Blue Diablo

brighter outlook. Too bad. I liked my attitude just fine. We drove through the city in silence for a few minutes.

“Anyway, it’s my turn to spill. The security guard who found the handbag wasn’t supposed to be there. He isn’t a bright guy and he somehow didn’t understand that he’d been let go. Warehouse was closed, no new shipments coming in. So Lenny lets himself into the building and it ‘smells funny,’ he says.”

Blood rituals and demons tend to make a place smell funny, all right.

“Got a last name for me?”

He grinned. “No. I won’t tell you that Lenny Marlowe works for Delta Security, the agency that just terminated a contract with IBC, the company that owns the warehouse.”

I had a feeling IBC might have ties to Southern Sanitation as well, so I made a mental note. “Thanks for nothing then.”

The area where we parked qualified as seedy, a strip on Main full of Goth bars and gay clubs. I don’t know what I expected, but I felt vaguely let down by the faded brick building on the corner. Just a small sign in violet neon proclaimed TWILIGHT.

“In the rest of these clubs,” he said as we got out, “you’ll find wannabes and college kids looking for something different. Occasionally they hit up Twilight as well, but by and large, if you find somebody hanging out there, they’re the real deal. Be extra careful—they get the occasional demon as well.”

“Doesn’t the smell give them away?” Laugh if you must, but I had limited experience with such things.

Saldana laughed as we walked up to the black metal door. “They don’t all reek of rotten eggs, Corine. Some can be quite charming, but—and I’m sure I don’t need to say this—don’t sign anything, no matter how good the deal sounds.”

“Got it. No selling my soul to the Dark One. Anything else I should know?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You look good in green.”

As I followed him into the club, I glanced down at my cardigan. Chance hated this thing, woven of nubbly yarn in uneven hues. He’d never gotten the appeal of hippie chic, but it went with my long hair at least. Considering I’d bought it at a thrift store for two bucks more than three years ago, I’d gotten my money’s worth. I liked how the extra length covered the biggest part of my ass while the belt accentuated my waist. It went over any camisole, and tonight I’d paired it with a pair of embroidered khaki pants and wedge heel sandals with glittery jade beads on the toes.

“Uh. Thanks.”

Twilight’s interior boasted a faded carpet, red lights in wall sconces, and maroon striped wallpaper. The dark wood timbers gave the place a rough, unfinished look, but the place had a schizophrenic feel—part Texas roadhouse, part dilapidated brothel. Even the music set the mood slightly askew. I didn’t know how I felt about entering to the tune of “Devil’s Dance Floor.” Not my usual thing but toe-tapping nonetheless.

I glanced around, saw half the tables occupied. Nobody looked out of the ordinary, but then again, what did I expect? Horns and tails from folks like me? Disgusted with myself, I turned to Saldana, who took a seat at the bar and waited for the ’tender.

Judging by her freckles, a natural redhead came over after she finished pouring beer for the guys sitting two stools down from us. They could’ve been construction workers in their dusty hats, plaid shirts, and Wrangler jeans.

With her coppery curls caught up in a pigtail, she radiated country cute. “Hi, Jesse. It’s always good to see you.”

A place where everybody knows your name... and you’re always glad you came... if you’re Jesse Saldana, that is. I wasn’t so sure of my own welcome. I’ve had to move in a hurry too many times to take anything at face value.

“Hey, Jeannie. This is Corine. Make her feel at home, will you?”

“Oh.” The bartender’s scrutiny gained weight and intensity.

I could feel her searching me as if she could tell by sight alone what my gift might be. Despite my intention to be cool, no matter what the night brought, my fingers curled. I didn’t want to show my scars any more than I wanted to hide them from squeamish strangers. If I flashed them, I’d bet she would observe that I hadn’t been born gifted, as if I’d stolen this ability, and I was tired of hearing it. Salt in the wound, so to speak.

I wasn’t a killer, although my mother had warned me of people who shed blood to take other people’s magick. Rapt, I’d listened to her stories the same way other girls my age clung to fairy tales. I just hadn’t known it was possible to give power away.

Not until she died.

The moment passed, but damn if I knew what Jeannie read in me. “What’ll you have?” she asked.

“Corona for me, please.” Saldana glanced at me. “You?”

“How are your margaritas?” I wasn’t the designated driver anymore.

Jeannie grinned. “Cold and strong. Want one?”

I considered for a moment. “Nah, I think I need to shake things up a bit. Can you make a blue diablo?”

Tequila, Blue Curacao, lemon juice, and Rose’s lime juice, served over ice. I wasn’t a heavy drinker, but I liked my tequila. Well, the good stuff anyway—the cheap variety produced a fast drunk and a wicked hangover. For my money, Patrón was best for sipping, followed by Herradura for mixing, but you couldn’t go wrong with Don Julio either.

She cocked her hip and answered with an exaggerated Southern accent. “I can make anything you’d know to order, sweet pea.”

“You feeling blue deviled, sugar?” Saldana’s voice came low near my ear, limned in sympathy.

“You don’t know the half of it.” I spoke beneath the music.

Between Chance and his missing mama, it was a wonder I didn’t stay right here at the bar until I forgot my own name. I didn’t want to talk about it, so I changed the subject. I leaned toward Saldana. “Jeannie. That’s not... I mean, she doesn’t—” To my embarrassment she heard me when she returned with his beer.

Her gray eyes twinkled, crinkling at the edges when she smiled. I revised my estimate of her age to north of forty. “Grant wishes? The whole ‘yes, master,’ flick my ponytail thing? Nah, that’s just my name.”

“Right.” I hunched my shoulders, feeling out of my depth.

“Thanks, Jeannie. Is Twila around?” Right then I could’ve kissed Saldana for changing the subject.

The bartender arched a well-plucked brow. “How come you don’t come in here just to see me anymore?”

Jesse came back, “Because your husband threatened to tie me up with my own intestines if I didn’t stop mooning after his woman.”

She beamed. “Twenty years, and Bucky’s still a sweetheart.” I didn’t think that sounded sweet, but I’d already made an ass of myself. “She’s in the office, honey. You can take your drinks on back.” Her gaze returned to me. “I’ll have yours in a minute.”

Jesse headed off, but I waited until she delivered my diablo in a chilled, salted glass. “Nice meeting you,” I said to her.

“Come on.” As he wove through the tables, he beckoned me. “I know she’ll want to meet you.”

Will she? Why?

The fly-spider feeling came over me but I fought the urge to cut and run. Mustering my courage, I followed him.

Two Truths and a Lie

Twila turned out to be a tall, dark-skinned woman with long braids bound back in a golden snood. She didn’t look surprised to see us as she rose and offered a hand to Saldana. Her office offered more faded opulence; the pawnshop owner in me immediately started pricing the furniture.

The heavy cherry desk appeared to be a genuine antique and as such would fetch a hefty price. On a nearby table twin candles burned, filling the room with the smell of incense. The distant throb of bass from the bar shivered into the soles of my feet, rousing the urge to dance, except that’d be socially inappropriate. I fought the urge to tug