Under Witch Aura (Moon Shadow Series) (26 page)

Martin took his time
extracting a
silk-wrapped bundle from his shoulder bag. When he set it on the
table, he muttered over it, but let the silk fall away.

Four lumps of stone rested
on the
cloth. I knew better than to touch them. “Yellow, white--” There were
bits of sand in the bottom of the bundle. The fibers of
the cloth were matted together in more than one spot; dangerously
melted. “Red.”

“The black would be
charcoal, I
presume?” White Feather guessed.

Martin nodded. “Found these
near
the rectangle patterns. It was the last pattern that sent me to the
hospital. It wasn't dead yet. Hadn't finished burning when I crawled
to the middle to see what was there. Bones, I think.”

“What happened?”

Martin swallowed noisily.
“I
could sure use a beer.”

“Martin, don't start.”

“When you pay me, I'm
getting one
anyway,” he said.

“Not here you won't. Too
expensive. You like cheap beer, remember?”

His eyes watered. “Cheap
beer.”
With a big sigh, he pushed a finger at the rocks. “There were
smaller ones. Not all the colors were at the second rectangle. I
missed the charcoal one. It was probably there, but with everything
burned, I didn't notice it.”

“You know what they are?” I
asked.

“Took me a while to
remember, but
these were sitting outside the rectangle in a bark bowl just like the
sand painting ceremony calls for. I collected them. There was a
feather that wasn't burned. Then I noticed the wind.” He
squinted at White Feather. “Didn't smell right, but I can't
smell much.” He shifted his gaze to me. “Got myself
blown all over my desert. But I went back there again after the
hospital. Put these in my pack to show you.”

What could I say? “Thank
you,
Martin.”

“That wind. It knows me
now.
Thought I'd best carry the banner on up to Wyoming again, even though
it'll be cold in the winter.” His eyes watered again. “Maybe
when I come back, it will be gone?”

He kept his attention
riveted on the
stones.

“What makes you think it
will
be?” I asked.

He gurgled a rough cough,
but
thankfully didn't spit. “You have to fix it.” He reached
into his bag again. This time the bundle he pulled out was soft
buckskin.

“The first two rectangles
didn't
amount to much. There was nothing there but a few half-burned reeds,
some bones. The third one,” he pushed the buckskin my way with
one dirty finger. “Over near Tent Rock. They're calling things
best left alone; the old ones, the monsters.”

If I hadn't already seen
the sand
paintings myself, his rambling would have been nothing more than the
mad illusions of a drunk. But the sand paintings were Navajo legends
done as a retelling, a plea to the spirits. The lore was about
monsters, great ugly beasts and even ones not so ugly. The monsters
were not friendly to the human race. According to legend, the human
race would have had no place on earth had it not been for the
twins—sons of father sun and changing woman. The twins traveled
the world to slay the monsters and make it safe for people.

“What's in there?” I
pointed a careful finger at the bundle.

“Fresh stones, the ochre
from the
desert. Ones not tainted. I gift them to you.” He waited. I
had the feeling he would wait all night and follow me home until I
said the right words.

“I accept them and only
them, no
curse or bargain, no ill may follow.”

“I wish you no ill and give
it
free of heart with no obligation,” he said softly. “But I
hope you can make use of them. The sand painters called something
into the desert, but they didn't contain it. They've been
practicing. They aren't done yet.”

He fished out two more
stones, pebbles
really. “The turquoise belonged to my mother. It is protected
and cannot be followed. The heliotrope is only a chip really, but
you'll need gifts to attract the ones who will help.” He sat
quietly for a moment, fingering the turquoise stone. “The ones
who could stop them are all gone now. People like your
great-grandfather and my grandmother. That was when there was a
council, before they came after your grandfather and his father.” He
peeked at me briefly. “I don’t know if you can stop
them. There’s no council now.”

My heart beat hard. “Did
you
know my great-grandfather?”

Martin didn't lift his
head. “The
right answer is no. Because no one must trace him or know where he
went after he left.” He handed me the turquoise stone. “She
would want you to have it. For her, I gift it to you.”

We repeated the gift-giving
words
again. When we finished, Martin said, “These stones left behind
by the sand painters, it's not wise to use them. I can't give them to
you.”

I nodded. This was another
ritual. “How
much?”

“How much is the beer here?”

Surprised, I asked, “Do you
really want to order a beer?”

He cackled, but softly. “It
all
works the same for me, good beer or cheap beer.”

“It's,” I slid my eyes to
White Feather. “Ten dollars, I think.”

Martin nodded. “That's good
beer.
That would buy a lot of cheap beer.”

Before I could dig into my
backpack,
White Feather took a ten from his wallet. He added a five. “A
tip.”

“No obligation?” Martin
blinked eagerly, but remained wary.

“No obligation.”

“I don't mind obligations
usually,” Martin lied. “But I have to leave, you see.
It's looking for me. I can't hide my smell, and the desert isn't big
enough to hide me.”

“No obligation.”

Martin accepted the money
with a
gap-toothed smile. “Wheee,” he sang softly. “Gonna
be a good fire.”

“Martin,” I said hurriedly,
“you might want to wait for that fire until you've hit
Wyoming.”

His face fell. After a
short pause, he
lumbered to his feet, but forgot about the shoes and nearly fell. On
his way to the door, he mumbled, “Gotta feed the fire.”

White Feather shook his
head in
disbelief. “Does he ever really go to Wyoming?”

“Usually in the summer. I
don't
know how he ever gets anywhere, drunk as he is all the time.”

“If that thing out there
really
has his scent, does he have any protection?”

Watching Martin stumble out
the door, I
shrugged. “Only the fact that it's very hard to kill a drunk
man.”

We finished eating. I
longed for more
silk, stuff that hadn't already been half melted from exposure to
whatever nastiness had nearly destroyed the rag Martin had used. He
should have properly disposed of the tainted samples. There was
probably some inane reason he hadn't, but I couldn't imagine what it
was unless it was sheer laziness.

When I got home, the
tainted samples
were going straight into a glass jar filled with holy water. I'd bury
that in sand until every last bit could be properly destroyed.

White Feather escorted me
and the
bundles to the trunk of my car. He then walked me to the driver’s
side and gave me a kiss goodnight that made me forget my name. His
wind raged underneath his skin, brushing across and right through me.

“I’m working on that,”
he said, pulling back. “Merging magics like we did may hide us
behind earth magic for a while, but it won’t keep us hidden
forever.”

I didn’t care. His fingers
caressed the back of my neck, and with the next kiss he showed how
close he was to not caring either. Had we already been at his home or
mine instead of a semi-dark public parking lot, caution would have
been thrown to the wind; evil, good, or neutral.

He broke off the kiss, but
when he
whispered in my ear, it was almost as seductive. “I've
developed some new techniques for hiding my wind, but I need more
practice.” His hands spanned my ribs, and then slid to my
hips. He nuzzled my neck, while I did some nuzzling of my own.

It took me a few seconds,
but I finally
offered, “Do you want help? Practicing, I mean?” We were
as close as we could be with clothes on, and that was enough space to
make me crazy.

“Oh yeah,” he laughed,
nibbling the pulse at my neck and letting his lips linger there.
“Definitely, and soon.”

When he reluctantly peeled
himself
away, his eyes flashed dark forest green in the streetlight. I wanted
to see the colors as his magic moved. He was so...magnificent.

“I’m going to locate
Claire. I’d like to be done with this.”

“No kidding.”

If his house had been fully
standing,
I’d have followed him home. Of course, if his house had been
standing, we wouldn’t have these problems, and maybe we’d
be holed up there and never leave.

As soon as I got home, I
arranged the
cactus on the porch to signal Lynx. He wasn't likely to be checking
for the signal very often these days, not with Tara holding his
interest. I respected that, but he was still our best bet. He had the
ears of a cat, right along with the curiosity.

I called my mother to ask
for Tara's
cell phone number. Plus, in truth, I was dying to hear the White
Feather status report. My nerves over him meeting her had settled,
but like a spell, there was a ritual that needed to be completed.

Predictably, Mom ignored my
request for
Tara’s number. “What a
nice
young
man you’ve found!”

“Nice”
was promising. That meant initial checks showed he was not a known
murderer or associated with one. Of course, I knew that already, but
it was a good idea for Mom to know these things also. “Yes,
he’s pretty cool, isn’t he?”

Mom giggled. “When do you
intend
to introduce him to your father?”

“Sometime
this century.”

She laughed again. “He
didn’t
mean to set your last boyfriend’s shirt on fire. It was an
accident!”

“Uh-huh,
maybe.” The boyfriend in question had made the mistake of
talking up his supposed abilities. Dad was a rather passionate and
protective sort; the hot blood of Spaniards ran through him, quite
literally. Dad had either decided to shut the ex-boyfriend up or test
his worthiness. Either way, it had not ended well.

“Did
Tara
give you her phone number?”

“White Feather is a good
man to
take care of his sister like this. He is more patient with Tara than
you ever were with Kas.”

“But I offered to teach Kas
anything she wanted to know!”

“
Yes,
but Tara has more attitude than Kas. If Kas had acted like Tara,
you
might have
started her on fire.”

“I
don’t
have an affinity for fire.”

“I
know, and
Kas never wanted to learn. Tara,” she sighed. “Oh, mi
Dios. Tara has talent. But she will burn up inside if she doesn’t
learn how to give.”

“She's
too
defensive,” I agreed. “Instead of giving things an honest
try, she blocks herself.”

“Magic
can’t
blossom with all that fear of failure. She has no respect for herself
or the craft.”

Well, at least Mom had
identified the
problem. Fixing it was another story. “I need to find Lynx. Did
either of them leave you a number?”

“Of
course.”
She finally rattled it off.

“Thanks.
And
thanks for teaching Tara.”

“She
needs to make peace with her own limitations first.”

Hard to do when you were
all raging
defense and no offense.

When I finally reached
Tara, she
wouldn't tell me Lynx's number, but she promised to pass along a
message. “Just have him stop by my place,” I said. “Tell
him I have a job for him.”

Lynx was obviously with her
because the
next voice I heard was his. “Whatcha need?”

“I don't like doing
business over
the phone, but I suppose beggars can't be choosers.”

“Beggars don't pay. You
pay, you
aren't a beggar. I'll be there. Fifteen.”

He hung up before I had a
chance to ask
him not to bring Tara. White Feather didn't want her involved.
Neither did I, but Lynx didn't do well with a lot of rules.

We needed to find Claire
and shut down
the sand painting ceremonies. Or make sure that she led us to whoever
was helping her. Lynx was our best bet for either.

While I waited for him, I
applied every
mundane and magical block feasible to the bundle that Martin had left
with me. With that task completed, there was just enough time left to
enhance the lock on my door to make it extremely difficult for Lynx
to pick it. He wasn’t the real problem, however, so with great
satisfaction, I set the final spell against Tara, not Lynx. It was a
last-minute decision, but it would probably stump Lynx longer if he
made the assumption that the spell was designed with elements
specific to him.

Getting places was easier
and faster
for Lynx now that he had a car. Not only was he quick, but the best
news was that he came alone.

He hopped up the steps and
paused at
the cat dish. “You shouldn't feed her on the porch. She doesn’t
like it. Too close to you and too much in the open.”

“But she comes up on the
porch on
her own. I’ve seen her there several times.”

Lynx shrugged, completely
unimpressed
with my logic. “Base of the juniper. She can go up or away.
Porch, she doesn’t like it.”

He was the expert. “Okay.
I'll
try that.”

He came in. Where some
people might
have paced or taken a seat, he stood almost perfectly still for a few
seconds, exploring quickly with his eyes and ears. He scanned the
counters in case any stray food was available, but he obviously
wasn't hungry because he didn't go straight for the fridge. Maybe
dating Tara encouraged him to eat on a regular basis.

“What's the job?” he asked.

“I need you to find Claire.”

“And?”

“And that's it. Find a
current
address, occupation, whatever info you can dig up. She has taken an
obvious interest in witchery. Find places she purchased spells,
people who sold her stuff, whatever you can.”