Spellbound Trilogy: The Wind Casts No Shadow, Heart of the Jaguar, Shadows in the Mirror Read online

  "Superstition!" Ynez sounded annoyed. She pointed at the cook and commanded, "Wipe that off at once."

  The woman obeyed but Don Armando wondered why Mercedes, who'd been with him for forty years, had not taken charge of the situation herself. No one was to touch his house's dutifully white-washed walls. While Ynez entered the room, Don Armando sat himself at the table and glanced at the kitchen maids. No longer gossiping, they looked frightened. Perhaps one of them was to blame for the witchcraft sign.

  But he was more concerned with his own health than domestic squabbles. Closing his eyes, he rubbed his middle and basked in the warm rays of the sun until Ynez returned with a plate of food and sat it before him.

  About to thank her, his words were cut off by a scream.

  "Ai-i-ii!" Having gone to the well to get water, one of the kitchen maids was wide-eyed and frightened.

  Heart beating hard in his chest, Don Armando struggled to his feet. "What is wrong?"

  "Mercedes!" The maid pointed to the well. "She is dead!"

  "Mercedes?" he murmured, not wanting to believe it.

  He went to look for himself. Far below, the elderly woman floated face up on the dark water, head at an odd angle, eyes and mouth open as if to scream, her wrinkled skin swollen and distorted.

  "God help us!" Don Armando crossed himself yet again as other servants gathered, cries rending the air. Weeping softly beside him, Ynez stroked his arm.

  But he could not be comforted. Perhaps he himself should make signs against witchcraft. Surely there was a curse on this house, on his family. How else could so many bad things happen in so short a time?

  "THE BOSS WANTS you to head up to Santa Fe tomorrow," John Gates told Chaco Jones as they sat their horses and oversaw some branding on one of the farther ranges of Ralston's Double-Bar.

  "What's going on?"

  The center of territorial government was a hundred miles away, several days ride, an excursion Chaco wasn't looking forward to.

  Gates's narrow eyes turned on Chaco. "Somebody important's coming in from Dodge City, one of Ralston's old friends." Lighting the cigarillo he'd hand rolled, the foreman took a long drag. "Ralston thinks The Boys might have heard about him, too." So one of the boss's cronies needed protection. Well, protection is what he'd been hired for. He only happened to be on this range below the Capitan Mountains to guard against cattle rustlers in the area. Not a regular hand, he did little branding or any of the other back-breaking, day-to-day work.

  Instead, he dodged bullets from time to time and fired a few of his own. Knowing that under the circumstances he'd been lucky to see thirty-five, Chaco was growing weary of the job.

  "So you think the Lincoln County problems are heating up again?" he asked. The feud had begun with two warring merchants, had gone on to involve the county sheriff and various ranchers, and finally had escalated into a sporadic war between rival gangs of gunfighters dubbed The Boys and The Regulators. Ralston had taken sides with the latter. "If things don't calm down, there's gonna to be another bloodbath like in '78."

  "Just so long as the blood that's spilled is theirs."

  Chaco said nothing. He had no personal investment in either of the factions but he was being paid well.

  "I'm gonna send Martinez to Santa Fe with you."

  Again, Chaco remained silent, though he was disapproving of the Mexican hired gun, a man who often liked to load up on tequila or mescal, then go after the women when he hit town.

  "The train stop's in Galisteo Junction," Gates went on, referring to the town that had been built to accommodate the railroad a year ago. "Place is eighteen miles south of the capital and is real small, only a few saloons and some shacks."

  Meaning Martinez wouldn't be so tempted? Rumor had it he was as good an aim whether drunk or sober, but Chaco didn't want to test that out.

  "Don't know if The Boys would really go as far as Santa Fe," Gates went on. "But you'll need to get the man on a horse and take the high road down to Lincoln."

  "And watch his back all the way."

  "Goes without saying." Gates stubbed out his cigarette. "You'll leave in the morning."

  Chaco nodded, watching as the foreman rode away.

  Then he gazed toward the north, the direction of Santa Fe. Not that the ancient town's surrounding mountains were visible along the endless expanse of bright blue sky.

  When a gust of wind came up, he had to grab his wide-brimmed hat to keep it from blowing off...and he felt the familiar chill again. For a moment, the breeze seemed cold as ice.

  Damn. No matter what logic told him, he was still certain something was awry in this familiar world of red-brown dust, high desert and wind. He'd felt something was wrong since the night he'd locked gazes with the wolf creature, seen its human prints, though he could find no prints at all the following day.

  But whether or not the skinwalker had been real, Chaco honored his premonitions. They had kept him alive years longer than the average gunfighter. He'd taken some lead, of course, once on a cattle drive to Mexico and again when he worked a short-term job as a deputy in Texas. But he'd been half-expecting the bullets and they hadn't kept him down for long.

  What bothered him now was that this premonition seemed so different, more subtle, as if a shadow could sneak up on him and crawl right under his skin. This feeling of danger had more to do with dreams or visions than with gunfire.

  Once again, he thought of the wolf creature, its open jaws, the bold way it had looked at him. He thought about the words of the curse he'd uttered and the way the creature had fled.

  At least it had fled.

  Chaco's mother had been a half-breed Apache and her people had told him he had the makings of a medicine man or di-yin. They'd said he had the heart and strength to defeat evil.

  He only hoped that included evil beyond the ordinary world.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Boston

  FRANCES STARED OUT the grimy boarding house window at the incessant rain. There hadn't been one sunny day since she'd been dismissed from Miss Llewellyn's.

  Brooding, she jumped when a knock came at the door.

  The tight-face woman who ran the dismal place stood in the hallway. "That man's here to see you again."

  Frances cracked open the door of her room a little wider. "Mr. Nathan Gannon?" That would be a welcome surprise.

  The woman nodded, appearing cold, if not disapproving. "He's in the parlor." Then she shuffled off down the dim hallway.

  Quickly, Frances glanced in the cracked mirror over the washstand and rearranged her shawl. Not that doing so would make her any less plain and not that Nathan Gannon had any more interest in her than a shared concern for Louisa Janks.

  "Uncle Nate" had taken a lengthy train trip from New Mexico to Boston to bring Louisa home. Once there, Louisa had insisted he find the teacher who'd befriended her. Renting a carriage, the two had spent an entire day searching every boarding house and hotel within walking distance of the school.

  Their sudden appearance had been a ray of sunshine among the heavy clouds for Frances. Louisa had hugged her and begged for forgiveness, thinking the dismissal her fault. The girl might have a temper but she also had a kind heart. Then they'd all gone out to supper together.

  Expecting to find Louisa with her uncle now, Frances hurried down the stairs and into the parlor. But Nathan Gannon stood waiting, seemingly alone. A man who looked to be in his early fifties, he had attractive features, silver hair and a small neat mustache.

  He flashed his infectious smile as he took her hand. "I hope you don't mind that I've come calling on my own today."

  "Is Louisa all right?"

  "Right as rain. She's packing to get on the train tomorrow."

  Frances felt a twinge of sadness. She'd really be alone once they were gone. Worse, considering how fast her meager savings were being used up, she'd probably be in the street.

  "You're having a bad time, aren't you?" asked Gannon, sobering. His eyes were sympathetic and as blue as
the satin brocade vest he wore beneath his dapper gray coat. "No prospects?"

  Frances knew he meant her search for employment and she didn't want pity. "I shall find a position yet. I simply am not the sort of woman shop owners usually hire as a seamstress." More than one had appeared taken aback and said she was too educated.

  "And you can't get a governess job, can you? That old biddy at Llewellyn's would never give you a reference."

  "I'm sure she'd rather have her tongue cut out."

  Gannon smiled. "Haven't lost your wry sense of humor, I see. But seriously, what will you do?"

  Questioned point-blank, Frances could hardly avoid telling the truth. "Return to Pennsylvania, if I must. My family is there." And her mother would force her father to take her in.

  "Doesn't sound like you want to do that, though."

  She nodded. "My father and I had a falling out when I left years ago."

  And she still didn't appreciate his approach to religion. Because it had been expected of her, she'd gone to chapel at the school but had no desire to join a church, making her wonder about the depth of her own faith.

  "I can understand bull-headed fathers." Nate frowned, as if dredging up memories. "Have you thought about any other alternatives?"

  She wished he wouldn't press the matter of her future. "Please, do not be concerned."

  "Sorry." His tone was warm. "But I can't help but worry about you, Miss MacDonnell. It can be a cruel world and I am ever sympathetic with those who break its rules." In the next breath, he asked, "Have you considered marriage?"

  She almost laughed, in spite of the situation.

  "Is the idea so ridiculous?"

  "Speaking of rules, Mr. Gannon, I am twenty-nine years old, a spinster in the eyes of society. And even when younger, I wasn't to many men's liking. I was considered too strong-minded and outspoken." Not to mention plain.

  He raised his brows. "What kind of men called on you?"

  "Oh, missionaries, churchmen. "

  He snorted. "Well, they must have been a bunch of milk-toothed cowards." Once again, he took her hand to press it between his own. The gesture made odd little goose bumps rise on her forearm. "You have real gumption and intelligence. At least you can think and speak for yourself. No one else at that school accepted Louisa's background and no one else stood up for her."

  "I only did what my heart told me."

  "You're a special sort of woman."

  Embarrassed, she lowered her eyes at the compliment. "Why, thank you."

  He stepped nearer to tip up her chin. "And you're much better looking than you think."

  The goose bumps spread. She hadn't been this close to a man...well, ever. "I-I hardly know what to say."

  "Then don't say anything." His gaze was steady. "Just listen. How about marrying me and coming out to New Mexico?"

  Her jaw dropped and she moved away in shock. "M-marry you? We hardly know each other." And hadn't been courting, at least to her knowledge. "You are certainly generous, but marriage is too much to ask."

  He stepped closer again. "You think I'm proposing because I feel sorry for you?"

  "Perhaps."

  "Well, you're wrong. I like your courage, your plucky spirit. Not to mention your education and looks. I've always wanted a smart, well-spoken lady for a wife. You can help me run my hotel and restaurant in Santa Fe. So what do you say?"

  He was gazing at her with an expression she'd never before seen on the face of any man. And for a fleeting second, Frances allowed herself to dream of love and belonging and a new home in the exciting West she'd only heard and read about.

  Surely the dreams produced the answer that even surprised herself. "I say yes."

  Before she could take it back, Nathan Gannon enveloped her in his arms. "Wonderful! You won't regret it...Frances. That's your first name, right? And you can call me Nate. We're gonna have a rollicking good time!" Then he kissed her.

  Shyly, Frances wrapped her arms about his neck and closed her eyes, giving in to completely new sensations. Nate's mustache tickled and his breath was fragrant with a hint of brandy and coffee. Warmth coiled within her. A new home – a place where she might belong at last, and a man with whom she could share it. If this was a dream, she didn't want to wake up.

  New Mexico

  IN THE DEEP OF NIGHT, restless, she rose to prowl, tearing off a small piece of the cloth she had stored in a chest at the foot of her bed. Clutching the material tightly, she glided down the corridor, turned into another larger room, then opened the door that led outside.

  The moon shone dully, growing old. The wind blew south, making the pinons sigh and moan. She raised her head expectantly.

  But there was no use going to him, not again. Not until she had found a way to combat the strength and power she had been surprised to find in her enemy.

  And she would find a way.

  Shutting the door again, she went to the great fireplace stretching along one wall, stirred the embers until they leaped up hungrily.

  She smiled and threw in a twisted pinon log. "This for your appetite, little brother."

  While it waited for the real offering...

  Gazing at the piece of cloth she held, she brought forth several cactus needles from her pocket – long, sharp, capable of drawing blood.

  She only wished they could draw his blood.

  But she must be patient.

  "Pain!" she hissed, jabbing one of the needles into the cloth, a fragment of a blanket that had warmed him as a child. "Fear!" She jabbed a second needle, then a third and fourth. "Sickness! Death!"

  With the last, she tossed the cloth into the fire, curling her lip as it was eaten alive.

  In life or the world of dreams, her enemy would soon be sorry that he had ever dared resist her.

  FRANCES CONTINUED TO WONDER if she were dreaming as she rode the rails westward to New Mexico.

  She had married Nathan Gannon the very morning following his proposal, then climbed aboard a train that had carried them to Chicago. Once there, they'd taken a two day layover, had gone on a big shopping spree and had finally spent their bridal night in an impressive hotel. Frances now wore a gold ring on her left hand and possessed an expensive new wardrobe, as well as an entirely different outlook on life.

  If nothing else, she was no longer a blushing maiden spinster.

  Thinking about that as she held hands with Nate in one of the plush dining cars of the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railroad, she smiled, then lowered her eyes. Well, then again, perhaps she was now a blushing wife.

  After some initial discomfort, she'd found lovemaking pleasurable. She looked forward to trying it again when they had privacy and a real bed to share, rather than a curtained Pullman berth.

  "Would you like some dessert, sweetheart?" Nate asked, bringing her out of her reverie.

  Frances smiled at her husband. "Some more coffee, please. That's all."

  "Brandy with that?" Nate inquired.

  "Perhaps a small glass."

  Indulgent as always toward Louisa, he told the waiter, "Bring her a nice big glass of sarsparilla."

  The man moved off but soon returned with a tray of drinks.

  Frances had watched the dining car servers in amazement during the first meal she'd taken on the train. But then, nearly everything about this modern mode of transportation amazed her, from the reclining chairs in the first-class cars to the speed with which the outside world passed by the windows. The only discomforts were the ever-present coal dust that settled on her clothing and the intermittent delays. They'd been held up for three hours in Kansas when a herd of long-horned cattle had to be driven off the tracks.

  But what a visual spectacle that had been. After days of traversing increasingly flat prairie grassland, Frances had enjoyed watching dusty "cowboys" herding the cattle. She had also liked looking out on infamous Dodge City as they passed by, noting its many livestock pens and the ugly false-fronted buildings Nate had told her were saloons.

  The scenery
itself had changed as they steamed across Colorado and into New Mexico. What Frances had assumed were clouds on the horizon became tall mountains as they approached. The soil had gotten redder and rocky, while the usual broadleaf trees changed to aspen and fir.

  "This is high desert," Nate told her, noticing her staring out the window at rugged red buttes. "Like in Santa Fe. It doesn't rain much and the snow usually melts in the winter, but the weather's pretty comfortable all around."

  Louisa also gazed out the window, a big smile on her face. "Only a few more hours and I'll be home. And Ma better not send me away again or I'm going to take my horses and head for the mountains!"

  Nate rolled his eyes. "How many schools is this – three?"

  "Four."

  "Oh, dear." Frances had no idea there'd been that many institutions.

  Louisa tossed her head, her cloud of black hair now loosened from its braids and tied back with a simple ribbon. "Half-breeds aren't very welcome in cities like Boston."

  "Or St. Louis or Chicago or San Francisco," added Nate. He told Frances, "I got the job of rescuing her from all those places."

  Which was kind of him, Frances thought, considering Louisa was only the daughter of Nate's business partner Belle Janks, rather than his own flesh and blood. She hadn't yet found the right moment to ask about Louisa's Comanche father. And neither Nate nor Louisa seemed inclined to tell all. Frances supposed she could ask questions outright, but she hesitated to cast a serious pall over the conversation.

  "Now you know your mother only wants what's best for you," Nate was telling Louisa. "She wants you to be an educated lady, someone who doesn't have to lead a hard life like she did."

  The girl shrugged. "I can already read in both English and Spanish."

  The latter being the second language of New Mexico Territory, a tongue Frances was also going to have to learn.

  "And I don't want to be a lady," Louisa went on. "I want to be a rancher and a horse-breaker."