by Ann Aguirre
PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS
OF ANN AGUIRRE
DEVIL’S PUNCH
“[Aguirre] is able to move the story smoothly while punching you in the teeth. She’s that good of a writer.”
—Under the Covers
“The world building is really great . . . [and] there is a lot of high emotion throughout the book.”
—Urban Fantasy Investigations
“Praise is due once again for the writing, which is as immersive as always.”
—All Things Urban Fantasy
SHADY LADY
“Aguirre has a gift for creating strong characters who keep her readers coming back for more.”
—Publishers Weekly
“There is so much good stuff packed into this book. Surprise character transformations, rich world building, gorgeous writing, killer action scenes, and hot romance. . . . Urban fantasy fans will want to get drunk on this series. . . . [It] just keeps getting better.”
—All Things Urban Fantasy
“Kudos to Ms. Aguirre for crafting one of the best paranormal series that I have had the pleasure of reading.”
—Night Owl Reviews
“A fabulous action-packed thriller that hooks grateful (except for the lack of sleep) subgenre fans from the moment Kel rushes into Corine’s store and never slows down until the final confrontation with the Montoya mob of hit men and magical mobsters.”
—Genre Go Round Reviews
HELL FIRE
“Riveting. . . . Full of well-drawn characters, a nearly tangible setting, and the threat of death around every corner, this spine-chilling paranormal mystery is sure to keep readers turning pages—and glancing over their shoulders.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Fans of the first book, never fear: This is a good, solid follow-up that left me hungry for more.”
—Calico Reaction
“Reading Hell Fire is a completely sensory experience that would be half as immersive in the hands of a lesser writer.”
—All Things Urban Fantasy
BLUE DIABLO
“Ann Aguirre proves herself yet again in this gritty, steamy, and altogether wonderful urban fantasy. Outstanding and delicious. I can’t wait to see what she comes up with next.”
—#1 New York Times bestselling author Patricia Briggs
“An authentic Southwestern-flavored feast, filled with magic, revenge, and romance, spiced with memorable characters and page-turning action. ¡Muy caliente!”
—New York Times bestselling author Rachel Caine
“Corine has a great narrative voice—snappy and full of interesting observations on everything around her. . . . [Blue Diablo is] fast-paced and entertaining.”
—Charles de Lint, The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction
“The fast-and-furious pace combined with interesting characters, powerful antagonists, and the promise of romance makes for a strong first entry in the series.”
—Monsters and Critics
“Ms. Aguirre plunges readers into a fast-paced tale where her human characters are enhanced by their extraordinary gifts. Blue Diablo delivers a strong start to the series with a well-defined heroine, intriguing paranormal elements, and an emotion-filled romance.”
—Darque Reviews
“The first Corine Solomon urban detective fantasy is a great tale filled with magic, paranormal powers, demons, and spirits bound to the necro. The heat between the lead couple is palpable. . . . This is an enthralling romantic urban fantasy.”
—Midwest Book Review
ALSO BY ANN AGUIRRE
CORINE SOLOMON NOVELS
Blue Diablo
Hell Fire
Shady Lady
Devil’s Punch
SIRANTHA JAX NOVELS
Grimspace
Wanderlust
Doubleblind
Killbox
Aftermath
Endgame
ANN AGUIRRE
AGAVE KISS
A CORINE SOLOMON NOVEL
ROC
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,
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First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
ISBN: 978-1-101-60456-4
Copyright © Ann Aguirre, 2013
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
Contents
Praise
Also by
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Ghost Cottage
Six Impossible Things
Falling Action
No More Demons
Sands of Time
Frequent Flyer
Safe Harbor
Truth & Consequences
I Know a Guy
Bitter Bargains
Amends
Party Hearty
Battle Royale
Dream Lover
Finding Kel
Unlikely Heroes
Killing Ground
Free at Last
Emergency Services
Dude, This Is Huge
Every Dog Has His Day
Mystifying Secrets of Mystery
Against All Odds
Buried Treasure
Last Call
Ritual of Doom
Future Perfect
Fond Farewells
Home at Last
Happy Endings
About the Author
Excerpt from Perdition
For Laura Bradford, who said, “A series set in Mexico? Really? Well, let’s see. . . .” Told you I could make it work. Corine’s HEA is for you.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’m starting with Anne Sowards. I’ve mentioned her before, but I’m not sure if I’ve encompas
sed the depth and breadth of how much joy there is in working with such an amazing editor. Her notes make my books exponentially better, and I’m thrilled she acquired me. My gratitude extends to her assistant, Kat Sherbo, a woman of marvelous acumen and endless patience. Actually, I appreciate the entire Penguin team. Everyone who works on my novels has my deepest appreciation.
There’s also the Loop That Shall Not Be Named. I can’t say much, or the ninjas will get me, but trust me when I say they’re essential to my survival. I heart them. They’re my best friends and the wind beneath my wings, the spicy taco sauce on my cheese enchilada. Hm. Yeah, I’m stopping, before this goes too far.
Next, there’s Suzanne McLeod, who generally has first eyes on my books. I’m not sure how she became my crit partner, but it works beautifully, and my books are shinier because she’s so clever.
Have I mentioned my kids? They’ve grown into such magnificent people, and I’m proud of them. Their imaginations are so impressive; they can usually dream their way out of the awful situations I devise. Thanks for all the hours spent listening to me.
Finally, I thank Andres for . . . everything. I’ve never had a dream he didn’t help me build in some fashion.
Ghost Cottage
We had been in London for a week when my cell phone rang, an early call. My best friend, Shannon, had just talked to her boyfriend, Jesse, the night before, so it probably wasn’t him. It might be Tia, I supposed, concerned that I needed more money, but she had already wired me plenty.
I didn’t blame my teacher for being worried; it wasn’t every day that a pupil went to Sheol to rescue a friend, staged a minor coup, lost her lover, and then returned via demon gate to a different continent. The journey started on a remote mountaintop in Mexico and ended in a London alley. For obvious reasons, I was struggling to find a way for us to get home. Official channels were out, as the U.K. would ask too many questions about how we’d arrived without passports. A fresh headache throbbed, a vise around the back of my skull.
My gifts were complicated. Once, I only had the touch, which permitted me to read charged objects; they could tell me secrets people didn’t want me to know. Then I gained my mother’s witchy skill, but I burned her white magick out in Sheol, channeling demon energy at a ferocious rate. I could probably still read objects, and the demon magick lingered, an echo of the demon queen’s possession in Sheol. If I had any choice, I wouldn’t use that again. To make matters worse, the trouble probably hadn’t ended with my exit. Demons had long memories, and I still owed a debt to Sibella, the Luren Knight. With my luck, she would hunt me down.
The phone rang for the fourth time. My dog, Butch, nudged me. He was curled up on the bed beside me, and he looked worried as only a Chihuahua could.
“Hello.” I didn’t want to talk to anyone, but our friends in Texas were worried, wondering when we’d hop a plane. That depended on a number of factors.
“Are you all right?” Booke asked.
No, I thought. I never will be again.
The love of my life, Chance, was gone; he’d sacrificed himself so Shannon and I could escape Sheol. Shortly after our crossing, we’d raised him on Shan’s spirit radio, which meant his soul hadn’t been destroyed by the demon gate, but . . . Shan’s gift permitted her to talk to the dead. So he wasn’t here anymore.
It was hard for me to think beyond my own pain, imagine what the future might hold. But for Shannon, I had to get things straightened out. Life went on whether I wanted it to or not.
“Fine,” I managed.
“I’m sorry if this is a bad time.”
“It’s not. Why?”
“I thought it might be because I haven’t been able to find you. Not online. Not on your cell. Not even in dreams. Where did you go that I couldn’t touch your dreams?” He sounded terse. Worried, even. Which wasn’t like him.
The Booke I knew was an unflappable scholar, better suited for research than human relationships. There was doubtless a reason. Maybe I’d learn why, at long last. Any other time, my curiosity would be piqued beyond bearing.
“I’d rather not talk about it.” My secrets matched his, though I hoped his didn’t come with such awful, aching depth. “You were looking for me, I take it?”
He inhaled sharply, his distress plain. It might be tough for him to ask for a hand, but I needed the distraction, so I waited for Booke’s request.
“I need your help rather desperately, Corine.”
Mentally, I was already packing my bag; I didn’t have as far to go as he imagined. “I’m listening.”
“It’s a bit complex to get into long distance. Can you come? I’ll pay for the ticket. I know it’s asking a lot—”
“I’m in London,” I cut in, hoping that would stem the apologetic tide.
The pause said I’d surprised him. I imagined he was weighing whether to ask what I was doing there, but in the end, he opted not to pry. He had been guarding his own secrets so long that it probably felt awkward to poke at someone else’s. And it wasn’t that I’d refuse to tell him; I just wasn’t ready, particularly over the phone.
“You already know I live in Stoke . . . it’s not far on the train.”
“Give me your address.”
He did, and I scrawled it on the cheap pad of paper provided by the economy hotel where Shannon and I had been staying. I hadn’t been looking forward to living here for an extended period anyway. The amenities were basic, at best.
“I suspect the cottage will strike you as a tad ramshackle, but inside it’s not as bad as it looks. I’ll leave the door unlocked, so just come straight in.”
“I’ll see you later today,” I said, and then rang off.
Maybe it was just as well we had a side trip, as I needed time to pull together our exit strategy. Our cooked passports would pass cursory inspections for national rail travel, but if we tried to leave the country, and they scanned them, well, that would be a problem, one that required a solution, and I was working on it.
Though I tried to stay out of the system, I had no outstanding warrants. I’d been questioned a few times over the course of my work with Chance, but mostly I had enemies I’d pissed off by discovering the very bad thing they’d done. Many of those people were in prison, but caution had become second nature; I worried about people finding me who shouldn’t, flagged by governmental forms.
“Who was it?” Shannon asked, as I started packing.
“Booke. I think he’s in trouble.”
She straightened from her lounge on the twin bed, covered in a rumpled black and white spread. “What’s going on?”
“He didn’t tell me.”
“You sure you’re up to working?” As she hadn’t put on her Lolita makeup yet, I could see the faint worry creasing her brows.
I thought about that as I packed my few belongings. “No, but the alternative is sitting here, staring at the walls. I don’t think that will help my state of mind.”
Shan made an openhanded gesture that I took for agreement; then she gathered up her stuff too. Neither of us had much, so it didn’t take long. I shouldered my purse with Butch inside it, then picked up my backpack. Booke needed my help, and as many times as he’d saved my ass, I owed him.
It didn’t take long to check out, as we had been renting day by day; fortunately the hotel was booked light enough to accommodate this laissez-faire strategy. On the street, it was cool and damp, not quite raining.
I liked the ready access to public transportation here, however. We made our way to the tube, and with minimal effort got a train to Stoke. They ran regularly, faster than driving, according to Shan’s Internet search. In short order, we settled into the car along with the other passengers. Some looked like commuters; others were sightseeing, based on their luggage and camera addiction. Shan settled in the window seat, which left me on the aisle. The car was three-quarters full. I said little as we pulled out of the station. Butch stayed hidden in my bag as we hadn’t checked the pet policy before we traveled. But it was a sh
ort trip, so he could nap for that long.
“You want me to find somebody to pick us up?” She pulled up Booke’s address on her smart phone, mapping it online.
I leaned over to scrutinize the distance. “That would be good. Looks like it’s not in town.”
Shan was already searching. “So a car service, not a taxi.”
“Good call.”
The girl was remarkably efficient at finding information on her cell, and after a few moments of clicking, then one call, she arranged a ride for us. “See, Corine, technology is your friend.”
Because it was Shan, I dredged up a smile, even though my throat was always, always tight, as if the tears could start up at any minute. Sometimes it was hard to look at her, knowing I’d brought Chance with me, then he died saving her. It was supposed to be me, I thought in the heaviest despair. The sensation didn’t dissipate. Instead with it rose a profound nausea, possibly caused by the movement of the train.
I barely made it to the lavatory before emptying my stomach. Three more heaves and I had nothing left. Great. Though I’d never heard of grief making somebody physically ill, there was a first time for everything, right? Unsteadily, I pushed upright, then rinsed my mouth repeatedly. Washing my face and hands didn’t seem like enough so I used antibacterial gel when I got back to my seat.
“Everything all right?” Shan asked, her gaze skimming my face.
“Just not feeling well.” In so many ways. “I’ll get over it.”
“Do you want something to eat or drink?”
“God, no. After I catch a nap, I’ll be fine.” Listless, I turned my head against the window, saw nothing of the countryside, and willed myself to sleep.
