I didn’t bother to say what I did wasn’t magick. Besides, Chance was already gearing up to argue, sparing me the need to explain. He gripped the edge of the table, quietly livid. “That . . . that’s wrong. They must’ve faked it somehow, planted it for us to find. She isn’t—she doesn’t know about—”
Very gently Chuch asked him, “You sure, primo?”
I don’t say my visions are always right. Sometimes the sound track makes all the difference; sometimes I interpret what I see incorrectly. It happens. But I don’t know what other spin I could put on this. Yi Min-chin led that ritual with expert precision. She knew the meaning of those symbols. I couldn’t blame him for fighting the idea that his mom wasn’t perfect. In this world, sometimes a mother represents the only glimpse we ever get of pure generosity, someone who puts our welfare before her own.
Mine wore attar of roses and sang “All the Pretty Horses” to me before I slept. She’d also practiced her craft openly and unwisely in Kilmer, Georgia, believing in the tolerance of her neighbors. When that mistake caught up to her, she gave her life for me.
I’ve been suffering ever since. It weighs on me because I feel like I need to live twice as worthy a life in order to make up for her sacrifice. And I’m so tired.
For a long moment Chance glared at us both, as if we were to blame for his shattered illusions. Then he dropped his head into his hands. I’d never seen him like this, broken and unsure. I ached because I no longer had the right to comfort him, no longer felt sure he’d welcome my hands in his damp black hair.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said finally. “If she’s in trouble, I have to help her.”
Blood never stops calling for blood.
Rock and a Hard Place
“I get that,” Chuch said, nodding. “I’d do the same. But you’ll get yourselves killed if you don’t start playing smart. This is out of your weight class.”
“With all due respect,” I returned. “You don’t know what I weigh.”
The mechanic sized me up with a glance. “One forty-two,” he decided. “If you’re being literal.” His accuracy left me blinking as he went on. “If not, then you need to fill me in.”
“I’m retaining water,” I mumbled. And doughnuts. Neither guy was stupid enough to say it aloud if they thought it. “I’ll let Chance do the honors. I have to make a call.”
Chance glared at me, but he already knew Saldana wasn’t our problem, so there wasn’t much he could say. He could’ve played the jealous ex, but he wouldn’t want to show that side in front of Chuch. Plus they really did have stuff to discuss.
For added privacy, I went into the other room, decorated in plaid furniture and protective charms. First I needed to get my phone working, though. With reasonable deftness, I popped it open and switched the SIM card.
My cell doesn’t have roaming on it, you see. That’s for people who want to register for an account and put it on a credit card, leaving an electronic trail a mile wide. I go prepaid all the way, so I slotted the U.S. SIM into my phone and watched it search until it found a signal.
Bingo.
Backtracking to the front door, I located my purse and dug out Saldana’s card. Ridiculous the way my heart thumped as I dialed. You’d think I believed the bullshit I’d spun for Chance about the guy wanting to take me out for personal reasons.
On the fourth ring, he barked, “Saldana!” at me, almost making me disconnect.
I had to clear my throat before I could speak. “Uhm. Yeah. This is Corine Solomon. You said something about getting dinner tomorrow night.”
Relief colored his buttery drawl, which I liked quite a lot. “Glad you called, sugar. Just a minute.” I heard hoots in the background, so I guessed I’d caught him at a bad time. Movement, and then a rough whisper: “I don’t suppose you know anything ’bout the mess down at this warehouse? You all right?”
I made unconvincing static noises, though he sounded genuinely concerned. “Huh? You’re cutting out.”
Luckily he possessed a sense of humor. “Uh-huh. Logan’s Roadhouse, seven tomorrow night. It’s on San Dario, near the mall. Can you make it?”
“I’ll be there.” Whether Chance liked it or not.
“Oh, that you heard.” But I could sense his smile.
When I returned to the kitchen, the guys were eating a second plate of tamales, looking like they’d said everything important. Chuch glanced up and then indicated the seat opposite him. As I sat, I saw he’d laid out colored pencils and paper.
“I need you to sketch the symbols,” he said without preamble. “That’ll gimme a clue who might have some info. Most of the players in town work in Santería or straight hudu, but I know people online who can help with more exotic traditions.”
I blinked. Chuch is a regular Lone Gunman. Who knew? Chance did, I decided, watching him eat. That’s why he kept his card.
“That’s a remarkably logical idea. I’ve never done this before, though, and I’m not much of an artist. But I’ll try.”
As they ate, I tried to remember. In the end, I found it easier to re-create the whole thing, starting with the circles. I couldn’t draw the people so I represented them with Xs and then took my best shot at the symbols Yi Min-chin had drawn.
When I handed him the page, Chuch studied it for a minute and then shrugged. “Looks like a summoning circle.” Which I’d already guessed. “I’ll send it to a homie who’s into the hermetic stuff. Maybe he can hook us up.”
I studied him for a moment, unable to figure him out. “Why are you helping us? You know it’s dangerous.”
Chuch flashed a slightly gap-toothed grin. “My old lady took off and I don’t have anything better to do.” I held his look, and eventually he sighed, looking sheepish. “Plus I owe him money.” He jerked his head toward Chance. “I expanded my garage but business has been slow. Lot of people leaving Laredo. It’s a scary place to be lately.”
That made as much sense as anything. Muttering something about scanning my drawing, Chuch headed toward his home office. I didn’t like how quiet Chance was. He hadn’t said a single word since I came back into the room, not even when I took his plate to the sink for him.
If the silence held, I was going to say something stupid like Are you okay? when I knew he wasn’t. Finally I settled on “What’s on your mind?” Like I didn’t know.
“I keep turning it over,” he said, staring at his hands. “I wanted to think they must have some hold over her. But I keep coming back to the fact that she knew the spell, and there’s a lot I don’t know about her. You ever have that feeling? Like you’ve known someone your whole life but you don’t know them at all.”
I reached for his hand. No matter the ugly history between us, I was still his friend. I didn’t think I had it in me for it to be otherwise. Our fingers intertwined, his long and elegant, mine short and scarred. That was one good thing about the gift, I supposed. My fingerprints never seemed to come out right.
“No,” I said finally. “I never have that feeling. Because I don’t have anyone I’ve known my whole life.” The words came out starker than I intended, maybe because his sorrow cut through me like a knife.
If he’d been thinking, he would have remembered. Chance knew my history, at least the bare bones of it. He knew I’d spent my adolescence in foster homes. They deteriorated as the years went on because nobody wanted to take me. The first time it happened, I was handling a jeweled hair clip. It singed my fingers and I said without thinking, “This belonged to your great-aunt Cecilia. She was wearing it when she died.”
The gentle Methodist lady almost had a heart attack. She’d gazed at me, face pinched and gray, before snatching the hair clip away and fussing over burns she couldn’t figure out how I’d gotten. A retired school-teacher, Miss Minnie was actually the nicest about my weirdness, but she didn’t want me around after that.
That night, she called the social workers and said she wasn’t equipped to deal with “a child like me.” It got worse. I’ll just say, I can’t play at bondage during sex or watch the Exorcist, though it isn’t demons that drive my powers. There’s no enjoying such things when you’ve been tied to a bed for real.
I’ll leave it at that.
At first, the state of Georgia accused the host families of burning my hands to punish me. Ruined some lives, I guess. It didn’t matter what I said about it, although by the end, they had psychiatrists asking me why I felt the need to hurt myself. At eighteen, they cut me loose and I was glad to go. I sure left my mark, even then; left enemies behind me.
Shit, now I felt almost as low as Chance. I didn’t usually let it get to me. Done was done, and unless it was a slight you could avenge right then, it did no good to dwell on it.
All my aches came back tenfold, and suddenly I wanted nothing more than to lose myself for a few hours. We couldn’t do anything until daylight anyway.
“Well,” Chuch said from the doorway. “I sent an e-mail to Booke, but it’s four in the morning there.” He peered at us. “You guys look like shit.”
I wondered how he’d look if he’d been in Mexico City just two days ago, innocently examining Dutch miniatures. By some miracle I held my tongue, as he was helping us.
“It’s been a long day,” Chance said quietly.
If there were a candle I could burn to make me forget how it felt to touch him, I think I would have lit it. Right then, I felt empty and broken, missing the way we used to be. His hand in mine wasn’t enough, but then I’d always needed more than he could give. Chance reacted on me like a drug, and I jonesed for him in ways that weren’t safe or sane. Quietly I withdrew my hand.
Chuch nodded. “How ’bout I get you bedded down? You still sleepin’ together?”
I answered, “No,” as Chance said, “Yes.” We exchanged a look, and then I added firmly, “He should have his own bed. I’m afraid I’ll hurt his back.”