Agave Kiss

“Thank you for making an exception,” Booke said. “It’s very kind of you, as you must see I haven’t much time.”

Her brow furrowed; and for the first time, she set aside her air of consequence. Visibly troubled, she leaned forward. Her eyes slipped to half-mast, which I recognized as a hint of someone using witch sight rather than normal vision. She scanned Booke top to bottom, several times, then sat back in her chair, gnawing on her lower lip.

“I’ve never seen a maldicion like this. Madre de Dios, it’s strong.”

“Can you fix it?” Chuch asked.

My heart fell when she shook her head. “Twila is the only person in the entire state who could handle something like this.”

The question was, could we afford her? Chance had given her something in exchange for her services, and he’d never explained to me how that went down. She always asked for something precious in payment—and I wasn’t sure I was qualified to strike a deal with her, but with both Booke and Chuch staring at me, I made a quick decision.

“Fine. If you lend me a car, I’ll take Booke to San Antonio.”

“If this doesn’t work,” the older man said softly, “then we call it done, yeah? I won’t have my last days ruined in a series of wild-goose chases. I wish to enjoy my freedom, such as it is.”

“Be back in time for the party tomorrow,” Eva reminded me.

“We will, no worries.”

Chuch was muttering, “What do I got that’s road-ready? Come with me, prima. I have a couple of options for you.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help,” Caridad told Booke. “But it would’ve cost a great deal, if I had been able to.”

Ramon cocked his head. “But I told you, he’s like family to Chuch, amor. That means he’s kin to me too.”

Her dark eyes hardened, and she gave her hair a haughty toss. “I don’t give my talents away. Doesn’t matter who the client is.”

I hurried out to the garage before I could get tangled in the argument, where I found Chuch studying two cars. One was an old Charger, and the other said it was a Maverick. Either looked okay, but the Maverick seemed more finished. The Charger still had some problems in the paint, not that cosmetic issues mattered. Finally Chuch handed me the Charger keys.

“This one’s better under the hood. I want you two to get there safe.”

“Thanks, papi,” I said with just a hint of sarcasm.

“Hey, somebody’s gotta look out for you.”

I softened. “I know . . . and thank you. I’m glad you and Eva are all right.”

“Better than ever. I never wanted to be a dad before I met Eva, but . . .” He paused, rough face charming with the goofy love he had for his wife and daughter.

“You’re one of the good ones,” I agreed.

He didn’t ask if I meant husband or father. Clearly, it was both. And when Cami came of age, she would get the coolest, safest car ever. I envied her a little, all those father-daughter moments I had missed. It wasn’t enough knowing my dad saved my life; I wished he could’ve shared it too.

But at least we got to say good-bye.

“I think Shannon’s planning to bring Jesse over for dinner. I heard Eva talking to her on the phone earlier.”

“Tell her where I went, then. And why.”

“Will do.” Chuch favored me with another squeeze; then he went to tell Booke we were rolling.

I climbed into the driver’s seat, familiarizing myself with the setup. Good thing the car was automatic. Though I’d driven stick, I wasn’t expert, and I tended to grind the gears. Chuch wouldn’t thank me for burning out the clutch on a vehicle he was trying to restore to classic status and then sell at an awesome markup. Collectors paid a pretty penny for a muscle car in cherry condition.

A few minutes later, Kel helped Booke out to the car. The Englishman moved at a shuffling pace, and his balance wasn’t the best. Seeing him so hurt me. In my mind’s eye he was the calm, competent scholar. Not old. Not feeble. I’d imagined him as ageless, an immortal guardian of all knowledge, arcane and otherwise. This felt like learning that Athena, the goddess of wisdom, wore false teeth.

“Shotgun,” Booke said, as if I’d make him ride in the back.

Then I realized Kel meant to accompany us. Well, he did have to keep up appearances. If the archangel spied on him again, it wouldn’t do for him to be caught chilling in Laredo while I took a road trip to San Antone. Even an overconfident tool like Barachiel might realize he was being played, then.

So in response, I pulled up the passenger seat to let Kel climb in. “Sorry it’s a little tight.”

“I’ve had worse,” he said.

Of course, he claimed that about a lot of things. It hurt a little, knowing I couldn’t make it better, but I’d made my choice.

So I just nodded. “Then let’s rock and roll, boys.”

Bitter Bargains

Twilight hadn’t changed since the last time I was there, still housed in a nondescript building with a small, unassuming neon sign marking its existence. The neighborhood was still deceptively downscale, with drunken college students roaming around the seedier clubs in the vicinity. Inside, it was a combo of brothel and roadhouse with velvet and wood accents. Per usual, the jukebox was banging away with a Dropkick Murphys tune; this time it was “Kiss Me, I’m Shitfaced.”

Damn, I wish. I wished I had nothing to regret other than going home with a smooth-talking stranger.

Jeannie, a pretty woman in her forties who sported a ponytail, was tending bar tonight. She narrowed her eyes on me, as if she recognized me but couldn’t place me. Then a smile split her cheeks. “Corine! It’s been a coon’s age. Bucky was just asking me about you the other day. What’ve you been up to?”

“It’s a long story,” I said.

And one I’d had enough of telling.

I went on, “We need to see Twila, if she can squeeze us in.”

Her expression immediately sobered; then her eyes went to Booke. In his old-fashioned slacks and sweater vest, he stuck out like a sore thumb. “I’ll see if she can make time for you. Have a drink on the house.” Jeannie waved the assistant ’tender over to take our orders.

“Do you have lager?” Booke asked.

“Keith’s Pale Ale work for you?” the man asked.

Booke looked blank. “Why not?”

It took only a few seconds for him to open the bottle. It wasn’t every day you saw a man this old out for a night on the town, so his quiet, respectful tone obviously stemmed from Booke’s age. “Would you like an iced glass, sir?”

“No, thank you. I’ll be Bohemian tonight.”

The bartender flashed an appreciative smile at Booke’s wit, then he turned to me. “For you, miss?”

“Mix me an Agave Kiss.” I felt the need for a happy drink.

As I watched, he expertly combined tequila, white creme de cacao, double cream, and Chambord, then rimmed the glass with white chocolate flakes. For the final touch, he garnished the beautiful creamy cocktail with a skewer of fresh raspberries. I took it, thanked him, and tasted the delightful concoction.

“Mmmm. Fantastic.”

Booke was watching with both brows arched. “Drinks have certainly gotten complex, haven’t they? Martinis