Jeanne C. Stein - Retribution

by Jeanne C. Stein

“I owe you my life.”

  Even his voice is different, softer, more vulnerable. Has the nightmare left a mark?

  He continues, “You risked everything to save me. I won’t forget it. I’m in your debt. I give you my oath. We are family. No favor you ask will ever be denied.”

  Uneasy silence follows his declaration. Not caused by the gratitude evident in Culebra’s words, but by the feeling we’re now inexorably bound together. I don’t know if it’s what Culebra intended, but it’s what I see on the faces of Frey, Sophie and Sandra.

  It’s Sandra who breaks the tension. “Well, then. I have the first favor.”

  We all look at her.

  “I want to go home.”

  It’s exactly the right thing to say. The bubble of anxiety bursts with an almost audible pop.

  Culebra laughs. “You can go whenever you like.”

  The barkeep approaches the table. In his hands he has a tray filled with shredded beef, chicken, marinated vegetables, beans, a plate piled with steaming tortillas. He plunks the dishes down along with half a dozen bottles of Dos Equis.

  “I hope you will eat first,” Culebra says. He casts an eye my way. “Sorry, I have nothing to offer you, Anna. Unless you see something at one of the tables—”

  I shake my head, but reach for one of the beers. “I’m fine, thanks.”

  I hide my impatience as Culebra, Frey and Sandra dig into the food. Only Sophie holds back.

  Because of Deveraux?

  He picks the question out of my head. No. It’s one of the things I like best about taking up residence in a human body. I can enjoy food again. No bloodlust.

  Then why isn’t Sophie eating?

  She looks over at me. “I’m not hungry. Maybe we can take a walk.”

  Culebra sends a thought, cloaked, so that only I hear it. There are still questions. This may be your chance to get answers.

  He’s busy eating, but his eyes are veiled and serious when they meet mine.

  I push back the chair and stand. “Good idea, Sophie. I can use some air.”

  I hadn’t realized night had fallen until we step out onto the boardwalk. A light breeze carries the pungent sharpness of mesquite and the subtle sweetness of night-blooming cactus. A crescent moon and a diamond-studded sky present a peaceful contrast to the hellish storm that threatened us inside just minutes before.

  “It’s surreal, isn’t it?” Sophie asks.

  I’m not sure what she’s referring to, the still desert night or the tempest conjured up by Burke, but I nod anyway.

  Her face is tilted up toward the sky. “I never see stars like this in Denver. The desert is so beautiful. A person can hear herself think.”

  I smile at the irony in that expression. “You always hear yourself think, don’t you? Literally, I mean.”

  She chuckles. “You mean I always hear Deveraux think. It’s hardly the same thing.”

  “Where is he? Right now, I mean.”

  She puts a hand to her chest. “He’s here. He knows you and I have things to discuss. He won’t interfere.”

  “Isn’t it odd? Having another consciousness, a separate being as part of you?”

  The look she throws me is half amused, half surprised that I’d ask the question. “No different than you living with the dual sides of your nature. You are in constant battle against the beast, are you not? In any case, Deveraux and I aren’t so dissimilar as you might suspect. In fact, I imagine it’s easier for me than it is for you. His beast is contained. All that’s left are his thoughts.” She laughs again. “Disturbing as they sometimes are.”

  Her simple, bittersweet awareness amazes me. How much of it is the witch and how much the vampire?

  We walk on in silence for a few moments, enjoying the quiet and the calm. But I know I have to broach the subject at some point, it may as well be now.

  “Where is she, Sophie?”

  There’s no faltering in Sophie’s step or hesitation in her answer. “She’s no longer a threat.”

  “That doesn’t answer the question.” It comes out sharper than I intend.

  Sophie draws a deep breath. “When I broke her spell, the evil behind the magic had to go somewhere. I captured it in the goblet.”

  I remember the moment before the goblet shattered. Burke was drawn into it, too. “So the evil—?”

  “Was directed back into her.”

  “Could she have survived?”

  “What we saw inside was a reverse image of my sister. Not her physical being. She lives but the damage done to her physically, psychically and mentally will take a long time to heal. Years. Decades, maybe.”

  I watch her. Sorrow and guilt are in clear conflict with the simple truth: Burke’s actions sealed her fate.

  It’s not enough. My gut aches with my own truth, there’s no comfort in Sophie saying Burke is no longer a threat. The bottom line is that as long as she is alive, she is a threat. I want her dead. “Do you know where she is?” I ask quietly.

  “No.” She stops and turns to face me. “That is the truth. She may be on this earthly plane, she may be on another. She’s gone away to heal. I can’t reach her. I won’t try. I promise you, she is no longer a threat. It’s all I have to offer.”

  But I think of Williams and Ortiz and those girls tortured in that warehouse. “She has much to answer for. I’m not sure I can let it go.”

  Sophie’s voice is just as determined. “You may not have a choice.”

  We continue walking along the boardwalk. The wind has picked up a little, dust whirls at our feet, clouds skitter across the sky. The silence stretches between us.

  At last Sophie says, “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. Burke hurt—”

  “No. I don’t mean about Burke. What are you going to do about you. Deveraux called you the chosen one. You seemed distressed by the idea.”

  Distressed doesn’t begin to cover it. When I don’t answer, Sophie turns to look at me. “We can’t fight our destiny, Anna. We shouldn’t try.”

  She’s smiling softly, I see it in the darkness. It strikes me that if Williams had said that to me—shit, he has a million times—my back would be up, my defenses at the ready. Sophie, however, brings forth a startling burst of clarity.

  “I’m afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of not knowing what it means to be the chosen.”

  She laughs. “That’s easy enough to find out. Ask Williams.”

  I shake my head. “He’d be only too happy to tell me. But it would be his version. I don’t trust him. He’s too far removed from—” I struggle to find the right word.

  “Humanity?”

  “Yes. From humanity. He’s forgotten what it means to be human. I can’t let that happen to me.”

  We’ve reached the end of the boardwalk. The dirt road out of Beso de la Muerte stretches before us like a faint silver ribbon. I can smell a wolf prowling in the darkness, hear the rapid heartbeat of a rabbit, see the winding path left by a snake as it skims the desert floor. The animal side of my nature recognizes and is recognized by the life teeming just out of sight.

  In the dark, my voice is an echo, haunted, wistful. “I didn’t ask to become vampire. It’s a battle every day. I’m determined to take care of my family, to take care of the people I love. I don’t think I’m strong enough to do more.”

  Sophie sighs and touches my arm. “You are much stronger than you think, Anna. You need to let go, trust your instincts instead of fighting them.”

  She shivers suddenly.

  She’s exhausted. Deveraux’s voice chides me. We should go back.

  We turn and head back toward the bar. Golden shafts of light spill from the windows and doors. Laughter and the sound of music drift on the wind. The smells now are of grilling meat, the perfume of women, the musk of men and vampire.

  Sophie is quiet. Just as we reach the door, she says, “I’d like to take care of the vampires my sister hurt.”

  The offer is as u
nanticipated as it is surprising. “They’re being cared for.”

  “They’re different, right? They’re not the same as you and Deveraux.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe Deveraux picked up on something when you told us about them. I want to take them back to Denver.”

  I glance at my watch. Midnight. “It’s too late to go to the safe house. Stay with me tonight and I’ll take you in the morning.”

  She brushes a lock of hair out of her face and gazes into the bar. “I think I’d rather stay here,” she says. “Enjoy the desert while I have a chance. Think Culebra can put me up?”

  I laugh. “After what you did for him this afternoon? He’d not only put you up, he’d give you his firstborn.”

  But before we go inside, I put a hand on Sophie’s arm. “I will be honest with you, Sophie. Williams isn’t the only one concerned about Burke. I’m not sure I can rest until what we started today is finished. As long as Burke has breath in her body, she is a threat.”

  CHAPTER 52

  THE PARTY IS STILL GOING STRONG WHEN WE step inside. Sophie leaves me to rejoin the group, my last words casting a pall that dims the spark of friendship that had been building between us. I’m sorry about that; I have few friends and I like Sophie. I’m not sorry for being honest, though. I don’t just need for Burke to be out of commission, I need for Burke to be dead.

  Weariness turns my thoughts to home and bed. I realize when we go back inside that I have no way to get home. Williams left with the car. Culebra arranges for one of his customers to drive Frey and me. She’s a human, a host, and luckily for us, keeps up a steady stream of chatter that requires Frey and I to do nothing more than nod and grunt.

  Fatigue settles on my shoulders like a coat of chain mail. I can’t believe all that’s happened in twenty-four hours. The fire and losing Ortiz. Tracking and losing Jason Shelton. Going after Sophie. The ritual to save Culebra.

  I wonder where Williams went when he disappeared. Did he go home? Did he go back to the park to set his witches on Burke? Try another locator spell? If she’s as weak as Sophie implies, she may be easier to find.

  What happens if he does? First thing tomorrow, I’ll call and find out.

  Frey gets dropped off first. He grabs the tote bag from the backseat and climbs out, a little more slowly than he climbed in. I realize if I’m feeling this tired, he must be exhausted. Look what he’s been through.

  I step out with him and touch his cheek in parting.

  “Thanks. Again.”

  He smiles a weary but wolfish grin and places his fingers over mine. “Let’s not make this a habit.”

  “I hope you told Culebra that.”

  “Believe me, I did.”

  He punches his access code into the security panel on the gate and steps through. “I’m going to sleep for a week,” he calls over his shoulder, lifting a hand in a halfhearted wave as he moves down the walk.

  I get back into the car. Our driver, young, enthusiastic, bubbling with curiosity about Frey and me, launches into a dozen questions about what happened tonight in that back room. She says rumors started flying as soon as Culebra made his entrance with the three of us trailing behind. Was it true he had been kidnapped by a witch? That he had been held in an astral plane and that we transported ourselves by way of a supersonic spaceship to rescue him? That we were now part of a paranormal superhero squad that will be called upon to break demonic spells all over the world?

  Wow.

  The truth dulls by comparison.

  I let her prattle on, neither confirming nor denying, all the time it takes us to get back to the airport and my car. When she drops me off, she rolls down the window.

  “I could be a great help to you,” she says, thrusting a card at me. “I’ll do anything.” She pushes her hair away from her neck. “Anything.”

  At that moment, another young face flashes in my head: a girl in a seedy apartment being seduced by that asshole Jason. I turn angry eyes on her innocent face. “Go home,” I snarl. “Before you get what you’re asking for.”

  I SLEEP FOR TWELVE HOURS. IT’S ALMOST ONE IN THE afternoon when I’m finally able to pry open my eyes long enough to look at the clock. My first thought, how good a cup of coffee is going to taste, is chased out of my head by another.

  Shit.

  I sit straight up in bed and throw off the covers. I was supposed to take Sophie to the safe house this morning.

  I grab up my cell and phone Culebra.

  It’s good to hear his brusque “Yes” when he picks up.

  He isn’t a fan of technology. If he’s barking a curt greeting when interrupted by the cell phone, it’s a good sign he’s back to normal.

  “Feeling better, are we?”

  “Anna?” His voice softens. “Sorry, I should have checked the ID.”

  “I take it you’re feeling well?”

  “Remarkably well. It’s amazing how rejuvenating three days in a coma can be.”

  I flash on Frey. Not so good for the person intercepting all that bad mojo.

  Culebra instantly realizes the implication of his last statement. “That didn’t come out right. How is Frey?”

  “Haven’t spoken with him since last night. He planned to sleep for a week. I thought I’d wait at least a day to call him.”

  “I’ll do the same.”

  There’s a pause until my as-yet-decaffeinated brain clicks into gear with the reason I called. “Is Sophie there? I was supposed to take her to the safe house this morning. Obviously I overslept.”

  “No problem. Williams came by this morning. He took her.”

  Why does that start alarm bells shrieking in my head? “Williams took her?”

  In the background, I can hear someone—sounds like Sandra—calling Culebra’s name. He shouts a reply and then says into the phone, “Sorry, Anna. I have to go. Sandra is taking off. I want to say good-bye.”

  “Wait.”

  There’s a pause.

  “I never got the chance to ask. Is it true that Sandra wanted me to stay away from Beso de la Muerte? That she didn’t want to see me?”

  Another pause, then Culebra says, “I think you should talk to her about it.”

  “She’s leaving.”

  He draws a breath. “I can say only this—Tamara was more than a friend to Sandra. While Sandra knows Tamara betrayed her, she still finds it hard to see you. You killed her lover.”

  In the background, a Harley engine roars to life.

  “I have to go, Anna. We’ll talk later.”

  The phone clicks dead in my ear.

  I’m stunned by Culebra’s words. It seems to be escaping Sandra that Tamara planned to kill her so that she would be one with Avery. And she’s angry with me? If I ever see Sandra again, I’ll point that out.

  Love makes people stupid, my own voice reminds me. Gloria and David were a perfect example. Forget it. Concentrate on Sophie.

  I jump to my feet and head for the closet.

  Why would Williams go back to Beso for Sophie? The question nags at me.

  I can come up with only one logical answer. Burke is still alive. Williams’ thirst for revenge won’t be satisfied until he knows she’s dead. He sees Sophie as the means to that end.

  And that makes me afraid for Sophie.

  CHAPTER 53

  ALL THE TIME I’M GETTING DRESSED, I’M ASKING myself, where would Williams take Sophie? He wants revenge. He wants Burke.

  The logical part of my brain says don’t jump to conclusions. Call Rose at the safe house first. Maybe he did take her to meet those vampires.

  Rose picks up on the second ring, her cheery greeting a balm to my troubled spirit.

  The joy isn’t long-lived. “Williams? Here this morning?” she replies in answer to my question. “Nope. Haven’t seen him since the fire.”

  Not the news I was hoping for. Before I ring off, I ask, “How are the girls?”

  Her smile is evident in her tone. “They�
��re doing great, Anna. The collars have all been removed. We saved six. It’s odd, the differences between us. But we keep the curtains closed during the day, let them out at night. I’m not sure long term what will happen, where they’ll go, but for now, they’re welcome here.”

  I guess I should feel happy at the news. Six out of twelve—eighteen if you count the six bodies that showed up before the fire—isn’t exactly heartening, but it’s better than having lost them all.

  Still, I wonder at how they’re recovering mentally. Being tortured and bled for days has to leave a psychic scar. It’s one thing to heal the body, it’s quite another to heal the mind.

  I promise Rose to stop by as soon as I can and disconnect.

  Now what? Where is Williams?

  I call his cell. It rings six times and goes to voice mail.

  Would he have taken her to the park?

  Probably not. I remember the fury in his voice and eyes when he pledged to make Sophie and her sister pay. He wouldn’t want witnesses for what I fear he intends to do.

  I move toward the front door, grabbing purse and keys as I go. Perhaps if I go to the park, consult the witches, they can locate Sophie.

  The newspaper is on the porch. I trip over it in my haste to get to my car. It flops open as I toe it out of the way.

  The headline story on page one answers my question.

  Ortiz’ death is still the top story. His funeral is tomorrow. Along with his picture is another.

  Why didn’t I think of that before?

  The warehouse.

  Williams will take Sophie back to the place where Ortiz died.

  I SMELL SMOKE AS SOON AS I PULL UP TO THE FRONT of the warehouse. It hangs like an oily curtain over the building. Yellow crime scene tape stretches around the perimeter although there are no security guards or police personnel that I can see.

  I listen.

  It’s ghostly quiet. There are no cars in the lot in front of the building. If Williams is here, did he go to the back?

  I spot Williams’ Navigator, backed up to the loading bay. Twisted metal, shrunk by heat and compressed by pressure, fills the area that was the basement. When I look inside, there isn’t enough space for a person to stand. The second-floor ceiling collapsed, sending filing cabinets and bits of ruined office furniture to fill the void.