Page 5

5

On that Sunday afternoon, Tantrum Wines was a bit more crowded than Bellamy had expected. Not so much that she wasn’t able to snag a seat on a purple velvet couch positioned a few yards away from the spot where Bree had her chair and microphone stand set up, but just enough that Bellamy couldn’t help feeling the teensiest bit guilty about taking up the whole sofa.

Well, she’d buy a couple of bottles of wine to take back with her to the house just so she wouldn’t feel like an utter freeloader.

Bree had inclined her head and offered Bellamy a smile as she came in and sat down, but because she was in the middle of singing an old folk song from the seventies, something about a bayou, she wasn’t about to pause and offer any kind of real conversation.

Which was fine. Bellamy knew her friend was working, and honestly, she’d only come here because she thought she might start climbing the walls if she had to go back to the house and pretend to do something productive. It wasn’t like the place needed cleaning — Ike had already told her she didn’t need to worry about housework, since he had someone come in once a week to make sure the house was spotless — and it was really too hot to do anything outside.

So, here she was.

She sipped some of her white blend and did her best to relax against the back of the couch. Although she would never have referred to herself as a Type A kind of personality, she also knew it still felt a little weird to know she was done with school and needed to find her rhythm when all she had to do now was work a regular nine-to-five job and not have to fit in her enology certification coursework on top of everything else.

No, now she was supposed to function like a real adult…whatever that meant.

She didn’t recognize any of the faces around her, which wasn’t too strange. Most locals tried to visit the various wine tasting rooms during the week when things weren’t quite so busy, so she guessed most of these people were probably tourists getting in a last drink or two before they headed back down to Phoenix or wherever it was they’d come from. Cottonwood and Jerome and Sedona got lots of day-trippers, since Phoenix and its surrounding cities were only a little over an hour away, depending on where you were coming from.

But then the tasting room door opened, and Marc Trujillo walked in.

Bellamy had been in the middle of swallowing some wine when she caught sight of him, and it took everything she had to maintain her composure and not choke on the liquid as it was halfway down her throat. Somehow, though, she managed to gulp it down and even look as though she hadn’t been startled out of her skin by his sudden appearance.

His eyes met hers, and he smiled even as he came over to the sofa where she sat. “Mind if I sit down?” he asked, keeping his voice pitched low so it wouldn’t interfere with Bree’s performance.

“No, go ahead,” Bellamy replied in a murmur, and scooched over so he’d have room next to her.

Noting this new addition to the listening crowd, her friend Bree lifted an eyebrow, but it wasn’t as if she could make some kind of comment, not when she was mid-song.

And Alyssa, the girl working the wine counter today, approached them and asked Marc in an undertone what he’d like to drink.

“Whatever she’s having,” he said, and inclined his head toward Bellamy.

Alyssa smiled and said she’d have it right out, and hurried off to pour a glass for him.

With her gone, Bellamy was all too acutely aware of how close Marc was, even though it wasn’t as if he’d sat down right next to her and tried to invade her personal space or anything. Still, the sofa was small enough that he was still a lot closer than she should have been expected to handle.

As usual when she wasn’t sure how she should react to a given situation, she retreated to sarcasm. “Are you stalking me?” she murmured, and Marc grinned.

“Lucky coincidence,” he replied, then paused as Alyssa came back with his glass of white. “I was actually about to text you, but I thought I’d come in and have a drink first.”

Bellamy wanted to lift an eyebrow at that comment — how had he even gotten her phone number? his grandmother? — but she was forced to admit that lucky coincidences tended to happen among witch-kind more often than they did with the regular population.

Besides, hadn’t she been kicking herself earlier for not giving him her contact information, or at least asking for his?

“Well, you made a good choice,” she said. “The wine here is great, and you also lucked out because my friend Bree is performing today.”

His gaze slid toward the other woman, who’d now moved on to another folksy song, this one by a musician from way back when named Neil Young. However, he didn’t seem to be awestruck by Bree’s beauty, which Bellamy had to admit was something of a relief. Never in a million years would she admit to being jealous of her friend, and yet it still started to get old whenever the two of them went out together and everyone paid attention to Bree like she was some kind of goddess descended from Mount Olympus or something.

“She’s really good,” he commented, but his tone was casual, almost absent. “Does she play here every weekend?”

“No,” Bellamy replied. “She kind of rotates among the various tasting rooms and resorts in the area. I think she’s at Tantrum maybe twice a month at the most.”

“Then I suppose I got lucky,” he said, but his gaze was fixed on Bellamy’s face, and she got the impression that the “luck” he was talking about didn’t have much to do with Bree’s performance schedule. A certain warmth stirred inside her, one she couldn’t ignore no matter how hard she tried.

“So, are you sticking around for a while?” she asked next, then wanted to shake her head at herself.

Talk about sounding desperate.

“For a few more days,” Marc said. He didn’t appear too concerned by her question, so it didn’t seem as if he thought she was being clingy. “Maybe longer, depending.”

Depending on what? she thought, but decided it was probably better not to ask that question out loud. “You don’t have to get back to work?”

Now he smiled, his dark eyes warming, becoming almost velvety as he gazed back at her.

Damn, he was gorgeous.

“I do landscape design,” he said. “But it’s my own business, so I set the schedule. Anyway, this is a slow time of year for me, thanks to the heat. I don’t have anything on the calendar until the last week of August.”

He didn’t sound too concerned about the whole thing, but she supposed that was probably because he had his clan stipend to pay the bills and therefore didn’t have to worry about any slow periods in his work schedule.

And if he wasn’t even busy until the end of the month….

As best she could, she pushed that thought away. Maybe Marc Trujillo was fancy free for the next few weeks, but her own boss was expecting her at work at noon on Tuesday, so it wasn’t as if she could drop everything to hang out with the handsome newcomer.

Not that he’d even shown any indication that was what he wanted from her.

“Actually,” he went on, “I had something I needed to talk to you about, but I’m not sure this is the best venue.”

His gaze moved past her over to the chair where Bree sat with her guitar and sang, and then on to the people who occupied the other sofas and conversation areas. Clearly, he thought this was far too public a place for whatever topic he wanted to discuss.

“Does it have anything to do with what we talked about yesterday?” Bellamy asked, and he nodded.

Since she knew he was staying at the hotel just down the street, it probably would have been simpler to suggest that they finish their glasses of wine and head over there.

However, something prompted her to say, “We could go to my place.”

To her surprise, Marc didn’t even hesitate, but immediately replied, “That’s a good idea. It’s over in Sedona, right?”

“Yes,” she said. “Off Dry Creek Road. You can follow me.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

They both went quiet then as they finished their glasses of wine — or in Marc’s case, gulped down most of it, since he’d barely started drinking his. Maybe not the smartest thing to do when they were about to drive to Sedona, but Bellamy told herself it was only one glass, not enough to make him even close to impaired.

Seeing that both their glasses were empty, Alyssa came over and asked if they wanted another round. They demurred, and Marc dug a twenty out of his wallet and handed it over, surprising Bellamy a little. She hadn’t expected him to pay, not when she’d ordered her drink way before he even showed up.

But she knew protesting would only delay their departure, so instead she thanked him for picking up the tab, lifted one hand in a small wave to Bree — who inclined her head, acknowledging the goodbye — and then followed him outside.

“Are you parked at your hotel?” she asked, and he nodded.

“Do you want to meet me in the lot there? I’m driving the gray Nissan truck.”

“Sounds good,” she said, and then watched as he walked down the sidewalk toward his hotel, which was about a block away from the winery.

Her Fiat was parked right at the curb, so she went ahead and got inside and started the engine, then drove over to the parking lot. Sure enough, Marc was climbing into his truck as she pulled up, so she waited until he was ready and then pulled back out onto Main Street, following it until she got to Mingus Boulevard and could turn left to get back out to the highway.

Through all of this, she drove conservatively, since she didn’t know how familiar he was with Cottonwood and didn’t want to ditch him before they turned onto 89A and headed north toward Sedona. But he remained firmly in her rearview mirror the whole time, and soon enough, they were on the open road.

Was it crazy to have him come back to the house? After all, she barely knew the guy.

True, but he was a McAllister elder’s grandson. It wasn’t as if she’d picked up a total rando on the side of the road or something.

Thus having reassured herself that she wasn’t bringing a serial killer back to a house that wasn’t even hers, she maintained a steady pace on the highway, checking in the rearview constantly to make sure he was keeping up. Not that she guessed that would be much of a problem; his big Nissan truck obviously had a far more powerful motor than her little Fiat.

And it wasn’t as if they had to drive through the heart of Sedona or anything, either. Dry Creek Road was only a little inside the town’s western limits, and although they would have to wander a bit to get to the house she was caretaking, the roads weren’t anywhere close to crowded out in the semi-rural neighborhood.

A pause to press the remote for the gate that opened onto the property, and then they were driving down the long gravel road that led to the house. Dust plumed out behind them; although this should have been the height of monsoon season, there hadn’t been any storms for nearly a week.

Bellamy thought the dry streak might be over soon, though, because as they’d driven into Sedona, she’d noted enormous thunderheads beginning to build over the Mogollon Plateau to the east. The real question was whether they’d spill westward enough to get any rain in the Verde Valley.

Well, she supposed they’d find out as the afternoon wore on.

She touched the second remote clipped to the visor, and one of the four garage doors opened so she could pull inside. Marc seemed to realize he was on his own for parking, because he stopped in the open space off to one side and got out of his truck, then headed over to the place where she was waiting just inside the garage.

“We can go in through here,” she told him as he approached, inclining her head toward the interior door that led into the kitchen.

He nodded, and soon enough they were inside, with cool air from the home’s climate-control system surrounding them.

“Well, this is impressive,” he said as they entered the kitchen, which had what felt like miles of soapstone counters and a set of commercial-grade stainless-steel appliances.

“It’s not mine,” she said quickly, thinking she needed to disabuse him of the notion that she was in any kind of financial position to afford a place like this. “I’m just playing caretaker while it’s on the market.”

Marc didn’t appear too dismayed by this revelation. “That’s a pretty good gig.”

“It is,” she said. “I’ll admit that I’m kind of hoping the house is going to be on the market for a long while.” She stopped there, thinking of the half-drunk bottle of pinot grigio she had in the refrigerator. Should she offer him a drink, or would it be better to keep this strictly business and only ask if he wanted a glass of water?

Oh, the hell with it. Today was her day off, after all.

“Some wine?” she asked next. “I’ve got an open bottle of pinot grigio in the fridge.”

Maybe he hesitated for a fraction of a second. But then he said, “Sure. That would be great.”

Bellamy went over to the cupboard and got out a couple of stemless wine glasses — Ike had told her she could use the glassware and dishes and anything else she needed, just as long as everything was cleaned and returned to the cupboards once the house was sold — then poured some white wine for her and Marc. After handing one of the glasses to him, she said, “We can go sit in the living room. It’s probably too hot to be outside, even in the shade.”

“Sure.”

He followed her into the space in question, where his keen dark eyes seemed to take in the huge bifold glass doors that overlooked the courtyard. She had to admit that it looked inviting enough out there, with the wind sculptures turning in the breeze and the fountain in the center of the space splashing in the bright sunlight.

Well, until you actually went outside and realized temperatures today were just kissing the century mark.

They both sat on the big leather couch, Marc a respectful distance away. Still, Bellamy found herself far too conscious of his presence, of the way the sofa creaked when he shifted his weight, or the strong muscles of his tanned throat as he swallowed some pinot grigio.

Then he said without preamble, “I dreamed about this house last night.”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“This place,” he said, and waved a hand toward the sunny courtyard just beyond the bifold doors. “I’m glad you invited me here, because now I can see it was a true dream. Everything looks just the way I dreamed it.”

Well, this wasn’t awkward at all. Bellamy swallowed some of her wine and said, “What was in your dream?”

“You were,” he said steadily. “I dreamed that you were standing out in the courtyard with the moon overhead and those wind sculptures moving in the night wind.”

How in the world was she supposed to respond to that? Because what he’d just described was exactly what she’d done the night before after she got home from work, too restless to go straight to bed even though it had been well past midnight.

“That’s what you wanted to talk to me about?” she asked. “To see if your dream was a true one?”

“Partly,” he replied. “In the dream, I was standing out there, too, but when I tried to follow you into the house, there was a safe blocking my way.”

“‘A safe’?” she repeated blankly, her brain conjuring an image of a big, blocky object like something you’d see in an old Road Runner cartoon just before it got dropped on Wile E. Coyote’s head.

“Yes,” Marc said, and then described a shape with his hands that was much smaller, maybe twelve inches on all sides. “It was about this big, and it had a biometric lock.”

Oh. She knew exactly what he was talking about, because she’d seen the thing at Devynn and Seth’s bungalow before everyone in the clan had decided it would be safer if it was kept at the prima’s house instead.

However, since Angela and Connor had made it pretty clear that they really didn’t want news of the safe — and the amulet it contained — spread all over the witch community, Bellamy wasn’t sure how she should respond to Marc’s comment…especially since she’d already told him that nothing of any real import had happened in the McAllister clan over the past few months.

“It’s okay,” Marc continued, speaking a little more quickly now, as though he understood the reason for her diffidence and knew he needed to do what he could to allay any concerns she might have about discussing the sensitive subject. “My grandmother told me all about the amulet and where it came from. I suppose I’m just trying to figure out why I would dream about it.”

Well, so much for that. If Tricia had thought it safe to confide in her grandson, then there wasn’t much point in trying to obfuscate now.

“I have no idea,” Bellamy said. “I mean, it’s obvious that the amulet is powerful and would probably be dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands. But the elders and Angela and Connor have done everything they can to make sure that won’t happen.”

Marc gave a brief nod, but something about his expression was troubled, as though he wasn’t quite sure whether all those measures would be enough.

“Did you see anything else in your dream?” she asked next, wondering if there was something he wasn’t telling her, something he wanted to keep hidden.

However, his next words seemed to disabuse her of that notion.

“Not really,” he replied, then lifted his glass of pinot grigio to his lips so he could swallow some. “But even though I didn’t see anything concrete, something about the whole thing gave me a bad feeling, as if there was some kind of danger lurking out beyond the walls of the courtyard, even though I couldn’t see it.”

Bellamy’s gaze moved outside. The courtyard was utterly deserted, with not even any birds sitting on the fountain as they often did so they could get a drink in the middle of what was otherwise a dry landscape. Back at home, she and her dads had bird feeders on their balcony, but she’d known better than to sully the pristine space outside the living room here with anything as messy as bird seed.

Although everything appeared quiet and serene, a chill inched its way down her back.

“What kind of danger?”

Marc shook his head. She didn’t know him very well yet, but she could tell he was frustrated.

“I don’t know for sure,” he said. “That’s the problem with these dreams or visions or whatever you want to call them. A lot of the time, they just hint at something, and then it’s up to me to figure it out. In this case, though, while I totally understand why someone might want to snag that amulet and use it for their own ends, I don’t have any idea who it could be. I definitely don’t want to believe that it could be anyone in the Arizona witch clans.”

“Or the Castillos,” Bellamy said. “I mean, maybe they’re not as interconnected with us as the rest of the clans here in Arizona, but still, with Angela’s daughter Miranda as their prima, they’re still much more our allies than they used to be.”

Marc gave a glum nod, then reached over so he could set his glass of wine on one of the coasters on the coffee table. “The Ludlows, maybe?”

Bellamy supposed that was one possibility. Back in the day, the northern California–based clan had joined forces with Joaquin Escobar and had kidnapped Levi McAllister in an attempt to force him to become their prima -in-waiting’s consort. None of that had worked out so well, and the son of their prima had even abandoned his clan so he could go to Flagstaff and marry one of the Wilcox witches there, but still, she had to admit that the Ludlows were kind of a wild card despite being pretty quiescent these past two decades.

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I mean, I hadn’t heard that they’ve been up to any skullduggery lately, but I also haven’t been paying all that much attention.”

A small crease appeared between Marc’s eyebrows, and then he shrugged. “I haven’t heard anything, either. Everything’s been pretty quiet on the California front, since the Santiagos have also been minding their own business. On the other hand, we both know that when you have a big witch clan, you sometimes have members who go rogue.”

Well, that was true. Not that anything like that had happened among the McAllisters and the Wilcoxes — or the de la Pazes — as far as she knew, but it was a big world out there, with plenty of clans who might have members among them who wanted to do whatever they could to score an advantage.

Marc sat up a little straighter, as if something had just occurred to him. “Do you know which clan the amulet came from?”

“It would have disappeared more than a hundred and fifty years ago,” she pointed out, but her companion didn’t appear too put off by that argument.

“Maybe so, but still, isn’t it possible that someone might have just found out about it and tried to track down where it went?”

Such a possibility had never even entered Bellamy’s mind, and yet she thought Marc might be on to something here.

“I guess so,” she allowed. “I know the guy Seth and Devynn took it from was named Lawrence Pratt and that he came from Minnesota…I think…but I have no idea who the witch clan is in that part of the world.”

“Well, I guess we’ll need to ask Devynn and Seth,” Marc replied without missing a beat. “Do you know where we can find them?”

Since it was Sunday and Bellamy knew her friend and her new fiancé always tried to be at the store on the weekends when it was busiest, that question was easy enough to answer. True, they’d have to drive all the way back to Jerome to talk to them, but since this was the only real lead they had, Bellamy couldn’t think of anything better to do.

“Sure,” she said, and added, “They’re in Jerome, at McAllister Mercantile.”