“And your terms?” Booke asked.
“What will you offer me?” Her tone was amused. I felt extraneous, but when I shifted, her look sharpened on me. “Don’t run away, Corine Solomon. Your friend requires your support. Will you leave him when he needs you most?”
“Of course not,” I muttered.
I didn’t necessarily want to learn what Booke would give up to keep from shuffling off to oblivion. Under the weight of her eyes, I kept my seat, but Kel came up behind me. His hands lit on my shoulders, giving me courage. Foreboding rolled through me, like the heaviness in the air before a thunderous storm.
“Give me one year of freedom,” Booke said, after a moment’s consideration. “A chance to see the world. At the end of those days, I will return to serve you in any capacity you desire for as long as you mandate.”
What the hell, no. It was too much, too open-ended. Such an awful contract. I had to get him better terms. As I opened my mouth to protest, Kel’s hands tightened; I glanced over my shoulder to see a forbidding expression in his pale eyes. Then his voice rang in my head. We must not interfere, dadu. You owe him the honor of forging his own fate.
Apart from those words, his mind didn’t intrude on mine. With a pang, I remembered that dadu meant “beloved.” You shouldn’t call me that. It’s done.
Your heart may have changed. Mine has not.
I decided not to argue with him. How are you doing this?
We have joined, Corine. For the first time, I noticed he wasn’t calling me Binder anymore. The connection lingers, permits such intimate communication.
Is it because you’re touching me?
Clever.
Deliberately, I covered his hand with one of mine, and then I pulled his palms away from me. It hurt a little, knowing he would take it as a rejection, but I couldn’t encourage him when he was trapped by Barachiel and might have to kill me, and when I meant to do my damnedest to get Chance back, so we could have the life I’d glimpsed just before we went to Sheol to save Shannon. I didn’t want to serve a maniacal archangel or worry that my lover would live ten thousand years without me. I wanted normal. That was all I ever craved.
The rest of this bullshit? No more.
Kel stepped back.
And in the moments I had been occupied with Kel, Booke had apparently struck a deal with the priestess. Dammit. He wasn’t kidding when he told me he’d give nearly anything. His hand clasped hers, sealing the bargain, and then she turned to us. “You two are welcome to wait in the bar. As you know, I prefer that certain transactions take place in private.”
Which meant she wouldn’t show the loa—or her powers—to anyone but her contracted client. I understood that, even as I worried about Booke. But I had my own business with Twila, first. “I’d like to swear to you.”
Twila’s elegant brows shot up. For the first time in our acquaintance, I’d surprised her. “Do you mean to move to Texas, then?”
“I’m already living here. I don’t know when, if ever, that I’m going back to Mexico. I have so many things to wrap up.”
“And you have powerful enemies.” The queen of San Antonio smiled, showing lovely white teeth. “You understand the terms?”
“I think so, but I’d appreciate it if you laid them out for clarity.”
“In becoming one of my vassals, you pledge yourself to my cause. My enemies become yours, and you offer to fight willingly in my service at any time for any reason. In return, I will do battle on your behalf as well and I guarantee your safety while you remain within my demesne. Should my protection falter for any reason, I will exact a most harrowing revenge upon your foes.”
To be honest, I didn’t care a whole lot about vengeance. If I died to demons or Barachiel, Twila could cut off all their heads, but it wouldn’t change anything. Still, it seemed like a good idea to join her team with the opposition I had lined up.
“It sounds like I get the better of that bargain,” I said quietly.
“You say that until I ask you to fight for me. You have not seen how demanding I can be. Do you still wish to swear to my service, handler?”
That was better than Binder. I nodded. “Is there a blood oath or—”
“Put your hand on this and repeat after me.” “This” was the bone ring she wore. I rested my hand on hers, fingers on the ivory. My gift stirred, begging to read her secrets, but I locked it down. Curiosity killed the cat, and I wasn’t sure I could trust the additional adage “satisfaction brought it back.” The touch settled into a burn that came from Twila, not me.
“Kneel,” she said softly. My knees obeyed before my brain decided to comply. She cupped her other hand around mine, completing the circle, and then she murmured, “I, Corine Solomon, promise to be faithful in all things required of a vassal, to love whatever the lady cherishes, and hate when she hates.”
I repeated the words; and the pain in my fingers grew stronger. Magick kindled between us, solemnizing the vow.
Twila spoke on, “I will go to war on her word and cry peace when she calls for it. I will serve until death, so long as I remain within her demesne.”
Those words came harder, but I spoke them too. Then the lady of San Antonio made her own promises. “I accept you as vassal. Your enemies are mine, your life in my hands. I will warrant it to the full extent of my power.” She bussed my brow to seal the compact, then she raised me to my feet. “It is done, Corine Solomon. You are now one of my children.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Now I must see to your friend. Go.”
As I passed Booke, I kissed him on the cheek, hoping we had both made the right decisions. Back in the bar, they had Shania Twain crooning and a few couples were dancing on the crowded floor. Crazy, but this place was the supernatural hangout; if I looked hard, I’d probably find some demons grinding up on the gifted. I just didn’t care to peer below the façade of normalcy. I took a seat at the bar, which left Kel to hover or cop a squat beside me. I was a little surprised when he did the customary thing and perched.
“I’m sorry if I intruded,” he said quietly.
“I appreciate your advice about Booke. I do tend to be overprotective . . . and I believe it’s my job to fix everything. That comes from foster care. You think if you’re good enough, if you don’t make trouble, if you do more than you’re supposed to, then everything will be okay, and they’ll let you stay.”
I had no idea why I’d told him that. He was the last person who wanted my confidence at this point. But he looked surprisingly intrigued.
“I suppose that is true. The world you grew to maturity in is very different than the one I knew.”
I couldn’t even imagine. “I know you were born to Uriel and Vashti, but did they raise you? How did that work?”
He shook his head, an old sorrow weighing on him. “Barachiel took me to oversee my upbringing. My birth was a sin. The archangels were forbidden to consort with mortal females. That my father could not resist the temptation was his shame . . . and mine.”
An old Bible quote surfaced, probably due to one of the foster parents who had dragged me to Christian church. “‘Yet he does not leave the guilty unpunished; he punishes the children and their children for the sin of the parents to the third and fourth generation.’”
Kel nodded. “So it’s just as well I cannot reproduce.”
“Cannot?” That one night we shared in Peru, I hadn’t asked about contraception or STDs. Which was actually kind of irresponsible of me.
“Like many hybrid creatures,” he said quietly. “I am sterile. But it is not a bad thing. My children would be cursed as well.”
“Provided it’s true. That you’re Nephilim . . . and not half demon, as the demon queen, Ninlil, believed.” I wasn’t sure what the rules were on half demons, whether a half demon could reproduce with a human. Maybe not. But the Old Testament curse was probably bullshit.
He jerked upright, eyes locked on my face. I realized it was the first time I’d spoken of it to him. “What did you say?”
Uneasily, I gave him her version of history—how there was a war in Sheol and his team lost, thereby being banished to the human world; I finished with my theory about magickal compulsion. Back in Booke’s cottage, it had occurred to me that if he could be trapped by a curse, so could Kel. Who was pale as I’ve ever seen him by the time I stopped talking. His knuckles burned white on the edge of the bar, the wood groaning, bowing inward. I grabbed his hand, trying to calm him down, as Jeannie was giving us the stink-eye.
“I must go,” he said dazedly. “I . . . have to think.”
“Kel, wait. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t confront Barachiel until we have a chance to—” But dammit, I was talking to air.
He must be upset as hell because he poofed right in the middle of the bar, leaving me talking to an empty stool. Even in an establishment like this one, that display of power drew some looks. In twos and threes, they glanced away and went back to talking and dancing, once it became clear there was no brawl brewing.
Jeannie slid me another Agave Kiss. “You look like you could use one. He’s an intense drink of water, huh? What is he, a tetchy warlock?”
“I wish I knew,” I said.
And so does Kel.
Worry knotted my stomach into badge-worthy tangles. While waiting for Booke, I shut down two guys who tried their luck, both decent looking. Once, I’d have given anything to draw attention like this. Now I just wanted Chance . . . and for my friends to be all right. Which included Booke and Kel. Maybe this was a bad idea, but I couldn’t sit here, not knowing what Twila was doing to my friend. When Jeannie turned to help another customer, I slid off my stool and crept down the corridor that led to her private rooms. Her office door was wide open, which meant she had taken him to the apartment upstairs, where I had once spent the night with Jesse. Shannon didn’t know that, but we’d only made out a little, no sex, which was just as well. It could only make things weird. Weirder.
I might end up fried for this, but so be it. The door to the stairwell swung open; no preventative spell exploded as I put my weight on the first step. As I climbed, a sound reached me, like ten souls moaning in harmony, but it wasn’t pain, more an inexorable pleasure. When I peered over the top step, the scene hit me in a rush: the dark and shifting spirits writhing around Booke, who was completely naked. Twila governed the moment like the priestess she was, arms upraised to press the loas on. I couldn’t tell exactly what they were doing to him, but he didn’t seem to mind.
That was when I lost my nerve, and the fear of getting caught outweighed my curiosity. As quietly as I could manage, I slipped back down the stairs. Jeannie cut me a look when I reclaimed my bar stool, but I wasn’t talking. I’d never tell a soul what I saw up there. Shaken, I nursed my second Agave Kiss.
An hour later, I almost didn’t recognize Booke when he strode out of Twila’s office, but the chunky sweater vest and the seventy-year-old slacks gave him away. He looked exactly as he always did in my dreams—nut brown hair with a gentle wave, soft gray eyes, lean, acetic face. Despite the indenture that bought him those additional years, I couldn’t stifle the happy squeal as I bounded toward him. He caught me in his arms and lifted me, not a romantic gesture, but more of a demonstrative one: Look how healthy and strong I am.
