by Ann Aguirre
Unfortunately, that left me as a scapegoat. Any good practitioner could’ve scryed for information on those responsible for the raid on his property. That meant Jesse, Chuch, and Eva might be vulnerable too. Me . . . well, crap. Kel was right. I was screwed.
“So he knows where I am. Why didn’t he send someone?”
“You know why.”
As I considered, I realized the hexed saltshaker was cleaner than a thug with a machete. Severed heads made the news, but some cartels didn’t want that kind of press. It interfered with business. And if Kel hadn’t come in, I’d be a silent statistic; Montoya could not have planned for God’s Hand.
I sighed. “What now?”
“You muster your allies,” he answered. “And plan for war.”
Allies, hm. There’s always Booke, and Jesse will be happy to consult. Shannon won’t let me keep her out of this, if I know the girl at all.
Booke was my occult expert in the U.K. whom I’d met online through mutual friends. Currently I didn’t know what role Jesse Saldana played in my life; he wanted to be my boyfriend, but long-distance relationships were too hard, so right now he was my friend and mentor with an eye on a relationship upgrade, if one of us ever decided to relocate.
As for Shannon, I met her in Kilmer, and I wouldn’t have survived those dark woods without her; in the end, her ability to summon and speak to spirits had saved us all. Like me, she bore an unusual gift and came from a painful past. I saw a lot of myself in her, which was part of why I cared about her. I wanted so much better for her than I’d managed at first on my own.
So I took her under my wing; she went with me to Texas and then accompanied me from there to Mexico City. Although she was young, I couldn’t claim she was immature. I’d been like that too. Growing up different in a tiny, cursed town squashed the child right out of you.
I went on with the mental inventory, thinking of the coolest married couple I knew, Chuch and Eva Ortiz. But I refuse to drag them into my problems. It’s been months, and she’s about ready to have her baby. I can’t permit more than peripheral contact, in case Montoya doesn’t know about them already.
And he might. It’s impossible to judge.
Which meant I’d accepted Kel’s assessment. I wouldn’t be thinking of who I could turn to for help if I didn’t believe him about the threat. Shit.
I glanced up to find him watching me in silence; doubtless he knew the exact moment I worked out the fact that my options were limited. With a frown, I handed Psyche over, and he set her back in the box. In a gesture more symbolic than helpful, I put the lid on it.
“We should go see someone who might be able to tell us what kind of spell was used on this thing.”
He nodded. “Do you have any contacts here?”
“Yep.”
Tia worked on Tuesdays and Fridays at the market, where she kept a stall selling charms and potions. On other days, she cleaned houses. She was a wizened woman with wispy gray hair that she wore in a messy bun, and her clothing consisted of housedresses covered with aprons in competing floral patterns.
I loved her.
“We should go.”
“Not until Shannon gets back. I can’t leave the store unattended.”
Kel gave the impression of incredulity without shifting his expression. “You don’t think this is more important than selling a few gewgaws?”
“Actually, no. If I don’t have money to pay my bills and eat, then I might as well fondle Eros, because I’d rather die fast than starve in the streets. You probably don’t have to worry about such things, being God’s Hand and all.”
To my surprise, he said, “Point.”
“If it comes to another extended journey . . .”—I so didn’t want to go—“I’ll make alternate arrangements.”
His mouth twitched. “As you think best.”
Right, because you’re just a holy warrior and you’d never tell me what to do. I wasn’t buying that for a minute. Oddly, I realized I wasn’t scared of him. This time, I didn’t ask him to swear he meant me no harm. If he said he had been sent to protect me, however little I understood that call, then I believed him.
I got us both some limonada from the fridge upstairs and we drank in silence. Shannon returned a few minutes later, arms laden with plastic grocery bags. She liked doing the food shopping—and since I didn’t, I was happy to let her.
She was talking when she came through the front door, something about the way the sun hit the bougainvillea on the adobe walls, but her words dried up when she spotted Kel. I took a couple of the bags from her, not that she noticed. Two spots of color burned on her cheeks; though we’d been here a while, she stayed out of the sun, preferring her pallor and dyed-black Goth hair.
“Who’s this?” she asked, eyes wide and avid.
Good lord, she was smitten. I’d never seen her look at anyone this way, and we had some sexy neighbors. I tried to see him through her eyes—maybe it was the muscles and the tats? Along with a pair of jeans, Kel wore a plain white dress shirt, but most of the buttons were open to reveal a clean undershirt. Through the fabric showed glimmers of dark ink, as if he were a secret work of art ready to be unveiled to the right hands.
Sure, he was bald, but he had a strong jaw and those icy, mysterious eyes. Damn, now I could see it too. This was the last thing I needed.
Clearing my throat, I answered belatedly, “Kel Ferguson. He’s an old friend.”
That was true enough. With my eyes, I told him not to go into the whole Hand of God business with her. She’d probably decide his modern-day-paladin status meant he was perfect for whatever she had in mind. I didn’t like to think about it; she was almost nineteen and a boiling cauldron of hormones.
“Nice to meet you.” Kel extended a hand. Apparently, he was capable of pretending to be normal, at least for short stretches.
She shook his hand with a little quiver of pleasure. I wondered if he noticed. “I’m Shannon, Corine’s roommate.”
That was a good way to describe our situation to an outsider. I was also her mentor, helping her learn about her gift—which was summoning and speaking to the dead via vintage radio—as best I could. So far, we seemed to be doing all right. She was a lot happier and safer than she’d been in Kilmer, at least.
“You never told me about him.” She cut me a reproachful look.
I grinned. “The better to surprise you with. Now, we have an errand to run. We’ll wait until you get the food put away and then I need you to mind the shop.”
“Give me a minute. I’ll be right back.”
True to her word, she didn’t linger upstairs. In short order she took my place behind the counter and I picked up the white box. Maybe Tia could tell us something, and that would give us a place to start. Magick left a trail, and all its practitioners possessed an astral tell. If Tia couldn’t provide any insights, I’d call Booke, who could examine the object in the planes.
“Thanks. We’ll be back later.”
“It’s my turn to cook,” Shannon said. “Should I make enough for a guest?”
Subtle. I slid him an inquiring look. From what distance did he plan to guard me? Would it be up close and personal or did he prefer to sit outside in an SUV like they did in the movies? I felt pretty sure that holy warriors didn’t operate like spies, though.
“I was hoping you’d invite me to sleep on your couch, so dinner would be welcome.”
She brightened. “Consider yourself invited.”
“Ready?” I asked him.
He responded with a nod, so we headed out the back, which led us through a jumble of crates and piles of junk I had yet to examine. The metal door opened into an alley littered with broken pavement. Two stray dogs fought over food scraps, and I gave them a wide berth. There was no point in unleashing the fearsome fury of God’s Hand on a couple of hounds.
Heat hung in the air, making it feel dry and sharp in the lungs. Kel didn’t appear affected by it—of course he wouldn’t—but I was sweating by the time we
reached the corner. He must’ve known the market was within walking distance, because he never suggested we drive.
A tangle of electrical wires hung over my street with shady trees guarding the parrot-bright buildings. Sun dappled the concrete and found bits of crystal to make it sparkle. The sidewalk was rough and uneven; he took my arm a couple of times to help me over slabs of overlapping cement. Houses with their high walls and sturdy gates gave way to businesses: a doctor’s office, a dry cleaner’s, an OXXO—a convenience store—and the comedor, where I bought my beans and rice. Overhead, the sky was too blue and beautiful for me to want to believe that somewhere in this lovely country, a powerful man wanted me dead, but if I didn’t take action, he would get his wish.
We came to a busy street, the one with the farmacia on the corner, and waited until it was clear. An old man sold flowers and magazines in the median; he raised his hand in greeting. Everyone recognized me around here, most likely because of the hair. Once a week, I walked down to buy a copy of Muy Interesante and practice my Spanish reading. Sometimes I bought un ramo de rosas too—it seemed criminal not to when one could do so for ten pesos.
At the first gap between zooming cars, Kel shepherded me across as if I’d never done this before. I cut him a look, eyes narrowed against the sunlight, and I would’ve sworn for a brief instant that God’s Hand was smiling. By the time we passed into the side street shaded by tall buildings and stately laurel trees, I decided I must’ve been mistaken.
The avenida that led to the marketplace took us up a steep incline; walking in the mountains was much harder than hiking on level ground, and by the time we reached the top, I was puffing a bit. So much for my resolution to work out—in some regards, I didn’t have much discipline.
Acacia and rubber trees lined this backstreet, and a park opened up inside the framework of buildings, after we crossed one more road. From here I could see the red awnings, where people sold fresh fruit, vegetables, cleaning supplies, clothing, knockoff designer handbags, and homemade food, along with even more interesting items. Tia offered some of the most intriguing selections you could find anywhere in the city, in fact.
Kel broke the silence at last, following my gaze up the mountain, where the market sat at the far end of the park. “Is that where we’ll find her?”
I thought he knew the answer already, but he studied my face, as if seeking confirmation. So I nodded and led him across the brownish grass. Four kids were swinging as we passed by, their cries echoing as we climbed the final hill.
My palm sweated where I held the white box; it was a little unnerving to carry something that could kill me. I didn’t want this, but Montoya’s gambit signaled an end to my hard-won peace. Deep down, I always knew the confrontation was inevitable. You didn’t do what I did and get away with it.
When we drew closer, I inhaled the scent of hot melted cheese, chorizo, and tacos al pastor. At the far end of the market, a man had set up a grill, and he was serving a queue of customers who devoured his food standing up. Kel glanced that way, and I shook my head, smiling.
“Shannon will never forgive you if you eat elsewhere. Come on. Tia’s over here.”
There’s No Dave Here
Since it was almost four when we arrived, Tia was putting away her wares. Her hair drifted in silver wisps out of its customary bun, and she had on a blue and white flowered dress with a red apron atop it. Part of her stuff sat at her feet in two bags, charms and potions to solve any ill. I wondered how she had intended to get them home, prior to our arrival.
She smiled when she spotted me. “Buenas tardes.”
Kel returned her greeting in perfectly accented Castilian Spanish. My brows rose; I wouldn’t be able to keep secrets from him in Mexico—that was for sure. Tia studied him for long moments and then extended a gnarled hand, which she rarely did. He accepted the handshake, only to have the old woman spin his palm upward and peer at it. She made a noise as if she were sucking false teeth, but those that remained in her mouth belonged to her naturally.
“Mucho gusto,” she murmured.
When she let go, I had the feeling she knew things about him that I never would, but the knowledge swam and drowned in her murky eyes; she’d never tell me what she’d seen. Tia told us to finish packing up the stall’s contents. Her home wasn’t far. Since we were here, we could help her carry things. I didn’t argue; it never did any good.
We made quick work of her potions and charms. Before long, we were following her down the street that paralleled the park. Her house sat farther up the mountain, the levels built into the rock itself, but she had an amazing view. Kel said nothing, merely carried three heavy bags with an ease that said he could bear any burden. It was a reassuring quality in a guardian.
I had visited her home before; sometimes I gave her things to sell in addition to her own wares. This time, I tried to see the place through Kel’s eyes. The house was terraced, the adobe whitewashed pale as milk so it glimmered in the sun, contrasting with the black wrought iron on the windows. The upper level had cement-and-plaster balconies, gently curved. As we stepped through the latticed front gate, I noted Tia had planted new flowers in the front—hibiscus and dahlia, angel’s trumpet and flowering sage. Her garden was beyond lovely, the courtyard paved in ornate terra-cotta tiles. Some of them had cracked, but it didn’t give the sense of disrepair. With moss growing green against the clay, it was more of a natural reclamation.
Tia handed us the rest of the bags so she could unlock the door. Within, it was dim and cool. My shoes made no sound against the marble floor. It was a nicer home than you might expect from a woman who cleaned houses for a living, in addition to selling potions and charms, but Tia worked so hard because she claimed it kept her young. Given how well she moved, I couldn’t argue with the results.
“Put everything on the table,” she instructed in Spanish, and then led us into the sitting room, where she met with clients.
Here, the furniture was so old, it felt different from modern couches in the lack of springs. With its solid wood frame and plain cushions, this was more like a futon, only it didn’t flip to form a bed. Everything in her home belonged to the rustic hacienda style, and had been crafted by hand.
Kel sat down beside me. He seemed to take up more than his half of the sofa, due to presence more than physical size. Which was impressive. But unlike most men, he didn’t sprawl; he contained himself in as little space as possible, as if he were accustomed to being confined.
Like any good hostess, Tia offered us refreshments, which I declined. We needed to get down to business. The social stuff would have to keep for another time, assuming I survived.
I hefted the white box. “I have an item for you to examine,” I said in Spanish.
“¿Qué?”
“It’s a saltshaker, but it’s got a killing hex.”
She crossed herself and regarded the case dubiously. “What do you think I can do with it?”
“I was hoping you could tell me something about the kind of magic used.”
Tia considered for long moments, brow furrowed, and then nodded. “I have one charm that might prove useful. Do you know if it’s meant only for you, or will it work on anyone who touches it?”
I glanced at Kel, who answered, “It’s keyed to Corine.”
Wonderful. From my mother—who had been a witch—I knew such specificity required sophistication and finesse in the casting. In most cases, it also required a personal effect or some physical tie, like locks of hair, blood, or nail clippings.
Damn. I probably shouldn’t get my hair done at the salon until this is over.
“I would rather not test that,” Tia said with a grin creasing her weathered cheeks.
She stood up and headed for the kitchen. A few moments later, she came back with a tray, including a crystal bowl, salt, a cup of mixed herbs, and a slender stick carved out of green, fragrant wood. She was also wearing a pair of long black satin gloves, perhaps a remnant from an old Día de los Muertos costum
e of La Calavera Catrina, which came from a zinc etching by José Guadalupe Posada in 1913. It had since seeped into Mexican celebrations, a feminine skeleton in silk and tulle—death all dressed up.
I gathered she was taking no chances with poor Eros. Given my track record in romantic relationships, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a warning in the form of the would-be instrument of my death: Love will be your doom. Smiling at such hubris, I watched as Tia perched on the edge of the sofa and arranged the items.
First, she rimmed the bowl with salt and then sprinkled the remainder into the water. Next, she scattered the herbs, and finally, she stirred the mixture with the stick, all while whispering what sounded like broken fragments of a prayer.
I caught snippets, like “en espiritu sancti” and “el buen Señor,” but mostly, it was too soft for me to understand. When she finished chanting and mixing—the water was a cloudy pool by this point—she picked up the white box, opened it, and—with one thumb holding Pysche in place—she tipped Eros into the bowl.
With a hiss, the herb-and-salt-infused water turned black as ink and it roiled as if a thousand tiny snakes swam in its depths. Tia cupped her hands, guiding the liquid, which solidified into a substance that resembled black Jell-O.
Gross.
Beneath the permanent suntan, her face paled as she worked, air-sculpting the lines into something she saw only in her mind’s eye. Before long, the thing in the bowl began to look human; she was crafting a viscous bust of the spell caster.
Holy crap, all Booke can do is tell us what the person’s astral sigil looks like.
It wasn’t a perfect image, of course, but I would most likely remember this face, if I saw him—and it was most definitely a man. Kel stood up and, without bothering Tia, went looking for a pad of paper. Shortly, he sat down and started sketching in quick, bold lines—good on him; there was no telling how long this spell would last.
As he was putting the finishing touches on the drawing, the creation wavered. Tia swayed, and then Eros came spurting out of the thing’s mouth, landing in a wet, slimy spatter on top of the tray. Now we just had a disgusting saltshaker and a bowl of dirty water. My friend looked worse for the wear, so I made her a cup of tea. I had been to her house often enough to know to manage.
