He groans, scrubbing a palm across his face. “I’m starting to suspect you’re a demon, a Luren, maybe.”
“What’s that?”
“Look it up,” he mutters.
Smart ass. I’ll be on Area 51, searching that word, right after I get home. Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure Jesse means to drop me off untouched. But he looks pained now; I hope it’s because his pants are too tight. Unfortunately, the picnic table doesn’t offer a subtle way to check.
“You know what your problem is?” I ask.
“I’m sure you plan to tell me.”
I beam. “You so get me. Here’s what I see, cowboy. You put women on a pedestal. You worry about looking after them. Then they get sick of being handled with kid gloves and they bail on you.”
Jesse seems honestly astonished. “Did Eva tell you to say that?”
“No. I haven’t seen her since I moved, though I get the occasional email.”
“How can you possibly know that? We haven’t been friends that long.” But I hear the doubt in his voice. He’s not sure when we met, either.
“Someone roofied us,” I say. “Magical roofies. It’s the only explanation.”
But this seems like a good time to elaborate on what my mom told me, so I do. Maybe Jesse will have some idea who might’ve wanted us to forget. I have an awful suspicion that I did something horrible, and this was done to protect me. I imagine setting my ghosts on a human being and shiver, staring at my fingers.
Are these the hands of a killer?
I’d get away with it, too. If the dead suck all the energy out of a person, they fall down and don’t get up. It would look like a heart attack. At length, I fall silent, waiting for his response.
“You’re sure about this?” He’s got his cop face on now, simultaneously alert and alarmed. “Your mother’s reliable?”
“Not in life, but maybe death has improved her.” I suck it up and ask the hardest question ever. “Do you think I’m a good person?”
“Yeah,” he answers without hesitation. “You dress dark, but you feel like sunshine to me, Shan. Pure light.”
Nobody’s ever said that to me before. I’m sure, no matter what else I’ve forgotten. I’d remember if a man had ever made me feel like the witch Dorothy threw water on, melting from head to toe. Naturally, I can’t let a moment so touching pass unremarked.
“I would bang you like a gong,” I tell him.
“You’re too young to talk like that,” he snaps.
“I just did, so clearly that proves your hypothesis false. I suppose if you added a Mormon control group, you might find that some females my age don’t communicate in such a way, but—”
“I’m starting to understand why men kiss women to shut them up.”
“Feel free. I wouldn’t find it disrespectful.”
He shoves to his feet, goaded. Jesse hovers on the brink of grabbing me, but instead he clutches the tatters of his self-control and clears the remnants of our meal. But no joke, he slams the rubbish into the bin like he’s punching a wall. I love the fact that I’ve riled him. He’s usually so sweet and calm.
“I better take you home. I’ll ask around, regarding the spell, and I’ll let you know what I find out.”
Balls. Round one to Jesse Saldana, but I’m in it to win it.
Four
Since I have Saturday off, I hop a bus that takes me partway to Chuch and Eva’s house. They live outside of town, so it’s still a fair walk. I could call instead, but if you’ve ever tried talking to new parents on the phone, then you know why I’m making the trip. Along the way, I turn down a couple of guys who slow with suggestive looks. Yeah, they’re offering more than a ride…or rather, it’s not transportation they’re thinking about.
As with so many other facts, I’m fuzzy on the details, but I get the impression that Chuch used to be a badass before he settled down. He hasn’t told me as much, but I suspect their old house burned as a result of his shady past. On the plus side, the insurance paid, so they got a new house out of the deal, bigger and better than the old one, mostly because Chuch and his cousins did most of the actual labor, so the money stretched.
The new place is beautiful. It’s weird that I can remember what their old place looked like but not how long I’ve been in Laredo. Or how we met, exactly. But I’m used to that kind of thing—fucking magick, man. Anyway, the architectural style borrows from a couple of schools, Colonial and Mediterranean, which maybe doesn’t sound like it would work, but together, they create an amalgam of Texan charm, warm with stucco and mosaic tiles.
I walk up to the front door and ring the bell. Eva answers a few minutes later, looking harried. Baby Camille is propped on her hip. “Hey, Shannon. How are you? I’ve been meaning to call, but these days, it seems like I stumble from nap to nap.”
“It’s not a problem. Can I come in for a few minutes?”
“Absolutely. Just be warned, the house is a mess.”
Sometimes when people say that, they’re being disingenuous and you step inside to find tidy décor worthy of Martha Stewart. This is not the case with Casa Ortiz. It kind of looks like a baby store exploded in here. There are blankets and afghans everywhere, toys strewn on the floor. A fine layer of dust coats everything, and I couldn’t tell you how long it’s been since the floor was mopped.
And there are frogs everywhere. Not live ones, but little ceramic or china knickknacks. Chuch collects them, apparently. He says they’re good luck.
“You want something to drink?” Eva looks so tired.
“Just water for me. Sit down… I’ll get it. What do you want?”
“I want coffee, but I can’t have it. I’m breastfeeding. So water for me too.”
From my stay with them before, I’m familiar with how she organizes her cupboards, so I fill two glasses with ice and pour from the filtered pitcher Eva keeps in the fridge. Then we both sit down at the kitchen table. I feel guilty for bothering her, but I really need to know.
“So I talked to my mom,” I start.
Both her brows shoot up. “I thought she was dead.”
The weird thing is, I don’t remember telling her that…but clearly she knows. This is kind of like me knowing things about Jesse that he can’t recall sharing. Something super weird is going on here.
“She is,” I answer, my expression reminding her that for me, death’s not a barrier to conversation.
“Right. You were saying?” She jogs Camille on her knee, which makes the baby smile, all pink gums and chubby cheeks.
“I learned something interesting from her. It appears that this brain fog comes from a spell. Do you know anything about that?”
For a split second, she freezes. But I read the answer in her eyes. She does know. Maybe not everything, but there are definitely secrets hidden in Eva Ortiz’s dark eyes. Yet she shakes her head.
“That’s strange. But it explains a lot.”
“Would you tell me if I pissed off a witch?” I ask.
“As far as I know, you haven’t irked anyone. I mean, you haven’t been living in Laredo that long, relatively speaking.” She shrugs. “But I wouldn’t worry about it. Spells don’t last forever. I’m sure if you’re patient, your memories will return on their own.”
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter. “You’re not the one with a hole in your head. Figuratively speaking.”
“I know.” Her look becomes sympathetic. “It must be frustrating.”
Then why are you lying to me?
But before I can press the point, Chuch comes in the back door. “Shan! You missed us, huh?”
Chuch is a thick, short guy just starting to get a paunch. Considering how classically gorgeous Eva is, they make a bit of an odd couple since his face can best be described as…battered. He’s also a hugger. He demonstrates the latter by yanking me out of my chair and squashing me against his chest. Since he smells like motor oil, I guess he was working in the garage. That’s how he makes his living, restoring old cars.
“How’s it going, prima?” Chuch calls me “coz” like we’re related. I’m told it’s affectionate, meant to acknowledge me as family even though I’m really not.
“Not great.”
“What’s wrong?”
Eva shoots him a sharp look, but Camille interrupts with a loud noise, then the smell that permeates the kitchen is truly horrific. If I were eating, I might hurl.
“I need to take care of this,” Eva says.
“Before it eats through her skin,” I mumble.
I’m not sorry to see her go, however. Based on past experience, I know Chuch is susceptible to big eyes and feminine pleading. This means his daughter has him wrapped him around her pinkie. Maybe I can do the same. I lean forward, elbows on the table, watching him as he fixes a glass of sweet tea.
“So what’s on your mind?”
“The amnesia spell somebody dropped on me.”
He offers an assessing look, and his expression turns cagey. “You know about that?”
“Yep.” Maybe I can make him think I know more than I do, trick him into revealing something crucial. Eva will be pissed, but I can live with that.
“Then you know it was done with the best of intentions.”
I didn’t, actually. But that dovetails with my fear that I’ve done something terrible, so bad it had to be wiped from my brain for me to cope. A shiver rolls through me, and it’s not hard at all to aim an anguished look at Chuch.
“Just tell me what happened, please.”
“Shan, if I remind you of what the spell’s blocking too soon, the feedback could seriously hurt you.”
“So people keep telling me.”
“Then you should listen. We’re not keeping quiet to be a**holes.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” But being rude will just annoy the few friends I have, so I shove to my feet. “Thanks for the drink. I should get home.”