I realized then that these must be some of those rogue warlocks Connor had told me about on the drive here to California, the ones who had been turned away from relocating in the Phoenix area. Obviously they had no love lost for Maya de la Paz. And although there had been a few other cars parked here when we got out to head into the restaurant, they all seemed to have disappeared. There was no one around to intervene.
Then again, Connor and I weren’t exactly helpless. After all, we’d defeated a skin-walker.
“I really think you’d better step aside,” I said, making sure my voice sounded cool, confident. “I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with here.” Even as I spoke, I could feel the prima energy beginning to uncoil in me, warmth without heat, the power flowing through every limb.
And somehow Connor seemed able to sense it, too. He reached out to take my hand, and it was as if a spark ignited between us, one that had nothing to do with passion and everything to do with power. Never before had a prima and a primus been able to work together in harmony, and I wasn’t sure what that meant.
I had a feeling we were all about to find out, though.
The lead warlock laughed. “Yeah? And who are you, puta?”
“No one you want to fuck with,” Connor said. His fingers tightened on mine, and the power flared in me, searing without burning, coiled, ready…eager.
“Fuck that shit,” the warlock said, raising his own hand.
Of course I had no idea what his power might be, and I wasn’t going to wait to find out. An unspoken signal passed between us, and Connor and I lifted our hands, fingers still intertwined. The energy crackled all through my body, surging through my arm, moving away from me.
A wall of white light seemed to blast outward from where Connor and I stood. It hit the group of young men, crashing into them like a tidal wave into a pier. They were all knocked backward a good five yards or more, and went sprawling on the sidewalk, their bodies limp and unmoving.
Heart pounding, I looked up at Connor. “Are they…?”
“I don’t know,” he said with grim indifference. “And I don’t much care. Let’s get to the car before anyone comes to find out.”
I decided I didn’t really want to argue. After all, they were the ones who’d initiated the confrontation. We hurried to the Cherokee, which appeared completely unaffected by that magical shockwave, and climbed in, Connor gunning the engine and peeling away from the curb before I even had a chance to fasten my seatbelt.
It wasn’t until we were moving up the main street that would take us back to the interstate that I turned to him.
“What,” I asked, “the hell was that?”
He could only lift his shoulders in reply.
* * *
We pulled into Scottsdale a little after six. The place was still baking — the thermometer on the dashboard indicated it was a hundred and three degrees outside — and I stared moodily out the window as we wound our way along wide streets planted with cactus in the dividers. Palm trees loomed overhead. Everything was extremely manicured, very neat. Not the sort of place you’d expect to find the head of the local witch clan, but then again, I was coming to realize that perhaps the bohemian McAllisters weren’t the norm in the witching world.
Connor took out his phone and made a brief call, saying we’d be there in about five more minutes. “She’s expecting us.”
Of course she was. I wondered what she might have to say about Connor’s and my latest display of power. “Are we going to tell her?”
“Tell her what?”
“About Indio.”
For a few seconds he didn’t say anything, only kept his gaze fixed on the street, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. “Should we?”
“I think — I think yeah, we should. Maybe she’ll have some insights.”
“Or maybe it’s better that she not know the extent of our powers.”
“Now you sound like a Wilcox,” I said, annoyed.
The barb hit home, I could tell. His gaze flickered toward me briefly before returning to the road. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that you tend to be a little paranoid. I meant that as the general ‘you,’” I added, when I saw his lips begin to compress. “Maya de la Paz has been nothing but helpful, and you know it. She has her own kingdom down here, so to speak. She certainly doesn’t have any designs on McAllister or Wilcox territory. So why not take advantage of her age and experience and see if she has any advice to offer?”
At those words, his expression relaxed somewhat. After a brief pause, he replied, “You’re right, of course. Sorry. All those years with Damon….” He let the words die away, but I thought I knew what he meant. Growing up with Damon Wilcox as your older brother would make even the saintliest person suspicious of everyone’s motives.