Hell Fire

I never lost the sense of it as we passed back through those arches on this profane path. If nature should be a temple, then this one was desecrated. The monster kept pace with us, an unseen presence slithering through the underbrush. I decided it could shift shapes, whatever it was. It did not have to be huge and heavy; it could be whatever it desired. That knowledge shook me in ways I didn’t like to think about.

“Your friend will die in the dark,” it said in parting as we came to the thinning trees that marked the end of its dominion. “Farewell to you, precious child. Farewell.”

My breath whooshed out of me. Chance. Though I told myself I couldn’t believe anything that creature told me—it was probably born of lies and darkness—I nonetheless tasted the certainty in its words. Sometimes truth tormented best of all.

As we stepped into the yard at last, I felt cold and dirty, weary beyond all belief. The fire in my left hand went beyond any hurt I’d previously suffered or imagined. Tiny lightning worms gnawed at my nerves, writhing in devilish sparks all the way up to the pain centers in my brain.

I desperately needed a good night’s sleep, but there was no time. It was already late afternoon. If we delayed any longer, we would lose all hope of springing Chance before dark.

Because Jesse insisted, I washed my face and hands before we headed back into town. I also changed my clothes, not wanting to look like I had been rolling around the forest floor. We took his Forester because it was parked behind the Mustang and I didn’t want anyone to recognize us.

He also demanded I eat one of the peanut butter sandwiches we’d packed for lunch. I didn’t want it, but I didn’t complain, munching mechanically and washing it down with tepid water. Afterward, I pulled Butch out of my bag and cradled him to my chest. As if he knew I needed comfort, he nuzzled his cold nose against my neck.

“Here’s how it’s going to be,” Jesse told me as he parked in front of the courthouse. “I’ll do the talking, and you agree with whatever I say. Got it?”

If I’d possessed the wherewithal to get Chance out earlier, I’d have done it, so I didn’t mind letting Jesse call the play. I merely nodded and led the way downstairs to where they were keeping Chance. It was a makeshift jail at best, a small area barred off for town drunks. Sheriff Robinson looked slightly annoyed to see me back. His eyes narrowed when he realized I’d brought backup and wouldn’t be inclined to play ball with his “good old boys make the rules in this here town” party line.

Chance had been sitting on the bunk, but he stood up, looking puzzled, and a little glad, I think. Surely he hadn’t thought I meant to leave him in there all night. A little tremor of relief ran through me. We’d gotten there in time.

Jesse planted his feet and stared down at the sheriff. A long minute passed without anyone saying anything, and then Robinson got heavily to his feet. “Is there something I can do for you folks?” He tried on a smile like it might fit.

“I’m with the Laredo police department,” Saldana said. He wisely didn’t mention his suspension.

The sheriff’s smile lost its curl. “You’re outside your jurisdiction, son.”

The set of Saldana’s jaw said he didn’t like being called “son” by a man he hardly knew. “I’m on vacation, but I do know something about the law. You have the right to hold someone for twenty-four hours in conjunction with a crime. Has Chance been questioned, sir? What crime took place? Has he been charged? Or do you intend to claim this incident somehow relates to Homeland Security? As I see it, that’s your only hope of keeping him behind bars.”

Robinson scowled. “I could make trespassing stick on both of them.”

“And I could call down a dozen human interest groups on your little town.” Jesse’s smile showed teeth, but it wasn’t charming or pretty. “Would you like that? Reporters everywhere, poking around? Everybody has secrets, don’t they, Sheriff? Could yours stand up to close scrutiny? I can get a film crew here from Savannah in—”

Pure dislike flashed in the sheriff’s hound dog eyes, but he offered his hands in what was meant to be a placating gesture. “There’s no need for that. It’s a simple misunderstanding. Since they’re new in town, I thought they posed a flight risk; that’s all.”

“It’s called due process,” Saldana bit out. “You don’t get to detain American citizens without it. Now let that man out of the cell before I get mad.”

Jesus. I was impressed. No wonder he hadn’t wanted me to talk.

Without a word, Robinson stomped over to the cage and unlocked the door, which swung wide on its own, making me think the floor had a slope too delicate to perceive with the naked eye.

“Get that dog out of here,” the sheriff growled. “You can’t go dragging animals into public places.”

“You came back.” Chance said it like I always left him in the lurch. And maybe he thought I did. I’d certainly left him once.

“Yeah,” I answered thickly. “Brought the big guns too.” The idea that he’d needed Saldana to rescue him seemed to make him unhappy, so I hugged Chance hard. Whatever else, I didn’t want to lose him for good. I did know that.

“I hate bullies,” Jesse muttered as we went back up the stairs. “He loved knowing he had the power to keep you caged, Chance. Just on his say-so. God knows what would’ve happened after lights-out.”

I shivered again and led the way out to the car. I had a feeling we wanted to be snug inside the wards before dark.

Stolen Kisses

We reached the house just before nightfall.

Chance seemed subdued. If I knew him, his mood related to Saldana coming to his rescue. That had to be a blow to his ego. There was no telling how he’d react to finding out I died in the woods; if it hadn’t been for Jesse, I would have still been lying there.

After a quick perimeter check, we went inside. The place seemed secure, but I was glad we’d taken care of the wards. It occurred to me that we might want to mark the windows too. I didn’t know if it would prevent glass breaking—probably not, in fact—but it might keep bad things from crawling over the sills.

I put Butch down, and he went into the kitchen to see if there was any food in his dish. Shortly thereafter, I heard crunching, so I guessed there was. No question, I should tell Chance what had happened.

Instead I mumbled, “I’m going to see if I can coax some hot water out of the shower.”

“I’ll check the water heater,” Saldana offered. “The pilot light may have gone out.”

“Thanks.”

Jesse knew I didn’t care about the shower. I was beyond that. I needed comfort and privacy, but I leaned toward the latter because the former would involve choosing someone to console me, and then I would feel guilty about the guy I didn’t turn to. And it was hard enough for me to open up in the first place.

I found a pair of worn jeans in my backpack and a clean shirt, a pink cotton gauze blouse that should’ve clashed with my hair, but didn’t. Then I unearthed my polka-dotted cosmetic bag. I’d need soap and shampoo if I went through with the notion of cleaning myself up. Too bad I couldn’t hose myself off where it counted. I could still feel the dark thing’s presence, like it was peering at us from the forest.

The house is warded, I reminded myself. Nothing can get in.

Then I remembered the way the warlock had sent the undead thing to crawl around and around the house, breaking our wards at Chuch’s place with its fetid blood. I shuddered. Surely Butch would let us know if anything like that arrived. The one good thing I could think of about being in Kilmer—we were so far off the grid, I couldn’t imagine Montoya tracking us down via mundane means, and it would take him a while to hire a decent practitioner to employ any finding spells.

Thinking along those lines just gave me another set of worries. Did we leave blood at the scene back in Laredo? Anything they could use to track us? But the crime scene at the compound had been such a mess that it would take a CSI unit weeks to sort out the bodies. There shouldn’t be any mundane clues.

When I went down the hall toward the old-fashioned bathroom, I saw Chance sitting in the parlor. He stared at his folded hands, much as he’d been doing on the cot in the makeshift jail. I knew something was bothering him,