style="font-size:15px;"> Rafe had the grace to look embarrassed. “That’s what the Covent uses them for, yes. But the spell can be cast merely to bring them here. It doesn’t hurt the shade.”
“Here. As in now.” Phoebe narrowed her gaze. “That’s why you’re here.”
He nodded and took another sip. “Time is of the essence if I’m going to stop him and clear my name.”
“Stop whom?”
“Whoever it is that’s manipulating them. Whoever wanted to retain that power over them so desperately he was willing to silence Barbara Fisher.”
Phoebe studied his dark, intense eyes. Whether or not someone in Sedona was manipulating shades for nefarious purposes, Rafe Diamante obviously believed they were. And he seemed sincere in his respect for the shades’ autonomy. Unless the summoning spell wasn’t as harmless as he claimed.
“If you summon a shade and I find out it doesn’t want to be here—if any of this summoning process is against its will—my ‘consulting’ with you will be over. Is that clear?”
Rafe nodded, holding up his right hand with his thumb over his pinkie. “Scout’s honor.” The sudden warm smile accompanying the gesture distracted her. It took her a moment to make the connection with the comment he’d made when they’d met at the county jail.
“Oh...you were actually a Boy Scout. I was kidding when I said I was in the Scouts. I’m afraid I was never a Cadette.”
“Oh. Well, that’s embarrassing.” He dropped his hand to his side with an apologetic smile that was possibly even more endearing. “Sorry about my reaction earlier. I was having a pretty bad day.”
“I imagine you were.” It was impossible not to return the smile as she rose. “So what do you need for the spell?”
“I’m going to guess you don’t keep an altar yourself.” When Phoebe laughed, Rafe recited the ingredients without skipping a beat: “Three candles, preferably white, some incense—if you don’t have any, I can show you how to make something serviceable with your spice collection—a bowl of salt, a bowl of water and a libation.” He tapped his glass. “We’ve got the libation.”
Phoebe went to the kitchen and set out two condiment bowls. “Salt’s on the bar. And I’ve got the candles and incense somewhere around here.”
After fetching the supplies from the bedroom, she returned to find Rafe stripping off his shirt. A tattoo of a colorful winged serpent adorned his back, the ink in vivid shades of an almost iridescent blue-green and violet with a deep scarlet red down the breast of the creature, its wings spanning both broad shoulders.
Phoebe clutched the candles to her chest. “Whoa.”
Rafe turned as he pulled the shirt over his head, ears reddening at the tips. “Sorry. I should have asked first. It’s easier to spell-cast without fabric—and this fabric is freezing. But I can put it back on.” He was halfway to doing it.
“No, it’s fine. I should have offered to dry it for you anyway.” Phoebe set the candles and incense on the coffee table and held out her hand to take the shirt. “It was just—unexpected. And I was admiring your tattoo.”
“Oh. Quetzalcoatl.” His expression took on an element of defiant pride, as if he expected to have to defend his choice of body art. “I forget he’s there since I can’t see it without a bit of acrobatics.” He cast his gaze downward as he turned to face her. “The one on the front, of course, I’m much more aware of.” The black ink spiraled over his left pectoral like a cross section of a conch shell.
Phoebe was having trouble focusing on the tattoo itself. The flesh beneath it was kind of spectacular. She tried not to drool. “What’s it mean?”
“It’s an ehecacozcatl. A wind jewel that belongs to the god. It’s sort of a family coat of arms.”
“Your family’s ancestry is Aztec?”
“Maybe. Probably not, but who knows? The Diamantes like to say so.” Rafe flashed another of those smiles that were beginning to do funny things to Phoebe’s stomach. Because stomach was the organ involved. Sure.
Rafe started to settle onto the floor in front of the coffee table.
“You’re keeping the pants on?” Phoebe had to resist rolling her eyes at herself. The words had just jumped out. “I mean—you said the fabric gets in the way.”
He answered as if she weren’t a complete loon. “I figured going fully sky-clad would be a little presumptuous. I can work with this.”
“But they’re soaked. If I’m going to dry the shirt, I may as well dry those, too. Unless you’re commando under there?” Geez, Phoebe. Get a grip.
Rafe smirked. “No, I’m not really the commando type.” He emptied his pockets onto the couch and unbuckled his belt and the utility knife holster at his hip before reaching for the buttons on his fly. “You’re sure this is okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be? They’ll be dry in a jiff.” There was something seriously wrong with her mouth. Or her brain. Who the heck said “jiff”?
As he bent to untie his boots and work them off before stepping out of the pants and handing them over, it was all Phoebe could do not to ogle his ass in the white boxer briefs. Maybe she ogled a little.
“Is it ohgle or ahgle?” Oh, my God. She’d said that out loud.
Phoebe escaped down the hall and opened the laundry closet to toss the wet things into the dryer, leaning back against the appliance to take a deep breath. When she returned to the living room, she managed to have a normal expression on her face. She hoped.
Rafe was clearing off the coffee table to arrange things for the spell—two candles in the top corners and the third in the center, with the condiment bowls holding water and salt on either side of his nearly untouched glass of wine.
Phoebe grabbed a box of matches from the pantry. “Anything else we need?”
“Just one or two things, but I’ve got them covered.” Rafe took his knife from the holster and set it in front of the incense holder. “I use it as an athame in a pinch.” He unhooked the pendant from around his neck and let the disc drop from the chain into his hand. “And this will do for the pentacle.” He set it in front of the center candle. “My wind jewel tat can stand in for the image of the god. Do you have anything that can serve as a goddess image? It’s not absolutely essential—”
“If we’re having a god, we’re having a goddess.” Phoebe began to unbutton her blouse.
Rafe’s dark brows twitched. “What are you doing?”
She reached the center button and showed him the silver-blue crescent moon that curled around her navel. “This should do, right?”
Rafe nodded. “That’s nice work.”
“Thanks.” Phoebe slipped off the blouse and set it aside. “My little sister designed it.”
“You don’t really have to undress. It’s mostly symbolic, helps me get my head in the
