Darker Paths (The Witches of Canyon Road Book 2) Read online

  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.

  Now I almost wished Rafe had left me downstairs, although that would have been awkward, considering that I’d been among the missing for most of the past week, hidden away at the estate Simon had borrowed…or stolen…I still wasn’t sure. The last thing I would have wanted to do was launch into an explanation for my absence, especially when I still didn’t know what Simon was up to. That was a matter which should be discussed with Louisa, now that she was prima, and anyone else she wanted to take into her confidence — most likely Rafe and her sisters, and their father.

  Well, we were all here now.

  The room was large, the ceiling white plaster with dark beams — what they called vigas — overhead, the walls painted a surprising deep red. At the far end of the space was a large oak four-poster bed, simple in construction, the wood pale in contrast to the blood-hued walls. On that bed lay Genoveva Castillo.

  Or rather, her body. I really didn’t want to go any closer, but I knew I couldn’t hang back while the rest of the family approached that bed, ranged themselves around it. Rafe held me by the hand, some warmth now returning to his fingers. Maybe now that he’d confronted the worst of it — had actually seen his mother lying dead on her bed — he felt as though he was in a better position to handle whatever might come next.

  She looked like she was asleep. That was a relief, because my mind had conjured several horrible images of a gruesome death, even though Louisa had said that everyone thought she had fainted at first. Her eyes were shut, profile still proud and elegant, even in death. Someone had folded her hands on her breast, and the large diamond on the ring finger of her left hand sparkled in the sunlight coming through the window off to one side.

  Sunlight. It was hard to believe it was still only the middle of the day, that Rafe’s battle with Simon had taken place only an hour or so earlier. With everything that had happened, I thought we should now be buried in the deepest darkness.

  That image sent a shiver through me, and for a brief moment I closed my eyes and recalled the bubble of protection I had cast around Rafe’s house less than an hour earlier. I cast that same spell of protection around the prima’s house now. It would be so like Simon to try something else dreadful while everyone was gathered here to mourn, and I wasn’t about to allow that.

  Rafe spoke first. His voice was tight and strained, but calm enough. “Did Daniel tell you who Simon really is?”

  Cat nodded, her face pale, fear showing in her dark eyes. “He did. He came and found me, showed me the information his assistant had sent him. I was about to go warn Mom when — when this happened. And afterward, I told Dad and Louisa and Malena.”

  “We know what we’re up against,” Louisa said. She also sounded calm, but I could tell she was scared — her hands shook slightly, and she looked pale under her olive skin.

  “I’m not sure you do,” I said, and they all turned to look at me. Faced by those combined stares, I swallowed, and wondered whether I should have waited for a more opportune moment to speak. Well, since I’d already put my foot in it, I decided to forge ahead. “Simon is — well, he’s the most powerful warlock I’ve ever encountered. We’re not talking about someone who’s confined to one particular talent. As far as I can tell, he can do pretty much whatever he wants.”

  “All magic has its limits,” Louisa said, although something in her tone made me think she was only saying that because she wanted to believe it, not because she necessarily thought it was true.

  “We don’t know that for sure,” I replied. “We have our traditions, and we know what witches and warlocks generally can do, but Simon…Simon is different.”

  As was I, but I didn’t feel like going into all that right now. For one thing, Simon had helped to awaken my powers, had taught me how to use them, but I still didn’t know exactly how far they extended. The exercises he’d had me perform appeared to prove that I could do just about anything I set my mind to, and yet that didn’t necessarily mean a lot when contrasted with the magic Simon seemed to command. Already I’d bumped into several instances where he easily brushed my efforts aside. The last thing I wanted to do was allow the Castillos to think I might be the answer to their problems.

  More like the cause of them, as far as I could tell.

  “Different how?” Eduardo asked. His voice was rough with grief. Genoveva Castillo had been a difficult, prickly woman, but Eduardo had appeared to love her unreservedly. To lose her like this must have been as painful as it was shocking.

  “Because of who he is,” I said. “From everything I’ve heard, Joaquin Escobar was an insanely powerful warlock. And Simon’s mother is the prima of the Santiago clan in Southern California. When you combine two strong strains of magic like that in one person, you get someone who isn’t exactly your run-of-the-mill warlock. That’s why he was able to do…this.” It would have been rude to point at Genoveva’s body, so I only inclined my head toward her before continuing. “I’ve cast a spell of protection around this house, but that’s only going to help while the people inside it are actually here.”

  Grim comprehension dawned in Louisa’s face. She wasn’t quite as beautiful as her sisters, but I saw a strength in her features that reassured me. Right then, I could only hope that Genoveva hadn’t made Louisa her heir to magic simply because she was her eldest daughter. I’d had my differences with Genoveva, but surely she would have had too much integrity and concern for her clan to show that kind of favoritism.

  “We have people in the clan who are skilled with defensive magic, who also know how to cast spells of protection,” Louisa said. “I will make sure that every person in this family is made safe, one way or another.” She paused, gaze flickering toward the still form on the bed for a moment. Then she went on, “Simon Escobar was able to do this because we had our guard down. I can assure you that it will not happen again.”

  Malena, who had been silent up until that point, asked, “You really think we can protect every single Castillo?”

  “We can, because we must,” Louisa replied. She looked over at her father, who stood near the head of the bed. “Dad, can you help get the word out?”

  “Of course,” he said. In a way, he appeared almost relieved to be given something concrete to do. “But we must also make plans for your mother’s funeral.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Rafe cut in. Before his gathered family members could protest, he went on, “What if Simon is just waiting for another opportunity to have us all together in one place? Bad enough that so many of us were here for Marco’s wake. You know that even more Castillos are going to show up for their prima’s funeral.”

  He was right. I still didn’t know what kind of dark spell Simon had empl
oyed to strike at Genoveva, but I thought it was the sort of thing that must have required a lot of energy. It was entirely possible that he needed to rest up before he tried anything else, in which case the people assembled downstairs might be safe…for now. But whenever the funeral took place, a day from now, or two, by that time, Simon would probably be strong enough to attempt another attack.

  “Are you saying we can’t bury my Genoveva?” Eduardo demanded, shock and anger clear on his handsome features.

  “No, Dad, that’s not what I’m saying.” Since he stood so close to me, I could feel the tension in Rafe’s body, the way he strained to keep himself from sounding too harsh. “A private, quiet funeral, one with just the immediate family members. No big service at the cathedral. No notice in the local newspaper. We need to pay our respects, but in a way that won’t attract attention…especially Simon Escobar’s attention. Later, after all this is handled and it’s safe, we can have a memorial service for the entire clan. ”

  An uneasy silence fell. I could tell that Eduardo and Malena both wanted to argue with Rafe but realized he was only pointing out a hard truth. Louisa nodded, still with that aura of strained calm. For the first time, I wondered where her husband was, and Malena’s, for that matter. Probably looking after their very young children so their wives could handle this distressing bit of family business.

  And Cat — poor Cat just looked as though she wanted to go somewhere and cry for a good long while, her model-pretty face pale and strained, makeup smudged around her almond-shaped dark eyes. She was a few years older than I, but she was still the baby of the family and, at least from what I’d seen, had gotten along fairly well with her mother. I had a feeling she was taking this even harder than her sisters, who at least were married and had families of their own that required their attention. But Cat didn’t have a husband or a fiancé or even a boyfriend to watch over her, comfort her.