To keep from letting on, I skimmed through the rest of the papers. Then I took a sip of my tea. “It looks reasonable,” I said at last.
“Finally,” the Luren muttered.
“Bring your implements, your bloodletting knife, et cetera. Let’s get this done.” I hoped I sounded the right amount of resigned—and not eager to get him within striking distance.
My tone must’ve struck the proper note—or the demon was just stupid as a stump—because he withdrew the items from his ubiquitous briefcase and came toward me. I leaned down to take a drink of tea, covering my reach. My fingers closed on the Taser, and as he bent to deposit the accoutrements on the table, I slammed it into his side, stun-gunning him for all I was worth. He lashed out, but I was already scrambling away; his human host had a limited nervous system. Regardless of how robust the Luren was, he couldn’t force an immediate recovery. But I had less than thirty seconds to execute the second half of my plan. Bounding from the table, I stumbled toward the shelving unit and grabbed the Celtic knot. Unless I recalled wrong—well, no time to second-guess. I slammed the statuette to the ground above my target’s head. His writhing wouldn’t impact the magick.
My breath and heartbeat stalled until I saw the dark coils of energy twining around his body. Thank the gods. It is a binding spell. Since I wasn’t sure how long it would last, I had to get backup over here pronto. Since I was in San Antonio, there was only one call to make, though she scared the hell out of me; she’d promised to help in these situations, though. I was her vassal, after all.
With shaking hands, I dialed Twila’s number. “This is Corine Solomon. I feel like you should know . . . there’s a Luren incapacitated on my kitchen floor.”
Her cursing response was both colorful and impressive. “Bind him, hand, foot, and mouth, in addition to any magick you may have used. Once you do that, cast a circle. Can you do that?”
“I can’t pull anymore.” There was demon magick, of course, but I’d vowed not to use it if there was an alternative. “I only have the touch left.”
More swearing. “Then just confine him. I’ll be there in person in ten minutes.”
“But I haven’t told you—”
“Do you really think there’s anything I don’t know within my own demesne?”
Actually, I hadn’t thought about it, one way or another. But the implications of that were terrifying. “All right. I used a binding spell on him, cast by a powerful wizard. Not sure how long that will last—”
“You should’ve led with that. He’ll be out of commission for at least an hour, depending on how well fed he is. See you soon.” She cut the connection.
Just to be safe, I found some extension cords in a cupboard and tied his wrists and ankles as tight as I could manage. He glared at me with hate-filled eyes, but he couldn’t even blink as yet. Even his respiration was pared down, just enough to sustain the human brain. I wasn’t dumb enough to linger nearby, however, in case the spell wore off sooner than Twila guessed. When she arrived, I was waiting for her on the front step, listening anxiously for the sound of a demon on a rampage inside.
Each time, her majesty struck me anew. With her midnight skin and impressive corona of braids, she looked like she ruled the city—and she did. Her white dress was lovely and expensive; I’d seen one like it retail for three hundred dollars. I loved the simple elegance of the lines, the way it flowed from her strong shoulders to nip in at her waist, and then the skirt belled around her ankles, tastefully adorned with glimmering gems on a silver chain. On a good day, I didn’t have half her style or presence.
“Shall we?” she asked, but it was clearly a rhetorical question, as she brushed past me and went into the apartment.
The Luren lay where I’d left him, still tied like a hog about to be butchered. From the way he blinked at us, the feeling had returned in his eyelids but that was it. He couldn’t fight or flee Twila’s judgment—and by her expression, it wouldn’t be gentle or merciful. She stared down at him with eyes that burned like twin coals, ferocity and vengeance in equal measure.
“Come to me,” she whispered. “Come, brothers and sisters.”
The power in the room rose tangibly, a crackling electricity that stirred the hair on my arms. I wasn’t clear on what exactly the loas were, but the juice they gave her made her a force to be reckoned with; she was the queen of San Antonio, and you did not screw with her. In a few seconds, she proved why.
My shabby apartment filled with smoky figures, not ghosts, at least none like I’d ever seen before. They were more . . . animal creatures, but not real ones. They came from the darkest depths of the imagination—terrifying, furious, and burning with hunger. The loa descended on the demon, much as Dumah had done, only they dove beneath the skin. White Hair couldn’t flinch, couldn’t cry out, but his eyes revealed his utter horror at the feast beneath the skin, which writhed and boiled as if maggots flowed in human veins.
When the loa finished their meal, they came to Twila like favored pets, twining around her arms and legs, nesting in her hair as if their pulsing energies constituted a crown. The fact that I could see them with the naked eye . . . I had no idea what that meant. My witch sight was gone, so these things were . . . what? A shudder worked through me as I stared at the corpse on my floor. The creature looked scarcely human anymore, the skin waxy and pallid, limbs stiff as stone.
“The remains are your problem,” Twila said coolly. “Our compact has been honored, but do try not to get in any more trouble, Ms. Solomon. A woman in your condition can’t be too careful.” On that exit line, she departed, leaving me gaping.
Am I wearing a KNOCKED UP sign in the astral? But that knowledge supported her claim to knowing everything that happened in her territory. If my landlady decided on a spot inspection right now, I was so screwed. The residual stress and fear sent me into the bathroom, where I lost my last meal. Eventually I gathered the presence of mind to call the one person who wouldn’t bat an eye at this mess.
“Chuch,” I said when he picked up. “I need you. Bring a tarp and a shovel.”
Buried Treasure
Sometimes it sucked being my friend.
At least, I imagined that’s what Chuch was thinking as he stared at the corpse on my kitchen floor. Like any good partner in crime, he’d left the supplies in the car, instead choosing to assess the situation before making any decisions. Glancing out the window, I saw he’d driven a car with a sizable trunk. This wasn’t his first time.
Chuch studied the apartment and its limited contents with an air of intense concentration. “There’s no rug. Once it gets dark, that’s my first choice for moving him.” Then he flashed me a grin. “Good thing I could tell what we’d be doing by what you said on the phone.”
I stared. “You brought your own?”
“Plus the tarp and shovel. Eva wants to know what the hell you’re doing killing people in your condition.”
“I only bound him. I didn’t know how to finish the job, so I called Twila.”
Some of his agitation faded. “Smart move. I guess you pledged to her, huh? So what happened here, prima?”
“She fed him to her loas.” I shivered. “One of the worst things I’ve ever seen.” And I wasn’t a sheltered, hothouse flower. In my time I had witnessed some shit. Nothing like that, though. As deaths went, this one was memorable.
“I’ll go get the tarp. It’s in my duffel bag so the neighbors won’t see it.”
“You talk like you’ve gotten away with murder,” I whispered.
Chuch flashed me a look that told me I didn’t want the answer and went out to the car. When he returned, he had a gray vinyl bag in hand. After drawing on some latex gloves, he went to work efficiently, making me wonder how much of his history as an arms dealer I knew. I mean, it was a dangerous profession; and to earn enough to afford retirement, he must’ve been good at it. He made sufficient money restoring cars to support his family, but I suspected the Ortizes had hidden resources.
I felt a little better once the body was hidden from view. It didn’t change the reality—and maybe the human host had been a shallow, venal human being—but it didn’t lessen my sorrow. It was possible the guy just made a few really bad calls and didn’t deserve to go out like that. But given the choice between a physical fight that could’ve hurt my baby or signing away his or her future? No. I’d make the same play again, even knowing how it shook out.
Afterward, Chuch used the extension cords I’d wrapped around the demon’s wrists to tie up the tarp. Then he dragged the package over near the door and washed up in the bathroom. Shaky, I sat down at the kitchen table, buried my head in my hands. I only roused when he set a gentle hand on my shoulder, sans gloves.
“Hey, you outsmarted that cabron. Did what you had to do. I promise you, there’s nothing Eva wouldn’t do to keep Cami safe. And that goes for me too.”
“Thanks.” Because I couldn’t let myself fall apart, I said, “I don’t have much around here, but I could make you a sandwich. Some tea?”
“Both sound good. Can I get the tea iced?”
“I can steep a cup, and then pour it over some cubes for you.”
“Sounds fine. I was actually about to sit down to dinner when you called.” He sounded sheepish, like he wasn’t allowed to have a life outside of my dramas.
That bothered me. I was tired of drawing my friends away from their own business, tired of being the needy one who couldn’t go a day without stumbling into trouble. “Gods, I’m sorry. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”
One way or another. Six more days of this. If I haven’t gotten Chance back, then it’s time to call it. The awful truth hit me like an anvil. That might be my future, trying to be everything to a kid for the next twenty years. How the hell did my mom do it? She had six years of help, true, but watching the man she adored sacrifice himself for the child they both loved—for me—I didn’t know how she’d done it. Any of it. Deep down I hoped that since I’d freed her power from Maury in Kilmer that her spirit was likewise free; and I’d liberated my father from Sheol, so maybe they were together now, somewhere. I’d keep that hope close because I needed the promise of happy endings now more than ever. I needed to believe.
This time, Chuch didn’t contradict me. He wasn’t rude enough to say, Dios mio, get your shit in order and go home already, but I felt keenly that I had taken advantage of them. The debt might never be adequately repaid. Silently, I put together ham and cheese sandwiches with a side of chips and pickle, a new and clichéd craving. At least I didn’t want them dipped in ice cream yet. We ate without addressing my most pressing questions: When the hell were we burying the body . . . and where?
“Thanks for dinner,” Chuch said, once we finished.
“It’s not much. If I’d known I was hosting a dinner party, I’d have had the fancy meatballs in spicy grape jelly.” It was a lame joke, but he smiled, probably appreciating how hard it was for me to pretend I was calm.
