Agave Kiss cs-5

by Ann Aguirre

  “Good news?” I asked.

  “I didn’t want to get your hopes up, should this last effort prove fruitless, but that was Ms. Devlin.”

  I raised a brow. “You still call her Ms., after . . .” At his pointed look, I shook my head. “Never mind. Go on.”

  “She found a copy of the scroll and someone who might be able to translate the text for us.”

  “Fast enough?” I demanded.

  There, he paused. “It’ll be a near thing, Corine. It’s a rare language . . . and we can’t pay the fees that would cause a professor to put aside his other responsibilities. We can certainly offer an honorarium that makes it worth his time, but the sort of people who go into dead languages don’t tend to be motivated by money anyway.”

  “You mean there’s not huge profit in ancient Babylonian? Huh. Never would’ve guessed.” Kel could read and translate this ritual, but he was busy protecting me from Barachiel.

  As a last resort, I’ll call him.

  “May I borrow the car?”

  “I dunno, it’s a pretty sweet ride. Can I trust you not to do doughnuts in it?”

  “I don’t even like doughnuts,” Booke said.

  Right, though he’s kept up with some of the world via the Internet, he’s still not 100 percent current. So then I had to explain the joke, which eliminated all humor. But he promised me soberly not to do anything that would impact the life of the tires, so I agreed. I stayed behind, cuddling Butch and fretting more.

  When he returned, he said, “Ms. Devlin has called in a few favors for us. The collector agreed to send copies of the scroll to the university in Cairo.”

  “I wish we knew enough to start gathering supplies.” I didn’t mean to sound snippy, but his face fell.

  “As do I. I feel as though I haven’t been nearly useful enough, particularly since you delayed your quest to help me.”

  “I delayed it for Kel too. Those were my decisions, nobody else’s. And I don’t regret either of them.”

  I might, if we ran out of time, and I lost Chance forever, if my kid grew up never knowing his father because of choices I’d made. But I hadn’t realized that the ritual had an expiration date or that the other realm would strip away his ties to the mortal coil. It made sense, but there was no way I could’ve acted based on information I didn’t have at the time. In that case, it would’ve been a tough call, as I had never been one to walk away from a friend in need. I remembered too clearly how it felt to have your back to the wall and nobody in your corner.

  “Anyway,” I went on, “we’re not down to the wire yet.”

  Two days later, we were.

  It had to be tonight . . . or I lost everything. And we still didn’t have a translation of the ritual. Booke had been on the phone, bitching at the professor in Cairo, who was sorry, but he didn’t have the fluency necessary for a detailed translation such as we required, plus the pages from the scroll appeared to be in dialect. While he might be able to work out an approximate meaning, that would take months, not days.

  A voice in my head said, That’s it, then. It’s over. I screamed silently to drown it out. Even if it controverted all logic, I wouldn’t give up one second before time ran out and the buzzer went off. After all, love itself was a defiant shout in the face of a bleak world. It was saying, I know things are terrible, but I believe this person will always be there for me. I believe I have a chance to be happy.

  I believe.

  Maybe it was just too Tinker Bell of me, but I clung to the faith that on the other side, Chance was working just as hard, pushing to be ready when the veil thinned enough for this to be feasible. He wouldn’t let his father convince him there was no point in trying. If we failed, it would be because I couldn’t open the way on my end. I imagined Chance gathering his strength, gaining power from Daikokuten’s worshippers, not to rise as the new incarnation of a god but to use in returning to me.

  “Okay,” I said. “Plan B.”

  Booke gazed at me, astonished. “There’s a plan B?”

  “Do you have a copy of the scroll pages?”

  “Yes. Ms. Devlin asked the collector to CC me.”

  “Then I need you to craft a spell that’ll hide our location for a while. Can you do that?” I knew less than shit about the sorts of spells he could create.

  “I’ll need to pop by the shop, but yes. It’s of limited duration, and it applies only to magickal tracking and scrying. I take it that’s what you’re after?”

  I nodded. “We don’t need to be invisible. I’ll find us a place to perform the ritual while you’re gone.”

  “But we don’t have a translation.”

  “Just get the stuff for the hide-and-seek spell. Leave the rest to me.”

  He scowled at me. “I rather hate being treated like a minion.”

  “There’s no time,” I snapped.

  That ship had sailed. This was my last Hail Mary play, and if we dropped the ball here, well . . . As Booke left, I dug out my phone and dialed Jesse. He seemed surprised to hear from me, but not tense or awkward, which made me happy. Maybe one day, we’d get back to our old footing.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “I need a quiet place with little opportunity for collateral damage, if something goes wrong. You can find out what buildings have been seized.”

  “Shit. You’re asking me to use police resources for personal reasons. I could get fired.”

  “This is the last favor I’ll ever ask of you. Promise.” Then I played the blackmail card without blinking; he had to know I wasn’t fucking around. “Frankly, I figure you owe me. You’d be in mourning if it wasn’t for me. I brought the woman you love back to you. Help me do the same for my man.”

  “Goddammit.” That was the sound of him giving in. “Ten minutes. I’ll find you something. I don’t know what you’ve got planned, understand? Don’t tell me. Especially if it’s illegal.”

  “I don’t think it is,” I said.

  But likely there weren’t any statutes on the books about opening portals between worlds. I suspected Congress wouldn’t like it, but I didn’t plan to put the matter to a vote, so it was all good. It actually took Jesse twenty minutes, and he didn’t call back. Instead, he texted me an address. I borrowed Booke’s computer and looked at it on Google maps; the street view was incredibly helpful—disturbingly so, in fact. He’d found me a warehouse in the industrial district. By the graffiti tags and the broken windows, the buildings on each side looked to be abandoned.

  “Perfect,” I said.

  Butch sighed at me.

  “You don’t approve?”

  Negative yaps.

  “You think I should play it safe?”

  More negative yaps.

  “What’s wrong, then?”

  He stared at me pointedly. Right. I forgot that he couldn’t talk unless I got the tiles. So I fetched them, spread them out for him, and he told me:

  ready to go home i miss tia

  “Me too, pal. Me too.”

  By the time Booke got back, I had packed our stuff. One way or another, I wasn’t coming back. This apartment had served its purpose, but I was ready to move on. The leg wrap made it possible for me to move without limping much, but the pain was constant. Hopefully my muscle strength would return after I completed the PT, but the injury wouldn’t keep me from doing what I had to tonight.

  “You got everything for the spell?”

  “Yes, and I’ve the focus object right here.”

  “Wrap it all up. You can work it when we get to the warehouse.”

  Frustration etched into his features, but we didn’t have time for me to lay everything out for him. I texted Shannon the address and let her know the shit was going down tonight. After the talk we had in the hospital, it couldn’t be otherwise. She’d never forgive me if I did this without her. Then, I remembered Booke’s lecture on asking for help. I didn’t think I needed backup, but who knew what, exactly, would happen tonight? If Ebisu sent enforcers through the gate
to try and bring Chance back, well, I wasn’t in any shape to fight, between my bum leg and the bun in the oven.

  So I sent the details and the time to Chuch and Eva as well. Eva pinged back with confirmation. I’ll be there, chica, dressed to the nines. Which I took to mean she would bring heavy weapons, just in case. I had Booke for magickal defense, Chuch and Eva for an old school throwdown. Ten minutes later, Shan got back to me.

  Wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll bring the silverware.

  She had a sword? During our lifetime in Sheol, she’d become accomplished with a blade, and she had mentioned that she intended to continue fencing to keep her skills sharp. There was no doubt she’d keep Jesse jumping. He knew where we’d be, but there was no way he’d show, unless something horrible happened. He had to steer clear of breaking and entering; and that, I was sure, along with trespassing, would be the least of my crimes tonight.

  “This is a bit absurd,” Booke said, as he drove toward the warehouse. “You’re setting up to cast a spell we don’t have.”

  “We’ll have it.”

  “How?” he demanded.

  “Kel.”

  A frown creased his brow. “Why didn’t you contact him in the first place?”

  “He’s already playing bait to keep Barachiel off me long enough to do this. Problem is, I can’t do it without him. We tried.”

  “And you were afraid if he stopped running, Barachiel would track Kel down and kill him.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “That’s why you asked for the spell to hide our whereabouts. It’s a gamble.”

  I nodded.

  “Corine, I don’t know whether my magick is strong enough to block a demon of his strength. He may have resources of which I’m unaware.”

  “Then you see why I didn’t want to call Kel until it became unavoidable.”

  “He was always your ace in the hole,” Booke realized aloud.

  “Yep. I didn’t want to put him at risk more than he’s already offered, but there’s no choice now.”

  “Needs must, devil drives.”

  There was nothing more to say. The final minutes were up on the scoreboard, game winding down. When we arrived at the warehouse, it looked even worse than it had on Google. Easy to imagine shady doings here. Booke took the tire iron out of the trunk and whacked the rusty padlock on the back door until it gave. Inside, it was dark, dank, reeking of pigeon shit and the acrid tang of urine. Not a romantic locale for a long-anticipated reunion. I wandered around until I found a janitor’s closet; fortunately, there was a dirty broom amid the other abandoned supplies, so I swept a portion of the cement floor clear. There only needed to be room to cast a circle, but my mother’s power was gone.

  You have to use the demon magick.

  Though the thought revolted me, I’d do it. My vow limited its practice to life and death, and this qualified. So one last stain to serve my purposes, and then I would turn my back on that world forever. But what if it hurts the baby? Was demon magick like drinking, drugs, or too much caffeine? Shit. Who would I even ask? No doubt I had made some impossible choices in my life, but father of child versus child? Much as I hated it, I’d have to pick our baby over Chance.

  But maybe there’s a solution. You haven’t even gotten the translation yet.

  I dialed the panic down to DefCon 4.

  While I’d been tidying, Booke had cast his spell. He brought me the statuette, placing it in my hand with a sober look. “If everything goes to hell tonight, it’s been an honor.”

  “Seriously? That’s your pep talk?”

  “I am British, you know.”

  That was a joke. I thought. So I laughed, but the sound resonated with nervous tension. Booke rubbed my shoulder with gentle affection, evidently over his prior aggravation. It hit me then that he’d be leaving soon. Regardless of how this ended he’d be in the wind, living out his dream of seeing the world before he replaced Ms. Devlin at the arcane library beneath Wonder Lanes.

  Gods, I’ll miss him.

  I checked the time. “I’m calling Kel. Get ready.”

  Booke knew without being told that he had only seconds to keep us from ending up with Barachiel right on top of us. Hopefully his blocker would last long enough to bring Chance back, and then I’d help Kel fight the crazy-ass demon that had him on a magickal leash. We all would. The whole crew would be assembled at that point and ready for a fight.

  Bring it on.

  I whispered the summons soft enough that Booke couldn’t make out Kel’s true name, and this time, I put a little demon magick in the call. Using it in this realm stung, like pushing up too fast through the ocean and taking a load of salt water up the nose. But it didn’t hurt like using my mother’s magick had—and that worried me. I noticed no response from the baby, no pain, no nausea.

  Kel appeared before me a few seconds later, battered, bewildered. He was also filthy, exhausted, covered in half-healed wounds. Gods, what had he been doing for the past two weeks? Booke smashed the statuette at our feet, bringing up a cloud of dust that shimmered, settling gently on my skin. The blocker was on the job. We’d see how well it worked.

  “What have you done?” Kel demanded. “I warned you, this is madness.”

  “We have a little time at least. Booke’s got us covered. Literally.” I paused for Kel to sense the truth, and some of his tension and rage diffused. “I need your help. You’re the only one who can do this for me. Believe me, if there was any other way . . .” I shook my head. “We tried. This is it.”

  Anyone else would’ve persisted in the questions, but he read my desperation. Kel ran a hand down my cheek, left the stickiness of his blood behind. Fortunately, I had no open wounds on my face, or I’d be high as a kite right now. Last time, I went tripping balls after a hit of his blood. That made me wonder if all demon blood had healing properties, or only the ones who had been magickally fooled into believing they came from angelic origins. Not a critical question right now, though.

  “What do you need?” he asked.

  Ritual of Doom

  Booke handed Kel his phone. “A precise translation, if possible.”

  Kel skimmed the pages with quick cognition. Then he handed the cell back. “It’s a spell to part the veil. Not to Sheol. Elsewhere. But it won’t work unless you have help from the other side.”

  “I do,” I said. “Can you lay it out for me? What do we need to cast it?”

  Without protest, Kel made a shopping list for Booke, who took the keys to the Pinto and hurried off, muttering, “They’re going to love us at the shop.”

  “You don’t have to stay,” I said to Kel. “Just write down what I need to do. I’ll take it from there.”

  “Barachiel will find me,” he replied wearily. “The wizard’s spell will slow him, but the ending is inevitable. Knowing the truth, I cannot swerve. We’ve played cat and mouse for days.”

  Judging from his injuries, Kel had been the mouse. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Everything ends, dadu.”

  This time, I didn’t forbid the endearment. While he was constant, he was also an immortal half-demon, bound to a maniacal creature that believed it was an archangel destined to rewrite the world. It had been working toward that until I stumbled into the mix. With a combination of Chance’s backlash luck and my own stubbornness, I fucked up Barachiel’s life; he didn’t take rejection well either.

  “Seriously, I don’t want you here if Barachiel shows up. I’ll have backup.” Whether Booke, Shannon, Chuch, Eva and I could take out an ancient demon, I had no idea. But Kel would die if we didn’t. “Just write the spell down.”

  I handed him a notebook from my purse, along with a pen. Kel heaved a sigh, but he wrote in his lovely, old-fashioned hand. A few minutes later, I took the pad from him, scanned the steps.

  “That doesn’t look too bad.”

  “What you’re not seeing is that all great workings require a sacrifice.”

  “Shit. Like a life? If I cast this
spell, it might kill my baby?”

  Oh, gods, no. No. Fate couldn’t be so cruel. I’d gladly die to give Chance the life he wanted in this world, but I couldn’t kill our child for him. He wouldn’t want me to if he knew that was the price.

  “You choose the sacrifice before you cast.”

  “So it wouldn’t just randomly take my kid?”

  Kel shook his head. “Generally, it’s a magickal sacrifice, an artifact or a foci brimming with power.”

  “It’s not death magick, then.”

  “Not usually, though death magick would serve as a workable substitute.”

  “Dammit. I don’t have any—oh. I could give the spell the touch . . . and what’s left of my demon magick.” I gazed up at him, anxious. “Would that be enough?”

  “I don’t know. It depends how much power your partner brings to bear on the other side.”

  “It’s all I have to offer,” I whispered. “I’ll try.”

  The ritual would leave me a normal human. That wasn’t a deterrent, however, as that was all I’d ever wanted, my whole life. If this didn’t work, I’d end up a single mom, just like my mother. It has to work. I was in no way strong enough to follow the example set by Cherie Solomon. All those years, she knew where my father had gone—and that he was never coming home.

  Chance is. He promised.

  Kel went over the ritual with me with tireless patience, drilling until I felt sure I had memorized all of the steps. By the time the others started arriving, I’d recited the incantation eighteen times. Shan got there first, sword in hand. Tonight, she eschewed her usual Lolita-goth gear; she was practically garbed in black leggings and a fitted black tee, no loose fabric to interfere with her movements or allow an opponent to grab hold of her. Likewise, she’d bound her black hair back into a tight French braid. Her makeup was still Shan: eyes heavily lined in kohl, ivory pale cheeks, and a blood-red mouth. She looked like a poster of a vampire I’d seen once; I didn’t say that, as she was so over the undead.

  “You nervous?” she asked, giving me a one-armed hug.

  “Kinda. If I let myself think about what I’m doing for more than two seconds.”