Witch in the Wind (Bandit Creek Books) (6 page)

Adam looked away as if to escape answering her.

The color rose in her cheeks. “Does this bomb, or explosion, or whatever it was, have to do with my parents?” she asked, her voice hoarse with the emotion she held at bay.

Adam looked at her, his face reflecting a struggle between compassion and duty. “Better talk to the sheriff,” he said.

Marcus felt her fingers spasm in his hand. He tightened his hold. She didn’t ask him to go with her, but he didn’t give her a choice. The Gwynn murders and the explosion were connected. And magic had something to do with both. Marcus had a terrible feeling he knew what that something was. It was bad. Really bad.

Avy's
head was
still
spinning.
Both men were looking down at her with concern.
She
cleared her throat hoping more air would reach her lungs.
She wasn't sure what had just happened.

The force of the explosion had hit
her
like the blast from a furnace. The shock knocked her brain into overdrive
. Suddenly she cou
ldn’t process the overload of traumatic events any longer. The shock and grief of the last few days blocked the passageway to her lungs leaving her gulping for air.
Just as h
er vision seemed to tunnel, narrowing,
she saw the beautiful light
s
.
Each a
kaleidoscope of color. Then strong hands anchored her. A gentle mouth breathed soothing, warm air into her lungs. Hidden deep inside, Avy felt something unique and fragile tingle with life. Like the prickling static she’d been feeling in her fingertips, only stronger. It grew, seemed to crackle and arc like an electrical current, as it reached out to Marcus.

What kind of a vet can kiss like that? Avy shivered and touched a finger to her lip where it still felt numb from the experience.
She had to wonder what in the name of the good Goddess was happening to her.

She avoided looking at Marcus but
, w
ith a
sharp
nod to Adam,
led
the way to the bank building.

Adam opened the main door, stepped through. He kept his hand on the door until Marcus reached over her head to hold it. She caught up with Adam, before looking back. The setting sun was behind him shining through the doorway, and outlining his body with a warm glow of amber.

“At least it’s only one color.” Avy said, thinking of his
weird and beautiful eyes
.

Adam turned to look at her. “What was that, Avy?”

She shook her head. Yup, losing my mind. They continued through the foyer. She expected to smell smoke but that wasn’t it. There was a haze still floating in the sunbeams, with a pungent smell, but more like a match than a fire.

With a start, she recognised the smell. It smelled just like the scorch marks on the lawn. Dynamite maybe? Why would someone throw dynamite at the house? Maybe her parents were just bystanders who got in the way. Collateral damage—but of what? She couldn’t believe anyone’s discomfort with her parents’ pagan religion had escalated to something more threatening? Not in Bandit Creek.

Marcus took her hand again as they passed the teller wickets. They stepped carefully trying to avoid the shards of glass, bits of wood and other debris as they made their way to the back.

Sheriff Morgan stood waiting for them at the vault door. Or at least where the vault door used to be. It had been blown off its hinges and outward into the counter area, sending pamphlets and forms flying. The sheriff reached out and clasped her hand. With a head nod, he sent the deputy to look after other duties.

“Sorry to drag you in on this, Avy. I know you’ve been through so much already,” he said.

“It’s okay, Sheriff.” The afterglow of Marcus's kiss still made her feel grounded. She stole a look back at Marcus. He was standing motionless behind her but his eyes were scanning every detail of the scene as if the robber might jump out and attack them at any moment. More like a bodyguard than a vet. Confident. Safe. She turned back to the sheriff and asked, “What does this have to do with Mom and Dad?”

Sheriff Morgan looked surprised but then shrugged and motioned her into the vault. She followed and felt Marcus at her back. The odd smell was stronger in here. “Do you know what caused the explosion yet, Sheriff?” she asked, still thinking it might be dynamite.

“Not yet,” he said. “But the strange thing is the apparent target.”

He pushed back his Stetson and rubbed his forehead as he looked across at the row of security boxes.

“Lots of people put stock certificates and other valuables in their security boxes, Sheriff. Robbers would know that.”

“Yup,” he replied, looking back at her. “But why were they only interested in your parents’ box?”

She felt her mouth drop open. When no words came to mind, she snapped it shut. Stepping closer, she could see that the sheriff was right. Despite the evidence of the blast around the door of the vault, the inside was relatively undisturbed. Scanning the rows of boxes, it was obvious that only one space was empty. The ones on either side of it showed scorch marks but were still closed. Only one security box had been taken by the robbers.

She felt movement behind her and then Marcus was standing by her side making the bank vault feel small and cramped. His strong arm came around her waist.

“Do you know what your parents kept in their box?” he asked gently.

She searched her mind for the answer. It didn’t exactly surprise her that her parents had a safety deposit box. Most people had one, didn’t they? It wasn’t something she would have talked to them about specifically.

“Ah, I guess their insurance papers.” With a stab to her heart, she added, “Maybe their will?”

The
sheriff’s eyes were deep wells of compassion. He nodded to Marcus as if tossing an invisible ball into his court.

“Honey, think hard. Did they have anything special in it that you remember? Jewellery, maybe?”

Something tugged on her memory. Some paper she’d seen recently. She concentrated trying to retrieve it. She didn’t want to think about yesterday. Or the day before. The harder she thought the more she wanted to cry.
Couldn’t she break out of this cloud of sadness that had fallen around her?
She was so tired of reeling from one shock to the next. Feeling overwhelmed with grief.

There it was. The mental picture. She was in the living room the day before, sifting through the papers on the floor.

She looked at Marcus, trying to draw in some of his strength. She was startled when the eyes looking down at her were the purple blue of an amethyst. As his gaze settled on her face, he blinked, and his irises flickered back to normal—or at least normal for him. She squeezed her eyes closed and then looked again. Warm hazel eyes looked back at her. Deciding it must have been sensory overload, she focused back on the paper she’d found.

For his benefit, she explained, “The house was ransacked when my parents were murdered.” Then turning back to the sheriff, she said, “I came across a lot of papers when I was cleaning up yesterday. One of them was an insurance record for things in the house. But you know my parents didn’t have anything of much value.”

The older man nodded without comment.

“I didn’t look at it too closely but, next to a couple of the items, Dad scribbled ‘Safety Deposit Box’. It made me think I should check the box in case my parents left any instructions about the house—or their funeral.”

A twisting pain in her chest caught her breath on the last word. Her throat was so tight she could barely raise her voice above a whisper.

“I think one of the items was ‘Family Heirloom Jewelry’ or something like that. I can’t think of any of the other things on it.”

“I can take her home to get it now if you want, Sheriff.
”

“No big rush.” The older man shrugged and then ushered them out of the tight vault space as he spoke. “I’ll be tied up here for the rest of the day. We’ll have to bring the techs in from Missoula to find the source of the explosion. We don’t have anyone here who can do that sort of thing.”

“I’ll go through my parents’ papers more carefully, Sheriff
.
If I find anything about the box I’ll bring it in to you tomorrow.”
Avy made her way back over the debris trail to the exit.

Evening was approaching as Marcus guided her to the sidewalk outside the bank with his arm around her shoulders.

As they continued their walk back through the park, most of the crowd dispersed. Quiet settled over the park. Most of the kids had gone home for supper but Avy could still recognize a few faces. Shipley, the handyman, was prying apart a kiosk and tossing the lumber into a wagon. George and Lucy were rolling their portable barbeque grill back to the diner, its rubber wheels squeaking as it bumped along the boardwalk. The man she’d seen with the mayor at Ma’s Kitchen that morning was standing off to one side of the park leaning on a walnut tree. And, of course, Jack was staggering back towards his favourite bench now that his territory was vacated.

She took a deep breath. After the stench of the explosives, her nose seemed sensitized to the fresh scent of trees and grass, moist earth, mountain air. Finally, she put words to the thought that had been burning inside her. “What the hell is happening here, Marcus?”

When he didn’t answer, she looked up at him. He seemed lost in thought at first, but feeling her stare, he stopped walking. “I’m sorry you’re caught in the middle of all this, Avy,” he said. “I wish there was some way to keep you out of it.”

It seemed an odd thing to say, but she could feel how deeply he felt about it. She noticed lines of strain around his eyes that had not been there this morning. She knew—call it woman’s intuition—but she was certain there was something seriously bothering him. She could feel it as if his reaction were her own. She was equally certain he would not tell her what it was.

He took her face between his hands, and kissed her forehead. “Are you all right?”

“As much as can be expected,” she said as she let herself lean into his chest. “Under the circumstances.”

She felt a hard edge under her cheek. She looked up just as Marcus tugged the chain around his neck revealing a pendant at the end that had been tucked under his shirt. Remembering the one she’d seen her parents with when she was very young, she struggled to hide the ragged breath she drew in as she swallowed yet another wave of threatening tears.

He wrapped his arms around her and tucked her under his chin.

She could hear his heart beating with calming regularity. Hers felt like it was learning some new drum tattoo.

He didn’t step away and gradually her own pulse slowed to match his rhythm.

After a moment, he asked, “Do you have any idea what kind of jewelry was stolen?”

She could feel the rumble of his voice in his chest as he spoke. “You know, now that I think about it.” She backed up so she could look up at his face. “My parents really didn’t have much jewelry.”

She raised her hand and flashed the heavy silver ring. “Just their wedding rings.” She moved her hand to lay flat on his chest. “And a medal.”

He stiffened. “Medal?”

“I’m not sure what to call it exactly. More of a pendant—” She leaned back into his chest. But somehow it didn’t feel quite so comfortable now. With everything that she’d been through, the Fates themselves couldn’t comfort her. Marcus just wanted to help her figure out what was going on. She hadn’t thought about the medal in years. Her parents never mentioned it to her and she’d never asked. “I haven’t seen it since I was really little. At the time, I thought it was a medal.”
She told him how, one night long after she’d been tucked in bed, she slipped out of her room and overheard her parents talking.
When she’d peaked around the doorframe, her mother was holding a beautiful pendant. But her father looked at it as if it were cursed. Something in his voice scared her so
that
Avy had crept back to bed.

She’d never seen the medal in the house again, yet that memory was still vivid in her mind’s eye. “Even after all this time, just remembering the look on Dad’s face that night still gives me the chills,” she said, as she smoothed her palm over the front of Marcus’s shirt. “That pendant looked a lot like the one you’re wearing today.”

“She’ll be fine.” Marcus fingered his amulet as he watched Avy’s Ford Focus disappear over the bridge at the top of Main Street. He couldn’t afford to spend any more time with the witch.
For a lot of reasons.

Demons balls, what a day. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars. With one childhood memory, she’d told him everything but who-done-it as the mortals would say. He was as sure as he could be, the killing of her parents, the bank robbery, all of it, was about the Goddess Amulets. Only Guardians of The Otherland had the amulets. When the five families were chosen for Council, the Goddess gave each a unique amulet. It was worn by the family Gu
ardian until he or she ascended, as a
Master Witch
to Council
and then passed on to the next Guardian within the family. The two murdered Guardians, Eavan Kemena and Devlin Gwynn, were wearing theirs when they ran from Council in 1911.

Marcus turned on his heels, and tripped over Busby.

“What are you doing here? Avy thinks you’re home waiting for her.”

Busby tilted his head, stared directly into Marcus’s eyes, and barked.

“I saw her to her car.” Marcus said.

A growl, low but not threatening.

“Okay, I’ll do better next time.” What next time? What am I thinking?

He headed south on Main Street and Busby fell into step with him. Marcus assumed the beast wanted something and would let him know what it was eventually. Avy’s parents must have had something to do with the beast’s presence. Familiars were not well understood, except that they could communicate wi
th their chosen witch companion and perhaps others.
If they wanted to, that is.
He had no idea where he might stand with this one.

When they reached the light at the corner, Marcus took a step off the boardwalk intending to drop into the clinic and check on his patients before heading home. The familiar nipped his pant leg and then veered east on Walnut Street, stopped and looked back at Marcus. “Okay, what do you need to show me?” Marcus asked, changing direction to follow the path the familiar had chosen.

As they reached the Sheriff’s office,
J
ack
was sitting on the front step of the sheriff’s office rocking back and forth, banging a stick on the wood-plank sidewalk. He was chanting something over and over in time to the beat of his makeshift drum. Busby wandered over to the old man and sat.

Marcus shook his head. There was something about that guy—

He wandered closer until he heard the old man’s words.

Take care of the girl, she means the world.

Take care of the girl, she means the world.

Take care of the girl, she means the world.

The old man fell silent and looked at Marcus with rheumy eyes. “You know what to do,” he said. Then his eyelids slipped closed and he resumed his rocking and drumming, without words this time. Marcus knew he wouldn’t get anything more out of the old man. When Busby didn’t seem to have a direction in mind, he decided not to backtrack to the clinic but continued east on Walnut heading for home.

He was surprised the familiar was still with him. He must want something more or he'd be back with his witch. The drumming and chanting could have been a spell. He didn’t know much about the old ways but he knew not to mess with them. He did know something was closing in on Avy. Something vaguely disturbing that had haunted him since he first set eyes on her. Something evil. He also had to accept that, somewhere along the way, the witch had become his responsibility. He was born and raised a Guardian. His role in the magical community was defined for his ancestors by the Goddess. Crystal clear and undisputed. He never questioned his instincts, not as a Guardian. Avalon Gwynn was an innocent in whatever was going on in Bandit Creek. His job was to guard her.

He looked down at his travelling companion and remembered he was second in line for that job. “Well, partner, if we’re going to be in this together, you might as well make yourself useful.”

The dog looked up at Marcus with eyes that betrayed an unnatural intelligence.

Marcus sucked in a deep breath and mentally compiled all the stray bits and pieces of information he’d gathered about his two murdered witches. And about Avy. Keeping his gaze forward
and his voice low, he told the f
amiliar, “From what Avy said, I’m sure her parents kept the Goddess Amulets separate after what happened the day of their escape. I’m betting they hid one of the amulets at the house, probably around the time Avy saw it, and one in the security box at the bank. Whoever is after them has hit both places already. It’s someone from The Otherland and whoever it is likely now has both.”

Goddess Amulets were the key to the extraordinary powers Guardians developed so they could eventually serve
as Master Witches
on Council. Or so it was believed.
It felt strange to be trying to deconstruct the fundamental beliefs of his race. He was not philosophical by nature.
Marcus fingered his own amulet and felt it warm to his touch.
“This has to do with those amulets. I’m sure of it.”

The familiar cocked his head and made a noise that sounded a lot like agreement.

“That’s just creepy, Busby.”

As they fell back into step, Marcus thought about the stories he’d been told about the Goddess Amulets. Still hoping the familiar would give him a nudge in the right direction, he said, “Since each family has its own unique magic, we’ve always believed the amulets do too.”

“What can an Otherlander do with two Goddess Amulets?” He’d heard the story of his family’s Council ancestry countless times but the emphasis had always been on the distinction between each Council family. Any suggestion of a liaison between families or fusing of magic between them would have been treason.

“Does he get the combined powers of both family lines?” That thought sent a shiver sliding down his spine. He stopped and glanced at Busby. “Cat got your tongue, Busby? I could use some help figuring this out.” When no response was forthcoming from the beast, he said, “Maybe we’ll be lucky. The magical overload might just shut them both down.” Then, one last thought occurred to him. “What if having both amulets doesn’t do anything? Would the thief go after Avy hoping she can make them work?”

Busby growled and his hackles stood at attention. They looked at each other for a moment.

“How the hell and damnation did someone locate the amulets after all this time?” Council had been looking for them since they were taken through the portal. It was assumed they’d been destroyed but whenever a sighting was reported, he or one of the other Guardians had been sent to check into it. They’d never come close to finding them. Marcus
resumed h
is walk
but picked up his
pace
trying to burn off his edginess
. Busby padded beside him. Partners. He pulled his thoughts back to the Gwynns as he’d last seen them—charred remains in the morgue. His gut clenched with the sudden thought of what might have happened if Avy had been there. His fist
s came up looking for a target.

He pushed her out of his mind again. He had to figure this mess out. To help Avy. To protect the Council. And to protect his own race and the mortals from harm. The tension snapped back into his neck and cascaded down his ba
ck in a mighty rush. “The Gwynns weren’t tortured so why kill them at all? Why not sneak in to search the house while they were out? Much less conspicuous. No one would notice the theft. And it’s not like the Gwynns could report the loss even if they did discover it.”

Marcus stopped again. “Unless—” he said, thinking of Avy’s silver ring. Two wedding rings and the legend of the gryphon, a protector even into the afterlife. “Unless, even after all these years, the Gwynns protected their goddess amulets with their lives. Every instinct he had confirmed it. “Guardians.” He breathed the word in slowly. Savored its taste as it slid over his tongue.

It changed things for Marcus. Not the job itself. It changed how the job felt. The two murdered witches—runaway lovers, destructive forces of nature, loving parents, keepers of secrets, whatever they were—Devlin Gwynn and Eavan Kemena were ancestral Council Guardians who used magic to protect their own, and others, from harm. Just as he did. Not by choice. Simply by birth.

His mind flashed back to the day he was presented to the Council Overmaster, Pelles Ferran, for training as a boy. Pelles was flanked by a couple of Guardians. They’d seemed ten feet tall with their confident bearing exaggerated by sweeping cloaks pinned at one shoulder like Roman centurions. He’d been excited to think he’d eventually be one of them. He didn’t remember those two being around later in his training and wondered if the Guardians who’d so impressed the young boy he’d been, were Devlin Gwynn and Eavan Kemena.

What the hell really happened back in 1911 when the two young lovers escaped to the mortal world? And how much of those events are driving what’s happening now?

A sharp bark from Busby startled Marcus like a slap on the head. “So you read minds too. If I thought you were saying, ‘finally, you idiot’, I’d zap you all the way to a rock in Kalispell,” he said to the familiar.

Busby dropped his tail between his legs and whimpered.

“Anyway, you’re right, I screwed up.”

Marcus slowed his pace to drop his hand and rub Busby’s ear as they made the turn up Birch Street. “There’s more to the story of their defiance of Council. I accepted old gossip as fact. I am an idiot.” With this new perspective, he mentally sifted through the other information he had. “Damn, I’m still running on shaky ground here. Lots of assumptions. Suppositions. Not a lot of hard facts.” However…this wasn’t the mortal world with its laws for evidence.

When they reached the front steps of his cottage, Marcus sat on the stoop while Busby settled on the grass. With a subtle flick of his hand, Marcus conjured a black notebook and pen. He’d learned from mortal cops that keeping notes in a little black book could be useful in lots of ways.

He flipped open the pad and clicked the end of his pen. Marcus carefully recorded what he knew about the murder, the Gwynns and Avy. With each flip to a new page, he could feel his heart pick up its pace. “I’m sure Avy’s list will confirm one of the amulets was in the bank vault. No doubt the thief got that one.” His fingers tightened on the pen, gouging through the paper. Marcus pulled it back and gave his hand a shake to loosen his grip. “But we don’t know that he got the first one. The one at the Old Gwynn Place. That’s the key question now. Did the thief get it from Devlin and Eavan before he killed them? Or after?” He’d like to think their bravery paid off, and they were able to protect the hiding place. On the other hand, they were dead and the thief wasn’t. He needed to check out the house to be sure but—

After reviewing his notes, one thing was clear to Marcus. It was time to report to the Witches Council. He didn’t want to think too hard about why he’d delayed this long. Guilt nicked his conscience. Was it my fault the thief had time to hit the bank? What about Avy? What do I tell Council about her? Is she even part of this case? She was in Seattle when her parents were killed—doesn’t even know what the amulets are.

Marcus flipped his notebook closed with one hand and used the other to rub the ache that throbbed just under his rib. The Witches Council had guided his race peacefully for millennia. Until 1911 when Devlin Gwynn and Eavan Kemena dared to change the rules.

“Time to go, Bus—” Marcus shook his head. The air around him was still. The yard and street were empty. To disappear unnoticed around a mortal was one thing but to pull it off with a warlock—

He almost wished he could take the familiar with him to talk to the Witches Council. No way to anticipate how they’d take the news of a Gwynn offspring. Avy. It was the first time he’d ever felt the need for backup on home ground.

He stood and shrugged off the stiffness from hunching over his notes.

It was time
—p
ast time
—t
o present the facts.

He walked into the shadow of the mature walnut tree looming near his side fence.

He pictured Lost Lake, focused his energy and stepped into a current of air.