Under Witch Curse (Moon Shadow Series) (14 page)

White Feather closed his eyes and for a few seconds there was complete silence. Then, to my disgust, he started laughing. Hard.

“White Feather! It isn’t funny! The guy was obnoxious enough while he was alive. The last thing I need is to have some sculpted ghost appearing naked in the desert when I’m trying to work!”

He stopped laughing long enough to gasp out, “Sculpted?”

I glared at him and jabbed my finger in the air. “He looked like stone. Naked stone. I thought ghosts were supposed to be wispy.”

It was a while before he sucked in enough air around his chuckles to say, “He did save our lives. And it appeared that his rescue turned him to stone. Interesting.” Thankfully, the intellectual side of things penetrated his brain enough that he was able to hold his hysterical laughter down to a couple of guffaws as he thought about the situation.

“Don’t you think you should be concerned that a naked man is appearing in front of me and flirting outrageously?” I demanded. “I wouldn’t be very happy if a naked woman showed up in front of you!”

He coughed away another laugh. “Martin? You expect me to be jealous of Martin?” An attempt to sip orange juice to clear his throat almost choked him. “He is still dead, right? And what do you mean by flirted?”

My breath puffed out in a sputter. “I didn’t want to see Martin running around the desert naked when he was alive. I don’t know why I have to see him now.”

“His ghost actually flirted with you?”

“White Feather!” My face flamed.

“You made up that part.”

“I did not. He always did—does, this look over where he checks me up and down. He still did it even though he is
dead.
And let me tell you, it wasn’t pleasant when he was alive and smelling like rotted beer farts. Now that he’s dead...” I shuddered. “I don’t even want to contemplate what that ghost might think is sexy.”

White Feather snorted, trying hard to stifle another laugh and failing. A stray tear of merriment leaked out the corner of one eye. “Did he have a reason for appearing, or was it to scare the daylights out of you and flirt?”

“Who knows?!? He is still Martin. He delivered some cockeyed message from the grave about demons and tiny holes in the gate, whatever that means. He said he hasn’t gone through to the other side.” My eyes narrowed. “And he was younger than I remember.” Now that I had time to ponder it, there were other differences. “He wasn’t drunk either. But he didn’t seem particularly sad about dying. He was just Martin, only he looked a lot healthier than he ever did when he was alive. His whole body was perfectly carved, like granite or marble, but he wasn’t stone because he moved around. Maybe he bathed recently or something.”

“Hmm.” White Feather raised a single eyebrow and set his glass down again. He stalked me, his eyes locking on mine. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I need to do something to erase this picture you now have in your head of a sculpted man.”

I backed up automatically and barely managed to mutter, “It was
Martin.
”

White Feather snagged my waist, but I squealed and made a mad dash for the hallway. “I’m covered in dust! And I’m traumatized!”

He was close on my heels when he said, “I’ve decided you’re right. You shouldn’t be imagining someone else naked.”

There was no point in mentioning that I hadn’t had to use my imagination. I found myself busy with more important things. The first time White Feather and I had ever been together was in the shower. It didn’t seem possible to improve on such an experience, but White Feather proved me wrong.

By the time we were done, the only images in my mind were of the living.

Chapter 20

We were finishing up dinner when Lynx called. “Something going down at the nail place up from Mat’s—Tam’s salon,” he said. “Zandy and a pal went in there, Zandy came out.”

My first fear was for Mat. She’d already been attacked once, and knowing Zandy, he wasn’t smart enough to give up. “Did you see Mat?”

White Feather met my eyes and pushed a button to switch on the speaker phone.

“No sign of Mat, but you better hurry. I smell blood and that tat stink from before.”

“Who was with Zandy? Any idea?” White Feather asked as I raced down the hall to grab my backpack.

I paused when I heard Lynx say, “Some homeless guy. I seen him around.”

If I hadn’t been so frantic rushing behind White Feather to the car, I’d have thought to call my dad or Mat before leaving, but we were both buckled in before “homeless guy” and “Tracy” merged in my brain. If Tracy had gone to help my friend only to meet his demise...the address was the nail shop. Tracy had no business there, of course. But he had been repairing the wall at Mat’s place. Mat had been attacked by Zandy.

“Did Lynx say anything about Tracy?” I demanded as White Feather squealed the tires taking a corner too fast.

“No, but he’d have mentioned if the homeless guy was Tracy. He worked with Tracy the other day.”

Relief warred with worry. “True. Probably. But with Tracy working at Mat’s, what if Tracy walked up to the bakery when he was done and then went into Tam’s shop with Zandy? The man eats an entire loaf of bread in one sitting.”

“Tracy isn’t the type to frequent high-end bakeries. Besides, didn’t your dad or cousin pick him up like they always do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Lynx would have recognized Tracy whether he was with Zandy or in a limo. That kid doesn’t miss a thing.”

White Feather was right. “Yeah.” I didn’t want to cause any panic, so I didn’t call Mom or Dad. Whether Tracy was fine or not, they’d demand to know what caused my alarm.

We parked in one of my usual out-of-the-way spots and skulked the rest of the way on foot. The streets weren’t well lit, and the alleyway behind Tam’s Salon was awash with shadows. Luckily, White Feather checked ahead with a casual breeze. It was tempting to search for some silver to test whether I could glean information the way he did, but now was not the time for experimenting.

Before we were anywhere near the back door to the shop, Lynx hissed at us from atop a garbage dumpster. He hopped down and said in a low voice, “It’s been quiet in there, but it ain’t good. Zandy picked up the homeless dude from the park. They walked here. Before they went in Zandy told him it was a nice warm place to sleep.”

Whenever Lynx was nervous, his speech slipped into the cadence and street talk of his youth, an old habit of blending in when lurking in back alleys. His nerves were not a welcome sign, but given that Zandy was involved, his reaction was understandable.

“Zandy isn’t the type to offer charity to homeless people,” I said.

Lynx agreed. “He ain’t one to buy’m beer either, but he kept this guy limping along with more than one before they got here.”

“Then Zandy left?”

“He was in there about a half hour before he came out. I didn’t see anyone else, but Zandy was talking to someone. When the door opened I smelled the ink and blood. Didn’t hear anyone else until after I called you; then there was a yell. After that someone left through the front door. I wasn’t expecting that.” He sounded almost apologetic, but he couldn’t watch both the front and back at the same time.

“Nothing since then?”

“I checked the front. Whoever left must have been dipping in the blood and ink. Maybe the homeless guy put up a fight ‘cause the stinks were all mixed in there, including the magic, but not like yours. Yours smells like earth when the sun hits it; a bunch of herbs or something. That guy smelled like old blood and new blood and I dunno. Something like earth, but not.”

“Black magic?” I hadn’t smelled a lot of black magic and even if I had, every witch’s magic was different. White Feather’s breeze had its own signature just as my earth magic did.

Lynx shrugged. “From the smell of drying blood, I thought for sure the homeless guy was dead, but after Zandy left out the back and the other guy left out the front, there’s been some noises. The homeless guy must still be in there so maybe it’s no big deal.”

“Zandy doesn’t do no big deal,” I muttered. “He wasn’t breaking into Mat’s place for a cup of tea.”

It didn’t take White Feather long to pick the locks on Tam’s back door. He cracked it open and listened with his ears and wind.

Lynx and I inhaled deep breaths. My silver flared protectively. I couldn’t smell the blood, although there was a tang of paint or ink...then again, it was a nail salon. Maybe that was all Lynx had smelled?

Yeah, sure. Zandy had no doubt been delivering a new customer to have his nails painted after hours. I let out the breath I’d been holding and breathed in another. There was another tingle, but it wasn’t my nose that alerted me. A current bumped my silver and reflected off.
Magic
. Not Mother Earth. Not something that silver conducted.

I nudged White Feather’s arm, but he shook his head. “No idea. The breeze indicates someone in there who hasn’t bathed in a lifetime or two.”

“Homeless guy,” Lynx whispered.

“No one else that I can detect. ”

“It’s not earth magic,” I said. If it was a shifter Lynx would know. It wasn’t a magic I recognized, but that meant nothing either. Lots of magic reacted to silver, some good, some not. “There was no magic there when I was here to have my hair styled.”

White Feather snapped his head in my direction. “This is where you had it cut?”

“The owner was skilled for sure, but if she’s a witch, no magical currents registered at the time.” I thought hard about the work stations and the people. My silver hadn’t reacted, and I’d been wary because her son had tried to give me a card. “Nothing. If she has any latent ability, I’d have guessed it leaned towards the healing arts because of her skill with hair, but that’s a stretch.” The wonderful smell of lemon grass conditioner came to mind. “Maybe some basic aromatherapy.”

“Looks more likely a setup for another robbery than a witch’s lair,” White Feather said. “Getting in the other places didn’t leave much of a mark. Zandy didn’t bust in here either.”

“Door was open,” Lynx said. “Whoever used the front entrance didn’t break any glass entering or leaving. Definitely some of the same smells as at the other places.”

Had Zandy been trying to rob Mat and found easier pickings up this way? And why bring in a homeless guy if the door was already unlocked?

White Feather jerked his head at Lynx. “Watch the front for us.”

“Back might matter more,” Lynx decided.

“I can cover that.” I went to the alley entrance, leaned over and left a silver bead. I placed two more in strategic locations and then scooted in place behind White Feather.

Lynx waited and watched as he always did, curious.

“You have anything on you that can hold silver?” I asked him, curling my fingers over my gold and diamond ring. He could carry gold, but I wasn’t about to hand over my ring.

He frowned, but extracted a sachet from under his shirt. I’d given him the packet a long time ago. The potion inside might not even work anymore unless he kept it current. Knowing him, it was current. He didn’t miss much, and if he had any inborn talent, his nose could sort the various herbs enough to keep a spell active.

I carefully inserted a silver ball into the packet.

He peered inside, still frowning. “I don’t want that in there all the time. It will bug me.”

“Even through the leather?”

“Yeah.” Without another word, he disappeared around the corner of the garbage dumpster, nothing but a shadow in the night. He’d stall anyone who came around the front way or at least make enough noise to provide a warning.

White Feather ducked in first, flashlight low. I focused half on the silver outside and half on where I was placing my feet. This monitoring silver from afar was going to require some practice.

“The back room is separated from the front,” I whispered. “Light probably won’t show except through the doorway.” The one small window into the alley wasn’t visible in the salon part of the store.

A short hallway with two doors led us into the hair styling room I remembered. The sink yawned black in one corner. The massage table was center stage twice, once for real and once reflected in the mirror at the hair station. Inky blackness full of a nasty aura oozed across my skin and jewelry.

The homeless guy may have started out on the massage table, but he had rolled off and onto the floor. Someone had been thinking ahead because the floor was covered with a blue plastic tarp, something we hadn’t seen at the other robberies. Maybe it explained the lack of clues at the previous places, because there was dried blood as well as new smeared across the tarp.

The latest blobs of red dotted the plastic and most of the guy’s arm. There was no coat in sight, but no way had the guy been walking around without one. Homeless people tended to overdress even in the summer.

His ratty pants were the drabbest of olive green and well-camouflaged with dirt. One hiking boot wasn’t tied; the other had a mixed selection of wire and string holding it on. His face was ashen, dirty and bearded. Wisps of greasy hair clung around the bottom of his head.

Tattoos bled and this one was worse than most, but whoever had done it hadn’t worried that leakage would ruin the design. There was no plastic or bandages covering it.

I shivered, remembered my silver watchdogs in the alleyway and mentally checked outside.

The homeless guy could remain here undiscovered until when? Why were these victims at the robberies in the first place? Why roll him in here, and if they were using the victims to transport a familiar of some kind, where was it?

The clues were jumbled together worse than a drunken witch’s brew.

There was no sign of any tattoo equipment, but the wound was very fresh. Lynx hadn’t mentioned any stops for tattoos and hadn’t smelled the ink until after Zandy brought the guy here.

Mr. Homeless wasn’t looking very healthy, but he dragged in a ragged breath, leading me to mistakenly believe we weren’t too late. Blood puddled around his shoulder, a slow dribble.

White Feather stepped closer, his hand reaching to check for vitals.