Chapter Nine

ERIN

I knew Harlon’s vacation rental would be an impressive piece of real estate, but I still gawked when I pulled up at the gate.

Yes, the gate. With two guards and a dozen cameras pointed in every direction. If they’d wanted to check the oil level of my vintage Chevy, they probably could. Stone walls curtained the entire exclusive community, and a sign read Coyote Grove Ranch .

I snorted. Coyote Grove implied tidy lines of trees, each sprouting canines. Or did the coyotes frolic under the trees? Coyote Ranch, on the other hand, conjured up images of an open range with coyotes quietly chewing their cud.

The marketing exec who’d named this development was definitely not from the Southwest.

I handed Harlon’s card to the security guard. “Coyote Grove Ranch, huh?”

The guy shrugged. “You got twelve million dollars to buy a house in there, you can call it anything you like.”

I laughed, then waved my thanks as he opened the automatic gate.

He pointed. “Number nine is at the top of the hill.”

Of course. Nothing less for Harlon Greene.

“Thanks.”

As the gate slid silently aside, I shook my head at the figure sculpted into the center. That canine’s tail was so bushy, it screamed fox, not coyote. My sister Abby, the blacksmith, would not be impressed.

More gawking ensued as I followed the meandering road uphill. The houses were huge, and the smallest garage fit four cars. My mind got tangled in the math of a house with eight bedrooms and twice as many baths. That made a toilet-to-car ratio of four-to-one, right?

At the top of the hill, I tried working out a new ratio but failed. Harlon’s place was twice as big as the others, with massive, twenty-five-foot windows that reflected the stunning red rock vistas. Very nice, but disorienting, because Cathedral Rock was behind me — yet there it was, reflected in the four long panes straight ahead. The windows on the right framed Bell Rock and a corner of Courthouse Butte, but their positions were flipped.

I parked, leaving a good two yards between my shabby truck and the nearest cars — a BMW and a sparkling Range Rover — then slid out and took a deep breath. The optical illusions of the windows were a good reminder of what I faced inside. Trickery, wrapped in a pretty package designed to distract.

Someone waved from a second-story balcony, and I waved back.

It was Harlon, speaking into a phone. And, wow. Now that I was aware of it, the shimmer of magic around his shoulders was obvious. How had I missed it before?

He paused long enough to call out, “Miss Sattler! Do come in. I’ll be down in a minute.”

It was more like fifteen, but that gave me time to get my bearings after one of the staff let me in.

Yes, one of the staff. Plural.

The foyer was bigger than my entire home, with an ornate staircase straight out of Gone with the Wind . The dining area was two stories high, just like the windows, and doors to at last six different rooms opened onto the mezzanine above. Everything was done in a grandiose style better suited to Tuscany than Sedona. But it was like the security guy said. If you had twelve million dollars to buy a house, you could decorate in any style you liked.

A handful of other early guests nodded in greeting, then left me alone. One woman kept peeking, though, amused by…my dress? My hair? My shoes? All of the above?

I stared straight at her until she turned meekly away. Ha. My dad had taught me that one. Proof that magic wasn’t as important as attitude.

At least, that’s what I liked to think.

The caterers were still setting up, so I poured half a glass of champagne and stepped back to gaze out the south windows. So many magnificent mesas and buttes…so much space…

Whack! I jumped when something bounced off the glass outside. A tiny, metallic green form flashed, then plunged to the ground. When I identified it, my heart wept. That was a hummingbird, and it had just broken its neck. Not the first victim of this villa either, judging by the tiny, crumpled bodies on the gravel outside.

I turned away, setting my champagne glass aside.

“Ah, Miss Sattler. What a pleasure.”

I whirled, caught off guard. There went Harlon, sneaking up on me again.

He was as groomed and well-dressed as ever, but I saw a cat smeared with feathers and blood.

Still, I stuck on a smile. The game had begun, and I refused to be his pawn.

“Harlon. What a beautiful place you have here.”

He gave one of those Yes, I feel so grateful and privileged to be rich shrugs. “It is, though I hope to have a place of my own soon.” His eyes glinted. “Apropos…that business I wanted to discuss with you. Won’t you come to my study?”

My heart pounded as I followed him upstairs. Each step brought me past another painting, though the heavy gold frames left more of an impression than the actual artwork.

“Did you have a good day?” He started with meaningless chitchat designed to put me at ease.

My eyes went to the windows, wondering how many more hummingbirds lay lifeless beneath those panes.

“It’s hard not to,” I bluffed. “Sedona is so beautiful at this time of year.”

“It certainly is.”

One of his groupies burst in, squeezed into the tightest sheath dress I’d ever seen. I added two more bonus points to my private score card.

“Help me, Harlon,” she whined, holding out a silver choker while shooting me the same side-eye glance as the woman downstairs.

I glared. The sleeveless yellow dress I’d borrowed from Pippa was perfectly fine, and so were Abby’s dress boots. And fine was good enough for me.

“Can you put this on, please?” She turned her back to Harlon and waited.

He looped it around her neck in the intimate gesture I was sure she’d been hoping for.

He’s all yours, honey, I wanted to laugh. I have no interest in your man — make that, your warlock. One I suspect of hatching nefarious plans. But don’t worry your pretty little head about that. Just keep enjoying your sugar daddy…as long as the good times last.

Which made me wonder… What was the average “lifespan” of one of Harlon Greene’s groupies?

Longer than yours if you’re not careful, an inner voice warned me.

“There.” Harlon finished and dismissed her with a little pat, making corgi images prance through my mind. “I’ll be down soon.”

I would bet the ranch she was going to ask him to check something else next — like her earrings or possibly her bra. But a stern look from Harlon made her go glassy-eyed, and she stepped away like a woman in a trance.

I sucked in a deep breath, tightening the mental armor I’d developed through years of interactions with my dad. But my dad was a good-natured warlock, so all I’d ever had to resist were mind games aimed at early bedtimes or eating my vegetables. Would my defenses hold up against a man like Harlon?

“As I was saying…” he started, only to be cut off by another call. “Apologies. I made the mistake of telling my assistant I was available until six.” Then he spoke into the phone. “Yes, Bridget?”

I pictured a stunning and highly competent assistant — a modern Moneypenny, capable of conjuring up anything her boss wanted with a few calls, from chilled champagne to hits on his enemies.

“Yes, I’ve gone over the numbers,” Harlon said into the phone.

I wandered over to the fireplace, making a show of inspecting the stonework and definitely, definitely not snooping.

“Yes, and the prognosis…” Harlon continued.

I wandered past a dining-sized table nestled between the fireplace and the windows. Tidy stacks of paperwork covered most of the surface, all paper-clipped and marked with Post-it notes. Was that Bridget’s work, or did Harlon’s assistant have her own assistant who handled such things?

Brochures and folders half covered a map, and I burned to push them aside. Still, I saw enough to recognize the contours of Bear Mountain — a landmark that literally cast its shadow onto my ranch.

That, and two more items made my gut twist — a book on Native American petroglyphs marked with more Post-its, and an architectural model of a sprawling private compound. The place Harlon intended to build on my land?

Over my dead body, I nearly growled.

“Tell him I’ll return his call tomorrow,” Harlon continued.

I wandered to the windows, where a telescope pointed west. I didn’t peer through it, but I could tell it was aimed slightly left of Bear Mountain, in the vicinity of Painted Rock Ranch.

I moved on, reminding myself not to peer down at the hummingbird graveyard outside.

Harlon went on talking, giving me time to circle his desk and note everything, though there was nothing as obvious as a manila folder marked Top Secret: Plot to Steal Painted Rock Ranch .

There was a second door to the office, however. I penciled it into my mental map of the house.

Eventually, Harlon thanked Bridget and hung up — just as the doorbell rang downstairs.

Grimacing, he checked his watch. “Five forty-five. Where does the time go? And since when are guests so damned punctual?”

I laughed, secretly relieved.

“So inconvenient,” I joked.

He ran a hand through his thick hair — another hallmark of a warlock, or at least a man with supernatural blood. Most mere humans went bald with age.

“Then I suppose I should use our time well. I hoped to ask if you knew of any properties for sale. You know, given your local knowledge.”

His expression was neutral, but I could sense his magic inching toward me.

I played dumb while raising my mental shield — slowly, subtly, lest he notice.

“Oh. Did that place along Oak Creek not work out?”

He shrugged. “I was hoping for something a little more remote. Not too far out of town, but somewhere off the beaten path would be good.”

Someplace like yours. He didn’t say that much, but the words slithered into my mind, and I nearly parroted them back to him.

Resisting magic was like tuning out an annoying, intermittent noise. Like when Abby used the weed whacker on my only morning to sleep in or when Roscoe barked hysterically, then stopped, only to kick back in again. Not too difficult in principle, but nigh impossible once the sound got under your skin.

“Unfortunately, every parcel of land up to the national forest has been bought up,” I said, still playing dumb.

His eyes sparkled, and I cringed. Was that his Plan B — to convince town planners to carve out part of that protected land and rework the zoning? As absurd as it sounded, Harlon could probably pull it off.

“Every single parcel?” Harlon waited, letting the silence stretch.

“There is Granite Wash Ranch,” I tried, mentioning the latest big-ticket property to be listed. Everyone in town was talking about it.

He shook his head. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t meet my specifications.”

You mean, no vortex? I nearly quipped.

“Anything else you can think of?” Harlon probed.

In the awkwardness of the long, quiet minute that ensued, my defenses slipped. Crap.

“Oh. You mean where I live?”

He nodded warmly, and his magic congratulated me on being a good girl.

I flashed a sunny, Pippa-grade smile. “Too bad it’s not for sale.”

His grin didn’t falter. “Too bad.”

His magic wormed its way around me, prodding for weak spots. Not for sale yet, a siren’s voice whispered. But just imagine if you sold it. You’d never have to work another day in your life. The warmth around me intensified, like a candlelit bubble bath on a chilly night. You could even work out a deal and live rent-free in your cabin to the end of your days.

“Perhaps you’ll reconsider.” He pulled a large manila envelope from his briefcase and slid it across the desk. “Go on, open it.”

As if my heart weren’t already hammering away.

At a loss for words, I fiddled with the envelope. And, holy crap. When the flap opened, I caught a glimpse of a wad of greenbacks. Correction — many, many wads with lots and lots of greenbacks.

Harlon chuckled. “Go on. Have a look.”

I pulled out a bundle of bills. Hundred dollar bills, neatly wrapped in a white paper strip with the total marked in pink numbers. A one and so many zeroes, my eyes blurred.

When I gasped, Harlon grinned the way rich people did when they were oh-so generous.

“That’s just a down payment.”

My brain short-circuited. Wow. I’d never seen so much money.

So much money… The words coated my mind like honey.

I knew it was Harlon’s trickery, but…well… Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to be tricked.

Then I pictured a golf course and hot tubs — and, most importantly, the vortex.

I slid the envelope back over. “Unfortunately, my ranch is not for sale.”

Harlon’s cheek twitched as if I’d just spoken in a foreign language. And I suppose I had, because he probably didn’t hear no too often.

“You don’t know how much I’m offering.”

I shrugged. “Some things don’t have a price.”

He scoffed. “Everything has a price.”

“Granite Wash Ranch does. Seventeen million, from what I hear,” I tried redirecting him. “Two hundred and fifty acres and lots of privacy.”

Harlon gazed at me impassively, not saying a word.

The silence was crushing, and I hurried to fill it. “Then there’s Crooked Canyon Ranch. It’s much more accessible, and the water runs year-round. Our creek dries earlier and earlier each year.” I shook my head sadly, stressing how unsuitable the land was.

He leaned in, gazing deep into my eyes. “To be absolutely truthful, I’m not interested in any other place. You can name your price. Say, twenty-one million?”

Technically, that was him naming my price, but I decided not to point that out.

Twenty-one million, a smooth, soft voice cooed in my mind.

I gulped. Twenty-one million was a lot of money — even divided by three. My sisters and I could buy a smaller, more manageable place on the edge of Sedona. Heck, each of us could. I could buy my own balloon and fly just because I wanted to. Abby could open her own shop and pick and choose which jobs she accepted. Ditto for Pippa — no more boring old wineglasses to create day in, day out in the hot shop. We could even find adjoining properties and open a proper animal sanctuary to add to the handful of swaybacked horses we’d already taken in. We could even breed alpacas…

Wait. Alpacas?

I frowned, catching myself. Or had I just caught Harlon weaving another mind spell?

I closed my eyes, searching desperately for some way to turn him down without revealing that I was onto him.

I gulped and stuck on what I hoped was a dumb blonde look. “I’m sorry, but it’s not for sale.”

His jaw went hard and his gaze piercing. But a moment later, he worked up a thin smile and turned back on the charm.

“Such a pity. It’s a good thing I’m a patient man.”

Subtext: I can wait longer than you, so make a deal while you can .

I wrestled my face into a fake grin. “I’m sure you’ll find something. And this place isn’t exactly bad.”

I laughed, cueing him to do the same, though his chuckle had a forced edge.

Thank goodness the doorbell rang, and this time, a chorus of voices carried up the stairs.

“Harlon! You’ll miss your own party!”

I flashed him an apologetic smile and made for the door. “I’d hate to keep you from your guests. But I’ll keep an eye out for any property for sale.”

“Very kind of you. Please stay and enjoy the party.”

He followed me out of the office, and the door clicked when he shut it behind us. Locked?

My heart went into double time. I would find out soon enough.