by Ann Aguirre
Butch had been penned up, so I took him for a short walk around the neighborhood after Chuch left. It was dark enough to be creepy with a few broken streetlights, and I felt like somebody was watching me the whole time. The atmosphere got to the dog as well. He peed really fast and whined to go inside. He didn’t have to tell me twice.
The constant napping had screwed with my schedule, so I couldn’t get to sleep. I puttered in the apartment, vaguely creeped out by the memory of the dead thing on my kitchen floor. Dammit. At this rate, I won’t doze off until dawn. Eventually I laid on the couch and listened to the radio. There was no TV or stereo, and the analog music solution was so old that Shannon might be able to use it to talk to the dead. More to the point, it still worked, so I played it softly, so it wouldn’t drown out an intruder. Butch curled up on my stomach, keeping the baby company. My ears strained for footfalls, and around two a.m., I heard someone creeping toward the front door. Butch froze too, his ears cocked. He couldn’t seem to make up his mind if we needed to panic or not. Such indecision was unlike him. After rolling off the couch, I ran for my Taser. Gods, this was getting old. I missed safety and the right arms to hold me, having someone to lean on when I needed them most. Right then, I felt incredibly alone. But I was poised to strike, do what I had to do, as Chuch put it. Then I heard the jingle of keys.
Booke. It must be Booke.
As he stepped into the apartment, I wilted with relief, lowering the stun gun. He moved closer and I smelled a hint of alcohol. Is that why Butch didn’t greet him with excited tail wagging? In his defense, the Englishman wasn’t unsteady on his feet, but I could see he’d enjoyed a wild night.
“I thought you weren’t coming back until the morning,” I said quietly.
“Was worried about you. Also, Ms. Devlin’s not keen on sleepovers.” A faint softening of his vowels was the only sign he’d been drinking, nothing to worry about.
His motion didn’t seem impaired, and he hadn’t driven home, so no trouble in that regard. So why was Butch staring at him so intently, ears back, tail still?
My dog seemed suspicious—and if he was, then I took him seriously. He’d saved me too often for it to be otherwise. I took a cautious step out of Booke’s reach.
“There’s something wrong.” It wasn’t a question.
“I wish you hadn’t noticed,” Barachiel said.
Booke opened his mouth. Blood poured out. He managed one word. “Run.”
I woke in a cold sweat.
Butch was at my feet, snoozing away. Sunlight streamed into my face from the spotty windows. Though my neck was stiff and I’d had nightmares, that was actually the best sleep I’d had in weeks. These I could shrug off as mere bad dreams, not omens. Given the mess my life was in, it was understandable that I was scared. I’d have to be an idiot not to be. Mostly I tried not to think about everything that could go wrong, how many factors needed to align in only a few days.
Booke came home for real as I was eating breakfast. Crackers and tea first to make sure I kept my food down. Then half an hour later, I had yogurt and frozen berries. To make my doctor happy, I ate a spoonful of peanut butter for protein and took my vitamin. He looked content and exhausted, glowing with the enjoyment of personal freedom. I had a hand in that, I thought.
“Good night?” I asked.
“The best. She’s a wildcat.”
“Eh, you can stop there. Really.”
He grinned, pouring himself a cup of tea from the pot I’d steeped earlier. “And what did you do last night, Ms. Solomon?”
“Killed a demon, buried the body. The usual.”
His first sip choked him. “Tell me you’re joking.”
Licking my peanut butter spoon, I shook my head and then explained in detail what had gone down. His expression darkened as he listened, and by the time I finished my account, his gray eyes were lightning fierce with outrage. This was the second time I’d pissed him off; and he had a pretty even temper. If we hung around much longer, he might throttle me.
“You should have called me. I wasn’t performing open-heart surgery . . . I was just having a bit of fun.”
“But you haven’t had any in a long time. At least not like that. I didn’t want to interrupt—”
“Shut. Up,” he bit off. “Your other friends seem unwilling to speak, but I am not. You have all the common sense and self-preservation of a tinned ham. Furthermore, you place your pride ahead of your own well-being, and that simply will not do. Not anymore. Your child must come first, now and always. You can’t fret about being a burden or any such rubbish. You’ve been alone for so long that you can’t imagine you can truly trust anyone and that, too, is bollocks. Unless you really mean to die alone, then stop it. Immediately.” He ranted longer, leaving me speechless. Not because the things he was saying shocked or hurt me. More that it had been ages since I had a friend who cared enough to yell at me.
Even Shan doesn’t go off on me like this. Ian Booke loves me.
I must’ve had a goofy, ridiculous smile on my face because he paused in the tirade to demand, “What?!”
“I’m sorry,” I said meekly. “You’re right. About everything. I need to stop feeling like I’m a pain in the ass when people want to help me. It’s just . . . hard. When you grow up the way I did, you have issues.”
His tone gentled. “Believe me, I understand, Corine. I was alone longer than anyone should be. But I’m letting the world in now. You should try it.”
“I will,” I promised. “I am.”
Starting with you.
And I truly hoped the nightmare had been only that, not a portent of dire misfortune to come.
Last Call
Three days left. By this point, I was a total knot of anxiety, but when Booke’s phone rang, I froze. Hope stirred, but it was faint and unfamiliar, a tremulous shadow on the wall cast by someone else. He moved off down the hall toward the bedroom, speaking in low tones. I strained to overhear, but he was a master at turning his body so the sound didn’t carry.
What the hell, Booke.
Of course, maybe it was one of his lady friends. At this point, he was one of San Antonio’s most eligible gifted bachelors between his courtly, old school manners, his giant throbbing brain, and the accent. He probably had other assets as well, but I wasn’t placed to appreciate them. Pushing off the couch, I edged closer. He caught me trying to eavesdrop, as he was already off the phone . . . and vibrating with excitement.
“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.
