Shady Lady

  In answer, he leaned out and scanned the ground. “Nothing but rocks and dust.”

  That was an old schoolyard trick, but given our situation, it couldn’t hurt. “Try to distract them, but don’t get shot.”

  I shuddered to think what Escobar would do if I survived but his son did not. By the sound of their footsteps, our enemies were pushing closer. Montoya laughed, the son of a bitch. I rolled beneath the car and squirmed on my belly as a minor dust devil sprang to life. They cursed and spit, trying to clear their eyes and mouths. The sorcerer’s concentration faltered, and Paolo taunted him with gutter Spanish; I understood only about half the words, but judging by Vicente’s roar, the boy had flair.

  Once I had line of sight, I started my own spell. Drawing down the power, I used one of the two I’d memorized from the blue grimoire. My mother’s books contained no lethal spells, but this—if I cast it correctly—would cause some pain. My palms burned as I whispered, “Things that buzz and fly and crawl, heed me, heed my call. Come, come, you fearsome, darken swarm. Oh, feed and eat! Upon my enemies ye shall feast. As I will, so mote it be.” Even on my belly, I could complete the gesture, flaring my palms outward in a “V,” fingers fluttering like insect wings.

  An orange glow burst forth and struck the dirt in front of Vicente. His scornful laugh rang out. “You missed.”

  On the other side of the Chevelle, Montoya shot at Paolo, who countered with a mix of quick reflexes and telekinetics. Then a droning sound began, increasing as the dark cloud drew closer. Vicente turned, and a muffled sound of horror escaped him when the bugs enveloped him: stinging, biting, trying to crawl down his throat and into his mouth. He screamed and Montoya whirled, going to his aid.

  In that respite, I asked Paolo, “Can you kill them with your TK?”

  “I don’t think so. They’re both wearing body armor, and there’s no wall to slam them against. I could try to break their backs on the hood of the car, but I’ve never done that before, and I won’t have the energy left for defense. Do you want me to go for it?” Stumbling and slapping all the way to the trunk of his car, Montoya got a fire extinguisher and shot a white cloud on Vicente, driving off the bugs. They were both furious, bloodlust burning in their eyes. I had to decide fast—Paolo or me. Who’s going for the home-run swing?

  Before I realized I’d made a decision, I whipped my athame out and slashed my palm. Me. It has to be me. I’ll end this.

  “Guard our backs,” I told Paolo.

  With my bloody palm curled toward me, I crawled the distance to the circle they hadn’t noticed, drawn as it was in the pale dust. I whispered, “By fire, earth, wind, and rain, I call you forth, Dumah Porai Valyonatha. I offer sacrifice in your name. As I will, so mote it be. In the name of Solomon the Binder, whose blood I carry, you must obey.”

  Now free of my swarm and enraged beyond sanity, Vicente raised a hand to unleash a spell. I felt the magick gathering in the air, swelling like summer lightning. He used a mishmash pidgin for his casting, no doubt learned in the islands, and I didn’t understand the words. I didn’t know what he was doing, nor how to counter it, but something terrible would happen if he finished the incantation. He was done fucking around, letting us dodge and hide.

  Because I’d summoned her before—and she was already in this realm in a human host—Dumah appeared in a swirl of inky smoke. I spoke quickly, racing Vicente to the finish. “For this single moment, my enemies are yours. In return for your help I offer you their souls and their power. You will not harm me or mine.”

  Annoyance flashed on her ephemeral face and then she registered those outside the circle. Greed and hunger replaced her displeasure. I wasn’t binding her to me permanently and forcing her to serve; this was a simple summoning—catch and release. I hadn’t broken the letter of our agreement . . . but it bothered me just how good I had become at negotiating in such degrees.

  As Vicente released his spell, the demoness whispered in my head: Done. This time, I knew to drain the energy from the circle before breaking it, and Dumah flowed in inky darkness toward the two men. She ate the magickal energy en route—it strengthened her—and then she continued toward them.

  Montoya responded by unloading his whole magazine, the last of his ammo. I had no defense against that; Dumah was a creature of spirit, and could not stop a bullet. Maybe this was it. Butch whined as I dove; I tried to save him from the impact.

  There was no need.

  Bullets hung in the air like black hailstones, mere inches from my body. Paolo trembled, his face pale and damp. Sweat rolled off him from the strain of such fine control, and then they all fell, bouncing against the ground. I couldn’t believe his father had asked this of him—and I was glad I hadn’t asked him to kill for me. Better I should bear another astral scar; it was worth the price to see this nightmare ended at last.

  The two Montoyas screamed as Dumah pressed against their eyes, testing their defenses. She devoured Montoya first; like the old witch in the supply store, his shields were soft and weak. In a black trickle she slithered in through his eyes, and he clawed at them, screaming. His nails left bloody runnels on his face until his whole body went slack. Horror seeped through me.

  She’d eaten him, just as I promised she could.

  Vicente lifted his hand, preparing another spell, but Dumah went for him next. His brother’s soul had made her stronger, so she had the power to fight him. His shields were stronger, but while he resisted her attack, he couldn’t cast. Paolo dived for Montoya’s weapon.

  “No,” Dumah said. “This one’s mine. Promised.”

  I stilled the boy with a hand on his arm. “We must let her have him or she’ll be free to turn on us.”

  I could banish her, perhaps, using the incantation I had used on Caim—assuming my shields were good enough to stave her off—but maybe, like Vicente, I wouldn’t be able to remember the words while struggling with her for control. I would rather not risk it. What was more, that call, if I succeeded, would seriously piss Maury off. I didn’t want to get on his bad side.

  At last, she took Vicente and swept through him like a dark tide. His body crumpled, still living, but empty. I stared at the two Montoyas, chilled at the decision I’d made and what it meant. Paolo raised the gun and glanced at me for confirmation.

  “Our bargain is done,” Dumah whispered. “I give you leave to call me anytime, Corine Solomon. This was . . . fun.”

  Worse and worse. I didn’t banish her; she simply threaded away—back to the body she’d left behind, I assumed. I imagined the scene there: Woman fainting on the sidewalk. Maury telling people she was pregnant, not to worry, she’d be fine in a few minutes.

  “I should finish this,” the boy said. “As my father requires.”

  Gods knew I didn’t want to, so I merely nodded and turned my face away. Two shots rang out. Simple. Elegant. Awful. I’d fed the eternal part of them to a demon. Even if they were awful men, there was no denying it; I was a bad woman.

  The devil shone in Paolo’s eyes as he examined the bodies. “Ah, Montoya. A son is always more powerful than a brother.” He gave me a look. “You will wish to turn around now.”

  I didn’t ask why. I complied. When I glanced down again, the heads were missing. In response to a gesture, the two corpses bounced away, obedient to his will, until they landed in the drainage ditch on the side of the dirt road. I knew now what the black duffel was for. I didn’t imagine we’d be smuggling those back into the States.

  “I need proof,” he said in a faintly apologetic tone. “Shall we call him?”

  We did. Escobar instructed us to meet his men at an airfield three hours away. Numb, I drove on with two heads in a bag in my backseat and a killer beside me. Paolo scared me now because he seemed so gentle, and yet I saw nothing in his eyes that indicated conflict over his actions, whereas I felt like a hot mess of roiling regret and uncertainty. But a good robot never doubted its programming.

  A plane sat waiting for us. Two hours in the air, and w
e arrived at a new location. Three goons conveyed us to yet another Escobar property. I hadn’t seen this house before; it was almost a cottage compared to the other. Beachfront property—the ocean glimmered silver in the moonlight.

  Escobar greeted us on the terrace, a glass of wine in hand. Once more, he was barefoot, clad in white, and wearing a most disarming smile. Before he spoke, he took the black bag from Paolo. He looked inside with a ghoulish expression of anticipation. A quiet inhalation bespoke pleasure, and I shuddered as he handed the duffel off to one of his henchmen.

  Christ, I couldn’t get away from these people fast enough. I might never wash myself clean. And, of course, there was the matter of what I’d done to survive.

  “I am proud of you, hijo.” I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever called him that before. Escobar clasped Paolo on the shoulder. “There are only two Montoyas left, and they will not fight me. One is stupid, and the other is lazy. He will take what money he can and find someplace to retire.”

  “Pleased I could help,” the boy said, as if he’d gone to the store for milk.

  I closed my eyes. I wanted to be away from here. But I feared insulting my host. Now that he needed me no longer, I’d become acutely aware of my isolation and my vulnerability. He might decide I knew too much or something equally clichéd.

  “You may go now,” he said, and Paolo passed along the terrace without another word to me.

  Eventually I opened my eyes and studied the view. Staring out over the sea, I didn’t move when Escobar joined me. His tone was musing when he spoke. “You have proven useful. I believe I owe you payment for your time and effort.”

  “That was the bargain.”

  At a gesture, one of the goons brought him a fine leather briefcase. He opened it, and I got to see what 100K looked like in cash. “I will have my people take you wherever you like, one last time. I trust we will not bother each other again.”

  “Never,” I promised.

  Escobar was a man of his word, fortunately. Perhaps he had more of that stern priest in him than I’d realized. No question, he was an evil man who did terrible things, but like all demons he abided by his agreements.

  “Where to, then?”

  “Back to Laredo, please.” I needed to see how Eva and Chuch and the baby were doing. I wanted to see Shannon and Jesse. “Will you make sure law enforcement learns that Montoya is dead? I need to get a friend out of protective custody.”

  “What would you have me do, order my men to toss those heads into a cantina, as you hear of imbeciles doing on the news?”

  “Could you? This once?” I smiled as if that might persuade him. Escobar had ice water in his veins.

  He considered. “Yes, but only because it amuses me. Someone else will surely take the blame, because that is not my style.”

  I knew that. Escobar was the quiet knife waiting in the dark, not the burst of automatic weapon fire. “Thanks.”

  “Rodrigo, deliver Señorita Solomon safely to Texas.” He turned, glass of bloodred wine still in hand, and dismissed me.

  Once we were up in the air, I realized I’d abandoned the Chevelle in Mexico. Fortunately, it hadn’t been a nice ride, and maybe nobody would mind much. With the baby and all, it might go unnoticed.

  At my request, the goons deposited me at a used-car lot, where I spent a small portion of my blood money. For a thousand bucks, I drove away in a maroon El Camino and the satisfaction of knowing I didn’t have to give it back or explain if something happened to it. Butch yapped in approval as he sniffed the clean black cloth seats. The rest of the interior was ugly maroon vinyl, but it was mine. This would be great for hauling stuff, once we got the thrift store going. I couldn’t wait to show Shannon.

  Since I hadn’t eaten since that morning, I found a driveup and munched a burger in the parking lot. Butch ate half of a kid-size one on his own and he whined because it wasn’t Carl’s Jr. quality. I shrugged. “Better than starving, right?”

  The dog looked unconvinced.

  Once we finished, I called Chuch. “Hey, how are you guys?”

  I wished I could ring Jesse, but he didn’t have a cell phone at the safe house. But as soon as news hit about Montoya’s demise, Glencannon would spring him, and we could talk. We had a lot of things to settle; Shan and I needed to go apartment hunting. Maybe starting over in Laredo wouldn’t be so bad.

  “Great.” I could hear the glow. “I got a little girl.”

  “I’ll swing by. What hospital?”

  He told me, and then belatedly realized aloud, “Shit, if you’re here, then—”

  “Yeah. It’s done.”

  Chuch whooped and then somebody shushed him, probably a nurse. “Gotta get back. Eva’s dying to see you.”

  Circle of life, and all that. I was dying to see her too. I started up the El Camino and drove over to the hospital. I knew where it was: same one where Jesse had been laid up recently. I hated hospitals, but for this, I’d go in smiling. I hid Butch as we went through the automatic doors.

  It wasn’t hard to find the maternity ward, even less difficult to locate Eva’s room. Between her mother and all the Ortiz cousins, they were driving the staff crazy. I figured one more person didn’t matter, though there was barely room for me to step inside. Watching, I felt more alone than I ever had, because they shared a support network that I’d never possess.

  But maybe, maybe with Jesse.

  Eva waved at me from bed, offering a half smile, and the feeling passed. “Glad you could make it.”

  “Better late than never.” I stopped in the doorway, not wanting to fight the crowd to get closer.

  She looked exhausted and blissful, long black hair sticking to her forehead. Dark circles under her eyes didn’t diminish her beauty at all. The baby was so tiny, red faced, wrinkly, and wearing a wee pink hat. She had a bracelet on her wrist, and she seemed like she might start wailing at any minute. Relatives milled around me, murmuring in Spanish. Rather than making me feel out of place, it felt homey and familiar. I’d gotten to the point where I had to remember to speak English in the States.

  “What’s her name?” I asked a random Ortiz.

  Chuch materialized behind me. “Camelia Corine.”

  Everything I’d been through lately—and that did me in. So I was crying when I spotted Chance. He perched on the window ledge, foot propped on the arm of the chair. Some woman sat beside him, gazing up at him dreamily.

  “What’s he doing here?” I demanded, low.

  Chuch followed my gaze. “He’s her godfather. Figure it out.”

  Oh. I was not disappointed; for me, it was Jesse Saldana from this point on. But I couldn’t help the wild dread that Chance could undermine my resolve when my ex cut through the crowd toward me.

  Blue Night

  After assuring Chuch I wouldn’t miss the baptism in a couple of days, I made a quick exit. Today was Eva’s—and Camelia’s—day to shine. Only a total drama slut would get into it with her ex in front of her friend’s family. Better for me to leave quietly and avoid taking the focus away from the glowing mom. Sure, we could participate in the ceremony later and be polite in front of the family, but otherwise, there was no need for us to socialize.

  The grimoires weighed heavy on my shoulder. I increased my pace until I was running, my Converse sneaks making no sound on the tile floor. The lights seemed too bright, and I needed to get away. Butch whimpered in protest; I murmured an apology and kept going. I caught a stern look from the nurses’ station, but I didn’t slow until I got out the doors, where I stood in the night air, drinking in great, gasping breaths.

  My fingers shook as I got out my cell phone. God, I needed to hear Jesse’s voice right now. I wanted his arms around me, but I’d settle. Hell, I’d leave a message if Glencannon hadn’t heard about Montoya yet.

  To my vast relief, he answered, his voice weary and tight. “Yeah?”

  Looks like Escobar moves fast.

  “Hi, it’s me.”

  “Me who?” br />
  Was he being funny? “It’s Corine. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Did the lieutenant spring you and Shannon?”

  Frost turned his tone icicle sharp. “If this is a prank, it’s not funny. You have information on an investigation that you shouldn’t possess. As for Shannon, you leave her the hell alone. She’s a good kid, and she’s been through enough.”

  No. Oh, no. Dread built inside me. I’d never worked that spell before. Just like the lucky penny, I gave it too much power. Stupid untaught witch.

  “Can I speak to her?”

  Surely Shan remembers me. We’re besties.

  He muted the call for a few seconds, and then came back on the line. “She doesn’t know any Corine. Look, lady, I’ve got your number now. If you bother either of us again, I’ll take it badly.”

  And he hung up. I was left standing in the dark with a dead phone in my hand. Shaking set in. Maybe it’s not permanent. Maybe they’ll remember me in time. It’ll wear off. Other people will talk about me and prompt their recollections. I hope. Tears filled my eyes, even easier this time since the baby had opened the floodgates. I didn’t get to tell her the name of our shop. Spooky Vintage. I leaned against the solid wall just outside the doors and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to contain the reaction. Stupidly, I felt as if they’d both died.

  But maybe I deserved this. Maybe it was a punishment for what I’d done to survive. If I lived, I had to pay for it, so the universe removed the truly good people from my sphere of influence. The wound swelled within me in a scream I couldn’t let out. Salt stung my cheeks and my nose started to run.

  Not Jesse. Not Shannon. I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes, hoping the external pain would balance the devastation within. As I fought for composure, the nearby hospital doors swished open and footfalls pounded toward the parking lot. It wasn’t until they slowed and then angled my way that I opened my eyes.

  Chance. Well, of course he wouldn’t be able to resist an opportunity to tell me how well he was doing. By comparison, I’d lost my best friend, seen murder done, and been wearing the same clothes for three days. The breaks always swung his way. Maybe he’d even show me a picture of his new woman, and ask if we could be friends. I braced for salt in the wound.