Waking The Serpent - Jane Kindred

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such a transmogrification happening literally, but such myths abounded. And with everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, he couldn’t afford to dismiss the bird’s appearance as coincidental.

      He set down the untouched lemonade and rose. “I should probably get going.”

      Phoebe frowned. “I thought we were going to try to work with the shades to get some answers.”

      “We?” It was Rafe’s turn to frown. “You said we’d need to set ground rules. I think one of those should be that I don’t participate in the summoning. Whatever happened, whether it was my energy or the gods I invoked for the ritual, it doesn’t seem wise for the two of us to put ourselves in that position again.”

      Phoebe’s mouth set in a tight line. “Right. Because that would be horrible.”

      He didn’t know what to make of that comment. Was she actually offended that he was trying to protect her from whatever had tried to use them last night? She couldn’t possibly be willing to risk being assaulted just to help him channel a few shades.

      “My lawyer is coming over this afternoon, anyway. I need to get back.” Rafe went to the door and paused at the threshold, glancing over his shoulder at her. Bare arms and legs glistened with a light sheen of perspiration in the humidity. Rain was always in the offing this time of year. It made him wonder what she’d taste like with rainwater coursing over her skin.

      Rafe cleared his throat. “I suspect the shades might seek you out now that they know you. If they do, let me know what you find out. I appreciate your help.” He tried to smile amiably as he pushed open the screen door. “And the lemonade.”

      “Rafe.”

      He took a deep breath and turned back, sure she was going to press him on participating in summoning the shades.

      “I remember where I heard the name of your apprentice. At the temple yesterday, the presence that drew me there. The name I got from it was Matthew.”

       Chapter 7

      Rafe felt himself go pale. Hearing Matthew’s name in connection with a shade unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

      “Are you sure?”

      Phoebe gave him an almost apologetic nod. “I couldn’t get much else. It was like something was blocking the shade from stepping in. But that name—it was almost tangible.”

      He tried Matthew’s phone once more on the way home, but this time he got a recording instead of Matthew’s voicemail: “The wireless customer you are attempting to reach cannot be located.”

      The phrase had a terrible finality, and the appearance of the owl this afternoon took on an ominous significance. One of the things that had drawn Matthew to apprentice with Rafe was his interest in Aztec studies. Mictlantecuhtli and the underworld of Mictlan, in particular, had fascinated him. Born on the Day of the Dead, Matthew had identified strongly with the skull-faced god. And now Mictlantecuhtli’s nagual was hanging about Phoebe’s backyard.

      Rafe glanced at the clock on the dash as he arrived at Stone Canyon to find Hamilton waiting for him. The lawyer was early. Hamilton waved to him from in front of the red convertible parked beside the gate and stepped up to the truck, sticking out his hand as Rafe rolled down the window.

      Instead of shaking his hand, Rafe nodded and handed him a guest card for the gate. “Hamilton.”

      The lawyer flashed his improbably perfect teeth. “Call me Carter. It’s better if we’re on a first-name basis. And I hope I can call you Rafe?”

      “Rafael.” He wasn’t sure why this guy rubbed him the wrong way, but something about him made Rafe want to be difficult.

      Hamilton followed him up to the house and parked in front of it, admiring the décor as they entered and Rafe ushered him into the great room. “The construction business seems to be treating you well.”

      Rafe crossed his arms as he sat in the leather armchair. “We do all right. As I’m sure my father must have told you when he hired you.”

      Hamilton paused in opening his briefcase on the couch. “The Covent hired me, Rafael. I am acquainted with your father, of course.”

      “Of course.”

      Hamilton took a pocket voice recorder out of his briefcase like a flashback from the 90s and set it on the table between them. “Do you mind if I record this meeting? It helps me keep track of what we’ve agreed on.” Rafe nodded and Hamilton hit the record button. “So, Rafael, in your own words, please tell me exactly what you recall from the night of July 29 and the morning of July 30.”

      For the dozenth time, Rafe went through the details he remembered.

      Hamilton nodded as Rafe spoke, making notes as Phoebe had, only his tablet was old school. “And how would you characterize your relationship with Barbara Fisher?”

      “I’d met with her a few times prior. As a client.”

      “So it was cordial but professional.”

      Rafe shrugged. “Yes.”

      “There was no intimacy between you?”

      “Intimacy?”

      “I have to ask. Anything that might be relevant to the prosecutor’s case is liable to come up in the preliminary hearing. I need to be sure there aren’t any curveballs being thrown. I’m sure you’d prefer to avoid an indictment so we don’t have to build a defense for a criminal trial.”

      “Right.” Rafe’s skin felt clammy. This was all beginning to seem a lot more real than it had yesterday.

      Hamilton gave him a reassuring smile. “Relax, Rafael. I’m going to be with you every step of the way. I know it all seems pretty overwhelming now, but the evidence is purely circumstantial.” He paused, waiting for Rafe to say something, then prompted, “You didn’t have an intimate relationship with Ms. Fisher?”

      “No. I barely knew her.”

      “So the police aren’t going to find any of your DNA on her. Or in her.”

      “Jesus. No.”

      Hamilton made a note. “You mentioned you thought the tea she gave you might have been drugged. Can you think of any reason Ms. Fisher would want to drug you?”

      “No, of course not. She seemed like a very nice woman. Honest. Her abilities seemed genuine.”

      “But people aren’t always what they seem. If she wasn’t what she appeared to be, what reason do you think she might have to drug you?”

      Rafe raked his fingers through his hair. “To rob me, maybe? Wouldn’t be a very smart way to go about it, though, with a client in your own house. I don’t know. What I thought, honestly, was maybe one of the shades was controlling her.”

      Hamilton paused. “You know that’s not going to wash in court. The Covent might find it plausible, but the government rarely takes the word of a witch in such matters.” He made a rueful face. “Going back to the Dark Ages.”

      “I know. I’m only telling you what I think happened. If you’re going to defend me, I assume you want the truth.”

      “Of course. We just need to come up with something more plausible to the general public so shades and spells don’t get brought up. People are generally okay with someone going to a medium for a reading, maybe even amenable to the idea that it’s possible to contact someone who’s passed on. But the minute you say ‘shade’ or ‘possessed,’ your credibility is shot.”

      Rafe nodded tightly. He knew all this. Which was why he needed to find out who’d killed Barbara Fisher—and find evidence tying the killer to the crime—before his case went to trial. “And if she was shade-walked...or I was...what then?”

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