Witch in the Wind (Bandit Creek Books) (2 page)

She stepped closer, took it from him,
and squinted to see what it contained.

“Their wedding rings,” she said, mostly to herself. She spilled two intricately carved silver pieces into the palm of her hand.

She stroked the larger one gently with her finger, feeling the texture of the eagle wings. She could hear her father’s voice telling her as a child how much he loved eagles because they were a symbol of wisdom and guardianship. She’d been about six years old and was learning about wild animals in school. When she asked her father about her mother’s animal, he said her mother felt like a mama lion because lions were the protectors of life. She asked what her animal was and still remembered her father’s answer. She could be whatever she wanted to be.

Avy closed her fingers around the two rings and swallowed the tight knot in her throat. She looked back up at Sheriff Morgan. He cleared his throat, “Make sure you lock the door when you go in. And if you get nervous tonight you call me at home, ya hear?”

He shifted his weight, while waiting a moment longer, as if she might still change her mind about staying. Then he shook his head and returned to his vehicle. She watched him back down the lane. She turned her attention to the house, but her body remained rooted in place knowing her mind wasn’t ready to move forward
.

The feel of a slimy, rough tongue on her hand brought Avy back to the present.

“We can do this,” she told the dog, not sure if she was reassuring him or herself.

A sting in her palm reminded her she still held the two rings
. She hesitated then slipped both of them onto the second finger of her
right hand so she could dig her keys out of her purse. At the front door, she took one deep breath, released it slowly, and turned the lock.

For the first few seconds, warm memories hid the destruction from her. Her mother’s herbs flourished on every windowsill. Lavender, valerian, mint. She suddenly wished she had shared her mother’s affinity for blending the aromatic concoctions. While her mother was content to spend hours in her garden, Avy always had to get away from town. Somewhere she could breathe in endless amounts of fresh mountain air.

Reality started to seep into her consciousness. The colorful trio of clay bowls her mother had made lay in shards just past the edge of the sisal rug. On the floor beside the table, lay a heavy silver frame with a picture of the three of them. Her family. The glass was shattered.

She fisted her hand and pressed it to her mouth to stifle another sob. She bent, picked up the frame and hugged it to her chest. Caught in her anguish, she was startled when the dog beside her whimpered and rubbed against her leg.

She dropped to her knees beside him and buried her face in his silky fur. “What will I do without them? They were all I had.” The dog rubbed his snout against her neck and whimpered as if he understood her pain.

“Who on earth would want to kill my parents?”

“Give him lots of water today. He should be fine by tomorrow.” Dr. Marcus Egan said, as he patted the border collie on the head. For a warlock of his power, closing the dog’s paw wound was a no-braine
r. But Marcus didn’t want to
scare
the old rancher
into
a heart attack so he’d had to use stitches on the poor dog. The beast would favor the foot but Marcus had spelled him to make sure it healed quickly and well.

“Thanks, Dr. Egan,” said the old man, giving the dog gentle strokes from neck to tail. “I’m glad you were here.” This was clearly more than a working dog to him. “When’s Kai due back with the new missus?”

“Sometime next week,” Marcus replied.
Kai Hunter, the regular town vet, was Marcus’s trusted friend. Together, they’d brought a coven of rogue witches to justice the November before. Ninety-nine more years to go on their sentence encased in a rock prison. The magic to conjure one impressed the hell out of him, but to spend even a day—Marcus shuddered.

He gave the dog a final pat on the rump thinking this animal probably sensed
his
magic but wouldn’t be telling anyone. Marcus lifted the border
collie
down from the examination table and watched the owner and his furry friend head down the hall towards the front desk.

This wasn’t the first time Marcus had taken over Kai’s clinic for him, but it was the first tim
e Marcus had needed it as his cover.
The report in the local Bandit Creek Gazette mentioned the mortal community was fearful
after the sudden and violent death of
local couple
. T
hat didn’t touch the reaction in his magical world
w
hen news of the
murder
reached The Otherland
.
Devlin Gwynn and Eavan Kemena, known throughout The Otherland as ‘The Lost Guardians’, had finally turned up in Bandit Creek.
T
he governing Witches Council didn’t waste any time sending him through the portal to find out what
the demons damn was going on
.

Council was facing magical mayhem if they didn’t act decisively this time. They had badly mishandled the situation at the time and many said that was the start of the growing tensions within Council. He’d been young when it all happened but he’d heard the whispers behind closed doors.

Marcus straightened and headed out of the examination room. If he didn’t have any more patients, it was time to get back to his real purpose. As he headed down the hall, the hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood on end. Magic slid over his body like a warm blanket. He slowed his steps. He could see the rancher heading out the main door showing no awareness of the sudden thickness in the air.
Was
he imagin
ing
the presence of magic?

Marcus
drew his power into a protection shield
and pushed
a sensing spell towards the outer reception area. He recognized the signature of the vet technician and receptionist, Cora West. Cora hovered over him like a cat in heat. She insisted on ‘helping the new guy learn the ropes’. He wished she wouldn’t. It was making it annoyingly difficult for him to pursue his investigation.

His spell confirmed the presence of magic near the counter but it didn’t read like a threat. Still he had to make sure Cora wasn’t caught in magical crossfire. He schooled his face into a neutral mask and stepped into the outer office. Cora had her back to him.

The client was a woman with a fair complexion and a slight build—at least a foot shorter than his six foot two. She wore a plaid shirt and a black baseball cap, with her long blond braid pulled through the back.

A new face in town, he thought, as he considered the woman. She didn’t look like she posed an immediate threat. He relaxed enough to lean back against the wall. Neither of the women noticed his presence. He heard her asking Cora, “Do you know anyone he’s done work for?”

That’s odd, thought Marcus. Who asks for references for a vet? It’s not like she had a lot to choose from in Bandit Creek.

Cora’s voice drifted to him as a mumble. The other woman’s words were soft but clearer.

“And she was happy with his work?”

He could see that Cora was nodding affirmative as she reached for a pad of paper and scribbled something on it before handing the note across the desk.

The second woman smiled her appreciation. “It’s so hard to find a good handyman. I’m glad you could recommend this Shipley guy, Cora.”

George Shipley had arrived in town about the same time Marcus had last November. A quiet man, who he’d heard would only work for cash. Depending on who you listened to in town, the handyman was an international jewel thief hiding from the law, a sad amnesiac who had no memory of his past, or a nasty drug smuggler escaping a Mexican
war
lord.

Bandit Creek only had about 3000 residents so Marcus knew most of the key players. He had a nodding acquaintance with the Mayor and his wife, Sheriff Morgan and Deputy Medicine Crow, the bank manager and the odd looking bartender at the Powder Horn Saloon, and, of course, the town drunk, Jack. He didn’t recognize this woman or the dog. He shrugged. The dog looked healthy so maybe they hadn’t been in before.

He
debated if he should fade into the background. In his line of work, his talent for making even another witch’s eye look past him without registering his presence was useful.
He
felt a
nother
power surge
.

“What the—

The
woman wasn't the magic source.
And t
he beast already knew
Marcus
was there
. Fierce, dark
eyes
locked
on him, not in a friendly, or mortal, way. What the hell
is
a
f
amiliar doing here?
F
amiliars couldn’t be summoned. They appeared only when gifted by a more powerful spirit in times of great danger. There hadn’t been
such a creature
around The Otherland for centuries. So who sent this one, he wondered. And why?

Pushing away from the wall,
Marcus
wandered over to the reception desk. By habit, he moved with quiet steps, yet the young woman seemed to sense his approach and turned in his direction. She pulled the cap from her head, pushed loose wisps of hair from her forehead, and looked up at him.

His breath stopped in his throat and his mouth watered. The little nymph was more than the usual pretty combination of golden blond hair and flawless fair skin. Her electric blue eyes, even smudged with fatigue, jolted his gut in a way he hadn’t felt since his teens, when his magical energy was working overtime along with his hormones.

He smiled and managed to keep his stance ca
sual as he kept one eye on the f
amiliar and one on the woman. She seemed startled for a second but then returned his smile with a brilliant one of her own. The
f
amiliar didn’t. He bared his teeth and growled.

“I mean you no harm.”
He didn’t want the familiar to blow his cover
so he stood completely still as he spoke to it directly
.

To the woman he said, “Is he always afraid of strangers?”

The familiar rumbled again as if insulted.

“Only you as far as I know,” she replied. Her voice, a rich alto, wrapped around him like a siren’s song. “He was fine with me, and the sheriff, yesterday.”

He blinked trying to regain some control of his brain. “What’s his name?” He eased his hand, very slowly, towards the familiar murmuring reassurances that only the magical beast would understand.

“I don’t know really. I found him last night with no collar.” She shrugged and a light flush colored her cheeks. “I’ve been calling him Busby. You know, after the big furry hats the guards at Buckingham Palace wear. When I first saw him on my porch, that’s what he reminded me of.”

That answers one question, he thought. He’s here to protect this woman.
But does she know that?
With his hand dangerously close to the familiar’s mouth, he let the beast scent the strength of his power. Warlocks were a level above most magical creatures, having been bred for generations as warriors. Of course, that didn’t mean the familiar wasn’t as strong, or even stronger. No one knew how familiars travelled from witch to witch and many assumed they were from the spirit realm.

Finally, the
creature
eased back on his haunches.

“Busby’s giving me a reprieve.” He very slowly withdrew his hand. To the familiar he said, “Giving me a chance, aren’t you, Busby. But you let me know who’s got the teeth when it comes to this woman.” He stepped back.

“That’s why I’m here. I thought you could help me find Busby’s owner. He doesn’t have a tag or tattoo.”

Without being asked, Cora handed him the microchip scanner from behind the counter.

He took it knowing there wouldn’t be a microchip but he might as well keep up the pretense and see where things went. He eased into a squat beside the beast as he very carefully ran the scanner over his coat. The animal angled his head to watch but sat patiently.

When the scanner didn’t flash a number, he looked up at the woman and confirmed, “No sign of a chip.”

He would swear she was genuinely concerned. She furrowed her brow and stroked the familiar’s back. “I can’t believe no one owns him. He’s obviously well cared for.”

Still confused, he played along. “Sometimes country folk don’t bother with chips or even tags.”

As he was about to stand, he noticed an oversized silver ring on her hand. It seemed too heavy to belong on her small hand. He thumbed the snake ring his father had given to him
when he came into his magic
. Silver rings were frequently used by witches to store and transfer magical power.

“That’s an unusual ring you’re wearing there,” he said. “It looks like a gryphon.”

She looked at her finger and quickly brought her other hand over it. Almost as if she felt a need to protect it. Strange.

“They were my parents’ wedding rings.” She looked puzzled as she fidgeted with the ring. “It’s two rings, really. An eagle and a lion.”

“Oh,” he said, thinking fast. He knew from his investigation those were the animal symbols of the two murdered witches. A coincidence? Odd wedding rings for mortals to choose. Who the hell was this woman? He pushed himself slowly to his feet, taking the time to get his thoughts under control.

“By the way, I should introduce myself,” he said. “I’m Marcus Egan. Covering for Dr. Hunter this month.”

She held out her hand to him as courtesy dictated, and replied, “Avalon Gwynn.” Her smile bewitched him. “Call me Avy. Everyone does.”

Marcus hoped his jaw didn’t drop. What the—a daughter?

Guardian witches couldn’t breed with each other. It hadn’t been possible for over five hundred years. It was the price they paid for their power over The Otherland. At the end of the Coven War, the five governing families of the Witches Council were each given enhanced, but incompatible magic. Only compatible magic can form new life.

Marcus’s mind raced.
Maybe Devlin and Eavan adopted a mortal child.

“Gwynn?” Marcus made sure to furrow his brow as if he was struggling to remember. “Any connection to the Old Gwynn Place up by the cemetery?”

Her face immediately clouded and he was afraid she’d just walk away. He’d better tune up his interrogation skills if he wanted to keep her talking. He had to be sure. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” He fumbled to explain his lack of tact. He was trampling over her feelings like a damned cyclops. He tried again. “I’m new in town …”

She straightened her shoulders and gave him a small smile. “Yes, that Gwynn.” She didn’t seem to notice she’d dropped her hand to the familiar’s head.

“I’m sorry about your parents,” he said, still not believing it could be possible. He waited for her to correct him and give him some other explanation.

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she whispered, “Thank you.”

They looked at each other in awkward silence.

If the impossible had happened
and she is their biological child
,
how much
magic did she inherit from her parents? He noticed that her skin was outlined in a faint beige light. Her aura. It was so weak a lesser warlock would have missed it. He had at first.

He fought against the urge to give his head a shake in disbelief. The Gwynn’s had conceived a child. A hybrid. And hid her in plain sight. In Bandit Creek, Montana.