by Ann Aguirre
So many problems to solve and I had so few resources. I closed my eyes on a sigh, resting my head on the back of the couch.
“That was more excitement than I’m used to,” Booke said, breaking my reverie. “Well, in person at least.”
Dolores laughed. “Stick around, you’ll get used to it.”
“If you get the chance, bid the others bonne nuit for me, will you?” He offered a cheery salute. “Oh, and don’t wait up.”
The slender woman blushed a little, and swatted at him with one of her myriad scarves. But she didn’t dispute his assessment of the situation. The two strode out to her car, entirely in charity with one another. Apparently Dolores only cut and ran if the spatter got on her outfit, which was a pretty impressive line in the sand. Otherwise, like most of Chuch’s relatives, she was rock solid. Of course, maybe she’d be more upset if the deceased had been fully human.
“We ID’d the host,” Jesse said, coming to the doorway a few minutes later. “Gigolo out of Vegas who went missing a few months back.”
“Is it possible for the Luren to take an unwilling host?” I asked.
“I’m not the expert, but I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure they can only be summoned into a willing body via sex magick.”
That sounded right, based on what I remembered from Sheol, but my time there was becoming vague and fragmented. Since I hadn’t been driving most of the time, that made sense. And sometimes the memories sneaked up on me like a sudden kick in the face. Then horror suffused me, and I worked to bury it all over again. Some of those things I said and did . . . how did I handle it? Denial wasn’t a solution, but I just couldn’t deal with everything at once.
One step at a time, right?
“I’m guessing the guy didn’t imagine the demon would use his body to go up against Barachiel, though.”
“Probably not.” Jesse didn’t sound sympathetic, though.
I figured he thought the dude should’ve known better than to rent his body out to a Luren. All kinds of things might’ve been promised in payment, none of which the guy would ever enjoy. No matter how foolish he’d been, I couldn’t be utterly unmoved by his fate. I hadn’t wanted to think about it until now, but that was a human being who lost his life in Chuch’s backyard.
Dammit.
“I don’t envy the detective working the case,” I said then.
He shook his head ruefully. “Me either. He’ll be looking for normal connections between the vic and killer, but there won’t be any. He’ll spin his wheels for a week and get nothing, even with our descriptions of the attackers. That’ll really stick in his craw.”
“You sound like you’ve been there.”
“Not under these circumstances, but yeah. And sometimes I wonder if a crime is demon-touched, if that’s why I’m coming up empty.”
A sudden thought struck me. “Is there an underground gifted network within law enforcement? To keep things hushed up?”
He smiled down at me. “Good question. It’s kinda nice to get back to the old footing, Corine. I’d almost forgotten I’m supposed to be mentoring you.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Yes. Weird tales would be in all the papers, not just the tabloids, if we didn’t do our part.”
“It must be pretty hard sometimes. Do you ever wish the gifted could come out to the world?”
He shook his head. “We tried that. It didn’t end well.”
“The witch hunts?” It was incredible to realize that for every name on the rolls of the dead, it had probably been a woman like me. Not evil. Not possessed by the devil, just a person with a strange gift and no ability to blend in.
“Yep.”
“Listen, Corine, if you have more questions, text me. I have work in the morning, so I need to get to bed.”
“That’s my cue,” Shan said.
She leaned down to give me a hug, and I squeezed back. Gods, I was so freakin’ proud of her. Two girls from Kilmer got out, I thought. And we’re both doing all right. Frankly, her success ratio was higher than mine. Despite the whole talks-to-dead-people thing, she didn’t seem to attract trouble the way I did. And I was incredibly tired of it.
I said my good nights. Then I checked on Butch. When the fighting started, he’d hidden and hadn’t come out since. He was cowering behind a flowerpot on the patio when I found him, ears down, paws over his face.
“It’s going to be fine,” I promised him. “Things are a mess right now, but I’ll figure it out.”
Butch whined at me; then he offered two yaps. No. Whether he doubted my promise or the likelihood of my finding a workable solution, I wasn’t sure. Bending down, I picked him up and cuddled him to my cheek, whispering reassurances. I only wished I believed them.
The dog didn’t even pretend; he knew bad things were coming, and as usual, they had my name written all over them.
Dream Lover
This time, there was no period of disorientation, no confusion when the dream came. I recognized the field of jonquils and the perpetually sunny day immediately, and I ran through the flowers in the direction Chance had come last time. But instead of Chance, I met an unfamiliar man by the river. The water was clear and fast-moving, rippling over the pretty polished stones lining its bed. As for the man, he was middle-aged, Japanese, with a softly rounded belly and a balding pate. His dark eyes held a merry twinkle, and when I met his warm look, I understood why Min had succumbed to his charms.
“Ebisu,” I whispered.
I had no freakin’ idea how one greeted a god, even one present in dreams. Should I drop to one knee, curtsy, genuflect . . . ? While I agonized over what gesture of respect to offer, he held up a hand, smiling.
“Today, I greet you as my son’s father, though I would not mind if you wished to pay proper respect at a shrine after we conclude our discussion.”
“I will,” I managed. “Sir, I’m sorry—”
He held up a hand. “No apologies. I have wanted to meet my son, and he chose his manner of ascension in the style of a true hero.”
“Ascension?”
“That’s why I wished to speak with you.” His friendly face took on a rather forbidding air. “I am not sure how familiar you are with my story.”
“Not very,” I admitted.
“In the scrolls, I am paired with Daikokuten, the god of wealth, and in some variations, we are father and son.”
Uh-oh. I had a feeling I knew where this conversation was headed. I only offered a nod, encouraging him to go on, when I feared the conclusion of his revelation.
“Chance has shed his mortal skin and dwells among the gods now. He will assume the mantle of Daikokuten, as he was always meant to do.”
“I’m sensing a ‘but.’”
“You’re a clever woman,” he said approvingly. “He refuses to drink from the fountain of renewal and claim his godhood. He thinks of nothing but getting back to you, of keeping his promise. So I’ve come to appeal to your conscience. Do what’s best . . . and let him go.”
The request hit me like a blackjack in the back of the head, and the pain came as a shock in contrast to the sunny splendor of the meadow. For a few seconds, I couldn’t get my breath; the idea of never seeing him again felt like it might kill me.
Then I realized I didn’t care what Ebisu wanted. He’d let Min raise Chance alone all these years. If I could bring him back to her, I would. But I wasn’t that unselfish because I wanted him back for me too, for the life he’d promised me.
Yet it didn’t seem like a good idea to defy a god, even a small one, on his home turf. If I declined, maybe he wouldn’t let me go. So I prevaricated.
“Will I have the opportunity to say good-bye?”
“One last meeting, I can permit,” he said quietly. “But then, Daikokuten must accept his destiny. One cannot fight fate . . . and he is not meant for you.”
“So you had a son, knowing he would die?” That sounded so horrible, so calculating. And it reinforced my decision not to fall i
n with his plan.
“Everyone dies, Corine Solomon. I did not know the manner of his passing. It is not given to me to see the future, but I did know he would come to me in time.”
That was a little better than the Christian version of this story, anyway. At least he hadn’t known what would happen to Chance, when he lay down with Min in the orchard all those years ago. I offered a watery smile, trying to seem resigned.
Instead of dead stubborn, which was what I’d always been.
“It must’ve been hard to leave them,” I said softly.
“Yes,” he admitted. “But all great deeds are done with purpose. I will summon Daikokuten. Please keep your conversation short, as my power is limited.” His friendly, open face grew wistful. “People do not visit the shrines as they once did.”
“I understand. I’ll be brief.”
What do I even say, I wondered. I can’t let on, even to Chance. No answers came to me; then my love was striding along the river, his steps quickening as he glimpsed me. He pushed into a run, and I met him. His arms came around me, and he buried his face in my hair. The wind blew, carrying the sweetness of blooming flowers and the gentle hint of mist from the river. It would’ve been perfect if I hadn’t known how the interlude ended. I breathed him in, trying to store up the memories for when he was lost to me for good, even in dreams.
You have to do this, I told myself. Otherwise, he’ll give the ruse away and Ebisu may keep you here, keep you from saving him.
“I missed you,” he whispered. “But I’ve got a lock on a solution. There’s a weak spot between the realms. I found out how my father passed into our world. There’s a particular festival when—”
I couldn’t let him continue. So I kissed him. He’d shut me up that way before, but it wasn’t a strategy I employed often. Fortunately, he fell into the kiss with a fierce hunger, tasting me as if I were a delectable treat he hadn’t enjoyed in months. I ran my fingers through his hair, traced down his neck and shoulders. My arms tightened around him compulsively; letting go might prove more than I could bear.
Then I said the words, praying he believed them, hoping he didn’t. “You can’t go down this road.”
He reacted as if I’d punched him. “Are you kidding? We can do this, I swear. I don’t have the same juice my father has because he’s stored it up from the years of reverences, but I have a little residual power from the shrines. I just need some help from your side, and I can come through. And unlike my father, I won’t leave again.”
Ebisu appeared beside us then, his face stern. “What he is not telling you, Corine Solomon, is that if he does this foolish thing, he yields all claim to immortality. He will be stripped of his power and become nothing more than a mortal man. No luck. No magick. No future.”
“No future, except the one I choose . . . with her,” Chance bit out, his eyes livid with rage. “I already told you once, I’m not staying. I don’t want to be a god. I don’t want to be worshipped. The whispers from the shrines are fucking creepy.”
“So you hear them.” Ebisu seemed pleased. “Good. Very good. Now then.” He turned to me. “It’s time for you to go . . . and you will not be welcome here again.”
I opened my mouth to convince Ebisu I’d lost my resolve, but somehow, what came out was: “I love you, Chance.”
Please let that be enough. Let him know I won’t stop until he’s back with me.
When I woke, I had tears streaming down my cheeks, burning salt in the corners of my eyes. I swiped my hands across my cheeks and rolled out of bed. It was ridiculously early, considering what time I’d gotten to sleep, but four-hour bursts had been the norm since I got back from Sheol. If I wasn’t dreaming of Chance, I had nightmares about what happened in the demon realm. Gods, I was a fucking mess.
Butch roused when I went into the kitchen to put on some coffee, so I let him out and he did his business in the backyard. His nails clicked on the patio as he came back inside to investigate his dish, which I took the hint and filled, then freshened up his water. I knelt to pet him.
I wondered if I was being selfish, so single-minded in my intentions. Ebisu had seemed so positive it was Chance’s destiny. Would he be better off becoming a god? Such an odd question. But then Barachiel was certain I was destined to help him rewrite the world, and he couldn’t be more wrong.
Maybe the dog has an opinion.
“What do you think? Should I let Chance go?” I asked Butch.
Obviously, I didn’t mean it. There wasn’t a force on earth that could get me to deviate from this goal. But he took me seriously. Instead of eating his breakfast, he trotted into the living room to nudge my purse. I took that to mean he wanted the Scrabble tiles, so I got them out, then plopped on the floor to watch him sort them with his paws. After a few minutes of arranging them, the message emerged:
chance doesnt want to be a god
“How do you know that?” I demanded. “You don’t see my dreams, do you?”
The dog huffed out a disgusted sigh, as if he couldn’t believe I’d ask that. “How am I supposed to know what you can do?” I muttered. “How, then?”
chance is dead i see ghosts
Aha. I did remember that Butch had warned us once via that same skill. So that meant . . . “You see Chance sometimes? He’s here. I just can’t see or hear him.”
That earned me the affirmative yap. “Do you talk to him much?” He cocked his head, and I rephrased. “Fine, do you hear him much?”
Affirmative yap. “Oh, wow. Can you pass his messages along to me?”
thats why im doing this
“Okay, go for it.”
he says please dont give up
That meant he hadn’t been sure what to make of my mixed messages. So he was reduced to begging the dog to keep me on track. Regardless of Ebisu’s convictions, only what Chance wanted mattered to me. I’d push on, no matter what.
“Is he here now?” I glanced around, wishing I could see the world through Butch’s eyes.
But I got the negatory yaps. Then Butch trotted off to eat his breakfast, which I took to mean the conversation was over, so I scooped up the Scrabble tiles and put them away. My head ached from the interrupted sleep. The dreams, possibly because they were incredibly vivid, didn’t offer the same restorative quality as REM ones. I suspected energy might literally be drawn from me to make such communication possible. Certainly I felt more exhausted than before I went to bed, and that wasn’t a good sign, given everything I needed to accomplish today.
I made scrambled eggs since I was already up and had the coffee brewing. By the time I put bread in the toaster, Chuch came into the kitchen, rumpled and in need of a shave. He looked tired too, no surprise there. Once again, I had dropped my problems in his lap and interrupted his peaceful life.
“Some night,” I said, serving him a plate.
“Thanks, prima. And yes, that was some crazy shit. Never had a dead demon in my yard before. That Barachiel, he’s got some moves.”
“Yeah, he’s gonna be a problem,” I predicted glumly.
“Eva said you’re looking for somebody who knows the land around here.”
“Let me guess, you have a cousin.”
Chuch laughed. “No. But there’s an old guy who likes to drink at La Rosa Negra. If he doesn’t know the rock formation in the picture, he’ll be able to tell you who does.”
“Do you mind if I take the Charger again?”
He narrowed dark eyes on me. “Don’t hit anything with it. No high-speed chases. Avoid bullets. And no explosions.”
Despite the lingering sorrow that tightened my chest, I mustered a smile threaded with genuine amusement. “I dunno if I can promise all that. You know how it goes.”
He leveled a stern look on me. “Then no Charger for you. I got a Pinto out back that runs.”
“You’re restoring a Pinto?” Incredulity sent my voice up an octave.
“Not so much. It was too good a deal to pass up, four hundred bucks.” His posture bec
ame defensive, and I wondered how Eva felt about his propensity for collecting crappy cars.
I muttered, “Yeah, but it’s a Pinto.”
Nonetheless, I took the keys when he tossed them to me from the peg on the kitchen wall. There were so many, it looked like a valet parking board. I nibbled a little breakfast with him; my stomach churned, not quite nausea, but a lurch. With some deep breathing, I kept my eggs down. I switched to dry toast while listening to the comforting morning noises: Eva was stirring down the hall, taking care of Cami. The baby giggled at something her mama did, and a warm, soft feeling permeated me. This, I thought. I want this.
A home was more than a place. It meant security, certainly, but it was also about the people who loved you. Without that, a house was only a building. Their love cemented my resolve. Maybe it would be better for him—better for the world—but I still wanted Chance back, no matter what his father said. He’d promised to build a life with me. I intended to hold him to it.
“You’re so lucky,” I told Chuch quietly.
He glanced up from his breakfast. “I know.”
“How did you meet Eva anyway? And did you know right away . . . ?” I wondered if the question was too personal.
The mechanic’s rough face softened. “I was on a job, years ago, in Nicaragua. She was hooked up with one of the lesser bosses.”
“She was a gun moll?” I asked, delighted.
Chuch flashed me a sour look. “I don’t think they still call them that. And yeah, I knew as soon as I saw her. She was wearing the hell out of this red dress, and I thought, ‘I’m gonna marry her.’ Two weeks later, I killed the guy she was dating, screwed over the Bolivar cartel, and we ran like hell.”
I had the feeling there was a whole lot of story he wasn’t telling me. “It was that easy?”
“That’s all you’re getting today. Don’t you have a mission to accomplish?”
“I’m taking the Pinto to the cantina, then. What time do they open?” See, I could take a hint.
Chuch grinned. “I don’t think they ever close.”
“Then what time does the old man start drinking? What’s his name anyway? And what does he look like?”
