“Yep.”
“Have you seen the new house?” he asked, casting a glance over his shoulder.
I shook my head. “You were staying with relatives, rebuilding, when Chance and I went back to Mexico.”
“It’s pretty sweet. The insurance paid off good, so we built a bigger house. I got cousins who are contractors and they cut us a deal on the labor.”
That made me smile; it was kind of a running joke that Chuch had cousins for every purpose under the sun. Need a car? Chuch has a cousin who sells them. Want somebody whacked? No problem. He’s got a primo for that too.
I suppressed a pang of guilt that I was the reason they lost their first house. The Montoya cartel went after them, firebombing the place in retaliation for the shitstorm I stirred up. Only the fact that they weren’t hurt let me live with myself; the Ortizes didn’t blame me, but I did. My friends, one of whom had been pregnant, became targets because of me. It was a hard thing to carry on my conscience.
“Does this mean you have room for all of us?”
“Four bedrooms,” he said proudly. “Plus an office.”
Which he mostly used to surf the Net. “And what’s your setup outside?”
“I got a proper work space now. Four bays.”
That meant a huge garage, I felt pretty sure. “Can’t wait to see it.”
“The Mustang still okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, hoping I wasn’t lying.
We had left it parked outside Chance’s apartment. If he’d paid far enough in advance, then the car should be fine in the gated lot. Mexico’s weather was mild enough that vehicles could sit without the battery going dead, unlike colder climes. I made a mental note to call the landlord, whose number should be in the history of my phone. Hopefully all Chance’s stuff was intact. It was imperative he had everything to return to, just as he left it. Shan would call my current state of mind impressive denial.
I preferred to dub it determination.
Twenty more minutes in the car. The frantic travel was almost through. I’d kept my promise to Booke. He would be surrounded by friends, enjoy one last hurrah. I leaned forward, head against the passenger seat; I wasn’t buckled in. In the past days, sometimes everything had felt like it was too much. Between Booke and Chance, the combined weight would break me.
To my surprise, a warm palm settled in the small of my back, rubbing in comforting circles. Kel cared about me. He knew we had no future, but it didn’t stop the feelings. Misery overwhelmed me, and this time, the tears came. I hadn’t cried since Shan and I landed in London from Sheol.
Kel pulled me to him, his big hands gentle, but he didn’t try to staunch my grief. I spent most of the ride huffing quietly into his chest. Chuch and Booke didn’t ask what was wrong, Booke because he knew already, and Chuch because he realized I’d tell him soon enough. God, I was dying to see Eva. I was tired of being surrounded by men. Shannon had comforted me as best she could, but she was burdened with her own guilt—at surviving where Chance had not—and at taking Jesse from me. The latter didn’t matter as much, but I couldn’t disregard Chance’s sacrifice; that wasn’t a debt I could wave away. We were still best friends, but there was a barrier between us now, partly my sorrow and her sense of culpability.
The new house was gorgeous. Built on stately lines, it still maintained a lovely Southwestern feel with the stucco and judicious use of mosaic tiles. The entry was done in terracotta and cream, warm without being busy. Chuch’s personality shone in the various frogs displayed at prominent positions in the front room; he’d lost his entire collection in the fire, but he had been busy replacing them. I remembered him telling me frogs were good luck, and that was why he liked them.
Maybe that’s my problem. Lack of frogs.
Eva came running down the hall, already slim again. This woman was incredibly beautiful with golden skin, shining black hair, and darkly liquid eyes. She greeted me with a huge hug, which I returned with a touch of desperation. We exchanged greetings, and then she hugged Booke too. Unlike Chuch, she didn’t react to his age or his frail appearance. Kel got a friendly wave, not that I blamed her. He was rather imposing, not the sort of male you touched without an invitation. I could hardly believe I’d slept with him, in fact, or that he’d chosen to console me.
“Are you hungry?” she asked. “I have tamales in the fridge. It will only take a minute to heat them.”
“Please.” My stomach felt fine at the moment.
“Is Cami asleep?” Chuch wanted to know.
“Just got her down. She’ll meet everyone in the morning.” Eva got busy in the kitchen, dishing up green sauce and cream to go with the tamales.
I sat down on a pretty stool near the bar. “Thank you for this. You’ll never know what it means to have somebody who’s just always here for me, no questions asked.”
“Oh, there will be questions,” she said, aiming a wooden spoon at me. “Believe that. But food first. Then we’ll talk.”
Truth & Consequences
I actually told the story over our late supper, with Booke filling in where I faltered. It was a little awkward repeating his story, but by the time they had the gist, Chuch and Eva were exchanging significant glances. Then she drew me aside.
“You brought him here to die?”
“What else could I do?” I asked. “It was his last request.”
“I don’t know . . . fix it. Isn’t that kind of your thing? Finding solutions when anybody else would give it up as a lost cause?”
I closed my eyes. “I don’t have the fight in me anymore, Eva. Chance died. Do you get that? I just can’t throw myself at monsters anymore. If”—here, my voice broke, and tears threatened—“he’s really gone, then I can’t make his sacrifice worth nothing. I have to live for him. He made me promise.”
“Oh, nena, I’m sorry.” She pulled me to her in a tight hug, and I worked not to lose it on her shoulder. After a minute, I tapped her arm to let her know I had it under control, then she stepped back.
“Don’t blame Corine,” Booke said then. “My hearing is perfectly adequate. It’s my joints that seem to be seizing up.”
“We should all get some sleep,” Chuch put in. “We won’t solve this in the middle of the night.”
From his expression, he still hadn’t given up on the idea of saving our mutual friend . . . and that was fine with me. If Chuch could fix it, fine. Let one of his hundred cousins sort out the problem. I just . . . I couldn’t. My tank was empty; I had nothing left to give.
Eva settled Booke and I in the two guest bedrooms; Kel volunteered to sleep on the couch. I couldn’t think anymore about Booke’s problems, or what Kel’s archangel wanted from me, or what would come to pass if I held firm in my refusal. Grim, muddled thoughts occupied my mind as I brushed my teeth. Given my general misery, I expected to toss and turn, but exhaustion claimed me as soon as I hit the bed.
Overhead, the sun shone like molten gold, beaming down on a verdant field dotted with yellow flowers. Jonquils, I thought, though I lacked my mother’s affinity for such things. In the distance, a smooth gray lake lapped up against a rocky shore, and across the span of the water, a trio of mountains rose in stately majesty. Pale mist wreathed their peaks, cloaking the tops from view. I spun in a slow circle, wondering where I was, but the landscape gave no clue. I had no memory of leaving the bed, no clue how I’d gotten here, but the grass felt real and crisp beneath my bare feet, lightly damp with morning dew. Despite the sweetness of the honeyed air, I had to be asleep; Booke had no reason to contact me this way anymore. Nor did I feel the familiar tingle of a lucid dream. Which meant this hyper-vivid dream was something else.
Movement through the yellow flowers caught my eye. Perhaps I should’ve been afraid, but I stepped forward with more curiosity than I’d felt since returning to the real world. My pace quickened until I was running, and then I saw him.
Chance.
Here, he was whole and uninjured, as he had been before the dagger, before the blood. Before he died for me. Clad in white, his black hair gleamed with a hint of blue beneath the sunlight, and his tawny skin contrasted beautifully with the loose white clothing he wore. His smile widened as he drew closer; I realized belatedly that I was wearing a T-shirt and panties, exactly what I’d had on when I fell asleep. No wonder he looked so amused.
“This isn’t real,” I said, expecting disbelief to pop the dream like a soap bubble.
“I’ve learned a great deal,” he answered. “So I will simply say that reality is subjective.”
It was so hard to look at him, knowing when I woke he would still be gone. I’d still be alone. We’d finally made the pieces fit in Sheol, and then I lost him. The hurt went through me like a barbed blade, leaving bloody rents in my heart all over again. I didn’t know if I could bear waking.
“It’s good to see that my subconscious manifestation of you knows enough to be annoying,” I muttered.
“How can I prove to you it’s me?”
“Anything you know about me, I know too.”
He huffed out a sigh. “We don’t have time to argue about whether I’m here or not, love. It’s costing a lot for me to reach you, and there are things you need to know. Will you listen, please?”
“Fine.” I couldn’t resist going to him. At this point, I didn’t care if he was a hallucination generated by loneliness, regret, and desire.
His arms felt deliciously real around me; he smelled of fresh green grass and sheets warmed by sunshine. And when he kissed me, it was heaven. Chance tasted of wild berries and lemon, a thirst quenched by the play of his lips on mine, the luxuriant sweep of tongues hot as a summer day. Desire cascaded through me, raw and painful, an onslaught that ended with my fingers tangled in his hair, my body flat against his. Chance tightened his arms, a low growl escaping him. He pressed me tighter, tighter, until I could hardly breathe. Then I saw the struggle in his face as he set me away.