Page 24 of Wind Called

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to see if Jeremy’s able to dig up anything,” he said, doing his best to sound cheerful. “In the meantime, it seems as if the elders and Connor and Angela have everything managed, so I suppose we don’t have to worry about it too much.”

“No, I suppose we don’t,” Bellamy responded, although she didn’t seem too pleased by the prospect, judging by the way one corner of her mouth turned down and she avoided his gaze as she reached for her glass of wine again.

Was she worried he’d pack it in and go home now that he’d delivered his warning and the McAllisters were properly on guard?

Maybe he shouldn’t flatter himself.

On the other hand, he couldn’t ignore the way they got along so well, how it felt as if they’d known each other forever rather than only a couple of days. And it was also refreshing to be around someone who didn’t seem to care too much that he had prophetic dreams. Even among his own clan, there were people who would give him the side-eye when they thought he wasn’t looking, as if they believed he’d have a sudden vision of them standing in front of him wearing only their underwear or something.

It didn’t work that way, of course, but he was kind of tired of having to explain the minutiae of his seer’s gift. Maybe that was part of the reason why he’d mostly dated civilian girls, telling himself that he much preferred women who took him at face value. And sure, there had been a huge part of his life he hadn’t told them about, but wasn’t it that way most of the time when you started dating someone?

None of those relationships had been very serious, and he could tell his parents were starting to get impatient with him. Not to the point where they’d started leaving bridal magazines around the house for him to find whenever he visited, but enough that he could see they weren’t planning to humor him indefinitely.

Why was it such a big deal for witches and warlocks to get married early, anyway? This wasn’t the bad old days when you needed a bunch of kids to work your farm, or when infant mortality — if your clan was unlucky enough to not have a healer — was sky-high. What difference did it make if he waited until he was thirty, or whenever he felt ready?

Because most witches and warlocks…even if they weren’t searching for a consort, like his cousin Rosa would soon be…still were able to recognize the person who was their soul mate, their perfect match in every way. That was part of the reason why divorce rates were very low among witch-kind, even though it did happen from time to time.

He wouldn’t allow himself to stare at Bellamy — that would have been way too obvious — but all the same, he couldn’t help wondering if she might be the one. Gorgeous and smart, the sort of woman who didn’t seem to be fazed by much and was also easy to be around?

Sign him up.

“But I also don’t think we can let our guard down,” he continued, and something about the way she sat in her chair appeared to shift subtly as she sat up a little straighter, her gaze moving back toward him. “That’s why I think I’m going to check with my hotel tomorrow morning and see if I can extend my stay by a few days, just to be safe.”

Bellamy’s lips pursed. Rather than tell him that wasn’t necessary, though, she only said, “Or you could try getting an Airbnb. It might be more comfortable than a hotel room.”

He hadn’t even thought of that, but she was right. After all, he had a couple of weeks to play with before he absolutely had to be back in Tucson, and if he was going to hang around the Verde Valley, he might as well give himself a place where he’d have a little extra room to spread out.

For one wild moment, he wondered if Bellamy might offer to have him stay here, and then he shot down that notion pretty quickly. Not only would it be awkward, but for all he knew, there was some sort of clause in her contract with the homeowner to ensure she wouldn’t invite any guests to stay at the property.

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to focus on getting a vacation rental here in Sedona, where he could be closer to her. Logic might suggest it made more sense for him to stay in Jerome, closer to theprima’shouse and any future attempts at seizing the amulet, but Marc reassured himself that if he did have any more prophetic dreams while he was here, he was only a text or a phone call away. After all, he didn’t have the sort of power that would be much help in a situation like this once he’d given his initial warning.

Even as the thought passed through his mind, however, he had a feeling he was probably being a little disingenuous. Although he’d never been called upon to use the shielding talent he’d inherited from his father for very much, he knew it might come in useful if he needed to protect the amulet from some sort of magical interloper.

On the other hand, the only way that would work was if he just happened to be in the exact right place at the exact right time, and with Connor and Angela coming back to Jerome to keep watch over the thing, Marc guessed his own magical ability might be superfluous.

“An Airbnb is a good idea,” he told Bellamy. “I’ll check into that tomorrow.”

“There’s probably plenty of availability,” she said. “August is usually the slow season around here, although we get lots of day-trippers from the Phoenix area because even though it’s hot, it’s still about ten degrees cooler in the Verde Valley than it is down there. But those aren’t the kind of people who’d be renting Airbnbs.”

Off in the distance, thunder rumbled, and Marc looked up at the sky. To his surprise, clouds had moved in while they were eating, and now both the moon and the stars had been obscured.

“I was wondering if those thunderheads were ever going to do something,” Bellamy remarked, not looking too concerned by the shift in the sky.

“Can you sense what’s going on with the weather?” Marc asked then. He figured it was probably safe to broach the question, since she’d already told him that her gift was working with the wind.

For a few seconds, she looked thoughtful. Before replying, she broke off a piece of cheesy bread and ate it in an almost contemplative sort of way, as though doing so would allow her the time she needed to formulate her reply.

Then she said, “Sort of? I mean, I’m not a true weather witch like Addie Grant up in Flagstaff, but since weather tends to move with the wind, I can kind of feel what it’s planning to do. During monsoon season, it’s a little harder, just because the winds are so unpredictable and it’s often really tough to say where a thunderstorm wants to move. This one” — she paused to tilt her head toward the sky, even as another boom of thunder echoed across the landscape — “was taking its sweet time figuring out what it was going to do. But I guess it finally decided we’d gone long enough without rain.”

As if in answer to those words, a few fat drops began to fall, almost evaporating before they hit the ground because the air was so dry. But then more and more began to patter against the flagstone pavers that covered the courtyard, the blessed moisture beginning to soak into the planters where the wind sculptures — now spinning wildly as the breeze picked up — were installed.

“I love that smell,” she added, and closed her eyes as she inhaled the scent of wet stone and earth.

“Petrichor,” he said, and she smiled, still with her eyes shut.

“Right. I remember the first time I smelled rain falling on the red rocks here in Sedona. There’s something magical about it, don’t you think?”

Marc supposed there was. Or at least, he knew there was definitely something magical about the woman who sat at the patio table with him, her lovely chin tilting upward as she drank in the suddenly damp air.

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