by Ann Aguirre
When I returned, she seemed a little stronger, but her voice was hoarse. “Magia negra, muy negra.” Bad magic, very dark: as if I couldn’t have guessed that by the reaction to the water she’d blessed. “Magia sangrienta.”
Blood magick.
That actually helped. Certain voodoo traditions used blood, and so did the darkest hermetic traditions. Practitioners like my mother never used blood; neither did Tia. I also knew of a few shamans who used it, but in sympathetic magick, not baneful.
Most would laugh at the idea of magick and hexes. The world was divided into three groups: practitioners, those who wanted to believe in the paranormal, and those who scoffed at it. Skeptics comprised the vast majority; practitioners were rare, and the ones who wanted to believe or had seen something unusual tended to get lumped in with those who claimed aliens had abducted them or that the government had put hardware in their heads to make sure they always bought American cars.
At any rate, Tia’s work gave us a place to start.
Area 51, a message board used by the gifted community, offered untold resources. People there could likely tell me some names of practitioners who could—and would—craft such a special blood-based spell. After all, not all sorcerers, witches, and warlocks were willing to hire out as mercs; many felt that demeaned their gifts.
While Tia sipped the hot tea, I cleaned up the mess. I was careful not to touch Eros; I merely carried the whole tray to the kitchen and left him alone while tidying up. I could hear Kel talking in his low bass rumble and I marveled at his perfect, elegant Castilian accent, so different from the one I’d picked up here. It sounded like he was reassuring her. With Tia, he showed gentleness I had never seen from him before, and I made a note to question him about it later.
She had more color in her face by the time I came back to the sitting room and her hands were steady. But the air felt thick and cloying, as if her spell had some residual effect. No breeze whipped through the open windows, and this high on the mountain, that stillness was unusual at this hour in the evening. It seemed as if the world held its breath.
“How much do I owe you?” I asked in Spanish.
“Quinientos.” Five hundred—it was more than she’d ever charged me before, and yet it wasn’t as much as it sounded.
I dug into my purse, which felt light, since Butch—my hyperintelligent Chihuahua, whose ability to sense supernatural threats had saved my bacon more than once—was with Shannon at the shop, got out my wallet, and peeled off a bill. I loved the colorful Mexican currency; my favorite was definitely the twenty. The old ones were a charming shade of purple, and the new ones blue, both so beautiful they didn’t even feel like money.
“Is there anything else we can do?” I asked, because she looked very tired, more than I had ever seen her. For the first time in our acquaintance, she looked not old, but ancient, as if a strong wind could sweep her away.
“No,” she said. “Just take the cursed thing when you go.”
After picking up the white box, Kel went to the kitchen to fetch the saltshaker. I was happy to let him take care of it.
“Are you going to be all right?”
“No.” Probably reading my expression correctly, she went on. “But because I’m an old woman, not because of this. I hope I was some help. If you want more answers or for someone to remove the curse, you need to go to Catemaco.”
I’d heard of the place, a legendary town of witches set on the mystic shores of one of Mexico’s largest lakes. “Say I do—who would I speak with?”
“Nalleli. She is the island witch. Any boatman should know of her.”
“And she’ll be able to help me?”
Tia smiled, her eyes shadowed and deep in her lined face. “Much more than I can, child.”
Kel appeared in the doorway, the white box in his hand. Presumably he had washed and stowed Eros back in the compartment alongside Psyche. Maybe it was the inveterate pawnshop owner in me, but in addition to those answers about the man who had crafted the spell, I also wanted the curse removed.
It would be irresponsible of me to sell the set to the Spanish professor, knowing one of the items was cursed. Though nothing should happen to her, since the hex was keyed to me, one never knew what might happen as spells started to decay. I didn’t want to be the reason she wound up on her kitchen floor, bleeding from the eyes, two years from now.
I also wanted to make that sale; the Spanish professor would love these. Maybe Chance thought I bought the pawnshop for lack of other options, but I really enjoyed hooking people up with junk they never knew they always wanted.
God’s Hand bowed to Tia and then we let ourselves out. Her garden smelled sweet with the freshness of growing things as we passed through. Outside the gate, the street was quiet. She lived high enough on the mountain that there wasn’t much traffic, and the park had emptied when the sun went down. It was dark and silent enough that I was glad for his presence at my side. The walk back to my shop from Tia’s place was always easier, since it was almost entirely downhill.
“We’re going to Catemaco?”
I guessed he had overheard everything, but I couldn’t get used to the idea that someone so dangerous and otherworldly would be content following me around until he received alternate orders. “Well, I am.”
“You won’t last the week without me,” he said quietly.
An odd sensation took me then, as if I’d been living on borrowed time for longer than I knew. I was supposed to perish in Kilmer, but I survived the fire that caused my mother to take her own life—only to die there so many years later—and be resuscitated by Jesse Saldana. Again I nearly died, only to be saved by the very demon I was meant to feed. Reflexively, I rubbed the hard spot on my side. It was barely perceptible, but since I knew where to touch, I could find it.
A knife went in there—and now the weapon is part of me.
“That’s good news,” I said sourly.
Kel’s gaze followed my movement; his jaw tightened. “I know about that, and it gives me no pleasure to be sworn to one so demon-touched.”
“Where were you, then? So it didn’t happen.”
“I had other orders.”
Well, of course you did.
I didn’t want to hear how much I sucked in comparison to his other jobs, so I changed the subject. “You were different with Tia. How come?”
“I behave in accordance with proximity to grace.”
It took me a minute to work that out. In that time, we cut across the silent park. In the dark, you couldn’t see the brown patches in the grass, but I heard the difference beneath my feet. “You’re saying she’s a holy woman?”
More than me, certainly. I have earthly tendencies of which a paladin could never approve.
“And shortly destined for . . . better things.”
“You mean she’s going to die soon?” My heart twanged.
I didn’t want to lose Tia; in the time I’d lived here, she had become important to me. When I came back from Kilmer, heartbroken all over again, I’d spent more than one night on her sofa, listening to her stories. Sometimes Shannon came along. In her quiet way, Tia had done more to teach me how to be self-sufficient and complete unto myself than anyone else. She’d taught me that work was often a cure for what ailed you, and that unless you learned inner contentment, you could never truly be happy.
“Is that so surprising?”
Given her age, no. Not at all. I just wasn’t ready to lose her. I’d never known my grandmother. If my dad’s parents weren’t dead when he disappeared, I never met them, and my mother might’ve been born from the forest for all I’d ever known of her family.
“I’ll miss her, that’s all.”
“You should be happy for her.”
“Oh, shut up.” Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to antagonize my protection, but as I understood it, he wasn’t going anywhere until his orders came from on high, so it didn’t matter what I said anyway. It wasn’t like he wanted to be here.
To
my surprise, he did. We walked down the side street, which seemed much darker and scarier at this hour. There were no lights on inside any of the buildings, and as we passed a house with an outdoor light, something popped like a firecracker, and the lamp went out. Gunshot. This wasn’t the kind of neighborhood where that happened on its own. Weapons fire was pretty rare in this part of Mexico City, because laws regarding illegal guns were harsh as hell, and nobody wanted to wind up in prison here.
I couldn’t see; I didn’t know if I should run or try to hide. The street was bathed in complete darkness, and if there was a sniper on the roof with night-vision goggles, this would be like shooting fish in a barrel. As I moved, the shooter nailed me in the upper arm. The pain nearly blinded me. I swallowed a scream; if I hadn’t shifted, I’d be dead now, and he might finish the job at any second.
But I’d forgotten about Kel. He slid in behind me and used his own body as a shield. With his hands on my shoulders, he pushed me into a run. I might’ve expected him to bound off looking for the shooter, but no—his mission was clear. He had orders to protect me, and he intended to do so.
I stumbled over the broken cement and he said right beside my ear, “I can see fine. I’d lead but I need to stay behind you. So you’ll have to trust me. I’ll guide you.”
Like hell, I thought, but when he said, “Up,” I lifted my feet and managed to scramble onto the higher part of the sidewalk.
Another shot rang out, and Kel stifled a sound.
“You’re hit.” Because of the injuries I’d seen him recover from in Laredo, I knew he would live no matter where they’d gotten him, but that didn’t mean he felt no pain. I knew firsthand just how much it hurt; the warm blood trickling down my biceps made me wonder how bad my arm was.
Flesh wound, I told myself. Just a graze.
“Keep moving,” he ordered.
I needed no second invitation, and I sprinted as fast as I could toward the distant lights of the busy avenida just a block and a half from my store. It was strange with him running right behind me, but with his greater size, he found it no problem to keep up, even when he’d been shot. Each step sent a fresh jolt through my wounded arm.
We burst onto the sidewalk, and I had never been more reassured to see the glowing red and yellow OXXO sign. Men milled about here, drinking, and smoking. They gave us a glance, and then their gazes slid away, partly because of my pale, sweaty face, partly due to my big, bleeding companion.
As soon as we caught a break in traffic, we ran across. I had a sharp stitch in my side by then, and a dull throb in my biceps, but I was sure it was nothing compared to Kel’s problems. Not that he would complain. I suspected whining meant being kicked out of the paladin club. I could so see him in armor, wielding a giant sword. And things could have been worse on my end too. At least I didn’t have a bullet in me; when I rotated my arm, I felt an intense ache, not a foreign presence.
“They had a guy watching me,” I panted. “In case the hex didn’t work.”
I wanted to take a break, but we were almost to the safety of my shop. Keep moving. You don’t know where the sniper is.
“Insurance.”
That made sense, I supposed. But the shooter would tell Montoya I had protection. Worse and worse. Better to focus on what I can do to help him.
“How does this go? Do I need to dig that out of you or will it work its way out as you heal?”
Shadows played over his bare head, but his face revealed no particular emotion beneath the streetlights. He hesitated, and when he spoke, his tone reflected a quiet surprise, as if nobody had ever asked him that before. “If it’s not removed, it will stay beneath my skin.”
A constant irritant—yeah, I knew all about that, and fought the urge to rub my side again. I wouldn’t do that to him.
Looks like I’ll be playing doctor tonight.
Playing Doctor
The shop was closed, so we went through the back door and up the stairs. I could smell the spicy marinara sauce before we hit the second floor. Shannon was making spaghetti, her best dish. Admittedly, it was hard to screw up: boil the water, time the pasta, microwave the sauce—not rocket science. But tonight, she’d gone to some extra trouble with grated Parmesan cheese and a Caesar salad.
It looked very impressive.
Butch raised his head from where he lay napping on the sofa and growled low in his throat, but I think he smelled the blood more than objected to my companion. He’d always liked Kel. I went over to give the dog a soothing stroke on the head, and once I got closer, he settled down. For a tiny breed, he could be quite protective. Of course, that could be because if I got myself killed, he’d be homeless.
Shannon came down the hall brushing her hair. “Are you guys ready to eat?” She glanced from me to Kel. “Let me guess. Something went horribly wrong.”
“Got it in one.”
“Is that blood?” she asked, stepping closer.
I covered my upper arm with my fingers and watched the red trickle through. With grim determination, I blocked the memory of how stepping to the left narrowly saved me from a bullet in the chest. I could’ve died, just like that. The knowledge sank into my stomach like a fisherman’s hook.
“Yeah.”
Her pale face went a little green, but she squared her shoulders. “What can I do?”
“I need my wound cleaned and bandaged.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Shannon said, heading down the hall to get first-aid supplies.
“After she patches me up, I’ll operate on you,” I told Kel. “How long do you think we have until he makes another run at us?”
“Not long,” Kel answered.
The girl paused and turned, eyes wide. “Another run? Don’t you think it’s time you clued me in?”
He answered succinctly, “A drug lord is trying to kill Corine over something she did before she met you. Someone took a shot on the way here and nailed both of us, but since he didn’t kill her, I suspect he’ll arrive soon to finish the job.”
The girl had stones. She folded her arms and demanded, “Shouldn’t we be, oh, I don’t know . . . running for our lives?”
Oh, crap, I hadn’t wanted to tell Shannon about Kel being God’s Hand, so now she didn’t know there was anything special about him. But circumstances made it necessary to fill in the blanks for her. “We need to talk.”
It was best if I explained things to her. I made the request silently, leveling a significant look on Shannon. He acknowledged that with an inclination of his head.
Ignoring his injury, Kel strode toward the door. “Before we take off, I’ll put the gunman down.”
I didn’t like sending him out to hunt a human being, but I had to be pragmatic. The man who shot us works for Montoya; he accepted money to kill me. He’s not going to stop until I’m dead. However I rationalized it, though, I couldn’t feel good about it, and knowing it was necessary didn’t lessen the sickness in my stomach. So I focused on the burn in my biceps and told myself, He’ll do worse to you—and to Shannon—if you let him. That so wasn’t on. But I loathed the ruthless decisions being forced on me in the name of survival, and I wondered if the woman I’d been, the one Chance loved, could’ve made these choices.
“Do what you have to,” I told Kel.
“I’ll handle it,” he said quietly.
I should be thankful for small favors. There were a number of places nearby where he could stash a body, and I wanted to be long gone before the authorities started asking awkward questions. In our favor, if this guy worked for Montoya, then he had a record, and the policía would assume the death was drug related. Lucky break. Funny, right then I didn’t feel fortunate.
“Come up when you’re done. I’ll fix your back, and then we can go.”
Kel smiled—and that was terrifying. “This won’t take long.”
His movements carried an awful grace as he slid out of the apartment. Shannon gave a shiver, but she wasn’t panicked. Another girl might be freaking out—not Shan. B
ut then, like me, she grew up in a cursed town, where people died mysteriously and disappeared all the time. She was nearly sacrificed to a demon by her own mother, who developed a conscience only at the end; Sandra tried to claim innocence, but her daughter knew better. I could only try to be there for her and help pick up the pieces. Part of me thought she needed a more stable life, but I couldn’t offer that right now. I could only give her support and affection.
“Come on,” she said, leading the way to the bathroom.
I stripped off my bloodstained shirt and stood in my white bra while she cleaned the wound. As she worked, I sucked in a sharp breath, gritting my teeth. In old Westerns, the hero always had a bottle of rotgut to take the edge off. I just closed my eyes and tried not to scream.
“How does it look?” I asked eventually.
“It got the outer edge of your arm.”
“A graze?”
“I guess,” she said. “There’s no hole, if that’s what you’re asking.”
That was good news. At least I didn’t have to worry about muscle damage. If she cleaned it and wrapped it, I should heal well enough. The last thing I wanted to do was see a doctor in Mexico, who might report me to Montoya.
With gentle hands, Shannon took care of the wound and I went up to the bedroom to get a clean shirt. When I returned, she was dumping the spaghetti and salad in plastic containers. She opened a drawer and got out a plastic bag to stow the food and then added napkins and plastic silverware.
“Should I bring bowls?”
In answer, I located three plastic ones and handed them to her. If they didn’t make it back here, no big loss. I couldn’t say the same about Shannon. Though the gunshot wound should’ve alerted her to the fact that this situation was no joke, she still needed to know what she was getting into in order to make an informed decision. I took a deep breath and then summarized my history with Kel: how I met a holy warrior in a hundred words or less.
