Agave Kiss cs-5

by Ann Aguirre

  “Semper fi.” She threw some complicated hand gestures at me, which could’ve been military, or they might’ve been gang signs.

  I ignored them. “Isn’t that the Marine Corps motto?”

  “That’s not the point. What does it mean?”

  Though I didn’t speak Latin, I actually knew this. “Always faithful?”

  “Yep.” She flashed me a triumphant grin. “And that’s you.”

  My heart gave a little squeeze. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it. Where’s the dog?”

  “Cowering in my purse. I’m thinking of charging him rent.”

  Butch gave an indignant yap and trotted out to greet her. He wagged his tail hard enough to shake his whole body when she rubbed him just the way he liked. Sadly for the dog, it couldn’t last. She moved off for some practice swings, and her arcs with her sword were beautiful to behold.

  Next, Chuch and Eva rolled up, looking like they could star in an action movie. Both had dressed in dark, nondescript clothing. Eva was strapped with a 12-gauge shotgun and a handgun in a thigh holster. Chuch had automatics, plus a duffle bag bulging with other goodies. If shit went down, he’d make it real. I squinted, realizing that was the same bag he’d carried the tarp in the other night.

  Night had fallen while I memorized the ritual, a dark and starless night earmarked for Chance’s return. Inside the warehouse, it was gloomier still, but Eva had foreseen that eventuality. “Storm lamps,” she said, setting them around the circle I was drawing in chalk. She activated the batteries one by one, so the squalor was more evident. In the far corner, three rats skittered toward a crack in the wall.

  Eva made a face. “Not exactly pretty, is it?”

  “No, but if things go hideously wrong, we won’t take out a city block either.”

  “There is that,” Chuch said, joining us.

  I smiled, but didn’t pause in sketching the circle. My thigh hurt, the way I was crouched on the cement, but I ignored the pain. “Thanks for coming, all of you.”

  “It wouldn’t be a welcome back party if the gang wasn’t all here,” Chuch said.

  Well, everyone except Jesse. And he wouldn’t show unless things went catastrophically wrong. Here’s hoping I don’t see Jesse Saldana tonight.

  Booke returned last, but he had everything I needed. And he wore a harried look. “I may have scraped another car getting out of downtown.”

  “I’m not worried about it,” I told him frankly.

  “But I’m an outlaw now. A felon.”

  “You didn’t mind leaving the country on a fake passport and a charm,” I pointed out.

  “That was before I realized I’d be here to face the consequences.”

  I laughed. “Quit fretting, granddad, and show me what you got.”

  With a grumble, Booke handed me various dried herbs and powders while Kel reminded me when to use each one. Soon this will be over. That became my mantra as I prepared the site with the spell components. From that point, I ignored the others; my focus had to be complete, the ritual flawless. The susurration of their voices rolled over me in waves, but the snippets didn’t penetrate. Finally, I had everything in place, and I was ready to begin.

  “I need you all to step off. I’m not exactly sure how big the gate will be—”

  “Then shouldn’t you back up as well?” Chuch wondered.

  “I have to stay close to the circle. Theoretically, it should contain the energies and keep the portal from spreading to alarming proportions, but . . .” I shrugged. “Just move, okay? And keep a sharp eye out for trouble.” Demon magick was notorious for rebounding in powerful, unexpected ways.

  “On it,” Shan said.

  Since I would be using the touch—and sacrificing it, plus the remainder of my demon magick—I got out the athame I had carried with me from Sheol. In this realm, it didn’t look as ominous, so possibly the trip back had stripped it of some of its power. But it still didn’t look harmless. I whispered the words in ancient Babylonian as I drew the blade across my palm. My blood welled up ruby red and ready to work. The crimson fluid dripped down the blade; then the warehouse seemed oddly, ominously quiet, as if there were a barrier between the others and me. When my blood trickled onto the chalk, I released the concentration that kept me from reading random objects and murmured the words of gifting—of sacrifice—and then the circle shimmered.

  I hadn’t been positive this would work, but I gained confidence as my remaining abilities went into the protective ring. If this worked as a power exchange, the circle would be drained when the way opened. The ritual would take my magick and give me back Chance. Easy, right?

  Not so much.

  The demon magick clawed on the way out, raking like barbed wire in my veins as blood spilled from my palm. It stuck to me like tar, unwilling to be sacrificed. With pure will, I forced it out until I had nothing left. Then I closed my fingers to get the bleeding to taper off. Booke was there with a roll of gauze; I hadn’t asked him to buy it, but he wrapped my palm without comment.

  “I never saw anything like that,” Chuch murmured with a hint of awe.

  I surveyed my work, and it was a pretty damn fine circle. Now, for the fun part. Chanting for gods knew how long, pushing at the way between worlds, until it thinned enough to permit passage. The ritual didn’t say how long it would take.

  Eva cocked her gun. “It smells like trouble in here.”

  Now that she mentioned it, I did smell something burning; maybe it was just the storm lamps heating up. The Babylonian words sounded strange rolling off my tongue, but they had a hypnotic quality, making it easier to focus. After a few repetitions, all distractions faded. I poured myself into the spell, all I was, all my will, until I was focused only on the circle.

  How will I know if it’s working—

  Before I finished the mental question, a massive boom behind me tempted me to look, but I couldn’t stop chanting, no matter what had happened.

  Chuch was shouting, “Incoming! Take cover.”

  “I count eight,” Eva called back.

  “Fuckin’ demons,” Shan muttered.

  Awesome. So the last Luren in the trifecta of Sexy Evil had come gunning for me—and he was smarter than the others. He’d brought backup . . . but this time, so had I. I didn’t let my concentration lapse; if I did, even for a second, then the spell failed, and there would be no second chances.

  “What the hell is that?” Eva asked.

  Her shotgun went off. I desperately wished I could see the action, and then some of it spilled onto the other side of the circle. Eight shades. Shit. The demon must’ve hired a contractor. Since shades couldn’t be harmed by mundane weapons, Eva, Chuch, and Shan needed to get away from them. But I couldn’t shout the warning, couldn’t pause in my chant, even though my thigh felt like it was on fire and my throat was raw, my lips parched, and my voice had dwindled to a husky croak.

  How long have I been casting?

  “We can’t hurt these,” Shan called. “Back off. Leave it to Kel and Booke.”

  Thank God for Shan.

  I heard Kel fighting. Despite his wounds, he wouldn’t let these monsters get me or my friends. He shouted, “Show yourself, demon!”

  “Look in the mirror,” the Luren said slyly.

  Its voice carried in the sprawling warehouse. The thing could be hiding anywhere . . . and it was clearly smarter than its predecessors. If I knew demons, this one hadn’t limited itself to shades . . . because it wasn’t just trying to return me to Sheol to pay my debt to Sibella; it was also fighting for its life. And nothing was stronger than self-preservation . . . except for love.

  Chance . . .

  Booke smashed one of his statuettes and the powerful pop of strong magick filled the air, raising the hair on my arms. A shade hissed as it winked out of existence. The Englishman laughed, triumph in the sound, but then I heard his footsteps as he scrambled away . . . from something.

  “Run.” Shan’s calm tone terrified me.
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br />   “Kelethiel!” The shout boomed like thunder, shaking the walls around me. Even the concrete floor trembled beneath my aching knees.

  Barachiel. Oh, shit.

  I tried to break off then—to end the spell. My friends would need all the help they could get—and even knowing it meant I’d never see Chance again, I tried to stop. But I couldn’t. I was trapped in the loop and the chanting continued, ancient words spilling out of my raw throat like the girl with the cursed dancing slippers. I was past the point of turning back; I would cast until I died, the ritual drawing energy out of me until I was a withered husk.

  Had my sacrifice been insufficient to open the way?

  I’m so sorry.

  “Eva!” Chuch’s weapon went full auto, but I didn’t know what he was shooting. Maybe Barachiel.

  Not Eva. Oh, gods, no.

  The words hurt now, drawn out of me like blood. My eyes filled with tears, so a watery veil blurred the world. In that mist, I glimpsed a swirl of something—maybe—a hint of Chance’s face, but it was too far away, thin and warped. Something . . . something was wrong.

  This isn’t working.

  Shannon called out a challenge. Don’t piss off Barachiel, I thought. Leave him to Kel. But even Kel couldn’t kill him. Maybe they can tag team him . . . but there’s the Luren . . . and his shades . . .

  The ritual took more, pulling my life force like silken threads in a skilled weaver’s loom. I tasted bitter ashes on my tongue. I should never have done this. Oh, gods, baby, I’m sorry. I thought it was safe.

  I thought—

  Nothing.

  There were only the words. They became reality. Owned me. They were thunder and the smell of fire in a pine forest. My friends receded. Their struggles seemed dim and faint, awful but inevitable. The mist rolled closer. A hand stretched toward me, but it was ghostly and ephemeral.

  Not enough.

  Not—

  Kel and Barachiel stumbled toward the circle, locked in a death grip. My friend had his arm around the demon’s neck, his silver knife in its side, and he was using it like a handle. Kel bled from so many wounds that it was impossible he could still be on his feet. I didn’t know why Barachiel wasn’t using the compulsion; maybe knowing the truth gave Kel some limited ability to resist it . . . or maybe it required concentration like the spell that was killing me by inches. Pain broke focus.

  If only I could get someone to hurt me . . .

  My vision sparked black and white. Even the pain in my body felt distant. And then Kel heaved them both forward, breaking the circle, still full of my power. The explosion rocked me backward, out of the trance, but I was stunned, barely conscious, when I pushed to my hands and knees. The ritual swelled with the added power, incredible energy, and both Kel and Barachiel arched into postures that bespoke impossible pain. I sensed the river of life funneling from the two of them, quickening the ancient spell; it became a black and red tornado swirling around them.

  “This is not how it ends,” Barachiel screamed.

  The sound went on and on, until it fused with the chant I still could not stop, even now, though my lips were trickling blood. Another explosion rocked the warehouse and the mist caught fire, blasting a tunnel of hell toward us. I lacked the energy to move, but Shan pulled me away from the flames. I expected a horde of demons or angry divine enforcers, but Chance strode from the fires untouched. With every step, he became more real until at last he stood on the other side. From behind him came a quiet voice that was so beautiful it hurt my ears, echoing with bells, wind chimes, and laughing children.

  Farewell, my son.

  A shiver rolled through me. No wonder Min slept with you, Ebisu.

  Shan kept me upright, as I had no ability to balance. Booke was cleaning up the last of the shades. I still had no idea where the last Luren was. If it was smart, it would forget about Sheol and live out its human life here. Chance shook his head once, twice, as if to clear it. He moved his fingers, as if testing his own solidity.

  Chuch knelt beside Eva, and when he caught my eye, he circled his thumb and forefinger. “She’s okay, just knocked out.”

  Thank the gods.

  The moment I could, I pulled away from Shan, crawled across the filthy floor toward Kel. Surely, he was all right. He opened his eyes when I fell beside him. His fingers flexed; and I wrapped mine around his, slick with blood. He labored to breathe, his chest rent, his body charred. I sensed Chance coming toward me, but it wasn’t quite time for a joyful reunion. Not yet. Not until I knew the cost. Tears fell, dripping hot down my cheeks.

  “You’ll be fine,” I whispered. “You just need to sleep.”

  “No. The future lies before you, dadu, but I have outlived my purpose. I choose to die a free man. Everything ends.” Light flared in his tats, a final brightness before the dark. Kel closed his lovely, icy eyes and breathed, “Asherah.”

  Then he was gone.

  I knelt beside his body, his charred fingers in mine. When the last of the magick crumbled away, he was ash in my fingers. More tears slipped down my cheeks; a scream built in my chest, but my throat was too raw to bear it. So I held it in my head, echoing endlessly, while I rocked, a ball of white-hot pain. I hadn’t wanted happiness built on top of death, but Booke had warned there would be a cost.

  I just hadn’t expected Kel to pay it in my stead.

  Why didn’t you go when I told you? It appeared my dream had been prophetic in a sense; one life was lost in bringing Chance back, an even exchange to keep the universe in balance. The others stood away from me while I grieved; I heard them whispering, but . . . there was no one else to mourn him.

  “Not like this,” I whispered. “Not like this.”

  Future Perfect

  Eventually Chance pulled me to my feet . . . into his arms. I rocked on shaky legs, but he held me so tight. He shouldn’t be here. This shouldn’t be possible . . . and it only was because I’d fed the ritual enough raw power to open the gate. I never meant to, but Kel made the choice, dragging the ancient demon into the circle with him. By doing so, he’d saved the world from the war Barachiel planned to wage.

  And he brought love back to me.

  Oh, Kel. Thank you. And I’m sorry.

  Chance kissed me endlessly, his hands in my tangled hair. It was better than anything I’d ever known yet the kiss tasted of smoke and tears. Nothing beautiful came without pain, and our love had been fireproofed. Chance felt exactly as I remembered, his hands possessive and warm on my back.

  “Welcome home,” I whispered when we finally came up for air.

  “We need to get you to a doctor. Make sure the baby’s all right.”

  I swallowed hard. “You heard.”

  “Barely. I wondered if I had imagined it, but that kernel of possibility let me cling to you when the other realm started working on me.”

  “Cleansing you of ties?” I guessed.

  He nodded. “Sometimes this life felt like a dream, you know?”

  “So do you have all kinds of secrets to share?” I smiled through the pain, conscious of how high the price had been to bring him home.

  “No. They keep you . . . quarantined until you’ve made the transition.”

  “You were in solitary the whole time?” I stroked his cheek, unable to believe he thought I was worth this.

  “Apart from my dad, yeah.”

  “I hate to ruin the moment,” Booke cut in, “but the demon wants to parlay.”

  Chance kept his arm around me, helping me toward the others. My knees still felt weak and shaky, but at least I wasn’t bleeding anywhere. I tested my abdomen for pain, but there was none. Now only my throat and thigh hurt.

  The beautiful demon stood apart from my friends, wearing a terrified look. “Your crew took out Barachiel.”

  More accurately, a rogue ritual had—with Kel’s assistance—but I didn’t see any point in disillusioning him. We had dispatched all the shades he’d contracted, and that was plenty intimidating. I raised a brow, trying to look
menacing, when I felt as scary as day-old tuna salad. “Still want to fight?”

  Gods, I hope not.

  “I propose a truce. I’ll tell Sibella that you slew our ancient enemy in her name. Unless she’s mad, she will reckon your debt paid.”

  “If I see you near my family,” Chance said coldly, “then I’ll take your head. No warnings, no questions.”

  “Understood.” The Luren hurried away, seeming desperate to escape.

  By this point, Eva had woken in a rage. “Find me something to shoot! There’s no way I end this fight on the ground like a punk.”

  Chuch kissed her on the lips. “I’m sorry, amor. It’s over. If you like, we’ll go down to La Rosa Negra tomorrow night, and you can punch some dudes.”

  “Sounds good,” she muttered, accepting Chuch’s hand.

  Before we could leave this place, I needed to do one more thing. I walked over to the ashes that had been my friend Kelethiel. Chance wound his arm around my shoulder, a quiet tension in him. I knew how he felt about my bond with Kel, the fact that I’d slept with him while we were apart. But he couldn’t doubt my commitment; it would’ve been much simpler to write him off, find a replacement. But I would never, ever do that.

  “We need to honor him somehow,” I said softly. My cheeks felt tight and hot, a residual effect from such fierce weeping.

  “I’ll fill one of my empty vials,” Booke offered. “Unless that would be too macabre . . .”

  I thought about it. “I’d like that. Maybe . . . I could have a statue built, include his ashes in the cement or something. Would that be weird?”

  “A little,” Shan said. “But cool. Better than burying a whole body in the dirt.”

  Booke did as he’d suggested. Then Chuch and Eva came over to wrap their arms around Chance and me, both emotional nearly to the point of tears. Shan and Booke joined the group hug, which lasted a while. All of us were exhausted past the point of bearing. Part of me felt like we should be more exultant, but it was all . . . too much. So much had happened that I couldn’t process everything.

  Eventually, Chance said, “While I appreciate what you’ve done tonight, more than words can say, I need to get Corine to a doctor. Then, if it’s all the same to you—and after she’s pronounced sound—I need some time alone with my girl.”