“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?”
Kusuma Ila lifted one brow, apparently not amused by his reference to witches and their ubiquitous brooms. “It is the wand or nothing.”
“And if I can’t get it?”
“Do not worry,” Kusuma Ila said with a wave of her hand. “If you cannot, you cannot. No harm will befall you, or your woman.”
“I’ll do my best to get it,” Gideon promised.
“That is all I ask. Yadalanh, nightwalker.”
“Until we meet again, old one,” Gideon replied.
He took Kay to his lair in New York.
“So,” she said when they were safely curled up on the sofa in his apartment. “What happened? Who was that old woman? How did I get there? And why can’t I remember?”