by Ann Aguirre
“Well, there’s one problem solved,” he said, ending the connection. “As for the rest, it’s a hell of a mess, sugar. We should get back to town and see what we can do for Chance. We can’t leave him there overnight.”
Tell me something I don’t know.
With Jesse, a cop from Texas, by my side, they might listen. He knew the law better than I did, and he had physical presence to back up his claims. We just needed to grab Butch and . . .
The silence troubled me. For a moment, I couldn’t decide why, and then it hit me. I hadn’t heard or seen the dog since Saldana arrived.
“Have you seen Butch?”
Jesse cocked his head. “He was outside, watching us work, wasn’t he?”
“Was he?”
We scoured the yard, calling for him. I grew more frantic with each passing moment. I would’ve given a year of my life to see Butch come bounding out of the woods. I saw only stillness, trees wrapped in autumn skins.
“Should we go looking for him?”
Definitely, we should. I just didn’t look forward to thrashing around in the woods. This felt like a trap, like we were being herded, but I couldn’t just leave him.
I sighed. “Let’s make a couple peanut butter sandwiches and then take off. Looks like we’re going for a hike.”
The forest stood watchful, as if it had eyes trained on us. Trees tangled their limbs together, creating a thorny wall, ringed in deciduous greenery. Inside, it would be cool, shadowed, dark, with soft things squishing underfoot. I remembered well.
If I’d ever wanted to do anything less, I couldn’t remember.
Secrets Dark and Deep
My bag felt too light on my shoulder.
I’d gotten used to Butch’s slight weight on top of my stuff. He was a good dog, well trained, polite, and he listened uncommonly well. In fact, he was almost too smart.
For that reason, it made no sense for him to run off into the woods with the sky scowling thunderclouds. It looked like it might pour buckets on us any minute. That didn’t stop us from setting out, calling quietly.
Skeletal trees closed in around us as we passed from the overgrown yard into the woods. A small animal like Butch wouldn’t leave a trail. He could cut right through the underbrush and go any way he wanted. I’d never noticed a propensity in him for chasing squirrels, but he was a dog.
I felt half a step from coming unglued. Find Butch. Get Chance. I repeated the four words like a mantra as we passed deeper into the forest. Even in late fall, it felt dank and oppressive, as if it had been years since sunlight had last touched the ground. We had no choice but to follow the rough trail, which came to a parting of ways, east and west, at a big lightning-scarred tree. The limbs were twisted and blackened, dropping away in dead chunks of wood. Ahead, the trees formed a nearly impenetrable barrier, ancient live oaks growing in tight knots, shrouded in Spanish moss in funereal fashion.
“Any idea which way?” Jesse asked.
I shook my head. I couldn’t read the forest, a network of living things. My gift applied only to inanimate objects. To make matters worse, if we went deep enough, the area shifted to swampland, and then we were talking about an enormous ecosystem full of creatures, some of which could devour Butch in one bite. A sick feeling coiled in the pit of my stomach.
“Can you feel him?”
Saldana gazed at me with an expression that said he thought I’d lost my mind; then he shrugged. “I can try.”
His bitter chocolate eyes went odd and distant, much as I imagined I looked when I handled something. I tried to be patient, but I didn’t know much about his gift. Should he be able to tune right in? Did he visualize the person (or animal) and then try to pluck an emotional state out of the ether?
At last he came out of it, looking dazed. “Never tried that before. I’m not eager to repeat it.” Jesse rubbed his head and pinned on a smile, but I saw it had caused him pain.
“You all right?” I reached out a hand, tentative, and he took it, pressing my palm to his temple. That roused definite warmth. I liked his simplicity. He didn’t prevaricate or pretend not to hurt when he did. I wasn’t used to things being that uncomplicated.
In response, I shifted and cupped his head in my hands, massaging with my thumbs and fingertips. It seemed like the least I could do, given he’d hurt himself trying to find my dog. Jesse leaned down into my touch, nuzzling his head into my hands. We spent a few moments like that before he groaned and rolled his shoulders, as if I’d given him a full body massage.
“Better,” he said, smiling. “Nothing a few Advil won’t cure.”
But he didn’t step back. Instead, he leaned his brow against mine, as if I held his head in anticipation of a kiss. Awareness kindled. I remembered how sweet his mouth tasted and how he knew exactly where to touch me. Such knowledge came from his empathy, no doubt, but that made it no less delicious.
“You came all that way,” I whispered. “Are you going to get in trouble?”
He shrugged, his hands coming up to frame my waist. “Maybe, but it doesn’t matter. I knew you were hurt and scared.”
“And you had to come riding in like the white knight?”
“It’s not about my being a hero, Corine. It’s about keeping you safe.”
That struck a deep chord; I’d been on my own so long. “You think you can do the job? I can be a handful.”
His voice deepened, roughening with desire. If only I could be sure he wanted me—and not because of my feelings. “I’d like to try.”
“I . . .” This is not the time. Focus. “Did you find him?”
Jesse stepped back, accepting the deferral. “I think . . . he’s to the east. And he’s excited about something; not frightened at all. I got the impression he’s waiting for us.”
Astonishment washed over me. “You’re kidding.”
“I could be wrong.” He spread his hands. “But unless a wolf smelled us coming and is looking forward to eating us, I’m pretty sure that was Butch.”
I smiled reluctantly over that. “East it is.”
Our steps turned in tandem, crunching over fallen tree limbs that sounded like bones breaking underfoot. Navigating the trail took most of my attention as I tried not to get caught on stickers or slapped in the face with a wayward branch. The wan sunlight didn’t penetrate in here, and I snuggled deeper into my jacket.
My tennis shoes would be worthless after this, stained green and black. I didn’t even want to look at the hem of my jeans. I sensed he wanted to say something, but I didn’t hurry him. I’d like to know how he’d sensed my feelings from so far away—and whether it had hurt him like scanning for Butch, but I’d let him go first.
After a few minutes of walking, he finally spoke. “What’s next for you? After this?”
“Home,” I said, right off.
That word conjured an immediate image of mountains, terraced houses, winding roads, and blue skies. I lived in a white adobe building that housed a pawnshop on the lower level and my bi-level flat on the upper two floors. I loved the glorious, sun-drenched warmth of Mexico City, nestled in the northern end, near Atizapan.
It had been far too long since I’d been there, and I would be lucky if the man I’d asked to run the place hadn’t absconded with all my profits by now. Sadly, Senor Alvarez probably made up the most reliable aspect of my life. When I got back—if I ever did—he’d give an honest accounting of business since I left, and go on his way.
He showed a flicker of disappointment, quickly masked. “So back to Mexico?”
I raised a brow. “Yeah. Where else?”
“I thought you might consider settling in Laredo.”
“Why? Because you’re there?”
“Not only that,” he muttered. “It’s just not a good idea for you to stay in Mexico. You know how easily Montoya can get to you there?”
Montoya. The name chilled me. We’d made an enemy when we rescued Chance’s mother from men with a score to settle. If Diego Montoya ever figured out wh
o I was—and he would in time, as the man had limitless resources—my life wouldn’t be worth as much as a fake Versace shirt in China. I knew we were running on borrowed time. That’s why it was so important for me to figure out what happened here in Kilmer; I might not get another chance.
“He can get to me anywhere,” I pointed out.
I tried not to think about all the reasons I had to worry. Right now, I could focus on only one problem at a time. Find Butch. Then go get Chance.
Saldana narrowed his eyes on me. Nice to know I could cut through his patient persona. “Oh, right. Thanks for pointing that out, Corine. I’ll just stop worrying.”
I made my tone flip as I pushed through a natural archway of entwined branches. “Are we fighting already, honey? You just got here.”
“You drive me out of my mind,” he bit out. “I can tell you’re scared to death, and here we are, marching through trees that terrify you for reasons I don’t even understand, looking for a dog that—”
“What am I supposed to do, Jesse?” I stopped walking then and whirled on him. “Melt, just because you know how I feel? Is this where the little woman confides in you, making you feel strong and manly because you can shoulder her problems? Well, listen up: That approach doesn’t work for me. Not on any level.”
He glared at me. Between his sugar-sweet drawl, his tawny good looks, and his gentle charm, I was sure women rarely responded to him this way. But I couldn’t let past precedent inhibit a really good rant; I was working up a good head of steam, and that anger was distracting me from my worry, so I encouraged it.
“I just met you. You come running because you felt something about me from miles away? Okay, so that was nice, but—in general, I don’t like your knowing how I feel. I don’t like anyone knowing anything about me that I didn’t choose to tell them. How would you like it if I invaded your privacy?”
Running on automatic, I grabbed his wrist, ignoring the tiny shock, and permitted an impression from his watch. It stung—there was always pain—but the intensity depended on what memory was stored in the charge. His emotions surged into me, raw and tumultuous. I’d suspected that he felt things more intensely as a result of his gift and it charged his personal effects right off, but now I had confirmation. I was too angry to let a little pain stop me from making my point.
“How would you like it if I found out—without your telling me—that you think I’m cute when I’m mad and you want to kiss me?” I’d meant this as an object lesson about invading other people’s privacy, but he didn’t look discomfited.
Instead, he smiled. “I don’t mind at all. I guess you have something to think about while we walk, don’t you? Unless you’re angling for that kiss now?”
Ten minutes ago, yeah, I’d wanted it. Now I was too angry.
Wordless, I spun and stalked along the overgrown trail, hoping we were, in fact, headed toward Butch and not a hungry wolf. I found myself grinding my teeth in frustration, which was in some ways better than blind terror, but not good at all for my dental work. I forced myself to calm down and put one foot in front of the other. All too soon, the outrage started draining away, and I was left with gnawing worry once more. It was impossible to stay mad at Jesse Saldana for acting according to his nature.
We walked another fifteen minutes in silence. I noticed belatedly we had come into a tomb, or at least, it felt that way. The ambient forest noises had died away; no animals skittering through the brush, chattering, or birds chirping. Even the wind seemed loath to stir the trees.
I could smell the dankness of the swamp from here. We were close to the border, where the ground could give way suddenly, sucking you into hidden sinkholes. I studied my feet as we walked, cursing Butch silently. When we found him, he was in so much trouble. How did you punish a dog for running off, anyway?
We passed another of those natural arches; this one reminded me oddly of a gazebo, as if we were entering someone’s yard. I stepped into a small clearing. I saw evidence of passage in flattened grass and churned earth; nothing so subtle as paw prints.
Something big had traveled this way, though I didn’t know how long ago. Judging from the depressions in the dirt, it was heavy, as the channels sank almost six inches. I didn’t want to think about what could have made them, although to my morbid imagination, it looked like massive talons had raked through the soil.
I so didn’t need to be thinking along those lines.
Plants had been blackened all along this unholy trail, and a low-grade stench wafted from the dead greenery. Apparently this thing killed whatever it touched, causing wilt, wither, and rot. Where the hell was my dog?
Bile rose in my throat, preventing me from calling out. As if in answer, Butch pranced around a huge split tree that was covered in gray-green lichens. The ground around the dead tree sank inward, as if a meteor had crashed there. He barked as if to say, What took you so long?
It was nice to know the dog had so much faith in us, but why had he brought us out here? I took a step toward him. Then I knew.
Inside the dead tree sat a madman’s jumble of lost possessions: necklace, bracelet, ivory hairbrush, a china doll with its face half charred. Every item looked as though it had been plucked from a conflagration. I could almost smell the smoke.
“They’re trophies,” Jesse whispered.
“Yeah.” Even from a distance I could tell that.
This place reeked of death, solitude, and decay. I felt numb as I came forward. I thought I recognized one of the items half buried toward the back, and I could no more resist kneeling than I could have stopped breathing. Jesse stopped me from reaching out with a hand on my arm.
“You don’t want to touch those, Corine.” He left the subtext unspoken, but I suspected he was right. I’d never seen so much evil heaped in one place.
“No. I’m sorry,” I said. “I wasn’t thinking. Will you get it for me? Please?” I pointed to a delicate chain. If I was right, when he pulled it free, it would have a flower pentacle on it.
As if he sensed the import, Saldana didn’t argue, though he had to be reluctant to poke through the pile. Butch actually brought him a stick, which drew a second look from both of us. Jesse leaned in and raked a few items aside, and then, after a few abortive attempts, raised the necklace into the light.
I forgot to breathe. Tears rose in my eyes, hot and searing. The last time I’d seen this, it shone silver at my mother’s throat. Fire blackened now, yes, and filthy from the years it languished in this unholy place, but it was hers, undoubtedly.
“Oh God,” I whispered. My lower lip trembled, and I snatched the chain before Saldana could stop me.
The world dissolved in fire.
Derelict on Memory Lane
I lost myself.
First in pain, and then darkness, and then—
My daughter would die if I failed here. I knew it. Terror lent me speed, and I hurried to the chest of drawers where I kept my spell components. One mistake would be fatal. I didn’t have much time.
I cast the circle and had spoken most of the words when I sensed approaching peril. Corine was asleep upstairs; I ran to rouse her. For some reason, my frantic words made no sound, but she seemed to hear me. She argued with me.
I hugged her fiercely and then shoved her out the back door. I hoped she knew how much I loved her. I went to meet the men who wanted me dead.
My ears rang. I couldn’t hear what they said. There were twelve of them, like a jury of my peers, come to judge me. I didn’t need to see more than the torches. I slammed the door and locked it.
Then I ran back to the circle I’d drawn on the floor. My hands shook as I sealed myself inside it. I had one last thing to do.
Protect her, I begged. Give her the gifts she needs to survive. Let her live as my legacy to the world. I poured everything I was into the working.
The door flew open. A tall man stood in the doorway, and I would never forget his face. May you burn in hell for what you do this night. Turn and burn, you dark one
in human skin. Licking flames threw weird shadows around the house that had been our home. Never again. Raising the athame, I gave myself over to the Lady.
And I died.
“Corine!” The voice came from a long way off, desperate, terrified. I didn’t want to heed the hands pummeling me.
At least they seemed to be. No, they were pressing down, not pummeling. Someone was performing CPR. Was I dead? My flesh felt odd and heavy, almost entirely inert.
I felt a mouth over mine, then breath being forced into my lungs. I couldn’t seem to open my eyes. And then I coughed. If dying hurt, living was worse. Butch nuzzled me, whimpering, but I couldn’t lift a hand to reassure him.
Jesse brought me upright. His hands rubbed over my back, and when I finally managed to lift my eyes, I found him looking wretched, almost as bad as I felt. The burn on my left palm felt as though it might never heal.
“You died,” he whispered, raw.
I couldn’t work up any concern over that. “So did my mother. She—she killed herself. Why didn’t she run? We could’ve both—” A sob tore free.
I didn’t need an answer after all. I’d been Cherie Solomon for the last few minutes of her life. She hadn’t run, because the men would’ve come looking, and she’d loved me so much I ached with it. My tears ran freely, slipping down my cheeks. I felt dire and bloodied. All these years, I’d thought she died in the fire.
But the truth was somehow worse. She’d died by her own hand, part of that final spell. I had always assumed they’d come upon her before she finished—and that was why my powers were incomplete. Based on what I’d just seen, that obviously wasn’t true, so the fault must lie in me. I was a faulty vessel.
“Oh God.” With gentle hands, he unfolded my fingers from around her necklace.
It fell from my grasp into his palm. Numbly I noted a new scar: The flower pentacle had been branded into my palm. The wound showed livid and purple with little white blisters around the edges. I’d never seen anything quite like it, and what seemed stranger—I had no other marks on my left hand anymore.
