Under Witch Aura (Moon Shadow Series) (25 page)

Blondie’s mouth hung open,
soundless for scant seconds before he screamed.

I bolted out the door,
leaving him
frantically batting at his shirt pocket.

David the Frog lurched at
me with
wide-open arms. I ducked, cursing the fact that the nettle spell
wasn’t lethal. Blondie was probably scared silly and from his
screams, he was at least smoldering enough to worry. After the
burning subsided, he’d go into an itching frenzy from the
nettle.

Instead of calling an
ambulance, David
chased me, rudely shoving people aside as he struggled to keep me in
sight. The illusion spell interfered with his ability to identify me
even though running made me the obvious target.

I hugged the wall, jumped
behind a
group and lost myself in the crowd for two or three steps. When
David plowed back into view, he had gained on me.

He stuck his arm out and
checked his
watch while he ran. I hoped he was seriously late for something he
couldn’t miss.

Before he caught sight of
me again, a
mass of people emerged from a shop. I zigzagged around them, but he
slammed right into them.

Blondie, a block away,
still screamed
like a stuck pig. Frog-buddy was the only person besides me who
wasn't stopped along the sidewalks to gape at the crazy man slapping
his shirt.

Half-jogging, half walking,
I yanked at
my white locks. Illusion spell or not, another quick change of
appearance wouldn't hurt.

At the end of the plaza
block, I
crushed another packet, threw it behind me as far as possible and
sped away. Smoke billowed, covering my tracks.

Breathing hard, I ran
straight into the
welcoming doors of St. Francis Cathedral.

Once inside, I stashed the
white locks
of hair in my pocket. The church was blissfully quiet, a huge
contrast from the chaos outside. My panting punctuated the air as I
knelt in a pew. The cool air felt as though it was channeled directly
from the earth, seeping inside to breathe life into anyone who
visited.

I itched to apply an
illusion spell and
leave a whole different person, but luckily the spell was spent.
Performing a spell on sacred grounds was suicidal. I had tried it
once and ended up with a bloody scalp and a headache for a week. A
church was better protection than adobe. If holy ground didn't
outright prevent a spell it certainly changed the outcome.

Though the cathedral
emanated peace and
was safe from magic, there was nothing stopping my enemies from
coming in after me, beating me to a pulp and leaving me for dead. The
good news was that the church had three exits on the south side of
the building. If the nut cases came in the back, out the side I would
go.

Lately, it seemed every
time I wore a
disguise, I ended up in church in some kind of trouble. Maybe a
rinse-off hair dye would be safer.

I sighed. I prayed. I
watched the
doors.

If there was any justice in
the world,
anyone who entered with ill-intent would be blasted by lightning. But
justice wasn't always timely, and God didn’t consult my
preferences all that often.

I removed my earrings and
prayed
through another few Hail Marys.

No enemies appeared.

“Okay.” I scooted from the
pew, but just before exiting, I paused, faced the altar and bowed my
head. “Thanks.”

The parking lot and nearby
trees on the
south side contained no ambush. Though it was several blocks away, I
sprinted for my car.

For the first time in days,
a shower
was required that didn't include ruined clothing. Even better, White
Feather had left a message on my answering machine. I had a date for
dinner at The Owl.

With Tara and Lynx busy at
Mom’s
house, White Feather had used his free time to search for Claire. The
idea of him dealing with her face-to-face was more than a little
disquieting, but I'd have done the same thing in his shoes. Someone
had to track her down and stop her.

He waited until we were
seated in a
comfortable vinyl booth at The Owl before he gave me details. “She
moved. Gordon couldn't find a trace. You know, normally this would be
the point where I'd start checking with my sources in the
underground.”

I smiled. We had met as a
result of
Lynx arranging a first meet for a “cop digging up information
on paranormal crimes.”

Of course, in this case if
I'd known
where Claire was, I'd have already convinced her to leave town.
Permanently. She easily inspired violent thoughts. “Hire Lynx.
He excels in locating desperate people, especially those dabbling in
things better left alone.”

“I’ve had about as much of
Lynx as I can stand at the moment.”

“Uh-oh. Did he cause
trouble at
Mom’s?”

White Feather grinned. “Of
course
not. He was the model of perfection, as was Tara. And your mom wasn’t
buying any of it. She gave them both assignments about fifteen
seconds after feeding them.”

“What free labor did she
manage
from Lynx?” This was a magic trick I needed to learn.

“Cleaning the tops and
seeds from
red chile. She said something about him staying for dinner,
therefore, he would want to help. She was teaching Tara how to
concoct an herbal cure for acne breakouts. Tara is planning to sell
it to her friends.”

I wrinkled my nose.
“Chamomile in
amounts strong enough to kill most humans, walnut and calendula oil,
right?”

“You know the spell?”

“Mom excels at it. I get
requests
for it, but I prefer spells that act against outside influences
rather than internal body issues.” I sipped my ice water,
anxious to ask the more important questions about what he said and
what Mom said.

Mom would call me
eventually and
provide the lowdown on what she thought of White Feather, but first,
via her cronies, she’d run a background check on him that the
FBI would envy.

Before Mom was done, she'd
know the
route White Feather had walked to grade school, how many days he
deviated from it and whether he’d ever had so much as a traffic
ticket in his life.

“I guess I should have gone
with
you,” I finally admitted.

White Feather chuckled. “I
can’t
believe you threw me into your family without a proper introduction.”

“Aha! Mom said that, didn’t
she?”

“She was a bit on the
flustered
side.”

Which had given White
Feather the
distinct advantage, a good place to be where my family was concerned.
Had I been there, Mom would have gone into her dignified mode,
inviting him into the family and then leaving him to flounder with
overdone formalities—and possibly teasing me into an early
grave in the meantime. “Did you compliment her on her cooking?”

“Not exactly a hardship.”

“With Lynx there, though,
it
would be difficult to compete.”

He laughed. “His reaction
to the
food did make my enthusiasm appear almost finicky.”

“Definitely sorry I missed
it.”
I wanted them to be friends on their own terms, not just because of
me. But that sort of magic was way beyond my talents. “I’ll
be around when you meet Dad.”

“Not taking any chances?”

“No one is good enough for
Dad.
You’ll need someone to protect you.” I smiled at his
raised eyebrows. With Dad, there would be a test, and the sphinx had
nothing on the challenges he invented.

Tino came over to our
table, a rare
thing unless he had business to discuss. “Got a guy wants a
meet. You gonna be here a while or should I set it up elsewhere?”

Tino was a huge source of
clients. Most
of his restaurants were known to groupies as well as paranormals. The
groupies thought they had access to all the cool people when in
reality, Tino ran more than one place for a reason. Those of us in
the approved paranormal category had special privileges in private
rooms like the one we now occupied.

“Now isn't the best time
for
regular business,” I told him.

Tino shrugged and chewed on
a skewer.
At well over six feet he was too large to use a mere toothpick. He
usually sported at least one dangling silver earring, but tonight
his ears were as naked as his shaved head. With football shoulders,
he should have been intimidating, but his cool saunter and habit of
“striking a pose” conveyed the illusion of just a
friendly neighborhood bartender.

“Guy said to mention
bloodstone.
Said you'd be interested.”

There was only one person
right now who
would use that word to gain my interest. “Martin? Martin wants
to meet with me here?”

“He didn't provide his
name.”

“Get real.” None of us
used names very often, but Martin was Martin. He was like the town
wino who panhandled around the bank, only in his case, he roamed the
desert and made a few mad, naked dashes through town now and then.
“I'll meet him. Whenever he can get here.”

“Take awhile. You eat.
Slow.”

Tino lumbered off, dancing
a little jig
right before disappearing behind the bar. There was a door there to
his private office and one to the kitchen. The kitchen was the
dividing line between the private rooms and the more public
restaurant.

Angel, the waitress, came
over to take
our orders. “The usual?” she asked me.

“Please.”

We both looked expectantly
at White
Feather. He had a habit of ordering different menu items even though
the green chile cheeseburger was beyond spectacular. “Green
chile cheeseburger,” he said.

We both exhaled, maybe a
touch
disappointed in his lack of creativity.

“With bacon,” he added.

Angel tittered, giving him
a
flirtatious smile. She waved her note pad, a pad she never used. “And
to drink?”

“Coke for you, water for
us,”
he said.

Ah routine. Was there
anything more
comforting in life?

All two hundred very
un-Angel-like
pounds headed for the kitchen to drop off our orders. Her silver
white hair did give off a halo effect. “You shouldn't buy her a
coke. It's bad for her health.”

“Who taught me the habit in
the
first place?”

“I can’t imagine. She must
have spelled you somehow.” I refused to acknowledge that Angel
always convinced me too.

He shook his head and
changed the
subject. “Tell me about this Martin guy.”

I explained the basics. We
rehashed
whether it was more likely Martin had been hospitalized because of an
ill wind or a run-in with our religious friends. “Should we
hire Lynx? We need to find out more about the bible thumpers.”
I proceeded to tell White Feather about my close call earlier in the
day.

“You don't need Lynx, you
need a
bodyguard.”

I shrugged. “Once Lynx
obtains
more information for me, I have a very special spell planned just for
them. Running every time they spot me isn't going to solve anything.
And so long as Lynx is on the clock, we can have him ferret out
Claire's hiding place too.”

“I don't want Lynx
involved,”
White Feather protested. “That automatically means Tara will be
in danger.”

He had a point, and it
stumped me. Lynx was by far my most reliable source. Tino was great for
clients,
but Tino wouldn't stroll down alleyways, dig up dirt or keep tabs on
religious freaks. Before I thought of an intelligent response, White
Feather reached his own conclusion.

“Not involving Lynx might
not
keep her safe either. Will he leave her out of this if we ask?”

“He excels in secrets.” I
frowned. “But he's never had a girlfriend before.”

“Claire's dangerous. So are
those
religious nuts. There’s one other source I can ask first.”

“Oh?”

He didn’t smile. “Not my
favorite informant. Lies worse than a crying crocodile, but he might
know the religious freaks.”

Our food came. With
herculean restraint,
I kept from stuffing more than one fry into my mouth at a time. Was
there anything better than fresh, hot salty fries?

We were almost finished
when Tino
strolled in through his private door. He inclined his head and began
wiping the bar.

Seconds later, Martin
entered through
the alley-side door, an entrance that blended so naturally with the
wooden panels, it was nearly invisible. Martin, however, was not.

It wasn't possible to tell,
thank God,
whether he had on underwear because his very large t-shirt hung down
almost to his knees. His sneakers clattered noisily on the way to our
table, flopping and slapping against the tile floor. The large,
colorful bag on his shoulder smacked into him with each uneven step.

When Martin finally arrived
at our
table, he waited awkwardly. Since he had recently been in the
hospital, he didn't smell that bad, although alcohol fumes still
wafted around him.

“Hello.” He squinted in the
dim light. “I brought you something.”

Tino grabbed a free chair
and plopped
it down behind Martin before disappearing again without a word.

Not a speck of desert dust
marred
Martin's oversized shoes. The t-shirt was not new, but it too was
very clean. And huge, as in Tino's size.

There was only one logical
conclusion:
Martin had shown up at Tino's stark naked intending to talk to me. I
forced the image aside. “Heard you were in the hospital. How
are you recovering?”

Martin sat down. Seated,
his
unconventional outfit was easier to ignore. “You heard about
me? That's nice.” He beamed, eyes wide and happy with a big sloppy
grin. “This must be your wind fella. I'm Martin.”

White Feather waited for me
to signal
him, but I couldn't tell him how to act. Martin was as fickle as the
weather. Right now he was friendly and subdued. In five minutes he
might be morose or dancing on the tables. “Yes, this is my
friend. I hear you wanted to talk to me?”