by Ann Aguirre
I sighed as I got behind the wheel. “That helps a little. Or it might, if we weren’t heading off to summon a demon.”
“Cool,” she said. “I’ll wear my new necklace.”
Despite myself, I laughed. God help me if I ever lost Shan.
Raising Hell
On the way back, I took a circuitous route and made a number of unnecessary turns. Shannon watched but she didn’t see anybody tailing us. Maybe I was being paranoid, but I didn’t intend to let Montoya find me before I was good and ready.
Once locked behind all the dead bolts, I skipped ahead in the grimoire. I paged all the way through the red one and realized the spell I needed must be in the blue one. I located the summoning ritual about midway in. In fact, I was surprised my mother had such incantations in her books. I couldn’t imagine when summoning a demon could be considered white magic, and she’d told me more than once she only practiced beneficial craft.
Around noon, I made a call. I had Morales’s number handy, since he’d dialed my cell. “Before you guys report in, I need some things. Got a pen?” I read him the list. “Send the bill to Escobar.”
Strictly speaking this didn’t relate to our shared persecution of Montoya, but if I wanted to stay alive, which was part of the deal, I required these items. He wouldn’t even notice the expenditure. If he did, I’d account for it somehow.
“Sí, jefa. We’ll be there later.”
“No sooner than dusk. Your work is best done in the dark.”
“I might have that slogan tattooed on me somewhere.”
“The ladies might think you mean you’re too ugly for daytime sex.”
“Nunca. They got eyes, don’t they?” With a little chuckle, he disconnected.
For most of the day, I practiced drawing pentangles. Most witches grew up with such coursework as a part of their normal school curriculum. With any luck, this crash course would suffice. I wished I could take baby steps; I wasn’t prepared to jump from a mild call me spell to a major summoning, but in my case it was do or die.
“Ready or not, here I come,” I muttered.
Shannon glanced up from the laptop. It amused me that she could read Web comics at a time like this. She was also IMing somebody. When I went over, I saw she’d been talking to Booke.
“Is he okay?”
“As much as he ever is. He asked about you.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That you’re working for one drug dealer to drive another drug dealer crazy.”
Put that way, it sounded quite reprehensible. “In my defense, Montoya doesn’t have far to go.”
“I call ’em like I see ’em.”
“Funny.”
“Are you ready to do your thing tonight?”
“We’ll find out, won’t we?”
I occupied the rest of the day reading spells that would help if something went wrong. Even so, when the boys arrived with my shopping, I didn’t feel confident. They filed in, looking pleased with themselves.
“You had us buy some hudu shit,” García muttered in greeting. By the curl of his lip, he didn’t approve.
I pushed to my feet and folded my arms, trying to look intimidating. “Zaragoza pegged us as Escobar’s newest brujas .” I turned to the girl beside me, and to Shan’s credit, the sneer she’d perfected looked menacing. “What do you think? Should we show them?”
“No,” Santos said quickly. “We’ll take our orders and go. We don’t want to interfere with your . . . other work.”
So he’s both the oldest and the smartest. I stifled amusement at guys like this fearing us. Certainly part of that fright came from our association with Escobar, but not all. They feared the powerful woman chanting in the dark, her gleaming eyes and streaming hair, her unnatural influence.
“Very well,” I said. “Tonight, you will find one of Montoya’s businesses—a crib, a crack house, a meth lab, a warehouse where he stores the expensive imported stuff—and you will destroy it. Choose your target according to what will hurt him most.”
“¿ Estás segura?” Petrel asked. “If we hit his goods, it could start an all-out war.”
“That’s kind of the point.” I considered. “How likely is this to spill into the streets? Will there be shootings all over Laredo, innocent bystanders injured?”
García shrugged. “Maybe. If we’re at war and his guys see us, they open fire. We shoot back. People will get hurt.”
“All right. Change of plans.” I didn’t need to look at Shannon to know she was relieved. “Keep it personal. I don’t want him to realize you work for Escobar until the end. Ask Zaragoza for your new target: another lovely home, something expensive. Cross the border if you must, but don’t get caught.”
“Just like last night,” Morales said. “It’s gonna be a party.”
“Once you finish, leave this where he’ll find it. I suggest attaching it to a stake and planting it at the edge of the property.”
Santos took the lock of red synthetic hair with a confused look. This strategy qualified as both cruel and playful. Montoya would get excited, thinking I was dumb enough to leave real hair for his sorcerer. Then he’d realize it was fake; if Escobar knew his enemy’s psyche, this gambit would enrage him. I had no doubt he would associate me with the token, a quiet signature that meant nothing to anybody else.
Just to fuck with Santos, I murmured, “You might want to put that away. It’s not good to hold such things for too long.”
He shuddered, stuffed the long strand of hair into a plastic bag, and then wiped his fingers against his brown pants. The others smirked a little, but I had no doubt they would react the same way, even though rationally, I couldn’t have done anything to the item. They’d picked up the hair extension for me. But when the lizard brain spewed fear, logic disconnected.
“Anything else?” Morales asked.
“No. You have your orders. Call me once it’s done.”
The boys went out into the world to wreak havoc in my name.
Darkness had fallen by this time, which meant the demon would arrive soon to demand his due. I pored over the grimoires some more, trying to get ready, but how the hell did anyone prepare themselves for this? I had no answer.
Eventually, a knock sounded. No point in asking how Maury got over the fencing, complete with barbed wire. For all I knew, he could hurdle it. I glanced out the peephole, and I didn’t recognize the man standing there.
“Maury?”
“None other.”
I unfastened all the locks but didn’t invite him in. “We’ll have to do this outside.” I turned to Shannon. “Will you bring the supplies?”
“Sure.”
The body Maury had selected offered no attraction. He was thin and reedy, balding on top. But maybe nondescript was a bonus to a demon, making it easier to go about his business. Butch growled as if to warn me that this guy wasn’t what he seemed.
I patted the dog. “Don’t worry—I know that already.”
He whined at me, none too convinced I understood what I was doing. But when I went toward the door anyway, he washed his paws of me and trotted back to the pillow we’d put on the floor for his comfort. A glance over my shoulder showed him turning repeatedly on the cushion to find the perfect place for his butt.
I chose a spot in the far left corner of the parking lot, away from the building, but screened completely by scrubby trees and chain-link fence. Here, the pavement appeared smooth enough for me to lay the pentacle, at least. In other spots, it lay broken and riddled with holes.
My hands trembled a little as I drew the pentagram. The chalk felt dusty on my fingertips, but when I finished I saw the shape was accurate enough to do the job. I followed up with a circle, and as I drew this time, I willed heat from my hands. Because of those long years when the touch comprised my only gift, I could not conceive of magic feeling any other way. By the time I closed the circle, my hand burned as if I had immersed it in a fire.
I dropped the chalk with a little m
oan and saw that my fingertips glowed orange like live coals. I had no doubt I could hurt someone with my bare hands. Perhaps not a fatal injury, but I could bestow a brand—sobering thought.
Seeing that, Shannon backed away. “Whoa, is that normal?”
“For most witches, no.” I had handicaps, but considering I’d never thought to work my mother’s spells at all, I could bear the pain. I was used to it, after all.
“What are you waiting for?” Maury demanded, as I trickled salt atop my chalk circle. This demon wasn’t going anywhere unless I willed it.
“Almost finished. But I need her name now.”
He pronounced each syllable with great care, as if caressing his absent lover. I found it oddly endearing. “Dumah Porai Valyonatha.”
“It’s been a long time since you’ve seen her.”
“Only by your standards,” he muttered. “But I have been away longer than I expected. She will be missing me.”
I tried to sound casual as I finished spreading the salt. “You could go back. I could send you.”
“I think not. Your people call my world hell for a reason.”
“Very well.” Using my athame, I cut a narrow slice in my palm and let the blood drip inside the pentagram. I was careful not to break the circle, however. “By fire, earth, wind, and rain, I call you forth, Dumah Porai Valyonatha. I offer sacrifice in your name. As I will, so mote it be. In the name of Solomon the Binder, whose blood I carry, you must obey.”
Unlike the spell I had used on Morales, this one required focus and repetition. My mother had once said: There are no true magic words, only your will behind them. Power sizzled through me, far more than I’d ever held before—more than it took to read a house or a patch of dirt. It felt as though my heart must cook inside my chest. I sent it to the circle and the salt ate it, blackening beneath the heat.
I don’t know how long I chanted, but the air churned inside the pentacle. Not like Caim’s manifestation, but it grew dark with smoke that writhed with signs of life. I saw a glimmer of eyes, a suggestion of a face.
“She’s here,” the demon breathed beside me.
Maury started to go to her, only to be brought up short by the power of my wards. I smiled. “My part of the bargain is fulfilled, and you are repaid.”
“That wasn’t the deal!”
“In fact, it was. You specified I had to summon her, not set her free.”
“No, I wouldn’t consent to that. The last part was implicit in the agreement.”
And now I gambled everything. “If you have the power, if I have invalidated our deal, kill me now. Take the knife from my wound. I’m willing to risk it.”
Long moments passed while Dumah twisted inside the circle. I hoped the confinement didn’t hurt her, but surely it couldn’t be any worse than hell. Sometimes I got a clear enough glimpse at her features in the smoke to know she longed for the creature I called Maury. I hadn’t known demons could love.
“I cannot,” it said at last. “You have satisfied the letter of our agreement if not the spirit, and so I have no power over you.”
“Since she’s here”—and I already had the darkness in my magick for other practitioners to see—“I’m willing to renegotiate.”
Maury raised both brows. “What makes you think I’d trust you now?”
“Then I’ll just banish her. I promised, as you recall, not to bind her.” Which included forcing her to obey me. It didn’t include sending her home. Maybe Solomon’s blood ran in my veins after all; I’d used the claim to power a spell, and I seemed to own a knack for dealing with demons.
“Wait,” he said. “Present your offer.”
“You swear on her name that you will do no real harm while you linger here. Mischief and misfortune I can abide, but no death. No permanent damage.”
“Can we cost a rich man his gold?”
I didn’t need to think very long on that. “Absolutely. Limit your pranks to people who deserve it, and you’ll have no quarrel with me.”
“Oh, priceless,” he said. “You would use two demons as angels of vengeance.”
“Weren’t you angels once?” Shannon asked timidly.
“No, my dear. That is yet one more inaccuracy in your history.”
“It’s not history,” I felt compelled to point out, “so much as religious myth.”
“Whatever. It’s wrong. Will you let Dumah go now?”
I grinned. “Nice try. You agreed, but you haven’t yet sworn on her name. I won’t be defeated by loopholes tonight.”
“Fine,” he grumbled. “I swear by Dumah Porai Valyonatha and my love for her that we will restrict our attention to those who deserve it and cause no death while we’re here.” Maury stalked away and gave me his back, doubtless telling me he was pissed I’d gotten the best of him this time.
“Then we have a deal.” I rubbed my foot across the lines of salt and chalk, blurring it so the demon could escape.
The subsequent rupture surprised me and blew us back a good ten feet. I lay there, dazed and bruised, with my head on the pavement. Holy shit, what was that? A dark force, smelling of cinder and smoke, writhed above me. Was Dumah laughing?
Maury certainly was. “Oh, poor fledgling witch. I forgot nobody ever told you to drain the power from the wards before you break a field.”
Head throbbing, I crawled over to where Shannon lay. She looked impossibly pale, and a bruise was already forming on the side of her face. For a moment, she didn’t seem to be breathing, and I went from worried to frantic in 3.4 seconds.
“Shan?” I felt for a pulse and found one.
Thank all gods and goddesses.
“Did you get the number of that truck?” she mumbled, opening her eyes.
“It’s my fault. I got cocky. A few hours with the grimoires and I thought I knew something. God, I’m sorry. How much does it hurt?” I felt her head gingerly and discovered a lump the size of an egg.
“A lot. But I can deal. I’m thinking we should hose off the parking lot and get back inside, though.”
I should’ve thought of that. The ending of the ritual had scrambled my brains. I couldn’t leave my blood out here undiluted. Though it was a long shot anybody who meant me ill would stumble across it, it was possible Montoya’s sorcerer could use it to pinpoint my location somehow. I had no idea what he might’ve learned in the islands; what I’d seen from him so far was powerful and terrifying. After I pulled Shannon to her feet, we stumbled toward the building.
We looked for a hose and didn’t find one, so we wound up ferrying buckets of water to toss over the messy mixture of salt, chalk dust, and blood. Once we’d wet it all down, I swept it into a paste and then dumped another batch of water on it. More sweeping. If anyone could tell in the morning what we’d been doing here, I’d be greatly surprised. More important, the mixture rendered my blood unusable.
“That should do it. Let’s get you an ice pack and some Aleve.” I’d started carrying the stuff in my bag because sometimes—after I’d handled my mother’s necklace and my power changed—the burns hurt too much to bear, even though they no longer left new scars.
“I’ll live,” she said.
“This time.” I had to stop putting her at risk. Maybe I should put her on a bus, even if she didn’t want to go. Before it was too late. “Look, Shan, I really think—”
“No.” She slammed the first door open and stomped to the apartment. “If you want to get rid of me, I’ll go. But you’re not sending me to my dad. I’m not a little kid. . . . I can get a job. Maybe I’ll try Cali. I hear it’s pretty there.” She glared, as if daring me to object. “You did fine on your own.”
“Not really,” I said softly. I’d never told anyone this. I didn’t like thinking about it. “I landed well at first. I found a job in a used bookstore and I had a room in a boardinghouse. But when the store went under, I couldn’t find anything else. Pretty soon, I had no money, and I had no place to stay. I don’t make friends easily, so I had nobody to turn to. I moved
on with only enough money in my pocket to get to the next town. I found myself sleeping in the bus station. I did things I’m not proud of.”
I’d taken insane risks, and it was lucky I wasn’t diseased or dead. It would break my heart if I drove Shannon to that with my good intentions.
“Like what?”
She wouldn’t be satisfied unless I told her. I wouldn’t reveal my past to anyone else for any other reason—only to keep Shan from repeating my mistakes. I was over it, mostly. I’d learned to deal. But she needed to know how much I trusted her.
So while I wrapped an ice pack, fixed a glass of water, and set out two pills, I revealed the whole story. Nobody knew this much about me—I’d picked up men for food and shelter, using serial monogamy as a means of survival. Those relationships never lasted long, because I chose men who wouldn’t reject me: ones who’d take me home and were lonely enough not to complain if I stayed. But I always moved on, feeling worse each time, because I lived with them out of desperation, not desire.
My past left me with such low self-esteem that I didn’t demand to be an equal partner with Chance, when he came along. I didn’t feel worthy of him, and I did anything to please him; I suborned my old identity because it was awful and tawdry, and I wanted to forget that woman, the sad, desperate Corine. It would kill me if Shan ever thought she wasn’t equal to any man who wanted her.
I went on. “By the time I met Chance, I had gotten myself together. I had a place of my own and a job at a dry cleaner’s. But you know how hard it is get work if you don’t have an address? How hard it is to keep clean in public restrooms so people’s eyes don’t slide away from you? It’s easier if you’re young. But if you’re old and homeless, it’s the next thing to an invisibility spell. I knew people who died on the street, people who froze to death and nobody noticed. Nobody cared. The city just removed the bodies like they were leaves in the street.” I bit my lip against the burn of tears and the throbbing in my head. “So if you think I’m letting you leave with nothing, you’re out of your mind. I want better than that for you.”
And that was part of why I couldn’t turn down Escobar’s money. I wanted her to have a future brighter than I could provide alone. Having a place of our own mattered desperately, and now maybe she’d understand why. If Chance knew, he might get why my pawnshop had meant everything to me, and, with it blown to shit, why I felt as if someone I loved had died. I needed a home, dammit.
