Shady Lady

“You’re worthy. Our initial agreement stands.” Escobar lifted the crucifix as if weighing the silver content, and his nostrils flared. “What’s this on the bottom of it? It reeks.”

“Demon blood.”

“And yet you’re here. You made no mention of demons before.”

“I guess I didn’t.” There seemed to be no point in doing so now.

“The journey did you well.”

I raised a brow. “How do you figure?”

“Some metal, inferior metal, will break if you attempt to smelt and refine it. Quality steel only becomes finer and sharper.”

“That might make sense, if I were a weapon.”

He smiled then. “But, querida . . . you are.”

I ignored that, despite the shiver of dread it raised on my spine. I’d wondered before if the blade in my side was shaping my decisions, turning me into a killer suited to its use. “Am I free to go? Can you get me to the border and give me bus fare?”

“I treat my allies far better than that,” he said gently. “But I see you’ve lost your protective charm. That’s probably why you had demons. I’ll give you another—please try to be more careful with it, and don’t remove it until I tell you.”

“Until we’ve laid the trap.”

“Yes. It will drive Montoya mad when his sorcerer fails . . . and fails and fails. He’ll contact you, if I know him at all. He’ll try to draw you into the open.”

“And I’ll go,” I said softly.

“But of course. You’ll insist on a face-to-face to settle things. He’ll see it as very Wild West. He likes that. If you live, I’ll pay you handsomely.” When he finished, he gave me his back.

Clearly dismissed, I strode toward the door. Paolo opened it. In one hand he held an amulet similar to the one I’d worn before. This one whispered of a different caster; I listened to its secrets with half an ear as I looped it around my neck.

“Aren’t you worried that the time I’ve spent in this house will lead Montoya right here?”

Paolo shook his head, smiling with patient amusement. “The whole place is warded. I’m surprised you can’t feel it.”

Now that he mentioned it, I could. Little tingles of energy struck my feet as I walked, as if the floor itself had been laid with magickal energy. Though I cringed at the notion of getting on another plane, I was so eager to get to Shannon, Jesse, Eva, Butch, and Chuch that I’d run all the way to Texas.

“Where’s Kel?”

“Your companion is waiting for you in the kitchen. I have instructions to feed you both and then have our pilot take you to Laredo.”

I didn’t want food. I wanted to leave. But since I needed Kel before making my escape, I followed Paolo through the winding halls.

Kel sat with a plate untouched before him, and he glanced up as I came through the swinging door. The kitchen was as large as one might expect, but emptier. The space echoed, and there were no servants to be seen. For a nonsensical moment, I wondered if this mansion was like that haunted castle, where common household furnishings came to life to tend the beast.

“Are you ready?” I asked him.

He stared at Paolo until the boy shifted uncomfortably. “Give us a moment.”

With alacrity astonishing in one who had surely grown immune to intimidation, Paolo disappeared the way we’d come. I stood still, not knowing what to expect. He rose and crossed the floor to me. They’d given him black to wear; doubtless the outfit belonged to one of the burly henchmen.

“You look lovely.” And he seemed surprised to hear the words, as if he had meant to say something else. Kel stopped just short of touching me.

“Thanks.” That was why I’d worn the dress, after all, but I felt stupid, trying to please him as if he were the kind of man who could be swayed by such things.

“He’s sworn to protect you?”

“Mission accomplished,” I answered, lifting the amulet.

“I have a new one. It’s supposed to last until we’re ready to deal with Montoya.”

“Ah,” he said, and a whisper of regret salted the syllable.

My breath hitched. “No.”

“The risk fades to acceptable levels once you secure the alliance with Escobar. You’ve done so. My mission is ended.” He was so terribly gentle. “I will not be going with you any farther.”

“New orders?”

“Yes.”

Maybe they’d demanded he depart already. He had places to go and people to kill. I appreciated him sticking around to say good-bye; that might even be borderline disobedience, the sort of thing that earned him castigation before. I wouldn’t make it worse for him, even if tears clotted my throat.

I managed a light tone. “Maybe our paths will cross again someday.”

“Perhaps. You do attract trouble.” He hesitated, then took my hand. “I can’t promise. I may never be sent to you again.”

The faintest stress on the word sent made me furrow my brow as I gazed up at him. My mind was tired or I would’ve caught on right away. A smile built when it dawned on me. Both Kel and Caim had named me Binder. If I’d called him once, I could do so again. Only one thing must I remember: I could call and call and call him, but he could never stay.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I must go.”

The request burst from me before I knew I meant to make it. “One kiss?”

Keepsake, memento, something. Please. Ease my way into this good-bye.

In answer, he dipped his head and brushed my mouth with his. I felt as though the heat of him would melt my bones with the aching. And then he stepped away. I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t see him go. A word drifted back to me, lower than a whisper—a sigh. I thought I’d heard it the night before, but he hadn’t spoken it to me then, not when he knew me, at least, and even now I wasn’t sure.

Hours later, I sat in an impersonal motel room in Laredo. Since it was late, I wouldn’t call the others to come get me yet. Not until I had a chance to sort these feelings and seal them away.

With keyboard in my lap, I sat cross-legged on the bed at three a.m., Googling old Babylonian words on the inroom television. Apparently, dādu meant beloved, and Asherah had been the Assyrian goddess of desire.

I wept.

The Day After

First thing in the morning, my phone rang. I’d almost forgotten Escobar had given it back to me. I glanced at the number and, with a flicker of relief, identified my caller.

“Jesse.”

When he was worried, his drawl became more pronounced, and he sounded like pure Texas just now. “I’d love to know what’s goin’ on with you, sugar.”

Good—he didn’t know about what had happened at the shop. I hoped Shannon wouldn’t say anything before tonight; I’d feel better telling him in person. “Things are . . . complicated.”

“Are you safe?” His cop mind sorted the probabilities faster than I wanted. “Does this have to do with Montoya?”

That was like asking a mouse in the gullet of a cobra how its day was going, but he didn’t need to know that.