Hell Fire

something had happened that we weren’t telling, but he had yards of red tape to deal with.

Butch tucked under his arm, Chance set off with me through the woods for home—well, our temporary one, anyway. My real home was warm and sun drenched. I hoped I still had it when all this was over.

I missed the pawnshop. I missed good tacos al pastor. I missed Tia, the local curandera who had a stall on market days. I missed the peace.

Nothing bothered us on the way out of the forest. Maybe Maury figured he had tormented me enough.

When we came trudging out of the woods and across the yard, Butch was happy as hell to see the house. He yapped like a wild thing and wagged his tail until Chance put him down and let him run. I gave him a quick pat on my way to take a hot bath. Forget a shower—I intended to soak away the cold that had seeped into my very bones.

By the time I got out of the tub, my skin was pink and wrinkled. I dried off on one of our contraband towels, got dressed, and went to look for Chance.

To my amazement, he’d made soup for me. Just bouillon and rice, but I’d never known him to cook before. I arched a brow, standing in the kitchen doorway.

“Did you think I was dying?” I asked.

Without turning, he answered in neutral tones. “Yes.”

“Oh, Chance.”

He spun, slamming his hand against the cupboard. “We’re done, do you understand me? I can’t take this. We don’t even know what we’re fighting, and I’m sick of seeing you nearly kill yourself when I can’t do a goddamn thing to protect you. Are you trying to punish me, Corine?”

I found myself smiling. It would only make things worse, but I couldn’t stop my lips from curving up. Chance was losing his temper. Chance. I didn’t dare speak for fear I’d laugh out loud. Instead, I sat down, trying to compose my face.

“Is this funny to you?” he demanded, shoving my bowl of soup across the table.

“A little,” I admitted. “Your clothes are dirty and wrinkled. Your hair’s a mess. Your luck doesn’t work for shit here, and I’m apparently driving you crazy. So why are you sticking around?” I spooned up some broth, waiting for his answer.

The simple soup was good, exactly what I needed. It soothed my sore throat. I picked up the bowl, forsaking the spoon, drained the broth, and then scraped up the rice.

He hesitated, seeming unsure of himself. “Because I promised you I would.”

Ah. My smile faltered. I didn’t like remembering how I’d bound him, making him promise to come here with me in exchange for my help in finding his mother.

I leveled a look on him. “You can go. I release you of all obligation to me.”

Chance shook his head, dropping to his knees beside me. His inky hair was tousled, windblown, and his cheek-bones seemed sharper than usual, as if he hadn’t been eating. I hadn’t paid that much attention before now.

“I won’t leave you,” he promised. “Not for all the spirits and demons in the world. I will stand with you.” His voice softened then. He reached out, stroking the loose, damp mass of my hair. “I don’t know what to do here, though. I’m not used to being unable to impact events. I’m not used to being powerless. I hate it.”

An ache started in my chest. I couldn’t imagine the old Chance confessing this to me in a million years. He’d rarely talked about his feelings. He never shared himself. This Chance knelt on a battered Linoleum floor and gazed up at me as if I were his sun, moon, and stars, wrapped up in one slightly bedraggled package.

Oh God. I didn’t know whether I could survive him a second time. I couldn’t speak for the pounding of my heart. A multitude of words crowded my throat, and I couldn’t decide which ones to use.

He took in my stillness and went on speaking, doggedly, I thought. “It seems everyone in the place is more use to you than I am. I hate that too. But even weak, even useless, I will not leave you.”

“You’re not useless. You’re not weak, either.”

Before he could press for more, Jesse and Shannon came in. They made toast and dished up some of Chance’s consommé. The girl sat down across from me, thin and pale, but seeming no worse for wear. It occurred to me then that we looked oddly like a family, sitting around the table in this worn, outdated kitchen.

“Did someone check the wards?” Jesse asked.

Chance stood up. “I’ll do it. You two eat. Be right back.”

While he was gone, I explained what had happened in the woods. Both Jesse and Shannon wore a frown when I finished.

“That’s so not cool,” she said, “knowing that thing can put a brain freeze on you in the woods anytime it wants.”

I considered that. “Have you ever heard of that happening to anyone else?”

She shook her head. “But people don’t always live to tell, either.”

“Comforting.” Jesse eyed me over the rectangle of bread he was munching. “I knew there was something wrong, but it didn’t seem like the time to ask.”

“I appreciate that. We don’t need any more attention from Sheriff Robinson. How’s Rob’s mom doing?”

Shannon studied her hands. “She was pretty busted up, but I think she was glad too—to finally have an answer.”

I could feel good about what we’d accomplished, then. It was worth spending a little time with a demon to put a mother’s uncertainty at rest. Now at least she could start grieving instead of clinging to false hope.

“Wards are solid,” Chance reported, coming back into the kitchen.

“Do me a favor?” I asked Shannon.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Bring me the Bible we stashed earlier.”

Her expression brightened. “Are you going to handle it?”

I couldn’t help smiling back. “Seems like somebody ought to.”

Shots in the Dark

The girl crossed the black-and-white linoleum in a shot. Within seconds, she was back, worn leather book in hand. I despised handling two objects in the same day because the next day I wouldn’t be able to touch anything without paying the price. But sometimes it was worth it. November was rushing to a close—it would be Thanksgiving soon—and then December would start trickling away. I had a bad feeling we didn’t want to be there on the winter solstice. We needed to complete our business and make our getaway before then.

That meant doing my part. With a faint sigh, I put my uninjured hand on the good book and closed my eyes. It took longer than I’d expected to relax my guard; I was even more reluctant than usual to do this—and that was saying something.

To my surprise, there was nothing significant about the book. There were only simple images about where it had been manufactured. Some concerned evangelical type had given it to Farrell—and only that person’s profound faith had left much of a charge at all. The item hadn’t been special to the gas station attendant after all.

When I opened my eyes, I found Jesse, Chance, and Shannon regarding me expectantly. I shook my head. “Dead end.”

“Damn,” Jesse muttered.

I sympathized with his frustration, as I would very much like to know why there was a demon in those woods, what pact he was talking about, who made it, why, and what it had to do with my mother’s death. It didn’t seem likely anyone would volunteer those answers, so we’d have to force the truth out of folks.

“That wasn’t as exciting as I’d hoped,” Shannon said.

I grinned at her. “Between you and me, your gift is way more impressive. You could make a TV show out of it, if you really wanted to.”

“That would be wicked.”

Jesse frowned at me. “I wholly advise against that, Shannon. We’ve stayed healthy by keeping a low profile