Darknight (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 2) (5 page)

“My, you’ve been busy,” came a voice from behind me, and I jumped. Literally jumped. Maybe just an inch or two, but still.

My heart resumed a more or less normal rhythm when my brain registered that the voice was feminine, and definitely didn’t belong to Damon Wilcox. “Hi, Mary,” I said.

The ghost trailed her way from the living room back to the kitchen, where she cast an appreciative eye over the visible evidence of my industry. “What are you making?”

“Tamales.”

She looked confused. “I don’t think I know what that is.”

“It’s a Mexican dish. A lot of people make it around the holidays.”

A ghostly finger trailed over the glass top of the crockpot. Anyone else would have jerked her hand back right away, since the crock was plenty hot even on the low setting, but of course Mary Mullen was far removed from any such concerns. “I’ll bet it smells good.”

“It does,” I assured her. Then, since she didn’t seem inclined to do much more than wander around the kitchen, I asked, “Is there something you wanted?”

“No,” she said absently. “That is, I thought I’d check in when I heard all this clatter in the kitchen. Connor barely uses it, except to put things in
that
.” A condemnatory finger was thrust in the direction of the microwave.

It seemed she and Maisie had a good deal in common when it came to modern contrivances. “I know. Fancy kitchen, and he hardly sets foot in here. I thought it was time that stove was put to good use.”

“I knew you’d be good for him. That I did. I was always a good judge of character. None of those other girls ever came in here and cooked for him.”

“About those girls,” I began, but she shook her head.

“Oh, that doesn’t matter. You’re here now. And I’ve been thinking about it — you know, after you asked me how long it had been since the last girl was here. I thought hard, and looked at the calendar he has pinned to the wall there, and I think I figured it out. Two months, just about. Not since Halloween.”

Halloween. When we’d come face to face for the first time. Of course I hadn’t known who he was, not then, but he certainly knew I was Angela McAllister. He’d met the girl he’d been dreaming of, and hadn’t been with anyone else since then.

I could try to tell myself that it really didn’t matter, but it did. It mattered to me…a great deal.

“You’re sure it was Halloween?” I asked.

A little frown puckered her plucked brows. “Yes. There were people going up and down the streets wearing funny costumes and laughing. You know” —her voice lowered— “like they’d been drinking too much.”

I almost wanted to laugh at her reticence, but then I realized she must have passed away when Prohibition was still in effect. Public intoxication must have been a very big deal back in her day.

“Thank you, Mary,” I said sincerely. “That’s really good to know.”

“I’m glad. It had been bothering me. I can stop worrying about it now.”

And before I could tell her it wasn’t something she needed to have been fretting about, she disappeared. I supposed it could be disconcerting, if you’d never seen it before, but by then I’d been talking to ghosts for twelve years. It took a good deal to faze me.

Well, when I was dealing with ghosts, at least.

C
onnor came back
around six-thirty, later than I’d expected. In a way it was good, because by then the tamales were already more than halfway through the steaming process, and I’d set the table and even put out some candles I’d found tucked away in one of the cupboards. The aged-bronze pillar holders were still in a gift bag, as if they’d never been touched. A gift from one of those girlfriends? Maybe. If they were, they didn’t appear to have ever been used, so apparently he wasn’t entertaining those girls here.

No, he was probably taking them out on the town and showing them a good time since they didn’t have to be locked up in this damn apartment.

I squelched that thought. What he’d done in the past was none of my business. While the idea of being free to go out and have Connor show me around Flagstaff was definitely appealing, as places to be stuck in durance vile went, his apartment wasn’t half bad.

Then I had to shake my head at myself. So now I wanted to stay here, get to know the city? This was getting nuts.

Luckily, I was able to abandon that line of thought because Connor came in then, carrying a brown bag with a bottle of wine.

“Tempranillo,” he offered. “I thought it would go well with the tamales.”

“Where is all this wine coming from, anyway?”

A gleam came and went in his green eyes. “Don’t you know that Flagstaff is a very cosmopolitan city? There are several wine shops within walking distance.”

“Ah, now I know why you chose this apartment.”

When he’d first come into the kitchen, he’d looked tense and preoccupied, and again I wondered what kind of exchange he’d had with Damon. Now, though, he smiled, the shadows momentarily leaving his eyes.

“Can I help with anything?”

I shook my head. “No, I think I’ve got it. I’ll just get some of this dished up and will be out there in a minute.”

He surveyed the kitchen for a second or two, saw how the pots I’d used previously were already scrubbed and put away, how I had a serving bowl and plate ready to go for the beans and tamales. A smaller bowl held some crumbled white Mexican cheese for the beans.

“Obviously, I’m in the presence of an expert,” he said with a little bow, then got a couple of wine glasses out of the cupboard before beating a retreat to the dining room.

I allowed myself a smile before picking up the tongs and beginning to transfer a stack of tamales to the plate. Even allowing for us to eat more than was probably good for us, there were still going to be a lot of leftovers. That was okay, though; I’d leave them in the steamer until it was time to package them up. Connor could decide if he wanted to freeze them or contribute them to the Wilcox Christmas potluck.

Wow, there were three words I never thought I’d be stringing together.

After I’d ladled a good portion of the beans into the bowl I had waiting, I picked it up and the smaller one holding the cheese and took them out to the dining room. Connor had the wine open, and a good measure poured into each of the glasses. The candles flickered in the center of the table, and I noticed that he’d used the dimmer to turn down the lights overhead.

Are you trying to seduce me, Mr. Wilcox?
I thought, and then realized I wasn’t as put off by the notion as I probably should be. Uh-oh.

Giving myself a mental shake, I went back to the kitchen and got the plate of tamales, and turned off the lights before returning to the dining room. I noticed he’d been busy, too; more of that instrumental guitar music played in the background.

“Who are these guys?” I asked as I sat down. “I could have sworn I’ve heard them before, but….”

Connor replied, “Black Forest Society. You’ve heard of them?”

That was it. I’d only been able to catch one of their shows because they traveled around the state a lot, and the one time they’d played the Spirit Room when I was there, they didn’t even have a CD available yet. “I saw them once in Jerome about six months ago, I think.” Yes, that sounded right. It had been a warm summer evening, with the doors of the bar open to the streets and people coming and going. Back then I’d thought I’d have plenty of time to find my consort.

Instead, he’d found me.

Connor put a tamale on his plate, then picked up another one and set it on mine. I murmured a thank-you as he said, “They play up here in Flag off and on. One club they play at is just a couple of streets over from here. I’ve always liked their music, so I was glad when they finally got their CD out there.”

“I didn’t even know they had one. It’s good.”

A pause as he took a bite of tamale. His eyes widened. After he was done chewing, he said, “And these are amazing. I’m surprised your aunt runs a shop and not a restaurant.”

I didn’t bother to ask how he knew that. It was pretty clear to me that the Wilcoxes knew a lot more about us McAllisters than we did about them. Or at least, than
I
knew about them. There’d been a lot of secret-keeping back in Jerome, and I still didn’t have any clear idea as to how much I’d been kept in the dark.

Connor seemed to realize his slip-up, because he glanced away from me and took a sip of his wine. Because I was feeling slightly irritated, I only said, “Thanks,” then added, “so what did Damon want today?”

Of course he didn’t answer right away. He took another bite of tamale, shut his eyes as if savoring the taste, then answered my question with another of his own. “You saw him?”

“Yes, I was taking a break and looking out the window, and I saw him drive up.”

Now it was Connor’s turn to look annoyed. “Nothing. Just checking in.”

“He doesn’t have a phone?”

“Doesn’t trust them for the important stuff.”

Wow, he really was paranoid. Then again, what with our own government sniffing through our phone calls and emails, I supposed that was one thing I couldn’t really give Damon Wilcox much grief over.

“I think he needs a hobby,” I remarked, and finally sipped at my tempranillo.

It was on off-hand remark, the sort of thing I’d said about more than one person on occasion, but Connor didn’t appear amused by it. “Oh, he has hobbies. I’m just pretty sure you wouldn’t approve of them.”

“So why don’t you tell me about it?” I said the words as a challenge, not expecting to get an honest answer.

To my surprise, Connor seemed to take my question seriously. Maybe the tamales had loosened him up. “You know he’s a physics professor, right?”

“No. I mean, I knew he was a professor of some sort at Northern Pines, but I didn’t know what he taught.” I did my best to keep my tone neutral. I didn’t want to say anything that might keep Connor from talking.

“Well, he’s been using his work to aid him in altering spells, making them stronger, making them do things no one else has been able to.” He spooned some beans onto his plate and then handed the bowl to me. I took it from him with a slight smile, but remained silent so as not to interrupt. “I’m not an expert, so I can’t begin to explain half of it, but he tells me that spells are energy,
will
is energy, and he’s learned to work with that energy in ways no other
primus
— no other warlock — ever has. So neither you nor anyone in your clan should beat themselves up too much over being bested by Damon Wilcox, because it’s hard to defend against something you never even knew existed.”

“That’s…impressive,” I said after a pause. Well, that was one word for it, anyway. “Frightening” was another that came to mind, but I didn’t say it out loud.

Connor shrugged. “He’s driven. It’s good for the clan, I suppose, but it’s…a little tiring.”

I could imagine, even though I didn’t really want to think too hard about what it would be like to have Damon Wilcox as my older brother. But since Connor seemed to finally be talking, I thought I’d better see if I could get anything else out of him. “So….” Now that I thought I had an opportunity to ask questions, I didn’t even know which one to ask first.

“So why do I put up with it?”

I nodded.

“It’s complicated.”

“You told me that before.” I picked up the tongs and set another tamale on his plate, since he’d already finished off the first one. “You just didn’t tell me why.”

The green eyes seemed to darken almost to black. “You really don’t want to hear all this.”

“Actually, I do.”

He poured some more wine into his glass, then topped mine off as well. “Why?”

“Because….” I had to stop myself from saying,
Because I think I’m starting to like you a lot more than I should.
Instead, I told him, “Because I think it will help me to understand what’s going on here a little better.”

Another pause. The steel-string guitar played in the background, fast and intense, accompanied by equally intense drumming. Connor let the music spool out for a moment, then sighed as he reached for his wine glass. “It’s not a pretty story.”

“I figured it probably wasn’t. You want mine first, just to break the ice?”

He gave me a smile with little humor in it. “I already know it — at least, about your mother dying when you were a baby, and how you don’t know who your father is.” His fingers tightened around the stem of his glass. “There are times when I wish I had that luxury.”

I remained silent, waiting for him to go on. My heart, though, had begun to beat a little more quickly.

“Do you know about the Wilcox curse?” he asked abruptly.

“A little.”

“Then you know the marriages in the direct line aren’t exactly happy ones.”

Mouth tightening, I nodded again.

“For a while it seemed like it might be different for my father and my mother. She was an artist, too — did a few shows, I guess, but she mostly liked to paint for herself.”

“Those are hers, aren’t they?” I murmured.

“What?”

“The paintings in your room. They don’t look like your work. They’re hers?”

“Yes.” He drank some more wine, a large gulp, but I wasn’t about to give him grief over that. Not when I could tell how difficult this must be for him. “She had Damon, and everyone started watching her carefully, because usually once the
primus
’s wife has a son, the trouble starts. But she seemed fine. She
was
fine, for years and years. Then she got pregnant again.” He gave me a humorless smile. “Me. Damon’s almost ten years older than I am, and everyone thought it was a sort of miracle, and maybe for some reason the curse had finally been broken. Then….”

The word trailed off and I held my breath, wondering if this was where he would stop, if this was the point where he couldn’t make himself say any more.

But then he drank a little more wine, a much more measured swallow this time, and continued. “It started with little things. At least, that’s what Damon tells me. I didn’t notice that much at the time. I mean, I was barely three. But she stopped painting, and then there were days when she couldn’t even be bothered to comb her hair or get out of bed. One of the women from the clan started coming over to help with meals and tidying up and all that, since my mother just…stopped doing it.”