Darknight (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 2) Read online

  “And you got permission?” I asked. After all, Tucson was de la Paz territory. Maya had been extremely friendly the last time we met, but I wasn’t sure how she’d feel about a mass invasion of Wilcoxes.

  “Oh, sure. Lucas handled it. Not sure why, since Damon should’ve been the one to make the call, but he’s been under the weather lately.”

  “Really?” I interjected, thinking that sounded odd. Somehow I couldn’t imagine any virus being brave enough to take up residence in Damon Wilcox’s body.

  “Yeah,” she replied. “I guess he hadn’t been in to teach for a couple of days even before everything got shut down. Anyway, I gotta go. You stay safe!”

  I murmured that I would, and ended the call, my mind churning. Connor had been forced to agree with me that something strange was going on after images of the murdered young women were plastered all over the the news and stared up from the front page of every newspaper in town. All of them between twenty and twenty-three, all with long, dark, wavy hair, all fair-skinned, all slender. The tallest five-foot-seven, the shortest five-foot-four. In dim lighting, or if viewed by someone with bad vision, they probably would have looked almost identical.

  “As long as you stick close to home, you’ll be fine,” he’d told me after I’d shoved that day’s paper in the trash, not wanting to have another face a little too much like mine staring at me from beneath a lurid headline. “The attacks were all on campus, or near campus housing…a lot of which backs up to open land. But here, downtown? No way would a wild animal come anywhere near this place.”

  That made sense, but I still tried not to go out by myself except in broad daylight. Too bad, because I’d started to explore Flagstaff on my own, driving around in Connor’s FJ and enjoying the sense of freedom it gave me, even as he stayed indoors and painted like a madman. Another gallery show was planned for late April, and because he’d sold so many paintings already, he had a lot of work to do to rebuild his inventory.

  After Mason’s latest revelations, my brain started working at the mystery. So Damon had been feeling ill lately? It could mean nothing…

  …or it could mean everything.

  No, that was ridiculous. I couldn’t deny that Damon was a master of dark and unknown magic, magic he’d manipulated to do things no one else could. And he’d certainly made himself scarce lately, but that didn’t mean much, other than him not wanting to see how happy Connor and I were together. True, Damon had apparently hooked up with Jessica. However, I had the distinct impression that was all about getting an heir, and had very little to do with true love or attraction. At least, not on his side. Jessica was clearly crazy (and I do mean crazy) about him.

  But even stacking up every damning thing I knew about Damon still didn’t seem enough to make the leap from unscrupulous warlock and dabbler in dark magic to bloodthirsty and murderous wolf…werewolf…whatever. That was silly. Werewolves weren’t real. Neither were vampires or chupacabras or zombies. Witches, yes, of course. We were just people, though — people with some unusual gifts, true, but even the blackest warlock I’ve ever heard of had never gone rampaging around, killing college students just for shits and giggles. For one thing, it was the sort of behavior that attracted far too much attention. I couldn’t deny that murder had been done in the name of magic and power, and probably would again someday. But not wholesale murder. Not like this.

  And I knew I didn’t dare say anything of my crazy suspicions to Connor, because he would definitely think that my dislike of Damon had gotten the better of me at last.

  “That’s some frown you’re wearing,” Connor said, breaking my reverie as he came into our apartment from the studio across the hall.

  Somehow I managed to keep myself from startling. “Is it? Sorry, just thinking. Mason called and said she and Carla are heading down to Tucson for some sun and to get away from it all. The campus is closed until further notice, apparently.”

  He leaned down over the back of the couch and pressed his lips against my neck. Despite my worry, a delicious shiver passed over me at his touch. I reached up and behind me, pulling him closer, shifting so that now we were face to face, kissing, mouths opening to taste one another again.

  “Taking a break?” I murmured after he pulled away slightly so he could draw in a breath.

  “I am now.”

  I didn’t need any further encouragement. Slipping off the couch, I stood and went over to him, put my arms around him, let him gather me up and take me to the stairs, then up to the bedroom we now shared. So good to forget everything except the warm scent of his skin, the strength of his hands as he caressed me, the unbelievable sense of completion as he filled me again, our bodies moving together in perfect rhythm.

  Afterward, I lay in his arms and listened to the deep, regular sound of his heart beating, felt the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek. It was so good to be here, safe in the circle of his arms. I wished it could always be like this, just the two of us with no outside worries or complications. Unfortunately, I knew that wasn’t the way the world worked.

  * * *

  At first the closing of the campus seemed to have stopped the attacks. A day went by, then two, then three, and the whole town seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. Whatever had caused the hideous rampage seemed to be over.

  Until the body was found near a carport at an apartment complex a mile from the university. Same savage bites to the throat, same general description for the victim: early twenties, dark-haired, slender.

  And I got a call from my Aunt Rachel, who was so spooked by what she’d read in the local paper that she even told me that Connor and I should leave Flagstaff for a while and come to Jerome.

  “It would be good to see you, and I can’t stop worrying — that is, I was already worried, with you surrounded by Wilcoxes, and now with these horrible attacks — ”

  “The Wilcoxes really aren’t a problem,” I cut in. “They’ve been very kind to me.”

  “Oh, really?” Disbelief fairly dripped from her tone. “All of them?”

  It was pretty obvious who she’d meant with that “all of them” remark. “Okay, Damon is not exactly the sweetest guy I’ve ever met, but there are some cousins who’re my age and have been really nice. They’re just people, Rachel. Not the boogeyman, not the big bad.”

  “They’re brainwashing you.”

  Of all the — “No, not really. Maybe it’s easier for you to think that than to realize this feud is silly and has gone on long enough.”

  A long pause. Then she said coldly, “Angela, I love you, but you don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve let yourself ignore their history because you care for Connor, and as far as I can tell, he does seem like a nice enough young man. It’s unfortunate he was born into that family. But all his good qualities have blinded you to who and what they are.”

  I realized then it wouldn’t matter what I said. She’d long ago formed her opinion of the Wilcox clan, built on stories of their iniquities, stories that had been passed down from generation to generation. Talk about brainwashing. “Whatever. I’m not the one who’s blind here. Anyway, I think we’re just fine where we are. None of the attacks have taken place anywhere near our apartment, and I’m careful. I’ve stopped going out alone. So I’ll be okay until the authorities get it handled.”

  “Angela — ”

  “It was nice talking to you, Rachel.” I hung up without waiting for a reply. It was rude, but I didn’t want to hear any more of her diatribes about the Wilcoxes.

  But her words had gotten me thinking again, thoughts going down pathways I’d tried to avoid. I’d asked Connor a few days earlier if he’d heard anything from Damon, and he’d said, his tone almost abrupt, that no, he hadn’t, but it wasn’t a big deal because they often went as much as a week at a time without talking if there wasn’t anything that Damon deemed worthy enough of conversation. What Connor had left unsaid was that Damon probably didn’t have much use for him anymore, that the little brother
who’d once worshipfully done pretty much anything Damon asked was gone, replaced by someone who’d found his own purpose in life, and the sort of love the primus couldn’t begin to comprehend.

  Maybe it really wasn’t a big deal. For all I knew, Jessica was keeping him trapped in the house so they could work full-time at making their perfect little Wilcox heir. Ugh. There was a visual I really didn’t need.

  So I went across the landing to the studio and let myself in. The air was thick with the scent of linseed oil and turpentine. Once the weather warmed up, Connor would be able to open the windows and let the fresh air carry those smells away, but it was still far too cold for that.

  His back was to me as he worked away on a large canvas, part of a triptych showing a panoramic canyon scene. There were at least ten reference photos clipped to the easel, all of which showed a blazing blue sky above rock formations so grand they had to be from the canyon of the same name. The photos must have been taken the summer before, and I suddenly ached for the return of warmer weather, of sandals and hot winds scented with dry grass, of a time that didn’t feel weighted down by perpetual winter. Well, the equinox was only three days off now. It would still be a long time before truly comfortable temperatures returned to Flagstaff, but they were on their way.

  I was going to wait until Connor hit a stopping point before I said anything, but one of the floorboards creaked under my feet, and he turned at once. The slightest frown creased his forehead before he smoothed it away, then set down his paintbrush and came toward me.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  It was a valid question; generally I left him alone until he was done painting and was ready to come back over to the apartment. I didn’t like to disturb him when he worked, knowing how important it was for him to finally give free rein to his talents, to finally have the chance to be known for the gifted artist he truly was.

  “Maybe. Yes. No.”

  He grinned, green eyes dancing. “I don’t think it can be all three at once, sweetheart.”

  My insides wanted to melt at his casual use of the endearment, but I knew if I didn’t broach the subject soon, I’d never have the nerve. Actually, I wasn’t sure if I had the guts to say it now, not with those green eyes I loved so much watching me, open and with no idea of what I was about to ask.

  “Connor, I — ” Damn it, I should be tougher than this. I was the McAllister prima. In name only, I thought bitterly, and tried to push the notion aside. That was yet another situation which would have to be resolved in the near future. This problem — possible problem, I reminded myself — with Damon had to be addressed first. Was I willing to let more innocent girls die just because I was too cowardly to have this conversation with Connor?

  He came to me then, pulling me against him and holding me close. One hand stroked my hair, and I caught a faint drift of the sage and chamomile soap he used to clean up when he was done painting for the day. “What is it? You know you can tell me anything.”

  Could I, really? I knew he loved me, and I loved him, but even with that, even with the consort bond, there was so much we didn’t know about one another. And Damon had been the only person close to him for so many years. Connor truly wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for his brother’s intervention, and for all my personal dislike of the primus, I couldn’t ignore how important that one fact was, how the saving of a life created an enormously strong bond as well, even beyond the one they already shared as brothers.

  And if I turned out to be wrong…if these sneaking doubts and suspicions were only that, and not the instincts of a prima at work…would Connor forgive me for thinking these things of his brother?

  I didn’t want to think about that. He’d only been in my life for a few short months, but even so I couldn’t imagine losing him. No, that would never happen. The bond between a prima and her consort was unbreakable, even when stretched to the limit.

  The words came forth in a rush, as if I knew I had to say them now before I talked myself out of uttering them. “I have a very bad feeling, Connor. You haven’t heard from Damon, and Mason said he’d been ill and hadn’t taught for a few days just before the attacks started. And with all those girls resembling one another…resembling me…you just can’t say that’s a coincidence anymore. I know you said he’d moved on, had focused his energies elsewhere, but I’m not sure I believe that. I think he’s still angry that his plan didn’t work, that he was unable to join his powers with mine, that he couldn’t use me to break the curse. I don’t know exactly what’s going on. I just feel that somehow he’s behind it.”

  Through this whole speech, Connor listened silently. When I was done, he let go of me and stepped back a pace. Even that small separation was enough to cause my heart to miss a beat, telling me the words I’d just spoken were exactly the wrong ones.

  Eyes narrowing, he said, “Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds, Angela? You have no proof. None at all. Just a few random facts that barely even connect. So what if Damon was sick and missed a few days of work? He’s the primus, but he’s still a regular man. There’s a bad flu going around. Did you stop to think it might just be that?”

  “No, but — ”

  “And I already told you that we’re not in constant contact, so not hearing from him for a while doesn’t mean all that much, either.”

  “But what about all those girls?” I burst out. “Have you ever heard of a wild animal that attacks only a certain physical type? It’s not possible!”

  He didn’t exactly look away from me, but I could see the way his gaze shifted, the way he wouldn’t quite meet my eyes. “There has to be some rational explanation — ”

  “Then tell me what it is, because I sure as hell haven’t been able to come up with one.” I went to him then, took both his hands. At least he didn’t try to pull away, although normally he would have twined his fingers through mine. Instead, his hands just sort of sat in mine, limp and cool. Fine. I tightened my grip on his fingers. “Look, Connor, I would love for you to prove me wrong. Please prove me wrong. Just — I don’t know — call him.”

  “And what if he doesn’t answer? He hates phones anyway, and if he’s not feeling well — ”

  “Then let’s go out to his house. Make something up as a reason…we wanted to welcome Jessica to the family or something.”

  His expression told me that was a silly idea. “Jessica’s already in the family, remember? Distantly, but still. They’ll know we’re snooping.”

  “So what? If I’m wrong, I promise I’ll never suspect Damon of anything again. Isn’t it worth looking a little foolish to clear this whole thing up?”

  For a few seconds he remained silent, clearly thinking it over. At last he let out a breath and gave a reluctant nod. “Okay, if only because it means you’ll finally let this thing go. Then we can get back to normal.”

  Normal. I wasn’t so sure about that. How could anything be normal when young women were dying horribly? But at least if Damon was cleared of suspicion, it would mean this whole horrible killing spree was just some bizarre quirk of nature, with no darker motivation behind it.

  “Thank you,” I said simply, and I meant it. Connor might not believe me, but at least he was willing to indulge me.

  He pulled his car keys out of his pocket. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  The ride out to Damon’s house was a tense, silent one. I watched the bleak late-winter landscape with its dead, dry grass and small patches of ice pass by outside the car window and tried not to think about what would be worse — having the primus laugh at me for entertaining such foolish suspicions, or having those suspicions confirmed.

  Connor drove without looking at me, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. Goddess only knows what he must have been thinking. That I was wasting his time, that if I really cared about him, I would have taken him at his word?

  I couldn’t say, because he sure wasn’t talking, and I didn’t have the courage to ask.

  About twenty minutes
after leaving the apartment, we pulled into the long driveway and stopped in front of the garage. Parked in front of one of the garage doors was one of those odd-looking Nissan Juke compact SUVs. I raised an eyebrow at Connor, and he shrugged.

  “Must be Jessica’s.”

  Right. I’d forgotten that, according to Carla, Jessica had pretty much moved in with Damon. Or that was what everyone had decided, as she’d packed up some of her things and announced to her mother that she was spending “a few days” at the primus’s house. No one had seen her since, but if they were shacked up trying to make the next Wilcox heir, that wasn’t so strange.

  Except that he’d supposedly been too sick to go to work.

  Dead, dry pine needles were scattered across the expansive driveway and the front doorstep as well. Again, not that strange, since we’d had some bad winds a few nights earlier. But they made the place look neglected, abandoned.

  Now who’s seeing things that aren’t there? I scolded myself.

  Connor was frowning, though. “The gardeners should’ve been here to clear all this away. Damon has them out twice a week because the property is so big.”

  “Maybe the windstorm came through right after they were here, and they’re coming tomorrow or something.”

  “Maybe,” he said, but his tone was dubious. But he seemed to shrug and stepped up to the door, then rang the doorbell.

  I could hear it echo hollowly through the house, but there was no answer. We stood there in silence — ten seconds, fifteen, twenty. I could practically see Connor counting off how long it was okay to wait before he pressed the little glowing button in its fancy dark bronze mounting again. Another push of his gloved finger against the bell, another wait.

  Of course, it was entirely possible that Damon and Jessica had gone out, were taking advantage of his forced vacation because of the campus being shut down to take a day trip somewhere or go out to eat or shop or whatever. It was hard for me to wrap my brain around Damon doing anything so commonplace, but he’d maintained the façade of being an upstanding member of Flagstaff society for his entire adult life, and so I knew he most likely must do those kinds of things from time to time.