Song for the Dead: An Ada Palomino Novel

by Karina Halle

  With the sun on my shoulders, the air surprisingly warm and smelling of the ocean, I feel good. Buoyant, almost. As if feelings that have long since been dormant are starting to fizz inside me, like bubbles in fine champagne.

  I glance up at Max walking beside me, feeling that rush intensify. How nice it is just to be with someone, checking out a new city, feeling like we’ve got the world stretching out in front of us. I know that I almost died last night, I know our relationship feels like it’s edging toward complicated in some ways, I know that everything in his life is topsy turvy right now.

  But just for the moment, it feels good. Better than good.

  It feels normal.

  I eye his hand, wondering if I should hold it. I know that it does something good for him, recharges him, and he does seem tired and almost melancholy. But, let’s face it, I ain’t no holy roller—it also does something for me.

  Without even looking at me, he reaches out and grabs my hand, hot energy channeling from his palm to mine, shivers traveling up my arm and down my spine, setting off all the happy fireworks in my head.

  And that’s how we walk through San Francisco, holding hands, not needing to explain it or analyze what it means (I mean, would he be holding my hand if he didn’t get some kind of boost from me? Probably not. Also, what am I, eight? Since when did holding hands become a big deal?).

  Okay, so maybe I am overanalyzing this.

  Just a little.

  By the time we get to the ferry, Max seems to have brightened up a bit, back to his easy going, jokey self.

  “First time to Alcatraz?” I ask him as we board the small ferry, crammed full of people. “I mean as a tourist. I’m guessing you weren’t imprisoned here, though who knows with you.”

  He smiles. “Yep. Having a lot of firsts with you.”

  I grin, feeling pleased as punch. “That means that you’ve got a lot of world you haven’t seen yet, lot of things you haven’t done. Nice to have things to look forward to.”

  Darkness washes across his eyes for a moment and he looks away. “That I do.”

  I try not to ponder his mood swings as the ferry leaves the dock, swaying with the waves.

  Alcatraz is pretty cool. We follow the group, guided audiobooks in our ears as we wander around the cells. We don’t get to go everywhere, but what we do see is spooky as hell. I mean, both Max and I saw a ghost standing in the corner of one of the cells, so yeah, there’s a lot of history in this place.

  But I’m not Perry and ghosts don’t bother me or Max much. We’re the demon hunters here.

  Anyway, we got to see a lot of behind-the-film scenes too, like blood splatters still left on the ceiling in the medical room, courtesy of them filming The Rock with Nic Cage and Sean Connery here, which then meant I got to do both my Cage and Connery impressions for Max until he told me to stop.

  “Where do you want to eat tonight?” I ask Max as we’re crammed in the seats at the back of the boat, riding the ferry back to the city.

  “Don’t matter much to me,” he says. “Though I think I need a nap when I get back.”

  I grab his hand and pick it up, energy charging. “This doesn’t help?”

  He gives me a steady look. “You don’t have to do that, Ada.”

  “Well what if I want to?”

  He swallows thickly. “Then I won’t stop you.” His eyes drift over my face, as if searching for something.

  It’s enough to make me look away, though I keep a hold of his hand to make a point. That is, until I have to go to the bathroom.

  I let go and get up. Make my way through the crowd to the woman’s restroom, pushing open the heavy door to find myself in a tiny two-stall room that smells like diesel. One stall is occupied, so I go in the other.

  The woman in the other stall leaves and I hear the tap running and then turn off, but I don’t hear the door open. She’s probably just doing her makeup in the mirror or something. Meanwhile, I’m having a hell of a time peeing with the boat moving the way it is.

  Finally, I flush and step out, expecting the woman to be gone but she’s still here, staring at herself in the mirror. She’s pretty, in her thirties, pale with a dark brown bob, wearing all white, eyes so pale blue they’re almost milky.

  But despite how normal she looks, there’s something about her that puts me on edge, makes me clench my jaw. I try to shake the feeling, forcing myself to walk to the sink beside her and wash my hands. I don’t dare look at her, though now I feel her looking at me.

  I concentrate on my breathing, wondering if I’m having a panic attack, and try to focus on washing my hands with the soap, over and over, almost methodical, until I turn on the tap.

  For a moment the water doesn’t come, then it gurgles and comes out in a splash of blood before running clear.

  I gasp, pulling my hands away and look up at the woman to see if she saw that stream of red.

  But the woman is walking to the door to the restroom.

  And locking it.

  So no one else can come in.

  She turns around to face me, a close-mouthed smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

  “You should rinse your hands,” she says to me, her voice smooth and metallic at the same time, like it’s not really coming from her but from a radio somewhere.

  Oh no. Oh no.

  My veins begin to buzz, picking up on the fact that something is very, very wrong here.

  And yet I’m moving back to the sink, running my hands under the water that’s running clear but burning hot then hotter until steam begins to rise and my skin begins to burn and I can’t stop.

  I have no control.

  Then the water turns off by itself and my hands are pink and throbbing.

  The woman shakes her head in disappointment. “Useless, aren’t you? Can’t even handle a bit of heat.”

  “Excuse me?” I manage to say, ignoring the pain in my hands. “Do I know you?”

  “No, you don’t,” she says. “But your friend does. Pity you had to come along with him, it’s making things a little more complicated. But you like complicated, don’t you, Ada?”

  “Who are you?” I ask, trying to find my resolve. “Don’t use my fucking name if you don’t know me.”

  She blinks. “Feisty. Maybe that’s what he sees in you.”

  I just stare at her, trying to figure out how to get out of this situation. I could try and rip her head off I guess, but am I sure she’s even a demon? She could be a ghost. Or a witch. God forbid a vampire, now that Max told me that those things exist. And if she’s a human and I try to take her head off, there’s gonna be consequences.

  “What do you want?” I ask, wishing my voice wasn’t shaking.

  “Nothing to do with you, don’t worry,” she says plainly. “I’m here for him. He knows it, too. He knew one of us would come through looking for him. You guys should have left him in Hell, Ada. He was much happier there. He didn’t even want to leave.”

  I shake my head, having a hard time swallowing, breathing. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “No. You’re the one who has no idea. You have no idea who you’re traveling with, no idea what he’s made up of. He’s made up of nothing, Ada. Haven’t you looked?”

  I blink. “Looked?”

  “Perhaps he’s hiding it from you. His feelings for you might have clouded things. You’re keeping him alive. Are you sure that’s what he wants?”

  Wait. Wait. “Feelings for me? What feelings?” And also, wait. “Of course he wants to be alive! He asked me to come with him!”

  She stares at me for a moment and I’m starting to think that maybe she’s not a demon after all.

  Then she smiles.

  Shark teeth.

  And before I can react, she’s in front of me, pressing my arms against the tiles on the wall, fingers searing my skin right through my long-sleeved shirt, and I know I’m going to die. I can’t move at all, can’t even think, the energy inside me fizzling out.

 
“I’m not here for you,” she says, voice so deep and raspy, eyes going blacker and blacker until they’re two swirling dark holes and I’m pretty sure I can see my own death in them. “So as long as you stay out of his way.”

  Then she leaves and I collapse straight down to the floor, my hands breaking my fall at the last minute.

  The restroom door opens, and a middle-aged woman pokes her head in. “Good heavens, are you okay? Do you need help?”

  I nod and the woman helps me to my feet. “I slipped,” I say feebly, looking around the restroom until I know we’re alone.

  “What happened to your arms?” she asks and I look down to see my sleeves covered in burn marks from the demon’s fingers, the skin raw underneath.

  “Cigarette burns,” I tell her. “I gotta go.”

  I push past the woman out into the ferry, unsure how to deal with my arms, with anything.

  What the fuck just happened?

  And why wasn’t Max there?

  Twelve

  “Your head’s like a haunted house, peepin’ at your mumbo jumbo.”

  – Head Like a Haunted House

  I make my way through the ferry to the back of the boat where we were sitting, but when I get back to Max, he’s actually asleep, his head back, mouth open.

  “I need to borrow your jacket,” I tell him, standing in front of him. When he doesn’t wake up, I kick his shoe lightly.

  He wakes up and looks around, looking very disoriented. When he finally focuses on me, he frowns. “Ada?” Then he looks down at my arms, eyes going wide. “What happened to you?”

  Other people sitting near us are looking over, so I motion for him to give me his jacket. “Just give me your jacket.”

  He nods and quickly shucks it off, handing it to me. “Do we have to take you to the hospital?”

  I throw on the jacket, my skin stinging. “No. I’ll explain later.”

  Thankfully, as soon as I say that, the boat docks. Max grabs my hand and pulls me through, his large frame cutting a swath through the crowd until we’re on back on the embarcadero, traffic and pedestrians zipping past.

  He pulls me to the side, away from prying eyes, and puts his hands on my face, holding me in place. I feel energy surge from his palms to my cheeks and I close my eyes, letting it sink into me.

  “Tell me what happened,” he says. His voice is gruff, shaking slightly.

  I take a deep breath through my nose, then open my eyes to see his just inches away and for a moment I forget everything.

  Then I remember.

  His feelings for you might have clouded things.

  You’re keeping him alive.

  Are you sure that’s what he wants?

  He’s made up of nothing, Ada.

  Haven’t you looked?

  “What?” Max says, voice getting flinty, a line drawn between his brows as he searches my eyes. “What is it?”

  I could keep this to myself. The things that demon told me felt too personal. But despite her telling me that he’s hiding things from me, I don’t want to believe it, and I don’t want to do the same to him.

  I swallow, my throat painfully dry. “I saw a demon in the restroom on the ferry.”

  His lips part in surprise, a subtle shake of his head, his fingers pressing into my skin. “Why…why didn’t you tell me right away? What happened? Did you destroy her?”

  “I couldn’t tell you with everyone around us. And no. I didn’t destroy her. She was too powerful. She left.”

  “Through a portal?”

  “Through the door.”

  “What?!” he exclaims. His hands drop away from my face and he’s looking around wildly. “That means she’s here somewhere.”

  He could be right. But I somehow doubt it.

  So as long as you stay out of his way.

  What way?

  “I think she’s gone,” I tell him, feeling weak, my knees trembling. “I didn’t know at first what she was. My alarm bells didn’t go off. I’m sure your eyes would have glowed though.”

  “I fell asleep,” he says, horror dawning on him. “Deep sleep. I don’t…I don’t think it was natural.”

  “She obviously wanted me alone.”

  “And she didn’t hurt you?”

  “No. Well…yes.” I gesture to my arms. He makes a growling noise in response, running his hand angrily through his hair.

  “Then what did she do?”

  “She told me she knew you.”

  His eyes sharpen. “Me?”

  “Apparently. You were buddies in Hell or something. She said you didn’t want to leave. As if me and Perry and Dex pulled you out against your will. She said she’s here for you. Not me. Unless I don’t get out of your way.”

  His face falls.

  “Do you know what she meant by that?” I ask, watching him closely.

  He gives his head a shake. “No.”

  “Do you know who she is? She had short dark hair, was pretty…”

  “No.” He chews on his lip for a moment. “No, I won’t know until I see her for myself. I can guarantee in Hell she didn’t look like that.” He sighs and gives me a heartbreaking look. “I’m so sorry, Ada. I shouldn’t have brought you on this trip. I’m putting you at risk.”

  I walk over to him and grab the tips of his fingers. “I knew the risks. You told me about the risks. Hence the sword. Next time we see her, you use that. Destroy her.”

  He looks off into the distance, jaw wiggling back and forth.

  “Hey,” I say to him, squeezing his fingers until he looks back down at me. “I’m okay. I really am.”

  “You got lucky.”

  “I got a warning. Next time we’ll be ready.”

  He stares at me in such a way that I feel his eyes in the depths of me, a hot intensity that builds and builds until my lungs feel tight. But he doesn’t say anything.

  And I don’t say anything.

  Because I’m afraid to say what’s really on mind.

  I’m afraid to ask him what she meant when she said he has feelings for me. Was she telling the truth?

  And what do I want the truth to be?

  Finally, Max looks away, breaking the spell. “We should get back to the hotel. Stop by a pharmacy and get something for your arms.”

  I don’t argue with him.

  We get an Uber and make a quick stop at a CVS where he picks up a first-aid kit, which is probably good planning, then we go up to the room. I get changed in the bathroom into a t-shirt and wash my arms with soap. The burns aren’t as bad as they were earlier, but Max insists I sit on my bed while he dresses up the wounds.

  I sit there, conscious over how close he is as he carefully dabs Polysporin on them. I study the top of his head, marveling at how he doesn’t have a single grey in the sea of red. You’d think centuries upon centuries would take their toll in at least a subtle way.

  “Have I ever told you that you have great hair?” I tell him.

  He chuckles softly. “Many times.”

  “Oh. Good to know I’m repeating myself.”

  “You’re just running out of compliments.” He straightens up and I look down at my arms. “Not sure if I should bandage them or not. They’re healing nicely.”

  “You mean like I have super healing strength, like Wolverine? Or, I guess, you.”

  “If this were a regular burn you’d be screwed. But it’s not a regular burn. Your body has adapted to fight it specifically, as I’m sure any other injuries you might sustain from them. In time, it won’t matter.”

  “Well, she did call me useless. Guess I kind of am for the time being.”

  He frowns, anger flashing through his eyes. Being this close to him, it comes off as a wave of dark energy that almost pushes me back. “I don’t like to think what could have happened.”

  “Then don’t think about it.”

  “I could have lost you…I would have never forgiven myself.” Raw dark sorrow and anger comes through him, making me physically ache in response.

>   My chest is feeling too small for my heart.

  I reach out, place my hands on the side of his face, run my fingers back through his hair, watch as his eyes close. I feel like I’m having an out of body experience as I do this, like I’m not even breathing.

  “Max,” I whisper to him, and god, we’re so close.

  All I would need to do is lean in.

  Lean in two inches and place my lips on his.

  I’ve been wanting to do that since the minute I pulled him out of the Veil and felt him solid beneath my hands, I’ve wanted that and I’ve never understood it, but maybe now I do.

  And if I do it, if I kiss him, then maybe I’ll know for sure.

  Maybe I can tell how he really feels about me.

  Am I just like a little sister to him or am I something more?

  Can I ever be something more?

  Do I want that?

  He’s breathing heavily, his lips parted, as if waiting for me, his brow furrowed, eyes pinched shut, and I don’t know if I know what’s happening or if he does.

  Will I ruin everything if I do this?

  It’s enough to make me stop.

  I press my fingertips against his temples, close my eyes, and try to find the truth some other way.

  He’s made up of nothing, Ada.

  Haven’t you looked?

  I’m looking.

  And suddenly the energy that’s flowing through my fingers bursts like an atom bomb and I’m flung back across the room, flung back into nothing but a black hole and I know what I’m looking at.

  I’m looking at him.

  In him.

  I’m looking at what’s in Max, at what he’s made of, his conscious, his mind, his soul, and it’s just empty space.

  No, no, it’s not empty.

  It’s filled with so much sorrow and despair and hopelessness that tears fall from my eyes and I’m clutching my stomach, falling to my knees, feeling like my heart, my soul, are being sucked out into the abyss and I will become nothing too.

  There’s nothing here but pain.

  So much pain.

  So much darkness.

  With only one tiny light burning in the center of it.