Under Witch Aura (Moon Shadow Series) (27 page)

“You know what she looks
like?”
He didn't bother to hide his smirk.

“Is that suddenly a
requirement
for you?”

“Last name?”

I crossed my arms. “Since
when do
you need the obvious? Ask Tara. If she doesn't know, ask White
Feather.”

Lynx indulged in one of his
silent
laughs. “Just yankin' your chain. But don't worry. Tara already
gave me the lowdown.”

It bothered me that Tara
knew more than
I did, but there was no point in letting Lynx know. “This is
serious, Lynx. She's dangerous.”

“Claire ain't working by
herself,
not from what Tara says. I been doing some checking, because that
painting Tara had, that was bad news.”

“And?”

“I dunno where she got it
from.
But I did find some other stuff.” Unable to resist, he wandered
to the fridge, but looked at me for permission before helping himself
to a soda. “I won't charge you neither because I owe you for
screwing it up. On my own time I been lookin' into how petunia-man
seemed legit when he was really out to get you.”

“And any other witch he
could
beat up,” I added.

Lynx nodded. “Thing is, I
never
picked up on the religious thing because the guy ain't religious.
Ain't no one who knows him that says he's ever gone to any church.”

“Not all religious nuts go
to
church.”

Lynx gulped his soda before
answering.
“He's a guy for hire. I figured his curse came from some job he
screwed up because he's not that bright. He's muscle.”

“They carry Bibles,” I
pointed out.

“As a cover. People don't
want
to talk to Bible folks. The one guy keeps a switchblade in his and
the other some kind of big-ass lighter. They go into any neighborhood
they want, nobody talks to them and they get their job done if they
don't screw it up.”

“But why the sudden
interest in
witches?

“Someone musta hired them
to kick
witches around. They ain't gonna do it without being paid. Didn't
work out so well for petunia-man though.” Lynx showed teeth.
“If he wasn't cursed before, you made sure he is now.”

It was Mat's spell, not
mine, but the
sentiment fit. “Any idea who hired them?”

Lynx rubbed two fingers
together. “Now
that is worth some green. I don't know that yet.”

“Okay, find out. Maybe
they've
been hired by a religious group that has something against witches.
And if you find Claire, don't approach her, just find her and anyone
she might have hired.”

“You gonna spell her?”

It was my turn to show a
lot of teeth.
“Since when have you ever had an interest in my spells?”

“Since never. Half now,
half
later.”

I paid him and saw him out.

Even with Lynx on the job,
there was
plenty to be done. I needed to master a technique for using the
heliotrope with wind, I still had a cat haunting me and then there
was about a hundred years worth of sand painting techniques to learn.

Luckily, in every
generation there were
record keepers. Grandma Ruth billed herself as a gardener, although
the rumors about her insinuated less innocent pastimes. Some claimed
she destroyed the entire witch's council in order to steal valuable
grimoires; nicer people said she must have ended up with them because
she was the last high priestess.

The only thing that was
true for
certain was that she owned grimoires—a lot of them. She also
had greenhouses, but the greenhouses weren’t primarily for
plants. They were for the spiders. Weavers. Hunters. Spinners.
Jumpers.

Some were poisonous. Many
were
colorful, some were ugly. All of them were the guardians of Grandma
Ruth’s ancient, magic tomes because their immunity to spells
and their poison against the mundane made them ideal guardians.

No one in their right
mind—or
quite possibly even in a wrong mind—would bother Grandma Ruth
or her grimoires without permission.

I hadn’t done laundry yet,
but
jeans were an absolute necessity. My cleanest pair was on the top of
the pile. I either had to do some laundry soon or buy more clothes.

Nestled into the low hills
near Sunlit
Hills in southeast Santa Fe, Granny’s house was surrounded by a
rustic wrought iron fence and greenhouses that stretched across the
southeast and west sides of the house. The wrought iron was not for
decoration. It was there because it provided a great foundation for
spiders to spin across.

I opened the gate, breaking
a fine line
of webbing and probably announcing my arrival to Granny Ruth. It was
not possible to detect all the webbing or draglines from one anchor
to another so I waved one hand in front of me as I scooted along the
greenhouse to the back of the house. Granny never used her front door
and all her regulars knew it.

Several webs brushed
against my legs,
but I managed to avoid walking face-first into one.

As soon as I advanced
around the side
of the house, Granny stood up from a cushioned wicker chair. “Adriel!
What a nice surprise.” Blue eyes twinkled underneath her fluffy
cloud of white hair. According to rumors, she’d gone
prematurely white in her twenties. If I spent as much time as she did
around spiders, I’d have gone gray early too.

Climbing the two concrete
steps, I
clasped Granny’s weathered, sixty-five year old hand in mine.
Dainty looking as a flower, she was five feet tall to my own five-six,
but she was tougher than nails and just about that stubborn.

“How are you?” I asked.

“You never visit,” she
pouted.

“Uh-huh.” Her hobby wasn’t
readily visible, but we both knew it was the reason she had few
visitors. “And I suppose grimoire reading doesn’t really
count, does it?”

Granny laughed. I felt
guilty about not
visiting, but nobody stopped by just to chat. Like any good witch,
Granny had her potions and they were powerful ones, so she retained
many a client. But there was a natural avoidance spell in spiders. No
other aversion spell was required, and it worked whether you were
aware of it or not.

Granny waved me to a chair
and retook
her own, causing whatever tools she had in her apron to shift and
rattle. Of course she had been tending her gardens. Only those who
didn't know her would mistake her for a withered woman sitting on the
porch watching life pass.

“One of these days you'll
come as
a buyer of my potions. They're usable for much more than healing.”

“Or poisoning,” I muttered
defensively.

From the outside, Granny’s
main
house wasn't much more impressive than mine, but hers was open in the
center, an old Spanish style. An automatic watering system ran
through all the greenhouses; fans controlled the air flow, humidity
and temperature. I had never seen the very modern computer system she
used to maintain a perfect atmosphere for her eight-legged friends,
but I had met the son who installed it. Granny’s spiders
enjoyed the best technology in the world.

I told Granny about the
rogue sand
paintings. We also discussed Sarah, the cat, and even White Feather.

When all the information
was on the
table, she focused in on the largest problem. “I don’t
like the sound of that sand painting. If spirits from the west have
made it through, we're in a heap of trouble.” She tapped her
fingers against the arm of her chair. “It’s been a long
time since anyone has been strong enough to fight something like
that.”

“Not since the council of
witches,” I blurted before I could stop myself.

Her eyes flicked to mine.
Granny Ruth
knew about the gossip, but it was rude of me to bring it up.

“Sorry,” I apologized. “I
just can't help but wonder if there are any of them left who can help
us.”

Granny Ruth shook her head.
“They
were hunted down and killed.”

“Or disappeared.” I was
stubborn on that point for a reason.

She looked past me, into
the yard.
“Yes, your great-grandfather disappeared. Technically so did
I, but that was allowed because I was too young to be considered much
of a threat, but call it what you will, the council is gone. It was a
necessary end to that era.”

“Thankfully you ended up
with the
books. At least they weren’t destroyed.”

Her eyes suddenly darkened
to an almost
reflective black, as alien as those of any arachnid. The aura wasn’t
directed at me; she was somewhere in a different time, but for
several seconds she was as foreign as the spiders she kept.

As fast as it appeared, the
aura was
gone. A shiver ran through my bones, the kind that makes you wonder
if someone is walking across your grave before you're in it. “Granny
Ruth--”

“You know, your
great-grandfather
wrote a book on magic. It included Indian lore.”

“He did?” My
great-grandfather was my namesake; the name I used for everyday. My
memory of him was hazy, not much more than a wisp, a comforting hug.

“He promised it to the
collection
when it was barely started, but I've never seen it.” She stood.
“Let’s get you to the books so you can do your research.”

“I didn’t know he wrote a
book. I'll ask Mom.”

Granny gave me a
halfhearted smile.
“She and I have talked about it. I'd like to see it if you find
it. You remind me of him. Adriel disappeared under hurried
circumstances.”

That, I knew.
Great-grandfather had
possessed knowledge and magic. While he lived on and off the
reservation, he wasn't one who believed in being tagged and
registered, nor was he keen on revealing what he was up to,
especially when it involved his talents.

Granny led the way inside.
“The
grimoires will tell you how to go about possessing a cat, but they'll
conceal the truth about the damages. It’s quite possible you
could summon out and trap whatever demon or witch is possessing the
cat.”

That thought was more
terrifying than
any I’d had so far. “I only want to know if it is
possessed. I'm not interested in possessing it or summoning anything.
I’d rather kill the cat.”

“Calling out anything
inhabiting
that cat would kill the cat anyway, but if the feline is possessed,
it’s as good as dead.”

I shivered.

She opened the coat closet.
“More
important than possession, spend some time looking up binding. There
won’t be anything on sand paintings because Indians rely on
years-long apprenticeships for teaching rather than the written word.
But what you’re describing sounds like it starts with a binding
spell. If binding is Claire's mode of operation, she might foolishly
believe that if one can bind a witch, one can summon and then bind a
greater power from the west.”

Because magic wasn't
allowed near the
grimoires, I eased out of my backpack, extracted a pair of gloves and
then handed the pack to Granny.

She stored it inside the
coat closet.
“It'll be safe.”

“Uh-huh. Just no stowaways,
please.”

She chuckled and opened a
storm door
that led inside the greenhouse. “Grab a stool. I wipe them down
all the time so they are perfectly safe.”

There were three saddle
stools along
the path through the plants. I picked up the first one by a leg and
inspected the bottom. Her little hobby friends could invade in
seconds, and we both knew it.

We strolled through fall
vegetables in
the first section and orchids and tropical plants in the second area.
A banana tree grew out of a pool of water near the last door. “That
thing should have died long ago,” Granny said as we passed it.
“No idea how it keeps surviving, but it does.”

Before entering the last
section, she
adjusted the air flow. There was a three foot section with a
revolving door but no plants. Another specialized door opened into
the last chamber.

Wild flowers grew next to
snapdragons,
and desert grasses flourished next to blue bonnets. Flies and bugs
were encouraged here because this was the most spider-filled area in
the house.

Granny said, “When the
books need
a dose of sunlight to aid in their containment, the plants along this
wall begin to wilt. If the evil seeps out, it’s noticeable.”

I concentrated on the
plants while
Granny relocated a spider web that was attached on one side to a
potted plant. She rolled the pot away, keeping the web and the
half-inch spider intact.

Of course, the arachnid
scrambled
around; that was what spiders do. I stayed well back, my lips firmly
pressed together so that no squeak of horror leaked out.

“It’s a silver argiope.
Harmless to humans, but I like the colorful ones here, because
they’re impossible to miss.”

“They’re big.” My
resentment showed.

She nodded happily. “I try
to
convince the tarantulas to nest near the door even though the ones
native to New Mexico aren't poisonous. The silly things prefer
burrowing in the ground along the wall.”

“How reassuring.” Their
lack of poison didn’t mean I relished being tucked inside a
six-foot hallway with them.

“Watch out for the black
widow
colony inside the room. They are the best line of defense against
abuse of the books. Check each book for them before you handle it.”

With the pot out of the
way, Granny had
easy access to a well- camouflaged code panel where she tapped out
the combination. A plain wooden panel slid aside. Behind it, in case
anyone got lucky or too curious, was the same adobe that formed the
side of the greenhouse. There was a barely noticeable crack in the
bricks, just enough to form a small door.

“Your gloves are leather
and silk
lined?”

I waved them. “Absolutely.”

“I doubted you would
forget.”

My jeans were tucked firmly
inside the
top of my hiking boots. I wore no sleeves, although that could go
either way. Sleeves might protect me from a spider, but no sleeves
made my arms easier to see in case a spider dropped down on me.