a good sounding board. In fact, he’d joked on more than one occasion that if he ever were forced to kill someone, it was Cat he’d call to help him hide the body.

  It couldn’t be helped, though. She probably was performing a better service by going to the reception and doing what she could to smooth things over with the rest of the family than she would by staying with him and holding his hand.

  However, Rafe knew if he remained here a moment longer, he would go crazy. He liked his house and had lived here alone for several years, but now it only seemed to mock him, to tell him he’d never bring Miranda here as his bride. Maybe that was only the truth, but he didn’t want to face it now. He couldn’t quite acknowledge that this all might be hopeless.

  Damn it.

  He went and got his jacket from the hall closet, then headed toward the garage. Thank God that Cat had driven him home from the cathedral in his own vehicle, rather than leaving it behind to be retrieved later. Yes, he could’ve called a Ryde and had one of the self-driving cars take him anywhere in town he wanted to go, but right now he wanted to drive himself. He needed to feel as though he was in control of something in his life.

  Besides, he had this nagging sensation that he needed to go downtown, although he had absolutely no idea why. Not to drink — he knew he didn’t dare have anything else if he wanted to stay safe behind the wheel. To get some food? Maybe, although he had a feeling it wouldn’t be a very good idea to dine alone on this, of all nights. But he could always get some takeout from one of the restaurants there and bring it home.

  Giving a mental shrug, he pulled out of the garage and pointed his Jeep west on Paseo de Peralta, then jogged over on Lincoln Avenue, which would bring him closer to the Plaza downtown. At least it was a Sunday night and therefore not as crowded as it would have been the evening before. Still, no one would have recommended Santa Fe’s downtown as a place for pleasure driving, not with its narrow roads and one-way streets.

  That strange feeling of being herded didn’t lessen as he drove along, dusk now faded all the way into night. When he reached the parking structure on San Francisco Street, it was almost as if someone had poked him in the arm and said, Here.

  So he pulled into the structure and parked on the second level, then sat there for a few moments, trying to figure out what the hell he was doing here. Yes, a little ways up the street was one of his favorite restaurants, Tia Maria, but it wouldn’t be open now. Tia Maria was strictly a breakfast/lunch kind of place. And yet something had made him come here.

  Frowning, he got out of the Jeep and headed over to the stairwell. However, he didn’t descend to the street level, but instead walked up to the roof. Since nothing was going on at the Lensic Theater across the street, there wasn’t much demand for parking; this level of the structure was almost empty. He raised his chin and breathed the chilly night air.

  No, he really didn’t breathe it in — he sniffed it, trying to detect something strange on the wind. This wasn’t as effective as when he shifted into coyote or wolf form, but some of the traits he took on when he used his singular talent to become an animal of the wild seemed to stay with him, to be used when he needed them.

  And he definitely sensed something off.

  What it was, he couldn’t even say. Something foul on the fresh currents of air, something that shouldn’t be there. Eyes narrowing, he headed back to the stairs, walked down to ground level and then let himself out on the street. There was some traffic, not much, so he didn’t have to wait long for an opening to cross San Francisco Street.

  Once on the sidewalk opposite the parking structure, he paused again and inhaled deeply. Down here, there was a more muddled combination of scents — car exhaust, and cooking oil from a restaurant, a whiff of wood smoke. But there it was again, almost sickly sweet, like the smell of rotting flesh.

  He walked slowly, hands in his pockets. Yes, it was definitely here — to be precise, somewhere near the wine tasting room just past the burger joint on the corner of Burro Alley.

  At this hour on a Sunday, the shop was closed, its windows dark. Dark, too, were the windows of the apartment directly above it. Even so, Rafe found himself lingering here, watching the building for a long moment. Something about it tickled his memory, as though an important event had occurred here, but he couldn’t remember what it might be. A little more than a year earlier, he’d come here with Tony and a few other Castillo cousins to sample the wares at the newly opened wine shop. He hadn’t returned, though; the wine was good, but they hadn’t offered any food at the time, and in general he didn’t like to drink wine on its own.

  The memory of the day he’d gone to the wine tasting room with Tony was very sharp and clear — it had been a mild day in early October, the trees just beginning to turn. They’d had two flights of wine, bought a few bottles, then headed down the street to the upscale pizza place there to get some real food. All this Rafe remembered without any trouble, and yet he seemed to sense something else far more important had gone on in this building in the recent past, even if he couldn’t remember what the hell it might be.

  Frowning, he moved a bit farther down the block, then cut down the alley so he might approach the building from the rear. How this would help, he wasn’t sure, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to try.

  All was quiet back here. A pickup truck almost as old as his Wrangler was parked in one of the residents-only spaces, but the other ones remained empty. Well, the apartment over the tasting room had appeared empty; maybe it wasn’t currently rented out.

  Still….

  Rafe walked over to the rear entrance of the building. The door was locked, but of course that didn’t matter to a warlock. He touched his fingers to the handle, and it swung inward. After giving a quick look around and reassuring himself that he was alone, he went inside.

  The odor was stronger here, as if it had concentrated itself in this dingy little stairwell. Breathing through his mouth, Rafe ascended the stairs and came to a small landing, the door to the apartment he’d noted now directly in front of him.

  It had seemed empty, but he didn’t know that for sure. As much as he wanted to simply let himself in and poke around, he figured it was smarter to cover his bases first.

  He raised his h
and and knocked on the door.

  No answer, even though he waited a good twenty seconds or so for a response. Once again he knocked, and again only silence came back to him.

  It should be safe enough.

  He wrapped his fingers around the doorknob and stepped inside. The place was utterly dark, not even a nightlight to break up the gloom. Right by the door was a dual switch, so he flicked one upward. At once an overhead fixture flared to life, revealing a short hallway decorated with posters of local events — wine festivals, art exhibits — and not much else.

  After moving farther in, he debated whether to turn on another light and decided against it. The light coming down the hall was enough to reveal that both the kitchen and living room were empty, as was the one small bedroom. Everything looked very clean and neat, nothing out of place, the bed made. In fact, when he peeked in the bathroom and into the closet, he saw no signs of occupancy at all, not one tube of toothpaste, not one lone sock lying on the closet floor.

  It appeared the place truly was unoccupied. But what was with that sense of something dark and foul, something Rafe had never noticed before in his life?

  He didn’t know. All he did know was that something evil had once lurked here.

  Unfortunately, that was all he knew. He certainly didn’t have any idea why this place would be connected to Miranda or her disappearance.

  Frowning, he turned and headed back toward the door, only to be confronted by a sturdy-looking woman somewhere in her fifties, who gave a little shriek of surprise and exclaimed, “Who are you?”

  “I — ” Rafe began, frantically thinking of some plausible excuse he could give for his breaking and entering.

  Luckily, the woman didn’t seem inclined to let him continue, saying briskly, “The apartment won’t be ready until tomorrow. It should have said that on the Airbnb site.”

  Ah. So it wasn’t really anyone’s apartment, just a flat the owner — who he presumed must be the woman in front of him — rented out to people vacationing in Santa Fe. “Sorry,” he said. “I came up, and the door was unlocked — ”

  “Hmph.” The woman, who was probably around his mother’s age but whose stoutness made her look a good bit older, gave an exasperated huff of breath. “People are so careless these days. I’m sure the man I rented it to forgot to lock the door as he left. The lock can be a little tricky, but — ”

  “Can you tell me where to find him?” Rafe asked eagerly, cutting her off. Could he be so lucky as to have stumbled onto an actual clue that might help him find Miranda?

  The Airbnb owner huffed again and drew herself up to her entire five feet two inches. “No, of course I can’t. It’s very important to respect my guests’ privacy — even if they don’t seem to respect my privacy.”

  “Oh, well, normally I wouldn’t ask,” Rafe said. As he spoke, his mind churned, trying to come up with some story that might convince the woman to provide the information he needed. “But the guy who was just staying here really did a number on my little sister — told her he loved her and wanted to get married, then disappeared right when they were supposed to meet at the courthouse.” That lie may have been a little too on the money, but if it worked….

  Apparently it did, for the woman’s expression softened, even as her dark eyes sparkled with righteous indignation on this mythical sister’s behalf. “Oh, that’s just wrong. I can see why your sister might have fallen for Robert, because he was a handsome young man, but — ”

  “His full name, then? My sister wouldn’t tell me.”

  The woman’s mouth tightened, but at least she didn’t hesitate as she answered, “Robert Marquez. I think he came from San Antonio, but I’ll have to check to be sure.” She reached into the pocket of the heavy corduroy barn jacket she wore and pulled out her phone, then tapped away for a moment. “Yes, there’s his confirmation email. Robert Marquez, San Antonio, Texas.” A pause, and then she added, “That’s really all I can tell you. It wouldn’t be right to give you his address.”

  “It’s all right,” Rafe said. “It’s something to go on at least. And I’m really sorry if I startled you.”

  “Oh, well.” The woman shrugged. “It’s not the first time I’ve surprised someone here when the flat was supposed to be empty. I hope you can get some satisfaction for your sister.”

  “So do I. Thanks a lot.”

  He nodded at her and let himself out, while she watched him go, her expression a mixture of curiosity and a little worry. Maybe she thought he was going to head to San Antonio himself to get some justice for his sister and her broken heart, and didn’t want to be held responsible for the outcome.

  Rafe didn’t have anything like that planned. The Castillo family had several private detectives among its ranks, the closest of whom lived in Albuquerque. By now the whole clan must know about Miranda’s disappearance, so it wasn’t as though Rafe would be giving up any family secrets by contacting his cousin Daniel and asking him to follow up on this Robert Marquez person.

  Then again, there was also the distinct possibility that “Robert Marquez” was really a mirage, a fake name that the person who’d stayed here had given to the owner of the Airbnb. That would be more difficult to pull off, just because the vacation rental site did some pretty strict vetting of the people who used its service.

  Difficult, but not impossible. But Rafe figured he had to start somewhere, and this was the only lead he had at the moment.

  Although he hadn’t seen his cousin in more than a year, Rafe still had Daniel’s contact information on his phone. Genoveva was very organized about keeping everyone in the loop, so to speak, and sent out an updated roster of Castillo relations every year. Some people probably would have preferred not to have their information disseminated to every single relative in the state, but they knew better than to question their prima. Luckily, the information didn’t get abused too badly, except for now and then when someone decided to get a chain text message going and spammed everyone’s inboxes.

  His phone told him it was a little past seven. Right smack in the middle of dinnertime, but maybe private detectives didn’t keep regular hours. Rafe knew that Daniel wasn’t married, had in fact gone through a nasty divorce a year or so earlier after less than a year of marriage, and so was less likely than most to be sitting down to a cozy dinner on a Sunday evening.

  Walking quickly, Rafe crossed San Francisco Street and then took the elevator up to the second level, figuring that would save him some time climbing the stairs. Once he was safely inside his Jeep, he said, “Call Daniel Montoya.”

  “Calling,” his phone told him, and Rafe settled against the seatback and waited for the call to connect.

  Which it did after a few rings. “Rafe?” came Daniel’s voice, clearly puzzled. “I just heard what happened. I’m sorry, man.”

  Sometimes family grapevines could come in handy, although Rafe still hated the thought of his personal life getting dissected by every aunt, uncle, and cousin twice removed. He cleared his throat and said, “It’s — well, I can’t really say that it’s all right, but I’m trying to get through it. The thing is, I think Miranda’s disappearance might be connected to a guy named Robert Marquez. I wanted to see if you could follow up for me.”

  “Sure,” Daniel replied, interest sharpening his tone. “Do you have an address?”

  “Not really. I think he’s from San Antonio, though.”

  “Middle initial?”

  “No.”

  A pause, during which Daniel was probably reflecting that his cousin hadn’t given him very much to go on. Sounding resigned, as if he already knew the answer, “Date of birth?”

  “Nope, don’t have that either. But the woman who owns the place he was renting called him a ‘young man,’ so I have a feeling he’s under thirty, maybe even under twenty-five.”

  “Well, that helps to narrow it down a bit. Give me a day, and I’ll see what I can come up with.”

  A day. A lot could happen in a day. However, Rafe knew he coul
dn’t quibble about the timeframe. For one thing, he was asking for a favor, a favor that might interfere with his cousin’s paying work. Also, “Robert Marquez” wasn’t that uncommon a name, and so it might take Daniel a while to sift through all the possible candidates.

  “Okay,” Rafe replied. He knew his cousin had to have noted his delay in making any kind of a response, but so be it. Patience was hard to come by when someone was missing.

  “It’s just — ” Daniel began, then broke off. Curiosity clear in his tone, he went on, “If you basically dumped this girl while you were standing at the altar, then why are you looking for her now?”

  Yes, the whole thing must appear pretty strange when viewed from the outside. Clearly, although the story of the events at the church had already made the rounds, his family’s speculation that he’d been influenced by some kind of terrible spell was not yet a subject of gossip. Rafe supposed he shouldn’t be too surprised by that; his mother would do everything she could to keep quiet any stories about rogue witches or warlocks practicing dark magic in their territory.

  “It’s kind of a long story,” Rafe said. “I made a stupid mistake. I’m trying to fix it now.”

  “Got it. Well, I’ll do what I can. And I’ll call you as soon as I have something.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “No worries. Take care of yourself, Rafe.”

  Daniel hung up then, and Rafe let out a sigh and dropped the phone into one of the cupholders in the Jeep’s center console. At least he had his cousin on the case, and that was something. It just felt as if he should be doing more.