So I just nodded. “Then let’s rock and roll, boys.”
Bitter Bargains
Twilight hadn’t changed since the last time I was there, still housed in a nondescript building with a small, unassuming neon sign marking its existence. The neighborhood was still deceptively downscale, with drunken college students roaming around the seedier clubs in the vicinity. Inside, it was a combo of brothel and roadhouse with velvet and wood accents. Per usual, the jukebox was banging away with a Dropkick Murphys tune; this time it was “Kiss Me, I’m Shitfaced.”
Damn, I wish. I wished I had nothing to regret other than going home with a smooth-talking stranger.
Jeannie, a pretty woman in her forties who sported a ponytail, was tending bar tonight. She narrowed her eyes on me, as if she recognized me but couldn’t place me. Then a smile split her cheeks. “Corine! It’s been a coon’s age. Bucky was just asking me about you the other day. What’ve you been up to?”
“It’s a long story,” I said.
And one I’d had enough of telling.
I went on, “We need to see Twila, if she can squeeze us in.”
Her expression immediately sobered; then her eyes went to Booke. In his old-fashioned slacks and sweater vest, he stuck out like a sore thumb. “I’ll see if she can make time for you. Have a drink on the house.” Jeannie waved the assistant ’tender over to take our orders.
“Do you have lager?” Booke asked.
“Keith’s Pale Ale work for you?” the man asked.
Booke looked blank. “Why not?”
It took only a few seconds for him to open the bottle. It wasn’t every day you saw a man this old out for a night on the town, so his quiet, respectful tone obviously stemmed from Booke’s age. “Would you like an iced glass, sir?”
“No, thank you. I’ll be Bohemian tonight.”
The bartender flashed an appreciative smile at Booke’s wit, then he turned to me. “For you, miss?”
“Mix me an Agave Kiss.” I felt the need for a happy drink.
As I watched, he expertly combined tequila, white creme de cacao, double cream, and Chambord, then rimmed the glass with white chocolate flakes. For the final touch, he garnished the beautiful creamy cocktail with a skewer of fresh raspberries. I took it, thanked him, and tasted the delightful concoction.
“Mmmm. Fantastic.”
Booke was watching with both brows arched. “Drinks have certainly gotten complex, haven’t they? Martinis used to be the height of sophistication.”
“I don’t think this drink is particularly sophisticated,” I said, sipping it. “It’s more like dessert in a glass. But I could use something sweet.”
“You certainly could. I regret dumping my problems in your lap. You have enough to—”
“Don’t. If I minded, I’d have declined. I’m not that selfless.”
“I don’t want to be selfish, but I’d give nearly anything to live a bit. See the world. I’ve glimpsed it through the Internet, but to experience it?” Booke’s tone was both desperate and hopeful.
Before I could caution him not to offer such generous terms to Twila, the bartender cut in, “And for your tall, quiet friend?”
I glanced at Kel, who shook his head. “Apparently he’s not drinking tonight.”
“Designated driver, huh? Tough break, pal.”
That made me laugh because I couldn’t imagine Kel getting hammered and blowing off steam. He was so rigidly controlled all the time, all but the smallest emotions ruthlessly locked down. Doubtless that restraint made a life of servitude more bearable . . . and my amusement died. Poor Kel. I wanted to free him. Well, why not add it to my list of three impossible things to do before going home? It didn’t seem any more unattainable than bringing Chance back from Ebisu’s realm or saving Booke from the old curse that was killing him.
As I downed more of my drink, Jeannie came out of the back. I remembered the way to Twila’s office. The other woman nodded in response to my inquiring look. “She says she’ll see you.” Her voice lowered. “She said she was expecting you.”
I wasn’t surprised. “Come on, guys. The queen awaits.”
That was neither an exaggeration nor sarcasm. If anyone could be said to rule the state of Texas, all the supernatural events and portents, it was Twila, a voodoun priestess of incredible power. She kept tabs on all the witches, warlocks, wizards, and sorcerers, all the gifted parties in her demesne. For the right price, she could be convinced to help as well, but often what she wanted cost such dear coin that only the desperate were willing to pay it. That summed up our circumstances too.
Twila was a tall, dark-skinned woman with beautiful brown eyes, lined in kohl. She wore her hair in a mass of braids, caught together in a golden snood. It should have looked old-fashioned, but on her it was incredibly elegant, as she had an aura of majesty and command. Three rings adorned her slender fingers: one of onyx, one of jade, and the other ivory. I imagined there must be some ritual significance, but that wasn’t why we were here.
Her office was a treasure trove of the arcane. On my first visit, I hadn’t known much about the magickal world, but through my studies with Tia, I could sense the artifacts. Though I’d lost my ability to cast, I still felt the faint thrum through the soles of my shoes, an infinitesimal hum disparate from the bass thrum in the bar beyond. The whole room radiated power, a good portion of which came from Twila herself.
“Corine,” she said in her melodic accent. “It’s been a long time.”
She sat down at the massive cherry desk and indicated with a gesture that we should avail ourselves of the two leather chairs opposite. Kel shook his head once more, declining a seat. He was visibly uncomfortable in her presence; with him, that meant he wore a faint frown. I helped Booke into a chair before taking my own.
“I guess you’re wondering why I’m here.”
Her half smile alarmed me. “You’re a supplicant. The only question is what you seek.”
Straight to the point.
“Booke, will you do the honors?” Since it was his problem, it made sense for him to do the talking.
Which he did, in his plummy English accent. Twila seemed to enjoy his recounting of the tale, probably more than she would’ve in my drawl. Booke’s courtly manner didn’t hurt either. Though he was an elderly gentleman, he knew how to charm a lady. She was smiling when he finished, and not the hungry, eager one that made me think of sharks.
“Let me see if I understand correctly. You wish to be free of this curse . . . for me to undo the years you spent confined in Macleish’s prison.”
“You probably can’t banish so much time,” Booke said humbly. “I’m not asking the impossible. But yes, I’d like to live a little longer, so long as it doesn’t involve demon magick.”
Twila pushed to her feet in a graceful motion. “The loa have much strength, so I could do this, but I will require a great deal in payment as well. Are you willing to pay my price, Ian Booke?”
“Could do what?” Kel asked, the first time he’d spoken since we entered.
She cut her eyes sharply to Kel. “This is not your affair, fallen one. Twilight may be neutral ground, but you’ll start a war if you interfere with my work.”
His broad shoulders tightened, as if she’d injured him. He said nothing more. I chewed on the implication in her words. Did that mean Barachiel couldn’t touch us in here? I wondered if Twila was powerful enough to defeat him.
Using her desk for balance, Booke pulled himself to his feet, and for the first time I noticed he was her height, though his stooped shoulders made him seem smaller. “Before I answer, I must know what I’m bargaining for.”
“I’ll spell it out, monsieur. I can wipe away those years. You will be thirty-six years old with your life before you. The loa can do this, yes, without demons.”
“And your terms?” Booke asked.
“What will you offer me?” Her tone was amused. I felt extraneous, but when I shifted, her look sharpened on me. “Don’t run away, Corine Solomon. Your friend requires your support. Will you leave him when he needs you most?”
“Of course not,” I muttered.
I didn’t necessarily want to learn what Booke would give up to keep from shuffling off to oblivion. Under the weight of her eyes, I kept my seat, but Kel came up behind me. His hands lit on my shoulders, giving me courage. Foreboding rolled through me, like the heaviness in the air before a thunderous storm.
“Give me one year of freedom,” Booke said, after a moment’s consideration. “A chance to see the world. At the end of those days, I will return to serve you in any capacity you desire for as long as you mandate.”
What the hell, no. It was too much, too open-ended. Such an awful contract. I had to get him better terms. As I opened my mouth to protest, Kel’s hands tightened; I glanced over my shoulder to see a forbidding expression in his pale eyes. Then his voice rang in my head. We must not interfere, dadu. You owe him the honor of forging his own fate.
Apart from those words, his mind didn’t intrude on mine. With a pang, I remembered that dadu meant “beloved.” You shouldn’t call me that. It’s done.
Your heart may have changed. Mine has not.
I decided not to argue with him. How are you doing this?
We have joined, Corine. For the first time, I noticed he wasn’t calling me Binder anymore. The connection lingers, permits such intimate communication.
Is it because you’re touching me?
Clever.
Deliberately, I covered his hand with one of mine, and then I pulled his palms away from me. It hurt a little, knowing he would take it as a rejection, but I couldn’t encourage him when he was trapped by Barachiel and might have to kill me, and when I meant to do my damnedest to get Chance back, so we could have the life I’d glimpsed just before we went to Sheol to save Shannon. I didn’t want to serve a maniacal archangel or worry that my lover would live ten thousand years without me. I wanted normal. That was all I ever craved.