Song for the Dead: An Ada Palomino Novel

by Karina Halle

  And in that kernel of light, I think I see me.

  So small, so fragile, flickering.

  It’s the only thing that’s good here.

  The only thing that carries hope.

  And it’s so close to being swallowed by the black.

  Max is so close to losing everything to it, this churning, desperate void from which there is no escape.

  “STOP!”

  Suddenly Max’s scream roars through my ears and, before I know what’s happening, the black is sucked away and I’m back in the room and Max is throwing me down on the bed.

  I land on my back, tears streaming down my face, my soul having taken on all of his pain, and he’s on top of me, his giant weight pushing me down, my hands held above my head by the wrists.

  I’m pinned down, staring up at him through blurry vision and he’s lowering his face so close to mine and he’s so angry, so angry.

  “Stay the fuck out of my head!” he screams at me, and I close my eyes, still crying, still trying to tell him I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t know what happened, I didn’t know I could do that, but the words don’t come.

  And I’m afraid.

  I’m so afraid.

  But I’m not afraid of him.

  I’m afraid for him.

  Of what he might do to himself.

  Then he suddenly lets go of me, gets off the bed and heads to the door, slamming it behind him as he leaves the room.

  I take a moment, gasping for breath, then roll over on my side, the sobs rolling through me, my body shaking.

  What the fuck just happened?

  He’s left me ruined.

  He’s ruined.

  He’s made up of nothing, Ada.

  I can barely see, barely move, like the blackness that was inside him is now inside me too, dragging me down, making it feel like I’m moving underwater.

  Is this what it feels like to be him?

  Behind that easy smile, his good nature, his laissez-faire attitude, is this what he’s been dealing with since he came back from Hell, is this what he’s been hiding?

  Shit. When I overheard Dex over the phone telling me he’s dangerous, maybe he wasn’t being a paranoid overprotective big brother. Maybe he knew something I didn’t.

  What if Max is a danger to himself?

  And contrary to what that demon told me, I won’t be getting out of his way.

  I force myself up and then grab my jacket, phone, and the room key, heading out of the room. I head to the elevator and start texting Max, telling him I’m sorry, that he needs to come back. I don’t want him to get too far from me. I know he said he was able to go shopping in Portland and all that without me, but we literally haven’t been physically apart in days.

  I storm through the lobby, the texts not going through to Max, then out onto the street. He better not have taken the car anywhere.

  “Excuse me,” I say to the valet. “The Super B, did the hulky redhead take it anywhere?”

  The valet shakes his head and points down the street. “He walked off down there.”

  “Thank you,” I tell him, and he gives me a quick smile, the kind that says he thinks we’re in the middle of a lovers spat. God, I wish it were that simple.

  I start off down the hill, walking faster and faster until I pass Polk Street and then hit the 101 slicing through the city. I look left and right, darkness having descended on SF, then decide to go up the street.

  I feel like I’m walking forever. The 101 is way too busy—restaurants, bars, hotels, too many people. I’ll never find Max here.

  I take a right, heading back up the hill, then as I’m walking past an alley, I get a burst of energy inside me, ebbing and flowing.

  This could be him.

  He might be near.

  I head down the alley, wondering if there’s a cool speakeasy back here, maybe Max is getting himself a drink and I’ll find him and it will be okay.

  But the alley is empty.

  Dark, save for a flickering streetlight.

  And quiet.

  So quiet you wouldn’t think the 101 was a block away.

  Something’s wrong.

  That energy inside me now is flaring, and darkness seems to grow at both ends of the alley, trapping me in the middle, my skin pebbled all over my body.

  No. Max isn’t here.

  The air at the end of the alley starts to warp and shimmer and burn and a doorway forms, the edges tinged with flames.

  Shit.

  Three men walk out of the portal.

  Two of them look like punks—studded leather jackets, gel-spiked hair, shit-kicker boots and skinny jeans. They snarl at me, their eyes black, skin grey.

  But the third one? The third one shuffles through, wearing an oversized yellow sweatshirt and cargo pants. He’s short, he’s a teen, with chin-length shaggy blonde hair that has had a lot of thought put in it. He’s that stoner demon that Max summoned in the backyard. He did warn me he’d be back.

  So, fuck.

  Guess it’s me against them now.

  No Max to guide me.

  No sword.

  And in the depths of my heart, I’m starting to fear that I might not have Max and his sword to guide me again.

  What if he’s never coming back?

  You die, I die, he’d said.

  But what if that was the point?

  “Thought I’d see you again,” the punk-ass kid says to me, walking forward, the other two trailing at his sides like snarling dogs.

  “Been looking forward to it,” I tell him.

  I take off my jacket and throw it to the ground to give myself more movement, then throw my arms out, feeling the energy burning through me to the palms of my hands.

  Waiting.

  A soundtrack of building drums and churning guitar gets louder and louder in my head and I start pumping my leg to the imaginary beat, letting the energy get stronger and stronger and stronger.

  Then when it hits the crescendo and the music explodes into high gear, pummeled by the bassline, I let GO.

  I run.

  Straight for the punk-ass kid.

  I push off in front of him, the energy firing, making me leap up and do a summersault over his head, expecting to land on him like last time.

  But he’s quick. He ducks out of the way, a blur.

  I drop to the ground in a crouch as one of the spikey-haired boys comes at me and I’m able to launch myself up again, kicking out against his chest until he goes stumbling backward.

  I roll forward, over and over, until I’m straddling his neck with my thighs, holding him to the ground.

  He snaps at me and I reach down and grab his head, twisting it to the right then left, then I’m pushing over again until I’m on my knees and his head is still in my hands.

  I use the energy to swing him off the ground by his head until his neck snaps and he disappears to dust, the ashes burning my skin.

  But there’s no time to take pleasure in my first kill.

  The second spikey-haired boy is coming at me, teeth snapping, fingers turning to claws as it swipes at me.

  But it swipes at air.

  I push off the ground again, go flying over his head, using the gravity and air around me to manipulate me until I’m back on my feet and facing him and the punk-ass.

  “That all you pussies got?” I say to them.

  As expected, being called a pussy really pisses them off.

  So predictable.

  They both charge toward me and I wish to god I had Max’s sword, because I could really work some magic here and take off two heads at once, but alas, that’s not to be.

  So I jump straight up then leap toward the wall of the alley, pushing off it, doing a back flip until I’m on the shoulders of the spikey-haired fuck and I’m grabbing his head and screaming until I’m able to twist his head right off, tossing it behind me before it turns to dust.

  The rest of him crumbles beneath me, and I fall to the ground, landing on my feet.

>   But when the demon dust settles, sizzling on my clothes, the punk-ass kid is gone.

  I blink and then claws are dragging down my back, ripping open my t-shirt, digging in my skin, and I’m screaming.

  I spin around, putting my hands out to protect me, but then he’s behind me again, grabbing me by the hair and whipping me through the air until I go flying into the wall.

  SMACK.

  Pain blinds me, the world starts to fade and I slam into the cold concrete, unable to break my fall.

  Fuck.

  FUCK!

  I can barely move.

  My body is on fire.

  I think I’ve broken every bone.

  But I know he’s coming.

  I have to get up.

  I have to.

  I push off up the ground, trying to get to my knees, but then I see a flash of yellow and the demon kicks me in the head and I go flying backward and everything is pain and stars and black.

  It’s black.

  I slump against the ground, the energy inside me fizzling.

  I have to fight back.

  I have to keep going.

  I can’t die in this alley.

  And if I die, Max dies, and I’m not letting that happen to him, no matter how he feels about the deal.

  Get up, get up, get up!

  The energy sparks just enough.

  I push myself up, open my eyes.

  Everything is blurry.

  Dizzy.

  There’s yellow.

  Close.

  Too close.

  Demon eyes.

  Snapping shark’s mouth.

  “Do you have any last words?” he asks me.

  I spit out blood and snarl, looking at him through a squinted eye.

  “Yeah. Your hair sucks, dude.”

  He flinches.

  Anger in his black eyes.

  Mouth opening wide, rows of teeth leading to Hell.

  Then two hands appear on both sides of the demon’s head.

  Big hands.

  Capable hands.

  They press against the demon’s head and, with a vicious twist, rip the head right off.

  Dust fills my view.

  And everything goes black.

  Thirteen

  “Nicotine, Valium, Vicodin, marijuana, ecstasy and alcohol.”

  – Feel Good Hit of the Summer

  “Ada.”

  Max’s voice breaks into my dreams.

  But they’re dreams of nothing.

  Just me floating in nothingness.

  Does this mean I died?

  Am I dead?

  “Ada.” His voice is stronger now, louder.

  A hand at my forehead. Skin on skin.

  I feel him now. I know it’s him. The energy in my body leaps to attention. Like what I feed him feeds me in return.

  Lips now at my forehead.

  His lips.

  A forehead kiss?

  Okay, I need to wake up for this.

  I manage to open my eyes, though everything is a blurry mess for a moment. I only see a flash of red, like color of leaves in autumn, and suddenly I’m homesick and I don’t know why.

  Then everything clears and I see Max peering at me, his face over mine, his hands pressed against my forehead, against my cheek. His eyes sparkling emerald, holding me in place.

  You’re alive! I try to say but nothing comes out when my mouth moves. My tongue feels thick, dry as sandpaper.

  “You’re alright,” he says to me, his drawl so familiar and soothing that I’m tempted to close my eyes and go back to sleep. “Was a little worried there.”

  That feels like an understatement. I think back to what I remember. Touching his head, looking inside him, seeing the emptiness, feeling his anger. Then walking the streets of San Francisco looking for him, coming across the alley. Defeating the two, and then that punk-ass kid beating the shit out of me and…

  “You,” I manage to say, staring at him. “You were there.”

  Oh god. Please don’t tell me that was a training exercise.

  “I almost didn’t make it,” he says. “And I’m sorry for that.”

  I close my eyes, my head starting to pound. “No, I’m sorry. I mean it. I’m sorry about…I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. I didn’t think it would work like that, I…”

  “Ada,” he says patiently. “It’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine.” I gaze up at him. “I violated you. I violated our trust.”

  He looks pained, breathing in through his nose. “That’s what it felt like. But I know…I know it wasn’t coming from a bad place. And I’m sorry I yelled at you.” He swallows. “Just promise me you won’t do that again.”

  I try to shake my head but my brain aches. “I won’t. I promise you.”

  He takes hold of my hand and squeezes it. “You did so well, sweetheart.”

  “Was that a test? Were you testing me?” I’m trying not to feel indignant, but the feeling is there anyway.

  “No. I had gone for a walk to clear my head. Didn’t get very far when I realize I needed to return to you.”

  “Were you starting to fade?”

  He shakes his head. “No. But I left you the way I did and I felt bad. And then the valet guy at the hotel told me you took off toward Van Ness. The closer I got, the more I felt you. And felt them. Got there right on time.”

  I lift my head a little. I’m still in the hotel room. “Am I going to be okay?”

  “I took you to the hospital.”

  I stare at him for a moment, the words sinking in. “You did what?!”

  “It was fine. I got a doctor to see you. X-rays, the whole bit. You’re fine. No one will ever know that we were there.”

  “Well, fuck. How long have I been out?”

  He gives me a wan smile. “Almost twenty-four hours. You might have some pain in your rib. The doctor said it looked like a broken rib that was healing, so I think it’s probably healed by now. Either way, I got you Vicodin.”

  “Oh really?” Now I’m intrigued. “Drugs please.”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “If I’m your nurse, I’m in charge of dispensing this shit.”

  “I said please.” I hold out my hand.

  He breaks into a grin. “Glad to have you back, darlin’.”

  He reaches over to the bedside table and grabs a prescription bottle, handing it to me before grabbing a glass of water.

  I pop a pill, swallow it down with the water, and smile at him gratefully.

  Then I look down at my clothes.

  I’m wearing a black tank top. No bra. I lift up the covers. My booty shorts.

  I glance at him. “When did I get changed?”

  Just a hint of a sly smile. “After I brought you back from the hospital.”

  “Was I conscious? I don’t remember any of it.”

  “You know how you took care of me when I was drunk in Gold Beach? I reckon it was like that.”

  “So you saw me naked,” I say pointedly.

  He’s trying not to grin. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Nothing to worry about.”

  “I’m not worrying,” I grumble, stealing a glance at him. “Would just have liked to remember it, that’s all.”

  He stares at me for a moment, his slight smile holding steady. Then he shrugs. “Consider ourselves even.”

  He gets off the bed, heads toward the washroom.

  “How is this considered even!” I yell after him, though my throat feels raw. “All I got to take off was your shoes!”

  I hear him laugh and the bathroom door closes.

  I’m suddenly hit with a wave of nausea and exhaustion. I lean back against the pillows and take stock of the room. It looks the same as I remember, but it bugs me that not only I’ve lost some time, but so much happened right before that. I mean, he saved me at the last minute, again, and I had a peek into his psyche and there’s a shitload to unpack here between us. I have a feeling that even though we’re both glad I’m alive and well in this bed,
that some stuff is going to come around to kick us in the ass.

  He’s taking care of me right now, but I have the feeling I’m going to be the one looking after him. Even just remembering what I saw deep inside him is enough to make me feel hopeless, so I push it out of my head.

  Close my eyes.

  And let the pill take over.

  It took three days to bring me back to normal. That was three days in San Francisco where I actually didn’t see any of San Francisco. I was stuck in the hotel room, Max taking care of me. Which was sweet, even though I sensed part of him was keeping his distance from me. It’s hard to explain, but I feel like since I saw the dark parts of him, he’s putting up a front. Walls. Hiding more than he ever has.

  And I get it. I would do the same if someone took a peek inside my head, rifled around in the very basis of my soul, and walked away not happy with what they saw.

  I’m still coming to terms with that, too. I don’t want to dwell on it because the feelings become too overwhelming and I don’t know if I’m strong enough to handle what he feels. I mean, my mother died. Horribly. That has scarred me for life in ways I will never ever recover from. I was in a dark place. A very dark place. And then with Jay leaving me, it was like I was booted back into that same spot. I know what the darkness feels like, what it’s like to drift toward the void, to lose all hope, all vision, to feel that there’s no point to even go on.

  I have been there.

  And, even so, what I felt was just a fraction of what’s been residing in Max. What he’s living with…how is he even alive?

  Wait.

  I know the answer to that.

  So now the two of us are eyeing each other like the other one is about to say something that’s going to pull the rug out and neither of us want to take that first fall.

  Neither of us want the other to fall, either.

  In other words, things just kind of got fucked up.

  But I think I know how to get rid of the tension.

  When we throw our luggage into the Super B and gun it out of San Francisco, Max is thinking we’re going to LA for a couple of days.

  But I have a better idea. A more fun idea.

  “Hey, so, you’ve heard of Coachella right?” I ask.

  He gives me a wry look as he brings the car onto the I-5. Big Sur was originally in our plans, but after the windy twisty fogginess of highway 1 and the three days in SF, we decided to go the quicker but boring route south.