Shady Lady (Corine Solomon 3)

The two Montoyas screamed as Dumah pressed against their eyes, testing their defenses. She devoured Montoya first; like the old witch in the supply store, his shields were soft and weak. In a black trickle she slithered in through his eyes, and he clawed at them, screaming. His nails left bloody runnels on his face until his whole body went slack. Horror seeped through me.

She’d eaten him, just as I promised she could.

Vicente lifted his hand, preparing another spell, but Dumah went for him next. His brother’s soul had made her stronger, so she had the power to fight him. His shields were stronger, but while he resisted her attack, he couldn’t cast. Paolo dived for Montoya’s weapon.

“No,” Dumah said. “This one’s mine. Promised.”

I stilled the boy with a hand on his arm. “We must let her have him or she’ll be free to turn on us.”

I could banish her, perhaps, using the incantation I had used on Caim—assuming my shields were good enough to stave her off—but maybe, like Vicente, I wouldn’t be able to remember the words while struggling with her for control. I would rather not risk it. What was more, that call, if I succeeded, would seriously piss Maury off. I didn’t want to get on his bad side.

At last, she took Vicente and swept through him like a dark tide. His body crumpled, still living, but empty. I stared at the two Montoyas, chilled at the decision I’d made and what it meant. Paolo raised the gun and glanced at me for confirmation.

“Our bargain is done,” Dumah whispered. “I give you leave to call me anytime, Corine Solomon. This was . . . fun.”

Worse and worse. I didn’t banish her; she simply threaded away—back to the body she’d left behind, I assumed. I imagined the scene there: Woman fainting on the sidewalk. Maury telling people she was pregnant, not to worry, she’d be fine in a few minutes.

“I should finish this,” the boy said. “As my father requires.”

Gods knew I didn’t want to, so I merely nodded and turned my face away. Two shots rang out. Simple. Elegant. Awful. I’d fed the eternal part of them to a demon. Even if they were awful men, there was no denying it; I was a bad woman.

The devil shone in Paolo’s eyes as he examined the bodies. “Ah, Montoya. A son is always more powerful than a brother.” He gave me a look. “You will wish to turn around now.”

I didn’t ask why. I complied. When I glanced down again, the heads were missing. In response to a gesture, the two corpses bounced away, obedient to his will, until they landed in the drainage ditch on the side of the dirt road. I knew now what the black duffel was for. I didn’t imagine we’d be smuggling those back into the States.

“I need proof,” he said in a faintly apologetic tone. “Shall we call him?”

We did. Escobar instructed us to meet his men at an airfield three hours away. Numb, I drove on with two heads in a bag in my backseat and a killer beside me. Paolo scared me now because he seemed so gentle, and yet I saw nothing in his eyes that indicated conflict over his actions, whereas I felt like a hot mess of roiling regret and uncertainty. But a good robot never doubted its programming.

A plane sat waiting for us. Two hours in the air, and we arrived at a new location. Three goons conveyed us to yet another Escobar property. I hadn’t seen this house before; it was almost a cottage compared to the other. Beachfront property—the ocean glimmered silver in the moonlight.

Escobar greeted us on the terrace, a glass of wine in hand. Once more, he was barefoot, clad in white, and wearing a most disarming smile. Before he spoke, he took the black bag from Paolo. He looked inside with a ghoulish expression of anticipation. A quiet inhalation bespoke pleasure, and I shuddered as he handed the duffel off to one of his henchmen.

Christ, I couldn’t get away from these people fast enough. I might never wash myself clean. And, of course, there was the matter of what I’d done to survive.

“I am proud of you, hijo.” I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever called him that before. Escobar clasped Paolo on the shoulder. “There are only two Montoyas left, and they will not fight me. One is stupid, and the other is lazy. He will take what money he can and find someplace to retire.”

“Pleased I could help,” the boy said, as if he’d gone to the store for milk.

I closed my eyes. I wanted to be away from here. But I feared insulting my host. Now that he needed me no longer, I’d become acutely aware of my isolation and my vulnerability. He might decide I knew too much or something equally clichéd.

“You may go now,” he said, and Paolo passed along the terrace without another word to me.

Eventually I opened my eyes and studied the view. Staring out over the sea, I didn’t move when Escobar joined me. His tone was musing when he spoke. “You have proven useful. I believe I owe you payment for your time and effort.”

“That was the bargain.”

At a gesture, one of the goons brought him a fine leather briefcase. He opened it, and I got to see what 100K looked like in cash. “I will have my people take you wherever you like, one last time. I trust we will not bother each other again.”

“Never,” I promised.

Escobar was a man of his word, fortunately. Perhaps he had more of that stern priest in him than I’d realized. No question, he was an evil man who did terrible things, but like all demons he abided by his agreements.

“Where to, then?”

“Back to Laredo, please.” I needed to see how Eva and Chuch and the baby were doing. I wanted to see Shannon and Jesse. “Will you make sure law enforcement learns that Montoya is dead? I need to get a friend out of protective custody.”

“What would you have me do, order my men to toss those heads into a cantina, as you hear of imbeciles doing on the news?”

“Could you? This once?” I smiled as if that might persuade him. Escobar had ice water in his veins.

He considered. “Yes, but only because it amuses me. Someone else will surely take the blame, because that is not my style.”

I knew that. Escobar was the quiet knife waiting in the dark, not the burst of automatic weapon fire. “Thanks.”

“Rodrigo, deliver Señorita Solomon safely to Texas.” He turned, glass of bloodred wine still in hand, and dismissed me.

Once we were up in the air, I realized I’d abandoned the Chevelle in Mexico. Fortunately, it hadn’t been a nice ride, and maybe nobody would mind much. With the baby and all, it might go unnoticed.

At my request, the goons deposited me at a used-car lot, where I spent a small portion of my blood money. For a thousand bucks, I drove away in a maroon El Camino and the satisfaction of knowing I didn’t have to give it back or explain if something happened to it. Butch yapped in approval as he sniffed the clean black cloth seats. The rest of the interior was ugly maroon vinyl, but it was mine. This would be great for hauling stuff, once we got the thrift store going. I couldn’t wait to show Shannon.

Since I hadn’t eaten since that morning, I found a driveup and munched a burger in the parking lot. Butch ate half of a kid-size one on his own and he whined because it wasn’t Carl’s Jr. quality. I shrugged. “Better than starving, right?”

The dog looked unconvinced.

Once we finished, I called Chuch. “Hey, how are you guys?”

I wished I could ring Jesse, but he didn’t have a cell phone at the safe house. But as soon as news hit about Montoya’s demise, Glencannon would spring him, and we could talk. We had a lot of things to settle; Shan and I needed to go apartment hunting. Maybe starting over in Laredo wouldn’t be so bad.

“Great.” I could hear the glow. “I got a little girl.”

“I’ll swing by. What hospital?”

He told me, and then belatedly realized aloud, “Shit, if you’re here, then—”

“Yeah. It’s done.”

Chuch whooped and then somebody shushed him, probably a nurse. “Gotta get back. Eva’s dying to see you.”

Circle of life, and all that. I was dying to see her too. I started up the El Camino and drove over to the hospital. I knew where it was: same one where Jesse had been laid up recently. I hated hospitals, but for this, I’d go in smiling. I hid Butch as we went through the automatic doors.

It wasn’t hard to find the maternity ward, even less difficult to locate Eva’s room. Between her mother and all the Ortiz cousins, they were driving the staff crazy. I figured one more person didn’t matter, though there was barely room for me to step inside. Watching, I felt more alone than I ever had, because they shared a support network that I’d never possess.

But maybe, maybe with Jesse.

Eva waved at me from bed, offering a half smile, and the feeling passed. “Glad you could make it.”

“Better late than never.” I stopped in the doorway, not wanting to fight the crowd to get closer.

She looked exhausted and blissful, long black hair sticking to her forehead. Dark circles under her eyes didn’t diminish her beauty at all. The baby was so tiny, red faced, wrinkly, and wearing a wee pink hat. She had a bracelet on her wrist, and she seemed like she might start wailing at any minute. Relatives milled around me, murmuring in Spanish. Rather than making me feel out of place, it felt homey and familiar. I’d gotten to the point where I had to remember to speak English in the States.

“What’s her name?” I asked a random Ortiz.

Chuch materialized behind me. “Camelia Corine.”

Everything I’d been through lately—and that did me in. So I was crying when I spotted Chance. He perched on the window ledge, foot propped on the arm of the chair. Some woman sat beside him, gazing up at him dreamily.

“What’s he doing here?” I demanded, low.

Chuch followed my gaze. “He’s her godfather. Figure it out.”

Oh. I was not disappointed; for me, it was Jesse Saldana from this point on. But I couldn’t help the wild dread that Chance could undermine my resolve when my ex cut through the crowd toward me.

Blue Night

After assuring Chuch I wouldn’t miss the baptism in a couple of days, I made a quick exit. Today was Eva’s—and Camelia’s—day to shine. Only a total drama slut would get into it with her ex in front of her friend’s family. Better for me to leave quietly and avoid taking the focus away from the glowing mom. Sure, we could participate in the ceremony later and be polite in front of the family, but otherwise, there was no need for us to socialize.

The grimoires weighed heavy on my shoulder. I increased my pace until I was running, my Converse sneaks making no sound on the tile floor. The lights seemed too bright, and I needed to get away. Butch whimpered in protest; I murmured an apology and kept going. I caught a stern look from the nurses’ station, but I didn’t slow until I got out the doors, where I stood in the night air, drinking in great, gasping breaths.

My fingers shook as I got out my cell phone. God, I needed to hear Jesse’s voice right now. I wanted his arms around me, but I’d settle. Hell, I’d leave a message if Glencannon hadn’t heard about Montoya yet.