Darkangel(73)

Sure enough, the rest of the Jerome party was already there, all of them clutching a variety of shopping bags. So at least they’d managed to salvage something from the trip. We headed back to the parking structure, the de la Pazes waiting while we got in the van. As I fastened my seatbelt, Alex said, “We won’t follow you all the way, if that’s your wish, but we’ll at least see you back to the highway.”

“Thank you,” I said, and meant it.

He nodded, then slid the heavy van door shut. I settled back in my seat, watching his tall form as he walked around the Suburban and got in the front passenger seat. As I did so, I wondered if maybe part of Aunt Rachel’s reasoning for keeping certain truths from me was to prevent me from settling for a handsome candidate like Alex instead of holding out for my actual consort. If I were going to be perfectly honest with myself, then I should admit that maybe I would have been less inclined to wait, knowing that having any warlock as my partner would still protect me from the Wilcoxes, even if entering such a relationship would prevent me from gaining all my powers.

Who knew? Coulda, woulda, shoulda, I thought, repeating one of Sydney’s favorite fall-back phrases. At this point it really didn’t matter one way or another. Either my consort would show up in the next few weeks, or I’d be marrying Adam just to keep myself…and the clan…safe. More or less.

At least now I had a face to put to my enemy. Maybe it had been risky to come here. But Damon Wilcox had taken a risk, too. Before he was a stranger. Now he’d revealed himself. What was it Great-Aunt Ruby had written?

So handsome…so evil.

Obviously those traits had been carried down to the current generation. I shivered, and told myself it was just that Phil had the A/C turned up too high. Phoenix felt shockingly warm after the chilly early December winds up in our part of the world. Above Jerome, Mingus Mountain still had a faint dusting of snow from the last storm that had passed through.

As we turned onto Camelback Road and headed toward the freeway, my phone rang. Puzzled, I dug it out of my purse. Maybe Sydney was calling in a last-minute shopping request. Too bad, since we were already on the road.

But the number on the screen was from the 602 area code, not 928. I frowned at it for a second, then guessed who it must be. “Hello?” I said.

“Angela.” Chris’s voice. “I am so sorry — I let my phone run down last night while I was in the studio working on my latest painting, and I was up so late that I just crashed without even checking it. So are you in Phoenix?”

He hadn’t blown me off, or forgotten about me. The warmth that flooded me was short-lived, though. “We’re here, but we’re already on the way home.”

“You are?” he asked, sounding confused. “I thought you said you’d be spending most of the day here. It’s only a little after three.”

“I know.” I really hated that my aunt was sitting next to me in the back seat. Not exactly the best conditions for a private conversation. “Something came up.”

His tone sharpened a little. “Everything okay?”

Not really, I thought. “It’s sort of a family thing.” I didn’t trust myself to say anything more than that.

A pause, maybe while he tried to decide what would be appropriate to ask and what wouldn’t. “I’m sorry to hear that. Things are busy right now, since all my projects are due at the end of this week.”

“No finals?” I asked.

“Not in the studio art program. Just projects. Lots and lots of projects.”

There was such a rueful note in his voice that I had to chuckle a little, even though I was not all that happy about missing this one chance to see him. I had a feeling there wouldn’t be any more.

“Well, maybe we can try again once you’re out for the semester.”

The slightest of hesitations, one I probably wouldn’t have even noticed in person but which seemed more obvious over the phone. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll give you a call when I unearth myself from these piles of paint and canvas.”

“Sounds great,” I said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“’Bye.”

The call ended, and I frowned as I shoved my phone back in my purse. I might not have been the most experienced girl around, but even I knew what “I’ll give you a call” meant, i.e, “it might have been fun, but you’re not really worth the effort.”

I stared out the window at the endless succession of cookie-cutter housing tracts and shopping malls and industrial parks that flashed by as we cruised down the freeway. Maybe once I would have been fascinated, or wondered what it was like to live in such a vast sprawl, to have everything you needed right at your fingertips instead of having to drive miles to get it or order it by mail.