Cassandra got to her feet at the same time we did, the emotion in her eyes touching. “Thank you, Janet. Mick. You are good people. I should have told you right away.”
I shrugged. “We all have our secrets.”
Mick, who had more secrets than most, returned my look blandly and said he’d head to the roof to work the wards.
Cassandra and I returned to the lobby, she to reception and I to my office to hunt down my cell phone. I never could remember to carry the damn thing, so anytime the cell rang, I had to race to find it before it went to voice mail. I’ve never made it yet.
I didn’t make it this time, either. Finally locating the thing stuck in the big potted plant that Juana had obviously watered before our adventure upstairs, I was brushing dirt from it when Coyote himself waltzed through the hotel’s front entrance, followed by Maya Medina, my on-call electrician and pretty much my best friend.
Coyote was a tall, broad-shouldered Native American with a long black braid and intense dark eyes. He didn’t come from any specific tribe that I knew of, because he was Coyote—trickster god, being of raw power, and a royal pain in the ass. He wore his usual jeans and jeans jacket, cowboy boots, a button-down shirt, and a big belt buckle studded with turquoise. Maya, on the other hand, wasn’t in her electrician gear; she was dressed to kill in a tight black dress, red lipstick, and stiletto heels.
Coyote halted in the center of the lobby. He threw his head back to study the gallery that ringed the second story, then he laughed, a big, booming laugh.
“I smell a curse,” he said. “A big, bad curse. What are you still doing in here, Janet?”
As soon as the words left his mouth, the front door slammed shut behind him. A hurricane-like blast blew through the lobby, ripping papers into the air, shoving pictures off the walls, and shattering glass. Every open window banged shut.
The wind died abruptly, followed by a heavy clanking as the big lock on the front door fastened itself. Then all the lights went out.
As the four of us stood in twilight gloom, the magic mirror’s voice rolled from the saloon.
“Uh-oh, kids. I think it’s showtime.”
TWO
MAYA RAN TO THE FRONT DOOR, TRIED TO unlock it, failed, and started pounding on the wood. “Hey, let me out of here!”
Cassandra checked the saloon. “Everything’s locked down tight in there.”
Coyote, damn him, kept laughing. He flicked magic at the windows in the front room, his amusement dying when they stayed firmly shut.
“Come on, Janet,” Maya snapped. “Open the door. There’s somewhere I need to be.”
I shrugged, trying to remain calm. “If you can figure out how to get out, you let me know.”
Maya gave me a disgusted look and marched past me and into the kitchen, where we heard her start beating on the back door.
“So, little witch,” Coyote said to Cassandra, his eyes gleaming in a way I didn’t like. “What have you been up to?”
“Leave her alone,” I said. “What exactly did you mean by a curse, Coyote? I thought this was just a warning spell.”
“Nope,” Coyote said, almost joyfully. “A curse, a hex, very bad juju. You can’t smell it? It stinks like shit, all over this hotel. I’d say you’re in for one hell of a night.”
“So break it,” I said.
Coyote grinned. “Wouldn’t it be more fun to see what happens?”
“No,” Cassandra and I said at the same time.
Coyote just chuckled. I was glad he thought this was so damn funny.
He looked Cassandra up and down, and his laughter died. “I don’t see the connection, though. This might be tough.”
“What connection?” I asked.
“The one between Cassandra and the hex. Could be a general hex, on anyone and everyone near her. Or a blanket hex, on the place she happens to be.”
“Whatever it is, just fix it.” I headed for the kitchen. “We need lights.”
Coyote called after me, “The best spells might need a little sex magic. You game?”
I gave him a signal he’d understand and went on into the kitchen.
Maya at least had stopped banging on the back door. She leaned against it to face me, her slender arms folded, her dark eyes full of rage.
“What the hell, Janet? Every time I come near you, I get battered, taken hostage, held at gunpoint, buried in rubble, or all of the above. And I always, always ruin my clothes. What is it with you?”
“Would you believe me if I said that this time it’s not my fault?”
“No.” Maya uncrossed her arms, gave the door one final thump, and stalked back into the middle of the big kitchen.
It was eerily quiet in here without the appliances humming. My temperamental cook, Elena, hadn’t shown up today. Elena Williams was an Apache from Whiteriver, a culinary genius but given to fits of sullenness. Some days she never came to work at all.
“Whether you believe me or not, can you fix the electricity?” I asked Maya.
“In this dress?”
“You can wear something of mine.”
“You’re two sizes smaller than me, and you only have bikerchick clothes.” Her voice went sad. “I was going to meet Nash.”
“Oh.” Maya’s so-called relationship with Nash Jones, the sheriff of Hopi County, was drama with a capital D. I’d seen them a couple of times together lately, eating sedate meals in the local diner, looking like two people afraid to talk to each other.
“Call him,” I said. “Tell him you’re stuck because of me. He’ll believe that.” My run-ins with Sheriff Jones were volatile and memorable. He blamed me for anything weird that went on in his county, and the trouble was, he was usually right.
“I tried.” Maya’s face went even more glum. “My cell phone won’t work.” She fixed me with an accusing stare. “What did you do this time?”
I started rummaging in a drawer. “Why is everyone assuming that I did something?”
“Because you usually do.”
She had a point. I pulled out a screwdriver. “Here.”
Maya sighed, but she yanked the screwdriver out of my hand and headed for the back of the kitchen, where the junction boxes were. I knew that if anyone could bring the lights back, it was Maya. She was the only one currently in the hotel who wasn’t magical, but when it came to electricity, she had talent to burn.
I returned to the lobby to find Cassandra trying to get a signal from her cell phone. I couldn’t get one on mine, either, and my landline was out as well. A good curse would take care of pesky things like phones.
But I had a couple of secret weapons at my disposal. I poked my head into the saloon and looked at one of them. “Mick still on the roof?” I asked the mirror.
“Yes.” It sounded as glum as Maya. “There’s some bad things stirring, sugar.”
“That’s why I want Mick.”
“I mean, really bad, sweetie. I’m having a bet with myself how fast you’ll replace me if I die.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic. You’re a magic mirror. You can’t die.”
It sighed. “I can be melted into slag, ground to powder. And then I’d never see your beautiful ass again.”
I ignored it. Besides, even a melted magic mirror could be re-formed with no loss to its power. “Are you still tied in with the mirrors at the compound in Santa Fe?”
“The place with Bancroft and Drake and their hottie houseboy? I might be.”
I had the feeling my mirror had been training his magic eye on the twenty-two-year-old human who did errands for Bancroft, a member of the dragon council. The houseboy’s name was Todd, and his job was to make sure that the needs of the dragons’ guests were met. Each and every need.
“Drake owes me one, he and Bancroft both,” I said. “Stand by to contact them if we need help. If we need it, that is. I don’t want Drake out here giving Mick hell if it’s not necessary.” Drake worked for the dragon council, and he was more arrogant than the three council members put together. But I couldn’t ignore his potential as an ally.