how to accomplish it other than to pay him with his own coin. There may be casualties. I accept the risk.”
“I see your point,” she said dully. “But I’m glad it’s not on my conscience.”
There was nothing I could say. I had already let slip the dogs of war, so I merely got out my cell phone. I called the FedEx customer-service line and spent twenty minutes being transferred around, while I gave people the tracking number of the package Tia had sent from Mexico. In the end, I managed to get the grimoires rerouted. The perky rep promised I’d have my package in the morning.
“We should get some sleep,” I told Shannon.
“I guess.”
I hesitated, wishing I could make up for disappointing her like this. “You can have the big bed if you want.”
“Whatever. I’m going to check my e-mail.”
Her attitude hurt, but I couldn’t rouse any anger. It was a good thing I wasn’t officially a witch, part of some coven, or this path would get me booted for violating the “do as ye will, an it harm none” tenet. I took the lower bunk bed as a sort of penance, and my dreams that night were uneasy.
In the morning, I awoke to pounding on the apartment door. I’d slept in my clothes, so I rolled out of bed fully dressed with my heart hammering.
I peered out the peephole, and I recognized Petrel first. His height made him memorable. Relief blazed through me. After undoing all the locks, I let them in. They carried the smell of fire and smoke with them, and they all wore wolfish smiles. No visible injuries.
I asked nonetheless, “How’d it go?”
“No major hitches,” Morales said.
“Do you have a phone?”
He nodded, so I extended a hand for it and programmed my number in. “If you need to get in touch with me, that’s how.”
Hesitantly, Santos offered me a package. “Are you expecting this? Should we dunk it? We pulled up just as the delivery guy was about to leave.”
“No, don’t.” I snagged it from him, recognizing Tia’s spidery writing on the label. “It’s definitely for me.”
Shit, I’d forgotten there was no way into the building from the front. Those doors were boarded up, as if the place had been condemned. They must’ve intimidated the driver into handing the parcel over. I couldn’t worry about a FedEx driver’s bad day, however.
“García wanted to chuck it,” Petrel said.
“Well,
They were like children, fighting to impress the schoolteacher. I stifled a sigh.
“Good work, all of you. Head home and get some sleep. I want you all back here tonight for round two, because that was only the beginning.” I made a point of patting Morales on the shoulder, because he was young and cocky, and he’d least suspect a casual touch. Sure enough, he smirked as he made his way to the door.
As the soldiers left, Shannon stumbled into the living room, where I sat opening the package. Tia had wrapped the grimoires in newspaper, so it smudged off on my fingers. I washed my hands after I threw the paper away; I didn’t want to stain the pages. These books were incredibly old, and they summoned a mental image of my mother as soon as I took the first one in my lap.
“Oh, wow,” Shannon breathed. From her tone, she’d either forgotten she was mad at me or the grimoires trumped her anger. “Can I see?”
“Sure, but don’t read any of the incantations aloud.”
I handed her the blue one—with runes etched in silver, it was the smallest and contained the most advanced spells. I wouldn’t try those for a long time, assuming I could make the magic work at all.
“Okay. I’ll be careful.” She touched the engraved cover with reverent hands.
The one I held was oversize and bound in vermilion leather; before she died, my mother had let me practice some charms. I couldn’t remember whether I’d ever gotten one to function properly. I just knew I’d enjoyed spending time with her, measuring the herbs and saying the words. These were blessings, mostly, and mild spells. With these, I could make someone crave strawberries or give them a gentle run of luck; it was suitable for children.
Taking a deep breath, I opened a spell book for the first time in many years. Even the smell—old paper and ink—filled me with nostalgia. I could almost hear my mother murmuring,
I flipped through the book until I found the spell I wanted. Nothing heavy, nothing difficult or sophisticated. Eyes fixed on the page, I memorized the chant. This was it—the big test.
Taking a deep breath, I went to the kitchen and rummaged for a plain white ceramic dish and a book of matches. I set both items on the table. Across the saucer, I laid a strand of Morales’s hair, the one I’d stolen. Thus fueled, if I couldn’t make this spell work, I never would. It was that simple.
With my eyes closed, I created a mental image of Morales: his black hair with a hint of a wave, his liquid brown eyes and caramel skin. I added the cocksure smile and the glint in his eyes, the hint of a swagger in his step. Then I sent the heat of my gift to fuel the compulsion; the same fire that burned me when I read an object would touch him, just a whisper.
Once I held his visage firmly in mind, I whispered, “By fire, earth, wind, and rain, you will not rest until you hear my voice again. As I will, so mote it be.” In speaking the last words, I struck the match and burned his hair until there was nothing left but the lingering smell.
Shannon came to the doorway of the kitchen, watching with a raised brow. “What did you do? Did it work?”
And then my cell phone rang.
Swerve
After assuring Morales we were fine, I disconnected.
Shannon stared at me with a touch of amazement. “You made him call you.”
“I think so, yeah.”
“What else can you do?”
“I can make breakfast.” Sadly, I found only instant oatmeal in the kitchen. In sealed cartons, it kept better than milk or eggs.
But it was sustenance, so I made it and doctored the bowls with packets of sweetener and instant milk. The time in the jungle with Kel had reduced my standards on what constituted a meal. We ate in silence.
“Are we just hanging around here all day until they get back?”
I was torn. “If I’m going to practice, I need supplies.”
“Like what?”
“An athame and a chalice, for starters.” I paused, sighing a little. “If my mom had lived, or if they had managed to save more of her things, I’d have hers.”
“I’m sorry,” Shannon said softly.
“For what?”
“Judging you.”
“It’s understandable.” I didn’t like the path I’d chosen any more than she did, and sometimes only the fact that Kel had endorsed it made it bearable. Which spoke volumes—once, I’d thought him crazy as bedbug; now I considered him a moral compass. Surely his archangel wouldn’t give him orders that resulted in a gross loss of innocent life. Would he? No. I shook my head, trying to reassure myself.
“Not really,” she said. “I mean, I have my own regrettable shit. I left my dad, knowing he felt guilty, when it would’ve meant everything to him if I’d given him some hint I didn’t blame him for the Kilmer clusterfuck.” She bent
