An Ill Wind Read online

  He nodded, not sure how to respond.

  “Besides, it would have been too much of a joke for me to be a seer, considering my name,” Cassandra remarked.

  “Because of the Trojan princess.” Thank God that bit of Greek mythology had managed to stick to his gray matter. He’d already made enough of an ass of himself by asking about her luggage; compounding it with another spectacular display of stupidity would have only been the cherry on the cake of his day.

  “Right.” Cassandra’s lips pursed, but Tony couldn’t tell whether she was impressed or just glad he wasn’t quite as stupid as she’d first thought. “Anyway, my gift seemed the natural one to use in this particular situation. My cousin Zoe — our prima — decided it was better to send only me rather than a large delegation. Having so many witches and warlocks leave our territory at the same time might attract outside attention, but a single witch should be able to fly under the radar, so to speak.”

  “Who do you think would be watching for that kind of thing?” Tony asked, genuinely curious.

  “I don’t know for sure, but considering that a dark warlock in New Orleans knew about the books and tried to go after them, it seems pretty obvious that there are more watching eyes in the world than we thought.”

  He couldn’t really refute that remark because it was only the truth. How Nicholas Toulouse had found out about the stolen grimoires, no one really knew, but somehow he’d discovered they’d been taken from the de la Paz clan…and that Simon Escobar had brought them to Santa Fe. And if Toulouse could dig up that information, then conceivably someone else could as well. These days, you couldn’t be too careful.

  “Makes sense,” he responded, and left it at that.

  By that point, they were out of the center of Albuquerque and headed toward the open highway, so Tony figured it was safe to disengage the self-driving mechanism and take control of the vehicle. While he understood why it was better to have the car’s AI handle things in-town, he’d bought the Spider so he could enjoy the act of driving, and he might as well enjoy the sensation of freedom while he could.

  The sidelong glance Cassandra sent toward him as he activated the manual controls told him she’d noticed what he’d done, but at least she didn’t say anything, only looked back out the window. “How far is it to Santa Fe?” she asked. “I looked on a map, but….”

  “It’s about forty-five minutes from where we are now to my mother’s house,” he said. The change of subject had been fairly abrupt, but he knew better than to comment on it. “The drive back should take about the same, or maybe even less, since in the afternoon there are more people heading home to Santa Fe — or to Bernalillo or Rio Rancho, which are on the way — from Albuquerque than vice versa.”

  “Got it.”

  Her expression seemed to indicate she wasn’t overly ecstatic about being stuck in a car with him for that long. Well, there wasn’t much he could do about that, except speed, which wasn’t an option. Cassandra already seemed disapproving enough; he’d hate to see her expression if he managed to get pulled over by the police.

  However, Tony chose not to engage the cruise control, deciding that handling their speed manually would help to keep him occupied. Further conversation didn’t seem like a very good idea, and he had to wonder what it was that made Cassandra so prickly. He didn’t think he’d said anything that could possibly have offended her. Then again, she probably wasn’t thrilled about being sent on this expedition, and probably even less thrilled that her presence was due entirely to sloppiness on her clan members’ part. He had to wonder whether she’d ever made a mistake in her life.

  Eventually, though, they reached Santa Fe’s city limits. He held back a sigh of relief as he got off at Old Pecos Highway, then headed into town along that old, old road. They cut north, skirting the edges of downtown and its throngs of tourists, before he turned onto the street that took them toward the ski area.

  Cassandra must have noticed the signs for the ski resort, because she shifted in her seat and asked, “Your mother lives up on the mountain?”

  “Partway,” Tony replied, wondering if she’d asked the question because she was worried about it being even colder at that elevation. “There are some neighborhoods up in the hills here. That’s where her house is located.”

  “But not your house.”

  Did she really think he was that much of a loser? Like he would have been caught dead still living in his parents’ house. He was twenty-five years old, for God’s sake.

  Or had she been probing because she was wondering why a warlock his age wasn’t married yet? Witch-kind tended to marry young, so it wasn’t so strange a question to cross someone’s mind.

  Not that he would flatter himself that Cassandra Sandoval gave a damn about his marital status.

  “No, I live down the hill, on the edge of downtown. My parents bought this house when I was in high school.”

  “Oh.”

  She settled back in her seat, watching as the road rose and the land on either side grew thick with pine trees as well as the ubiquitous junipers. Tony turned off into his parents’ development, pausing to wave a casual hand at the heavy steel gate that guarded the entrance to the upscale neighborhood. It opened at once, thanks to the witchy power that allowed all of his kind to view door locks and electric gates as temporary delays rather than barriers.

  A few more twists and turns, and then they were at the big two-story house at the end of the cul-de-sac that had been his parents’ home for the past fifteen years. It had never felt exactly like home to him, since he’d only lived here for a few years before heading off to college and then a house of his own, but at least it was familiar enough.

  He pulled into the driveway and parked. Since it wasn’t quite four-thirty, Tony doubted his father would be home yet, which was just as well. With only his mother there — his sister Ava was down in Albuquerque working on her own degree at the university — this should be a quick trip, a fast in-and-out. He knew his mother had planned to offer Cassandra some snacks before the two of them turned around and headed right back down to the airport, but even that shouldn’t delay things by too much.

  With her following a step or two behind him, he went up to the front door and let himself in, then paused in the foyer so he could call down the hallway.

  “Mom, we’re here!”

  It felt strange to be saying “Mom” with Cassandra’s cool green eyes watching him, but it wasn’t as though he could call his mother by her given name. He didn’t want to think what her expression would be if he strolled in and casually referred to her as “Sophia.”

  No reply to his announcement, and he frowned. Well, it was a big house. Maybe she was in the kitchen, working on getting the refreshments ready. His mother tended to get more elaborate than she really needed to when it came to having company over.

  “Come on back,” he told Cassandra. “She’s probably in the kitchen.”

  A brief nod was her only reply, but she followed him as he went past the spotless living room, so formal that he still wondered whether anyone actually set foot in there, and the equally elegant and tidy dining room, and on into the family room, which had always felt like the heart of the house to him. The books had been kept all this time in a closet in that room, one whose door had been concealed by a spell of protection that Miranda, the prima, had put on it.

  Except now the door yawned open, showing a dark rectangle in the pale beige wall. Tony barely had a chance to register that alarming detail before he realized there was something else out of place about the room. His mother was lying on the rug, a silver tray still clutched in one hand and the sandwiches that had been arranged on top of it scattered all around her limp form. Her eyes were wide open, staring in terror, although at what, he didn’t know.

  Even as Cassandra made a shocked sound, he hurried forward and knelt next to his mother’s limp form, then reached for her wrist. It took a couple of tries — maybe because his fingers were shaking so badly — but then h
e found a pulse. Faint, yes, but at least it was there.

  “Is she…?” Cassandra asked.

  “She’s alive,” Tony replied. He couldn’t exactly allow himself to be too relieved, though, because the pulse he’d found was thready and weak, arrhythmic. With his free hand, he reached into his back pocket to retrieve his phone. He needed to call Yesenia, the Castillo clan’s healer, and then his father.

  As he pushed the entry for Yesenia’s phone, Cassandra moved past him to the open closet door. She looked inside, her full mouth set and grim. “The books were stored in this safe?”

  “Yes.” The phrasing of the question struck home, and he sent the de la Paz witch a sharp glance. “They’re gone?”

  “Yes. All of them. This isn’t good.”

  No, it wasn’t. Right then, however, he had to focus on his mother’s condition. Whoever’d done this was long gone — they hadn’t passed any cars coming out of the gated neighborhood, and there hadn’t been that many people driving down from the mountain, either. That seemed to indicate the theft had to have occurred at least fifteen minutes earlier, plenty of time for the perpetrators to disappear.

  “Tony?” Yesenia’s voice came through the phone. “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes,” he said, his voice tight. The sight of his mother lying on the floor like that had unnerved him even more than the theft of the books. She was always so put together, so in control of everything around her, that it didn’t seem possible for her to be slumped there with her hair partly in her face and her blouse coming untucked from her wool slacks. “There’s — there’s been an attack at the house. My mother’s alive, but she’s in a coma or something.”

  “I’ll be right over. Fifteen minutes at the most. Hang on.”

  The healer ended the call there, but that was okay. They didn’t need to waste time in chitchat, and Yesenia knew how to get moving when the situation called for it.

  Cassandra still lingered by the open closet door, fingers moving along the frame without touching it.

  “Do you feel something?” Tony asked. She hadn’t mentioned possessing that sort of ability, but sometimes witches and warlocks had a secondary talent to complement their primary gift. Maybe she could sense who had come that way, what kind of magic they’d used.

  “A little.” She stopped there and pulled her hand away, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m not that good at it, but sometimes I can feel it when magic has been used, get a little sense of what sort of talent or spell was in play.”

  “And?” With some reluctance, he got to his feet. Maybe he should have remained kneeling by his mother, but she sure wasn’t going anywhere, and he couldn’t really do anything to help her except be here and keep an eye on her in case something about her condition changed.

  Cassandra’s full lips pressed together, and she looked away from him. Tony couldn’t be absolutely sure, but it seemed almost as though she was a shade or two paler than she’d been when they first entered the house. “Something dark. The residue is….” She pulled in a breath, nostrils flaring in distaste. “It’s like a slime trail left behind by a snail or a slug or something. Whoever came here, they were definitely up to no good.”

  “Well, that’s obvious enough,” Tony returned. After the words left his mouth, he realized he probably should have been a little more diplomatic…right before he decided he really didn’t care. His mother had just been attacked, for God’s sake. Being polite was the least of his worries.

  To his surprise, Cassandra didn’t snap back at him, but only looked thoughtful. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s not my primary talent, so it’s not going to give me all the information I want or need. I’m just….” The words trailed off, and he saw the way her hands clenched as she uncrossed her arms. “I wish I could do something else, but I can’t.”

  Neither could he. Since any words of reassurance seemed to have fled him, about all he could do was shrug.

  The books were gone. And what they were supposed to do next, he had no idea.

  2

  The Castillo clan’s healer was a slim woman in her late forties or her early fifties, her sleek dark hair pulled into a low ponytail at the back of her neck. She murmured a greeting to Tony and spared the barest of glances for Cassandra, who stood awkwardly to one side, not exactly sure what to do with herself, before she knelt on the thick Persian rug in subtle hues of brick and blue and cream. The healer took Tony’s mother’s wrist in her hand, then laid her palm against the unconscious woman’s forehead.

  Through all this, Tony stood off to one side, arms crossed, handsome features impassive. His dark brows were pulled together, but he remained silent, obviously waiting for the healer’s verdict before he said anything.

  Honestly, Cassandra didn’t know what she would have done if she’d come home to find her mother unconscious and her house burglarized. She’d like to think that she’d stay calm the way Tony had, would know the right people to call and the right order in which to call them, but she had no idea if she could hold it together under that kind of pressure.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen. When Cassandra had been called to talk to her cousin Zoe, the de la Paz prima, about traveling here to Santa Fe to reclaim the clan’s grimoires, it had all been described as a very cut-and-dried sort of endeavor, one that shouldn’t have presented any particular problems. The books had been safely hidden for almost a year now, and everyone seemed to agree that Miranda’s powers were pretty staggering, and definitely up to the task of keeping the books safe until they could be handed over to Cassandra.

  Now it seemed clear that those powers weren’t quite as impressive as everyone had thought…or, worse, that whoever had come here to take the grimoires and incapacitate Tony’s mother was so powerful that even Miranda Castillo’s insanely strong spells had been broken under their assault.

  Not good. Not good at all.

  “I don’t think we need to take her to the hospital,” the healer said as she rose from where she’d been kneeling by Sophia Castillo’s side.

  “She’s going to be okay?” Tony asked, a hint of relief showing on his face.

  “That’s not what I said.” The healer’s tone was gentle, but firm. Cassandra had no idea what the woman’s name was; she hadn’t introduced herself, and Tony hadn’t said her name when he made his phone call. “Right now, I don’t know one way or the other. Her pulse isn’t strong, but it seems to be normalizing, and I don’t think a hospital could do much for her, either. In a way, her condition reminds me of what happened to Malena and Louisa.”

  “Who are Malena and Louisa?” The question slipped out before Cassandra could stop herself. Possibly it would have been better for her to stand by and remain quiet, since she was a stranger here, but at the same time, she didn’t want to ignore any clues that might possibly lead them to the person or persons who’d stolen the grimoires.

  Tony glanced over at her, and something about his taut expression softened just a hint. When she’d first caught sight of him at the airport, she’d allowed herself to acknowledge that he was good-looking, then pushed the thought aside. She wasn’t here to meet eligible warlocks, but was on a mission given her by her clan’s prima. Now, though, Cassandra couldn’t help being struck by his appearance once again, mostly because he seemed completely oblivious to it.

  “They’re my cousins,” he said. “Daughters of Genoveva, the former prima. They were attacked by Simon Escobar’s dark magic and were in comas for a while.”

  Right. Cassandra had been told about the unorthodox way Miranda had become the current prima even though that title had first gone to one of her husband Rafe’s older sisters. All the goings-on in Santa Fe had been a topic of several discussions in the Sandoval household, not least of all because Cassandra and Miranda were very distant cousins by marriage. Anyway, the whole thing had sounded kind of crazy to Cassandra — since when could a new prima voluntarily pass on her powers to someone else? — but she’d accepted it because that really was what had happened.<
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  She looked over at the Castillo healer. “You think whoever did this used the same kind of magic? But Simon Escobar is dead.” A horrible thought came to her, and she added, “Isn’t he?”

  “In the ground dead,” Tony said, and a sudden glint entered his eyes, as if he was all too glad to be able to inform her of that fact. “I was there.”

  “You were there when he was buried?” Cassandra asked, surprised.

  “It was his right,” the healer said. “He was there during the final confrontation with the Escobar warlock, so no one was surprised that Tony would want to make sure the man really was dead and buried.”

  Now he looked almost embarrassed. Maybe he hadn’t wanted that unexpected bit of heroism exposed. To be honest, Cassandra was a little surprised by the revelation; Tony’s off-hand manner didn’t exactly make a person think that he was the type to run headlong into a battle with an insanely strong warlock.

  “Anyway, he’s dead,” Tony said, trying to sound casual and not quite succeeding. “I know that for a fact, so whoever did this, it’s not Escobar risen from the grave.”

  Small comfort. At least Simon Escobar was something of a known quantity. But it was a mystery as to who could have managed to tear aside Miranda Castillo’s illusion spells and take the prize with no one even being able to detect that a stranger with those sorts of powers had come to Santa Fe.

  Before anyone could respond, the front door slammed, and they all jumped. A moment later, a tall man with gray-frosted dark hair rushed into the room, a man so like Tony in appearance, Cassandra guessed the stranger had to be his father.