Mysterious Ways

1 Partings Miranda McAllister Rafe wouldn’t let me drive him over to his parents’ house. Just as well, probably, since I didn’t have my I.D., no way of proving that I even had a license. But with both of us reeling from the shocking news of his mother’s death, a death most certainly caused by some very nasty dark magic, I’d wanted to do at least one small thing for Rafe, wanted to help however I could. He still wore the same cold, stony expression that had settled on his features as soon as we heard the news, an expression that betrayed nothing of what he might be feeling. His mother is dead, I thought. How the hell do you think he’s feeling? That question was a lot more complicated than it might have been for most people, however. My fiancé and Genoveva Castillo hadn’t exactly shared what you would call a warm and loving relationship. All his life, she’d tried to control him, and he’d fought back every way he knew how. And a large part of their fractious interactions had to do with me. Well, not because of anything I’d personally done. No, it was more that Rafe had hated being saddled with an arranged marriage, no matter who he was being forced to marry. I couldn’t really blame him for feeling that way; I’d had my own rebellious thoughts on the subject as well, although most of the time, I’d done what I could to look at the whole thing as an adventure. We had gotten off to a rocky start, but we’d both come to realize that we were just as intended for one another as a prima — a clan’s head witch — and her consort, even though I certainly wasn’t the prima of the Castillo clan. No, that would be Rafe’s older sister, Louisa, now that Genoveva was gone. The reality of her death hadn’t truly sunk in yet. Maybe it would all start to feel real once I was surrounded by Rafe’s family, could share in their loss. The horrible thing was that — well, all of it was horrible, but the circumstances just provided an additional dollop of irony — from what Cat, Rafe’s younger sister, had told us, it sounded as though Genoveva had basically dropped dead in the middle of the wake for their cousin Marco, right in front of more than a hundred Castillo relatives. I knew Simon Gutierrez was behind all this. No, Simon Escobar, I reminded myself. Gutierrez was his mother’s last name, and for all I knew, it was the name Simon used most of the time — I didn’t know for sure, since he’d told me so many lies — but his true lineage came from the dark warlock who’d been his father, Joaquin Escobar. Even twenty-plus years after Joaquin’s death, that name was powerful enough to evoke a shudder in most of Arizona’s witches and warlocks. The Castillos hadn’t suffered much at his hands, although Rafe’s grandmother had given her life to ensure that my parents would triumph over Escobar in the end. Now, though, Joaquin Escobar’s son had brought the fight to their territory. How he’d managed this particular bit of mayhem, I didn’t know. Genoveva Castillo was the prima of her clan, a woman who commanded formidable powers. But Simon’s magic was at an entirely different level than hers, since he was the son of a prima and a primus, the male equivalent of a prima. Yes, I was also the offspring of two clan leaders, but neither one of them was as strong as Joaquin Escobar had been, and I knew my powers weren’t equal to Simon’s. Up until a week ago, I hadn’t known that I possessed any real powers at all. I glanced over at Rafe. His jaw was set, his gaze fully fixed on the road — probably because that way, he wouldn’t have to look at me. Honestly, I didn’t even know what to say to him. I had a feeling that any condolences I offered would have fallen dreadfully flat. And past all of that, I couldn’t help but think this was all my fault. If Simon hadn’t developed an unhealthy obsession with me, then he wouldn’t have seen Rafe as a rival, wouldn’t have used his powers to strike out at the Castillo clan to get revenge on Rafe for helping me to escape the estate where I’d been staying with Simon. If Simon could kill Genoveva — a terrible stratagem I knew had been deployed to throw the Castillos into chaos — then no one was truly safe. I’d cast a spell of protection over Rafe’s house, and I intended to do the same when we got to the enormous hacienda-style mansion that had been Genoveva’s home, but I didn’t think I could protect everyone. The Castillos would have to pitch in and deploy their own measures to defend themselves against Simon Escobar’s dark magic, or else…well, I didn’t want to think what might happen if their defenses weren’t up to the task. Rafe pulled up to the house, but cars blocked the driveway and circled the block. The vehicles were here because of all the Castillo relatives who had come to attend their cousin Marco’s wake, Marco, who had also died by Simon’s hand, if indirectly. I supposed I should have thought of how everyone would still be lingering at the house, but clearly I wasn’t the only one who’d been blindsided, because Rafe cursed under his breath and went around the block again so he could cut over to the next street and park there. We both got out of the car. Instinctively, I went to him and took his hand in mine. His fingers felt cold, and for a second he didn’t respond. Then his grip tightened, hanging on to me like a drowning man reaching for salvation. I didn’t tell him it was going to be okay, because that was probably a lie. But I did look up at him and say, “I’m here, Rafe.” He didn’t quite smile, but one corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “I know, Miranda. And thank God for you. I don’t — ” The words broke off there, and I could see his jaw clench. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to do this.” What could I say? So far, I’d never experienced any real loss, no real grief. Oh, of course there had been older members of the McAllister and Wilcox clans who’d passed on during my lifetime, but I hadn’t been close to any of them. I still had both my parents, had my Great-Aunt Rachel and her husband Tobias, had Cousin Lucas and Margot and so many others. Of course, most of Rafe’s family was also still alive, but the loss of a mother had to hit far too close to home, even a mother who’d done her best to be as prickly and difficult as possible. We went up the walk to the wide front door, which was ancient oak barred with dark iron. A funeral wreath hung on it; Genoveva Castillo had always been someone to follow the conventions. Looking at it, I had to remind myself that the wreath had been placed there for Rafe’s cousin Marco, and not for Genoveva herself. That time of mourning would come next — if Simon Escobar allowed us that time. I worried that Genoveva’s murder was only the opening salvo, and what was to come next might even be worse. How much worse, I didn’t know, but if Simon was good at anything, it was at leaving death and destruction in his wake. Rafe didn’t bother to knock, only opened the door so we could both enter. Of course there was no point in standing on ceremony, since this was the house he’d grown up in, the place that had been his home until a few years ago. The large entry with its formal round table in the center — now topped by an arrangement of white lilies and palm fronds — was empty, but I could hear a murmur of voices coming from the living room. We’d barely stepped inside before Cat and Rafe’s middle sister, Malena, came up to him, sobbing, her dark eyes wet and bloodshot, sleek black hair starting to come loose from the low knot she wore at the back of her neck. He didn’t say anything, only awkwardly folded them both in his arms while I stood quietly to one side and took a quick glance around the room. All of the Castillos present were understandably subdued, most of them damp-eyed and solemn. Past Rafe and Cat and Malena, I saw Louisa coming toward us, her head held high and still perfectly coiffed, even as her eyes gleamed bright with unshed tears. “Rafe,” she said quietly, and Cat and Malena stepped away so the new prima could approach her brother. He reached out to take Louisa’s hands. “What happened?” She pulled in a breath. I could tell she was trying hard to remain dignified and in command of herself, even though she must have wanted to dissolve into tears like her sisters. The weight of her new mantle as prima had to weigh so very heavy. “We don’t know,” she said, speaking in an undertone that I had to strain to follow. “She was in the sitting room with Marco’s mother and Cousin Geraldo, and then — then she just collapsed. Dad went running to her, and at first we all thought that the stress had gotten to her and she’d fainted, but — ” Louisa paused there, pressing her lips together. Even from a few feet away, I saw how her slender body in its black dress was shivering, as though she’d been taken by a chill. Well, I could understand that. If I somehow lost my own mother so horribly and unexpectedly, I’d probably be trembling from reaction, too. Rafe nodded, handsome features still and cold. “Where is she?” “In her bedroom. We laid her down on the bed. We — we didn’t know what else to do. Dad’s with her.” “But the prima powers passed to you?” “Yes.” Louisa pulled in a hiccupy little breath. “I have them, but Rafe, I don’t know what to do with them!” “You don’t have to do anything,” he told her, his voice almost too calm, as if he knew he had to be the one to hold things together until Louisa could calm herself. “Except be prima.” He glanced over at me. For one horrible moment, I worried that he was going to excuse himself, say that he and his sisters needed time alone with their mother, and I’d have to wait out here. I should have known better. “Please come with me, Miranda,” he said quietly. “All of us — the immediate family — need to talk in private.” He reached out a hand and I took it, let him lead me through the house, past the ranks of sorrowful Castillos, all of whom looked more bewildered than anything else. I could tell they were all wondering how in the world this could have happened. And I didn’t know whether I could ever begin to explain how this evil had reached out and taken their prima from them. Guilt tore at me, even though I knew this was not my fault. No, this crime could be laid directly at Simon Escobar’s feet. We climbed the stairs to the second floor, Rafe and me in the lead, his sisters immediately behind us. That felt strange to me; I thought that Louisa, as the new prima, should have been at the head of our sad little procession. But even though Rafe and I had reconciled, I still felt very much the outsider here, and so I didn’t make any protest, didn’t say anything as we walked down the upstairs hall to the master suite. I had never been up here before. My previous visits to this house had been confined to the more public areas downstairs — the living room, the dining room. This level of the house had the same dark beams overhead, the same white plaster walls. Those walls were nearly a foot thick, heavy and unyielding. I didn’t know for sure when this house had been built, but I thought it must be at least two hundred years old, possibly more. And, like the ground floor, this upper level felt just as weighty, just as dark and ponderous. The air was chilly, and I shivered in my thin sweater. A pair of doors made of age-darkened oak stood at the end of the hallway. Rafe went up to them and knocked softly. “Dad? It’s Rafe. We’d all like to come in.” No reply, but after a moment, one of the doors opened, and Rafe’s father Eduardo looked out at us. His dark eyes were reddened from sorrow, although he now appeared composed enough, his handsome, patrician features calm and still. Without speaking, he pulled his son into a quick, fierce embrace, then stepped out of the way so we all could enter.