Agave Kiss cs-5 Read online

  I’m sorry, Chance. I left it too long—

  “Corine! Wake up.” Booke’s excited voice attracted the attention of the two elderly women who had been paging through resource materials with us all week. For them, I suspected it was a hobby more than life and death; everyone knew how elderly witches could be after retirement.

  “Did you find something?” I asked without raising my head.

  Gods, I was so tired. Surely this wasn’t normal. Otherwise, how did women manage to hold down a job? All I wanted to do was sleep, even with so much resting on my shoulders. He yanked me upright, not particularly delicate in his excitement. Booke didn’t notice my dirty look, as he was reading aloud in what sounded like Old German. Not that I was an expert. I’d barely made it through The Miller’s Tale during the brief portion of my high school career when we studied Chaucer.

  When he paused, I put in testily, “Translation, please?”

  “Right, sorry. Basically, the text references the ritual we’re looking for, naming another tome. It wasn’t on the list Ms. Devlin gave us, most probably because there’s no existing translation. The volume we need is that old, probably written in Sumerian or Babylonian.”

  “And there happens to be a copy of it here in San Antonio?”

  He bit his lip. “Unfortunately, no. It’s not a book at all, in fact. More a set of scrolls. And I’m not sure whether I can run down a surviving copy in time. There weren’t many . . . and only the most prestigious private collectors would own such a rare treasure.”

  “So . . . we have six days to track down the rarest of rare ancient scrolls, get a translation, and flawlessly perform an unknown ritual?”

  Booke sighed. “When you put it that way, it sounds rather daunting.”

  “At least we have a lead now. Do you know any top-tier collectors?”

  “I can put out a few feelers,” he said. “And I’m sure the curator could give me some names.”

  “There’s no point in hanging out here, though. We’re not finding what we need on these shelves.”

  “Yes, at least we’ve hurdled this particular obstacle.”

  “Is that how you see this venture? Like a course laid out with hoops for us to jump through and barricades to clamber over?”

  “Perhaps,” he admitted sheepishly.

  “No wonder I’ve been so miserable. My coordination sucks.”

  “But your determination is top-notch.”

  “Smooth talker. Save it for Dolores.”

  “Speaking of which . . .” He winked. “I’ve got an engagement tonight. Will you be all right at the flat on your own?”

  “You’re seeing her again?” My eyes widened.

  “Not Dolores. Ms. Devlin.”

  “You’re incorrigible. So I’m taking the car and the dog, and you’ll make your way home when you’re good and ready?”

  “That’s the size of it. May I have the spare key? And I trust you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all. Here you go.”

  Amusement at Booke’s ability to find the bright side of any situation carried me all the way back to the dismal apartment. Where I had my mood ruined by the demon laying in wait. Sick terror roiled in my stomach, knotting the bread from the sandwich into a heavy lump of dough that I might launch at the impossibly handsome male lounging on my couch. At a glance, I ID’d him as White Hair, who had crashed Chuch’s backyard BBQ. His insouciance on Twila’s turf made me nervous, as Jesse had been clear about what would happen if the demons pressed their claim; and since I was under Twila’s protection, her retaliation would be even worse. From his expression, the Luren no longer cared.

  But he was alone, another matter of concern. I froze by the door while Butch snapped and snarled from my purse. Somehow I managed to set him gently on the floor, afraid of him getting hurt in the cross fire. Moreover, I was terrified the Luren would harm the baby. Gods, no. In this fight, I was completely alone, no hope of rescue, and with far too much at stake.

  “It’s polite to call before you drop by,” I said, as if I wasn’t scared to death.

  “I thought it best to have this conversation in private. You’ve accumulated quite an entourage . . . and their company can be tiresome.”

  “Say your piece and get out.” There was no hope in hell that this encounter would end peacefully, but I’d offer bravado until the end.

  Is the Taser still in my purse? Will it work on a demon?

  “Come, there’s no need to be hostile. Not when I know so very much about you.”

  My blood chilled. “Am I supposed to be impressed? Anyone over the age of eight can master the art of innuendo.”

  The Luren frowned, his expression playful, but his dark eyes remained dead and dark in contrast to his shining hair. “Do you remember an encounter you had with an exceedingly helpful orderly? He was so solicitous, so knowledgeable . . .”

  Actually, I’d been in such a bad way that I hadn’t noticed much about the admission process. My hospital stay was a blur, apart from learning I was pregnant. So I shook my head reflexively, knowing I wouldn’t like what was coming.

  “Come now. He gave you all the necessary information about animal bites. Do you think that’s customary?”

  “I have no idea,” I said honestly.

  “Well, it’s not. He was one of ours, once-Binder. Not handsome enough to host, but fair enough to serve. He watched you. Reported on you.” He paused delicately, his smile sharpening until I had chills. “We know about the whelp.”

  It’s worse than I thought.

  “I never promised Sibella my unborn child,” I said quietly.

  “But you are in arrears. Leaving Sheol is not an acceptable dispensation of your debt.”

  “I take it you have a plan?” If I could keep him talking, it might give me time to figure out how to kill him. I inched my fingers into my purse while Butch growled from behind my legs. My fingers brushed up against wallet, brush, phone, crumpled tissues . . . aha. Taser. “I’m sure I won’t like it, but go ahead.”

  “With its unique heritage, your child is exceedingly valuable to the Luren. Not only did your consort possess supernal beauty, but he also sprang from divinity. Your antecedents are exceptional as well. And the conception itself? Fascinating. For obvious reasons, we intend to make use of this hybrid.”

  Over my dead body, I thought.

  Rage crashed over me in a massive wave, so fierce I was surprised it didn’t slay the demon where it sat, sprawled with lazy grace on my sofa. In my head, I saw mass destruction: tsunamis destroyed villages, mushroom clouds detonated, and fires raged until the land was nothing but a blackened husk. With incredible focus, I honed that anger as my fingers curled around the Taser’s handle.

  “What do you have in mind?” I asked. Neutral tone.

  Yeah, I should win an Oscar for this performance.

  Especially because I wanted to fly at him and kill him with my bare hands. Until this moment, I was a mess, coping with the unexpected, but it was like some switch flipped in my head, and I was a mother. Not just expecting; I would do anything—anything—to keep this child safe.

  “You will pledge the child to our service. Should you make this bargain, Sibella reckons it sufficient recompense for the deal that was broken.”

  Gods, the Luren didn’t know shit about human beings. First the lady knight put a whammy on my pet, thinking I intended to eat it later. Now, she honestly believed I would agree to this insane deal to save my own skin? If the situation wasn’t heart-attack serious, I’d laugh at how misguided they were.

  “Do I get a grace period to think about it?”

  “The last time Sibella extended you such a courtesy, you staged a coup and then fled the realm when it failed.”

  “So that’s a no, then.”

  By its expression, the demon wasn’t amused. “It irritates me that you don’t seem to be giving this offer the requisite amount of consideration.”

  That’s because it’s not happening, asshole.

  �
��I’m sorry. Have you prepared documents for me to sign?” My tone was snide, but the Luren didn’t seem to notice.

  “In blood.”

  “Really?” Belatedly I remembered how the contracts that my fallen friend Greydusk—the demon who had helped me in Sheol—signed had not only been in blood, but with an arcane compulsion as well, so if he failed to fulfill it, he died. “I’m fixing a cup of tea. Then I’ll take a look at the papers. Want anything?”

  “You’d serve me hemlock,” the demon observed.

  “Unfortunately, my canisters don’t run to exotic poisons.”

  “Indeed. I’m glad you’re being reasonable about this. The chances are excellent that service to the Luren will come with incomparable rewards.”

  “Oh yeah?” I didn’t care, but I had to keep him talking.

  My brain wasn’t working nearly as fast as it should. While the Taser should render his host helpless temporarily, how the hell could I kill a demon? I wished I had one of those shining silver blades that Kel used. In Barachiel’s hand, it took out the Luren leader just fine. Unfortunately, I had dull kitchen knives and the one I’d bought from Gold Malibu’s trunk. Probably not demon-worthy.

  “Those who rule the cult of personality . . . haven’t you ever wondered why people who do nothing other than exist—and look attractive—should become so absurdly famous?”

  Well, now that you mention it . . .

  “Yeah. So the pretty people and certain reality stars are Luren?”

  “Often, they’re hosts. Being famous makes for an irresistible sexual draw to a certain psyche, which offers us a rich feeding ground. Is your tea done yet?”

  “Steeping now.” I dunked the tea bag a few times to show I meant business with the drink. Then I carried it over to the table. I set my purse carefully beside me on the floor within easy reach. “Let’s see the contract.”

  The document he brought out of an expensive briefcase had to be fifty pages long. Reading that—and I actually was a slow reader—would take me a while. By the time I flipped the last page, I’d have a plan, or I was dead. It was that simple.

  “You might want to find a book,” I suggested. “I’m not signing anything without reading the fine print. I learned that lesson on my last cell phone plan.”

  To my surprise, the Luren laughed. He seemed at ease, now that he imagined we’d come to amicable terms. Which substantiated my long-held belief that the Luren tended toward the stupid end of the demon spectrum. Not that I was complaining; a smarter demon like a Birsael would’ve long since copped to my ruse and be devouring my soul in retaliation for my bullshit.

  The Luren got a magazine off the side table. Since it wasn’t mine, it must belong to Booke—and gods only knew what he was reading. Instead of the contract, I peered at the cover. A travel zine. That made sense. Maybe the demon had vacation time coming . . . pity he wouldn’t live to see it. Then I remembered what he planned for my unborn child.

  Okay, not really.

  I paged through the contract while pretending to read, frantically racking my brain. Taser, then what . . . ? Searching for inspiration, I skimmed the room, taking in the paltry furnishings as if a solution would jump out at me. And then it did, at least figuratively. On the far shelf, Booke had left a couple of foci left over from our rescue run. I couldn’t remember what the tiny horse did, but the ceramic knot? I absolutely recognized that one.

  To keep from letting on, I skimmed through the rest of the papers. Then I took a sip of my tea. “It looks reasonable,” I said at last.

  “Finally,” the Luren muttered.

  “Bring your implements, your bloodletting knife, et cetera. Let’s get this done.” I hoped I sounded the right amount of resigned—and not eager to get him within striking distance.

  My tone must’ve struck the proper note—or the demon was just stupid as a stump—because he withdrew the items from his ubiquitous briefcase and came toward me. I leaned down to take a drink of tea, covering my reach. My fingers closed on the Taser, and as he bent to deposit the accoutrements on the table, I slammed it into his side, stun-gunning him for all I was worth. He lashed out, but I was already scrambling away; his human host had a limited nervous system. Regardless of how robust the Luren was, he couldn’t force an immediate recovery. But I had less than thirty seconds to execute the second half of my plan. Bounding from the table, I stumbled toward the shelving unit and grabbed the Celtic knot. Unless I recalled wrong—well, no time to second-guess. I slammed the statuette to the ground above my target’s head. His writhing wouldn’t impact the magick.

  My breath and heartbeat stalled until I saw the dark coils of energy twining around his body. Thank the gods. It is a binding spell. Since I wasn’t sure how long it would last, I had to get backup over here pronto. Since I was in San Antonio, there was only one call to make, though she scared the hell out of me; she’d promised to help in these situations, though. I was her vassal, after all.

  With shaking hands, I dialed Twila’s number. “This is Corine Solomon. I feel like you should know . . . there’s a Luren incapacitated on my kitchen floor.”

  Her cursing response was both colorful and impressive. “Bind him, hand, foot, and mouth, in addition to any magick you may have used. Once you do that, cast a circle. Can you do that?”

  “I can’t pull anymore.” There was demon magick, of course, but I’d vowed not to use it if there was an alternative. “I only have the touch left.”

  More swearing. “Then just confine him. I’ll be there in person in ten minutes.”

  “But I haven’t told you—”

  “Do you really think there’s anything I don’t know within my own demesne?”

  Actually, I hadn’t thought about it, one way or another. But the implications of that were terrifying. “All right. I used a binding spell on him, cast by a powerful wizard. Not sure how long that will last—”

  “You should’ve led with that. He’ll be out of commission for at least an hour, depending on how well fed he is. See you soon.” She cut the connection.

  Just to be safe, I found some extension cords in a cupboard and tied his wrists and ankles as tight as I could manage. He glared at me with hate-filled eyes, but he couldn’t even blink as yet. Even his respiration was pared down, just enough to sustain the human brain. I wasn’t dumb enough to linger nearby, however, in case the spell wore off sooner than Twila guessed. When she arrived, I was waiting for her on the front step, listening anxiously for the sound of a demon on a rampage inside.

  Each time, her majesty struck me anew. With her midnight skin and impressive corona of braids, she looked like she ruled the city—and she did. Her white dress was lovely and expensive; I’d seen one like it retail for three hundred dollars. I loved the simple elegance of the lines, the way it flowed from her strong shoulders to nip in at her waist, and then the skirt belled around her ankles, tastefully adorned with glimmering gems on a silver chain. On a good day, I didn’t have half her style or presence.

  “Shall we?” she asked, but it was clearly a rhetorical question, as she brushed past me and went into the apartment.

  The Luren lay where I’d left him, still tied like a hog about to be butchered. From the way he blinked at us, the feeling had returned in his eyelids but that was it. He couldn’t fight or flee Twila’s judgment—and by her expression, it wouldn’t be gentle or merciful. She stared down at him with eyes that burned like twin coals, ferocity and vengeance in equal measure.

  “Come to me,” she whispered. “Come, brothers and sisters.”

  The power in the room rose tangibly, a crackling electricity that stirred the hair on my arms. I wasn’t clear on what exactly the loas were, but the juice they gave her made her a force to be reckoned with; she was the queen of San Antonio, and you did not screw with her. In a few seconds, she proved why.

  My shabby apartment filled with smoky figures, not ghosts, at least none like I’d ever seen before. They were more . . . animal creatures, but not real ones. They came
from the darkest depths of the imagination—terrifying, furious, and burning with hunger. The loa descended on the demon, much as Dumah had done, only they dove beneath the skin. White Hair couldn’t flinch, couldn’t cry out, but his eyes revealed his utter horror at the feast beneath the skin, which writhed and boiled as if maggots flowed in human veins.

  When the loa finished their meal, they came to Twila like favored pets, twining around her arms and legs, nesting in her hair as if their pulsing energies constituted a crown. The fact that I could see them with the naked eye . . . I had no idea what that meant. My witch sight was gone, so these things were . . . what? A shudder worked through me as I stared at the corpse on my floor. The creature looked scarcely human anymore, the skin waxy and pallid, limbs stiff as stone.

  “The remains are your problem,” Twila said coolly. “Our compact has been honored, but do try not to get in any more trouble, Ms. Solomon. A woman in your condition can’t be too careful.” On that exit line, she departed, leaving me gaping.

  Am I wearing a KNOCKED UP sign in the astral? But that knowledge supported her claim to knowing everything that happened in her territory. If my landlady decided on a spot inspection right now, I was so screwed. The residual stress and fear sent me into the bathroom, where I lost my last meal. Eventually I gathered the presence of mind to call the one person who wouldn’t bat an eye at this mess.

  “Chuch,” I said when he picked up. “I need you. Bring a tarp and a shovel.”

  Buried Treasure

  Sometimes it sucked being my friend.

  At least, I imagined that’s what Chuch was thinking as he stared at the corpse on my kitchen floor. Like any good partner in crime, he’d left the supplies in the car, instead choosing to assess the situation before making any decisions. Glancing out the window, I saw he’d driven a car with a sizable trunk. This wasn’t his first time.

  Chuch studied the apartment and its limited contents with an air of intense concentration. “There’s no rug. Once it gets dark, that’s my first choice for moving him.” Then he flashed me a grin. “Good thing I could tell what we’d be doing by what you said on the phone.”