Lifting the wand higher, she noticed the door at the far end of the cellar. Another flick of her wand, and the door opened on well-oiled hinges.
The werewolf was on a narrow cot, asleep, her cheeks damp with tears.
All too easy, Verah mused. Moving closer to the bed, she plucked a hair from the werewolf’s head and wound it around the end of her wand. Lamenting the fact that it was necessary to shed the invisibility spell to invoke a new one, she murmured softly into the werewolf’s ear, planting her compulsion.
For a moment, she thought the spell had failed. But then, moving zombielike, the werewolf girl stood, her eyes open and unfocused.
Smiling, Verah whispered, “Follow me,” and led the way out of the house and into the night.
Gideon leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as the wind shifted, carrying with it a scent he would never forget. Verah. Damn! He had told Kay the witch didn’t have the nerve to beard the lion in his den. Just proved how wrong he could be. The witch had to be desperate to risk coming here, and that meant Kay’s life was in danger.
With preternatural speed, he was on his feet. He rounded the front corner of the house in time to see Verah step out onto the porch. Kay followed close behind, her movements wooden and unnatural.
Gideon stared at her, his hands clenching when he noticed the glazed look in her eyes. Damn the witch! She had put Kay under some kind of spell.
Muttering, “You can’t have her,” Gideon flew across the yard.
The black cat hissed.
Verah raised her wand and screeched an incantation, but by the time the words had passed her lips, Gideon had wrapped Kay in his arms and vanished from sight.
Verah stood momentarily frozen, like a deer caught in the lights of an oncoming truck. While she was trying to decide what to do next, the porch light came on.
Verah scooped Rama into her arms, intent on hastening away, when she suddenly found herself surrounded by three men with glowing yellow eyes.
Before she could invoke her invisibility spell again, one of the men snatched the wand from her hand, another grabbed Rama by the scruff of the neck, careful to hold the snarling cat at arm’s length. The third man sank his teeth into Verah’s neck.
Standing in the shadows a safe distance from the house, with Kay cradled tightly against his chest, Gideon watched it all happen.
At the werewolf’s bite, the witch went limp as a rag doll, offering no resistance as the werewolf dragged her into the house. The other two men followed. The last one inside slammed the door.
Gideon glanced at the sky. Dawn was only minutes away. With that in mind, he summoned his power and willed himself and Kay to his lair in Arizona. He figured they would be safe there, at least for now, what with Verah being held by Victor’s family. He would have much preferred his lair in New York, but the sun was already shining there.
Moments later, Gideon sat on the sofa in the living room of his Phoenix lair with Kay still cradled in his arms. Kissing the top of her head, he whispered her name.
She didn’t stir, simply stared blankly into the distance.
“Kiya!” He shook her shoulder. “Dammit, Kiya, snap out of it!”
Still nothing.
He tried speaking to her mind, but it was closed to him.
Gideon cursed softly. The sun was rising. There was nothing he could do until nightfall.
Carrying Kay into the bedroom, he tucked her under the covers, removed his shoes, socks, pants, and shirt, and crawled into bed beside her.
His eyelids grew heavy as the sun rose over the horizon. He hated to leave her lying there, staring up at the ceiling, but there was no help for it. The darkness was wrapping him in its snare, dragging him down into oblivion.
Gideon woke with the setting of the sun. Jackknifing into a sitting position, he looked at Kay, hoping to find her sleeping peacefully. Instead, she was lying rigid beside him, still staring blankly at the ceiling. If not for the faint rise and fall of her chest and the slow, steady beat of her heart, he would have thought her dead.
Pressing a kiss to her cheek, he went into the bathroom. He took a quick shower, dressed, and left the apartment. What he needed now was a witch. Easier said than done, he mused. Where the hell was he going to find a witch? A good witch, he amended.
He mesmerized the first man he saw, borrowed the man’s cell phone, and did a quick search for practicing witches. He hadn’t actually expected to find one, but, to his surprise, he found one listed in Apache Junction, Arizona, by the name of Kusuma Ila. Of course, there was no guarantee that she was a genuine witch and not just some deluded old woman who read tea leaves. But it was the only lead he had.
After returning the man’s phone and wiping the incident from his mind, Gideon transported himself to Apache Junction.
He hadn’t been there in decades. It was an old town bordered by the Superstition Mountains on the east, the Goldfield Mountains on the north, and the town of Mesa on the right.
Even at night, the Superstition Mountains, well-known as the home of the fabled Lost Dutchman Gold Mine, were an impressive sight. Goldfield Ghost Town nestled near the western face of the mountains. On more than one occasion, Gideon had seen the ghosts of an old prospector and his mule walking through the town.
Kusuma Ila’s small, square house was located on a quiet residential street, literally the last place he would have expected to find an Apache witch. Dozens of rosebushes grew in wild profusion along a white picket fence. An ancient cottonwood tree shaded the front porch.
She answered the door before he knocked. As soon as she saw him, she made some kind of intricate sign with the fingers of her right hand, no doubt meant to ward off evil.
“Kusuma Ila?” She was a hundred if she was a day, Gideon thought, with skin as brown and wrinkled as old saddle leather. Her hair, worn in a long braid over her shoulder, was snow white; her eyes were deep-set, as black and sharp as those of a raven. She sure as hell looked like a witch.
She tilted her head to one side. “Have you come to drink my blood?”
“Do I look hungry?”
She grinned. “My blood is so old, one taste and you would spit it out.”
“Keep your blood, old woman. It’s your professional help I need.”
She studied him for several moments, then stepped back. “Come in, nightwalker.”
In spite of the old woman’s invitation, Gideon felt the threshold’s resistance as he stepped across it. It was, he thought, a sign of the witch’s power.
The handkerchief-sized living room was crowded with a curved sofa, a round coffee table, an end table with a wrought-iron lamp, and a well-used rocking chair. A crooked shelf held a turtle rattle, a length of braided rope, a turquoise rock, and what looked like the bleached skull of a cat. Every surface was piled high with old newspapers and magazines. A battered bookshelf was stuffed with paperback books, mostly mysteries. A deer head was mounted over the sofa. A pretty yellow canary occupied a white wicker cage in one corner. Two black cats were curled up beside the rocker.
The witch cleared off a section of the sofa and gestured for Gideon to sit down. When he was seated, she lowered herself into the rocking chair. “What brings you here?”
“My woman is under some sort of enchantment cast by another witch. I want to know if you can break it.”
“What kind of enchantment?”
“She doesn’t respond to anything. It’s like she’s asleep with her eyes open.”
Kusuma Ila nodded as she rocked back and forth. “It is a simple spell, easily undone.”
“That’s great. Can you come now?”
“No. You must bring her here. I did not live to be an old woman by taking foolish chances, or visiting the lairs of nightwalkers after dark.”
Gideon chuckled. “Right,” he said, liking her humor and her forthright attitude. “Is now a good time?”
She nodded. “I will be here.”
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Since the witch knew what he was, Gideon didn’t see any reason to hide his powers from her.
A thought took him back to his place. Kay was as he had left her.
He lifted her gently into his arms, then willed himself back to Kusuma Ila’s crowded house.
If the old woman was startled by his abrupt reappearance in her living room, it didn’t show on her weathered countenance. “Put her on the sofa.”
Gideon did as she instructed.
Rising, the witch hobbled toward the sofa. “Who did this to her?”
“A witch named Verah.”
“Ah.”
“You know her?”
Kusuma Ila nodded. “I know of her. Nothing good.”
“I can believe that,” he muttered darkly.
Kusuma Ila nodded to herself, then left the room. She returned a moment later bearing a wooden bowl, an eagle feather, a book of matches, and a small bag. She set the bowl on the coffee table, opened the bag, and poured the contents into the bowl. After striking a match, she set the bowl’s contents on fire. Blue smoke rose in the air, and with it the scents of sage and sweetgrass.
Murmuring softly in what Gideon assumed was Apache, Kusuma Ila waved the eagle feather over the bowl, drawing the smoke toward Kay. Gradually, the old woman’s chanting grew louder, stronger. This went on for several minutes.
Gideon stood near Kay’s head. His hands clenched into fists as the old witch’s power filled the room. He could feel it pushing against him, moving over his skin like an invisible hand. It didn’t hurt, but it made the hair on his arms stand at attention.
With a sharp cry, Kusuma Ila dropped the feather on the table, then clapped her hands together three times.
Gideon swore in amazement when Kay blinked, gasped, and then sat up, her expression bemused as she glanced around. “What happened?” She looked up at Gideon. “Where are we?”
Taking her hand in his, he gave it a squeeze. “I’ll tell you all about it later. Kusuma Ila, thank you. What can I give you in return?”
“The wand of the witch who enchanted your woman.”
“That might not be so easy to obtain. If I can’t get her wand, would you settle for a broom?”