Darkmoon (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 3) (21 page)

It was hotter there, too; I watched the outside temperature reading on the dashboard rise from the comfortable eighty-two it had been in Flagstaff up into the low nineties, then rise even more. By the time we were nearing the trading post, it was almost a hundred degrees outside. I really wasn’t looking forward to getting out of the FJ’s powerful air conditioning.

We didn’t stop, though, but turned west on Highway 64, going slowly because, although the crews weren’t working on Sunday, the road was carved up by what looked like a massive construction project. Out here there wasn’t a lot of vegetation, except some trees clustered around the trading post and what Connor pointed out as the Little Colorado River. Off the road I saw small settlements, a few houses clustered together, all small and consisting of a single story, some of them mobile homes, a lot of them surrounded by collections of broken-down-looking vehicles.

As Connor had warned me, none of this appeared very promising. I sat quietly in the passenger seat as we drove a few miles down Highway 64. Then Connor slowed and pulled off on a dirt road that wasn’t even marked.

“Good thing you looked this up on Google maps, huh?” I said.

He gave me a quick, tight smile but didn’t take his eyes off the road. “I also programmed it into my GPS, just in case. But it looks like I found the turn-off okay.”

On this side of the highway there was a series of steep hills with shadowy canyons in between. It looked like we were headed toward one of those, and I peered through the dust swirling up from the FJ’s tires to see that we were approaching another one of those meager little compounds, this one with two one-story houses, both painted a light sand color, an outbuilding that looked as if it might have been made of adobe, the pale cylindrical shape of a propane tank, and, incongruously, an array of shiny solar panels. Up toward the canyon there seemed to be one more building, but I couldn’t quite make out what it was. A stable, maybe?

There were two vehicles parked under the shade of a large oak tree, one a battered white pickup truck, the other a Jeep even older than my Aunt Rachel’s, maybe twenty years or more.

My heart seemed to stutter and then resume a normal rhythm. Had that Jeep once been new and shiny, carrying my father to his assignation with my mother in California?

Only one way to find out.

Connor pulled up on the far side of the pickup and then put the FJ in park. Although we must have made a good deal of noise coming up here — and brought a conspicuous dust cloud with us — no one had emerged from either of the houses to see who was trespassing on their property. Maybe they were out, but then why were both vehicles here?

“You ready?” Connor asked, reaching up to turn off the engine.

Not really, but of course I couldn’t tell him that, not after making him drive all the way out here. I swallowed. “Sure. Let’s do this.”

He pulled the key from the ignition, and I reached over to open the door. A blast of dry desert heat hit me, and I had to fight the urge to cough, feeling as if I’d just swallowed half the dust particles we’d stirred up as we entered the property. I did wave a hand in front of my face to ward off a few flies that descended almost as soon as I moved two feet away from the SUV.

Both of the houses looked roughly the same, paint peeling in places, a chaotic assortment of potted succulents clustering around their front doors. Off past them I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a small garden, carefully covered with shade cloth. They’d certainly need it out here.

Since I really didn’t know where I was going, I angled toward the house that was slightly closer to us. Connor followed a pace or two behind me, the sound of his hiking boots on the gravelly dirt a welcome sound. Once again I had to thank the Goddess for bringing him to me. I knew I could never have done this without him.

When we were a few yards away from the nearer house, the door to the other one opened, and a tall man stepped out onto the uncovered front stoop, lifting his hand to shield his eyes from the pitiless sun. He wore a loose white linen shirt with an old-fashioned band collar, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing sun-browned forearms. His hair was long and dark, pulled back into a ponytail, but when I got closer, I saw that his eyes weren’t dark to match, but hazel, their green-gold unexpected against the warm brown of his skin.

My breath caught, and it wasn’t just because of the dust and the oppressive heat. The man stood there watching me for a second or two, and then he smiled, teeth flashing.

“Come in. We’ve been expecting you.”

T
he house was cramped
, but cooler than I had expected, thanks to a swamp cooler going at full blast. As Connor and I entered, I saw an old, old Navajo man sitting in a worn leather chair tucked into a corner. The furniture was minimal — that chair, a cracked leather sofa, a plain wooden chair with a woven rush seat and the remnants of red paint on its surface.

I found my voice. “You were expecting us?”

Another smile, and this time I was looking for the Wilcox resemblance and saw it immediately, in the sculpted bones of his face and the strong, elegant nose. He could have probably passed for Connor’s uncle…if Connor had one, of course.

“Yes. The time is here. Please sit down.”

Since I didn’t know what else to do, I took a seat on the leather couch, Connor following suit a second or two later, after giving the place a quick surveying glance. I could tell he was uncomfortable, and I didn’t feel much better. During all this the Navajo man sitting in the corner remained silent, watching us with bright dark eyes almost buried in wrinkles.

“So you’re….” I began, and the man who’d let us in nodded and said,

“Yes, Angela, I’m Andre Bedonie — Andre Wilcox, once. And your father.”

It was all so surreal, I couldn’t quite decide how to respond. Maybe if he’d said, “Angela, I am your father,” in a sepulchral Darth Vader voice, I could have handled it a bit better. But after all the years of not even knowing who my father was, and then not knowing whether he was alive or dead…well, I suppose I can be forgiven for staring at him blankly, then finally bursting out, “If you knew who I was — knew you had a daughter — then why did you abandon me all these years? Why didn’t you come and tell me who you were?”

Instead of being taken aback by my outburst, he gave me a long, sad look, finally shaking his head. “I couldn’t do that because I had to wait until you were ready.”

“Ready for what?” I demanded, voice sharper than I’d intended. Dealing with all this was tough enough without factoring raging pregnancy hormones into the equation. Connor took my hand in his, not really squeezing it, but just surrounding my fingers with his, letting me know he was there.

The Navajo man spoke for the first time. His voice was deep and strong, belying his feeble appearance. “Ready to right an ancient wrong.”

“What?” I asked, although I had a feeling I knew what he meant, a chill beginning somewhere low on my spine and spreading throughout my body.

“This is what we all have been waiting for,” my father replied. “It’s time for you to break the curse, Angela.”

C
onnor’s fingers
tightened around mine. For a few seconds I didn’t reply —
couldn’t
reply. At last I took in a breath, then asked, “And how do you know it’s the right time…or even that I’m the person to do it?”

A short silence as my father folded his hands on the knee of his well-worn cargo pants. Clearly, he was waiting for the older man to speak. And how strange that I’d already started thinking of Andre Wilcox as my father, when I still couldn’t make myself admit to any kind of real relation to my grandmother.

The old man did reply eventually, bright black eyes fixed on my face. “Many years we’ve waited. It is no easy thing, to wait and watch, knowing the time will come eventually but also knowing we can do nothing to hasten its coming.”

“What time?” Connor asked. “What were you waiting for?” His gaze shifted to my father, then hardened. “Was it worth leaving Angela with no father all these years?”

I could see my father’s mouth compress slightly, deepening the laugh lines that bracketed it, but his voice was calm as he replied, “And do you truly think the McAllisters would have accepted a Wilcox as the father of their future
prima?
”

Good question, one whose answer was most likely
hell, no
. I honestly didn’t know quite what my family would’ve done if Andre Wilcox — or Bedonie, I supposed, since I got the impression he’d been using that name for a while — had shown up out of the blue and tried to claim me back when I was still a minor. They were less than thrilled now, but at least that particular truth hadn’t come out until I had already inherited the
prima
gifts. Would they have tried to find an alternate for me after they realized I was tainted with Wilcox blood? Was that even possible? I’d never heard of the
prima
-in-waiting being passed over for another candidate once she’d been identified, but it had to have happened once or twice over the years because of sickness or an accident or some other twist of fate.

“Probably not,” I admitted to my father, after a hesitation I was pretty sure everyone noticed.

“Many times I’ve had to counsel patience,” the old man said in his slow, deep voice. “Andre knew what was at stake, and yet he chafed at the waiting, wishing he could go to you.”

“With all due respect,” Connor cut in, “maybe you could explain that a bit better. You expect Angela to break the curse? Why her?”

“Because it was this purpose for which she was born.”

I looked from the old man — whose name I still didn’t know — to my father, who was regarding me with a deep sadness in his eyes. At first I couldn’t quite figure out where that sadness had come from, but then the realization seemed to bubble up from somewhere deep inside me, perhaps the well of knowledge that seemed to be joined to my growing powers.

“That’s why you went to California, isn’t it?” I whispered.

He nodded, the sadness now tinged with pride. “Yes. Lawrence, my great-uncle” — he nodded toward the old man, and I realized how old Lawrence must be if he truly was my great-great-uncle — “told me of what he had seen in the movements of the stars, what he’d heard in the wind. The time was coming when at last the curse could be broken, but only if I could turn away from the woman of my heart and go to the one who was destined to bear the curse-breaker. That child needed to be born of a witch with the strength to be
prima
, even though your mother had denied what was supposed to be her own destiny.”

The woman of his heart
. That would be Marie Wilcox, I supposed. “So, what…you just dumped Marie and shacked up with my mother to fulfill a
prophecy?
”

A wince, but he didn’t look away from me, didn’t try to deny it. “I had to think of the greater good. And your mother was a lovely woman, full of her own strength and fire. I couldn’t love her the way I loved Marie, but I did care for her.”

Pretty words. I wasn’t sure I believed them, though. How
could
I believe them?

Actually, in that moment I wasn’t sure what I did believe.

“Well, this all sounds very noble,” Connor said, and I could hear the edge of disbelief in his voice as well. “But…
why?
I mean, we Wilcoxes didn’t do so well by the Navajo back in the day. So why should you care whether the curse continues or not?”

Lawrence’s piercing dark gaze rested on Connor for a moment, and then he smiled for the first time, showing teeth so straight and white I guessed they had to be false. “The sort of question a Wilcox would ask, I suppose. So little trust among you, even now, when you are the masters of your own kingdom down there in Flagstaff.” Beside me, Connor stiffened, but the old man appeared not to notice. “You ask why. I will tell you it is because the order, the balance of things, has been upset, and must be righted. Whatever happened all those years ago, it was between Nizhoni and Jeremiah Wilcox, and should have stayed between them. What she did brought dishonor upon all of us, using her gifts in such a way.”

“Nizhoni?” I repeated. “That was her name — the Navajo woman Jeremiah married, I mean?”

“Yes, Nizhoni was of the Diné, although she came to live with the Wilcoxes.”

“Deen-eh?” I questioned, sounding it out.

“The true name of the Navajo,” my father said quietly.

My head was spinning. Maybe in time I’d be able to absorb all this, but right now I was starting to feel more than a little overloaded. “Okay,” I said. “So you think I’m the one to break the curse. How exactly am I supposed to do that? I mean, Damon Wilcox failed miserably at it, and he was a hell of a lot smarter than I can ever hope to be.”

“He was intelligent, but he was not wise,” Lawrence replied calmly. “He thought to use power for his own ends, and showed no respect for the ways of others. He was warned, but he did not listen. I do not think you are as foolish.”

Connor shifted, the leather couch creaking under his weight. Although he didn’t say anything, I could tell that Lawrence’s words had upset him; he released my hand and crossed his arms, a scowl pulling at his brow despite his best efforts to erase it.

“You may try to defend your brother, if you wish,” the old man said, apparently missing none of this. “But you know in your heart of hearts that what I say is true.” Incongruously, his eyes twinkled. “And it is also true that you will make a far better
primus
than he.”

“Leaving that aside for now,” I broke in, since I could tell that my great-great-uncle’s remark had done nothing to mollify Connor…rather, the reverse, “could you share a little of your wisdom with me and help me understand how this curse-breaking is supposed to work?”

“You already know, even though you think you don’t,” the old man told me. “But the power is waking in you. Did you ever wonder why it was that you could speak with ghosts? Nizhoni is not a ghost, precisely — not in the way you might think, not like the earthbound spirits who have been your companions since you were a child. But her soul is a restless one, trapped on this plane, the strength of her ill will ensuring that the curse continues, generation after generation. You must convince her that it is time to move on. When her soul ascends, the curse will be broken, since she will no longer exist on this plane.”

Convince her that it is time to move on.
His words shook me, because that was exactly what I’d done with Mary Mullen. However, it was one thing to convince sweet Mary, already missing her husband and children, that it was time for her to finally go and join them, and quite another to do the same thing with this Nizhoni, whose hurt and anger and sorrow had fueled a curse that had lasted for many generations. Also, Mary had always come to me; I’d never been forced to seek her out.

“Okay,” I said at length. “I suppose that makes some sense. Any idea where this Nizhoni might be hanging out so we can have a chat?”

At my question, my father shook his head, and Lawrence let out a rusty chuckle. “Angela, you know it is not that easy. She is not haunting any one place, but rather is all around us.”

“Well, unless you can tell me how to pin her down somehow, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to make this work. I’m used to dealing with regular garden-variety ghosts. They all have their particular haunts, so to speak.”

Apparently unperturbed, the old man responded, “Soon the time will come when the veil between the worlds will thin, and you will use the power of the longest day to give you the strength to approach her on her own ground.”

By “longest day,” I had to assume he meant the solstice, now less than two weeks away. I opened my mouth to confirm this, but he had already moved on, saying,

“Not only is it the solstice, but it is also a new moon. Many years will pass before such a combination comes again. In the time of the dark moon, you will meet with Nizhoni, and use your powers to convince her to move on to the next world. This is what I have seen, and what I know will come to pass.”

It must be nice to have that kind of confidence. Personally, I wasn’t feeling it, but I couldn’t deny the potent combination of the summer solstice, with its power of the light, joining with a new moon and its shadowy strength. Would it be enough to propel me into the dark world of the spirits, to the place where Nizhoni’s tormented soul had wandered all these years?

Instinctively, my hand moved to my belly, as if to protect the two tiny souls that lived within me and who depended on me for everything. What would happen to them if I failed, if somehow I remained imprisoned in the same limbo that had trapped Nizhoni for more than a century?

“Yes, you risk much,” Lawrence said, apparently catching my gesture. “But the reward will be all the greater — that you will be here to see these two grow up, and the ones to come after them. No longer will the Wilcox clan experience grief at imminent death mingled with the joy of knowing a new
primus
has been born to them. It is a time for healing. You have already begun it, with this mingling of McAllister and Wilcox. Yes, the blood of those two clans was joined in you as well, but this is different. This is no secret, but an open bond between the
prima
of the McAllisters and the
primus
of the Wilcox. To you, progress may still feel slow, but sometimes it is the tiniest of breaches that bring a great dam tumbling down.”

I didn’t bother to ask how he knew the struggles I’d been facing, trying to convince my clan that things would be very different from now on. True, the McAllisters didn’t have a seer, but I’d seen Marie’s powers in this area, and Lawrence’s seemed to be even greater than hers. Clearly he knew what had been happening in my own world. For all I knew, he’d been watching over me for years, relaying that information to my father so at least he’d know I was well, and thriving.

“Yeah, it’s easy for you to ask her to risk her life and that of her unborn children,” Connor snapped. His green eyes were narrowed, and I could tell by the way his fingers were clutching the edge of the worn leather sofa that he was doing so to keep himself from launching right off that couch and getting in the old man’s face. “You get to sit on the sidelines and wait to see what happens. But you’re asking too much of her.”

“Of course your instinct is to protect her. This is good. But would you really prevent her from making the attempt when you know it is the only thing that will guarantee you two can grow old together? Don’t let fear rule you, Connor Wilcox, as that same fear can only lead to you stopping Angela from doing this…which means you will be looking for a new mother for your children in a year or two.”

“Son of a bitch — ” Connor began, and actually began to rise from the sofa. I reached up to grasp his wrist, even as my father looked at me and said quietly,

“Angela, this is your choice. We can’t make you do it. On the other hand, Connor can’t stop you if you decide to take the risk. Just — ” He paused and reached up to grasp the turquoise amulet he wore on a brown leather thong around his throat. “Just remember how much suffering this curse has already caused. Think of what we’ve all done to get to this point.”

How could I forget, when I knew I’d be another one of those Wilcox wives gone too soon into the dark if something didn’t change? Connor subsided but watched me with anguished eyes. Possibly he was in the worst situation of all, knowing that I would surely die if I didn’t break the curse, but also understanding that I risked not only myself but the twins if my attempt failed. If that happened, he would lose everything.

Oh, Goddess,
I moaned to myself, not knowing what I should do. I was only one person, but if I should lose the twins….

It was as if she had spoken within me.
The worst thing to do is to do nothing at all.

But was it, truly? Even if I died, the twins would live.

But they are still only two. What of all the others to come after you, generation after generation, if this curse is not ended now?

Harsh logic, the kind I wished I could ignore. I couldn’t, though. Not and live with myself. If all the signs and portents had pointed to me, pointed to this one particular day, then I had better do them proud and give Nizhoni the talking-to she so clearly deserved.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll do whatever I can. But I hope you’re up to giving me some coaching, because I really have no idea what I’m supposed to do.”

Connor slumped beside me, face blank. I could read the defeat and worry in every line of his body, and I reached out and took his hand in mine.

“They’re right,” I said softly. “This has to end. We’re scared. It’s okay to be scared. But we can’t let it stop us. Do you really want our children and our children’s children to go through this all over again, generation after generation, with no end in sight?”

Raising his head, he stared at me for a long moment. We could’ve been the only two people in the room, although I was dimly aware of Lawrence and my father sitting still and quiet, waiting for us to work this through on our own.

“No,” Connor said at last. “I don’t. I want this to end.”

“Do you trust me?” I asked him, an echo of a question he’d asked me so many months ago.

His fingers, strong and warm, squeezed mine in return. “Yes, I trust you.”