Shady Lady (Corine Solomon 3)

He filled me with divine heat in one smooth motion, and I arched. His fingers curled around the rope of my braided hair, tugging my mouth to his. We kissed endlessly, our bodies rocking as one. As the heat amplified and his motions quickened, his tats shone brighter. I could feel them on my skin like starbursts.

“Corine,” he murmured. “Binder. Thank you.”

Kelethiel, son of Uriel and Vashti, I whispered back soundlessly. Thank you.

His face struck me as reverent, as if we shared more than our bodies, as if for him, this counted as both prayer and ritual. I responded, letting the sweet glow carry me higher. Sheer intensity ratcheted my need to ferocious levels, and I lost myself in him, bucking and whimpering against his lips. When he came, the sigils on his skin lit in unison, bright and pure and powerful. Answering energy burned out of me like a meteor and fell into his skin. When the glow dimmed and died, there were no new marks on him. No dried blood. Just the old scars. With my fingertips, I found the place where once wings had grown. He shuddered beneath my light touch.

“Will you get in trouble?” I asked.

His head rested in the curve of my shoulder. He did not move. “For what?”

“I just assumed . . .”

His lips lifted against my skin; he was smiling. “I’m not celibate by vow. . . . The rules of your religions do not come from us. We are older than your writings.”

I felt impossibly young and inexperienced beside him, yet safer than I ever had. “Oh. Well, I’m sure you—”

He put a finger on my lips. “I needed to share that with you . . . for many reasons. To fuel my healing, as I said . . . but that’s not the only reason.”

“There’s more?” Please, let it be something good. I needed to hear it, even if there were no promises. I didn’t ask for those . . . just a memory of his voice in the dark.

“You called me back from the pit and asked nothing in return. I know of no other way to express . . . no deeper—” Words failed him then.

“I get it.”

Maybe it seemed strange, but I believed we’d performed some ancient rite, and it also served as a way for him to say, Thank you, and I care. We said with our bodies what we could never speak out loud.

He went on. “Ordinarily . . . I abstain. It is unfair to share such intimacy when I can never stay. And I have spoken too many good-byes.”

That addressed his longevity, but it was more too. The moment they ordered him elsewhere, he would go. That much I knew. It hurt, but it wasn’t an impossible pain. Instead I felt lucky to have this moment; despite everything, I felt perfectly balanced.

“Who was Asherah?”

Behind his eyes, oceans of sorrow rose and fell in moontouched waves. “Someone I loved and lost, long ago.”

That was no answer, but I didn’t press. I hadn’t earned his secrets, even if he was crushing me into the ground, draped over me like a blanket. I hesitated to complain; once he moved away, the moment would become a memory. So I asked something else.

“What does ana dadika mean?” I butchered the pronunciation, but he recognized the phrase.

“Where did you hear that?”

“You whispered it to me.”

“Ah,” he said. “It is Babylonian, and it means, I am made for your love.”

Melancholy washed through me. What wouldn’t I give to have someone say that to me for real? “I’m sorry I’m here instead of her.”

One big hand curved against my cheek. “I’m not.”

My breath caught. Fresh yearning rose and he didn’t try to hide it from me. This time we had no excuse, not even a thin one. We did it again because we wanted to.

The End Is the Beginning Is the End

At daybreak we dressed in clean underwear, filthy clothes, and our hiking boots. The village remained unnaturally quiet. I sensed people watching us through their windows and sometimes I caught movement in my peripheral vision, but when I turned, I saw only closing doors. A few children were bold enough to stare out the windows, but their parents swiftly pulled them away and closed the curtains against us.

The silent message was clear: They weren’t coming out until we were gone. Based on the events of the night before, I understood their caution. Only the churned earth and faint, lingering smell gave a hint what had happened here. Maybe in a few days’ time, this would seem like a collective hallucination, and they’d start to forget. Today, the silent treatment proved a pain in the ass, and I didn’t look forward to more walking, but we wouldn’t receive further assistance. I was glad, however, that none of the villagers had come to harm because of me; I didn’t think I could stand more innocent blood on my conscience.

I ate the last of the protein bars and drew some water from the public well. With a philosophical shrug, I filled my bottle, and Kel did the same. The parasites might bother me, but we needed to keep moving. If we lingered here too long, Montoya’s sorcerer might send something else, something worse, though that defied imagination. Since I hadn’t known demons could be summoned in corporeal form, there was no telling what gruesome surprises lay in store.

In silence, I led the way toward the church, intending to ask the priest for directions, but the doors were closed, and he didn’t respond to my tentative knock. I glanced up at Kel, who said, “The best thing we can do is move along.”

Since I agreed, I didn’t argue. Logistics posed a problem, however. “But where?”

He canted his head while the day brightened around us, as if listening to silent voices. Then he pointed. “That way.”

“Did your archangel tell you how far it is too?”

Kel almost smiled. “No. I don’t call him—he calls me.”

“Oh.” I fell into step beside him. The dirt track led toward gently rising hills. “So what did you do just now?”

Once, I never would’ve bothered asking, but there was something between us now, even if impossible, ephemeral, and fragile as spider silk. He waited to answer until we had left the village some distance behind. I concentrated on walking.

“I can . . . ask questions,” he said eventually. “Mine information.”

“Kind of like a divine Internet?” The concept amused me.

“A little. But it’s not as comprehensive.” He looked as if he wanted to explain further, but in the end, he chose not to, and I didn’t press.

The path led toward the mountains in the distance, hulking and dark, wreathed in mist at their peaks, but the way before them lay green and bright. My steps followed a route that looked as though it had been worn by horses and donkey carts. I didn’t think cars had ever been out this way. It would take a helicopter to reach this hidden valley.

For this last leg of our journey, we had water, but no food. I regulated my sips and kept walking. In the distance eucalyptus groves rose, slim and straight, but far enough that we wouldn’t pass through unless the path turned. Instead we trudged through pampas grass, interspersed with the brightness of coral trees, orchids, dusty ferns, and lady’s slipper. Other plants defied my ability to name them, blooming in a profusion of yellow, scarlet, and shades of pink. The landscape was a study in contrasts: here brown, there green, prickly and delicate by turns. I particularly admired a plant with veined oval leaves and red bell-shaped flowers that hung in a graceful cluster.

Now and then, Kel slipped off to forage; he found breadfruit, wild potatoes, and a couple of custard apples. The first two needed to be cooked, but we could eat the latter now. As if in response to my thought, he broke one of the apples in half and I took the offering. Inside, the green tuberculated fruit was pale, dotted with dark seeds. I pried those out and tossed them away; then I ate greedily, finding the taste a perfect blend of pineapple, strawberry, and mango. I’d never had anything so good. Using my fingers, I scraped out the last bit and then dropped the skin.

“There’s another one,” he said, “but we should save it for later.”

I nodded. After taking a little more water, I had the energy to go on. My muscles burned, and I had bruises and cuts from the confrontation with Caim; I didn’t mention them. Kel might feel compelled to heal me again, and my crazy reaction to his blood sounded worse than bearing the pain.

Come nightfall, he built a fire and roasted the breadfruit and potatoes on sticks. By that point, I was ravenous, and could hardly wait for the food to cook, let alone cool. I burned my tongue as I ate and didn’t care at all. Insects and birds serenaded through the meal, though the smoke kept the worst of the former away. Kel broke the last custard apple and I devoured it as dessert. The temperature dropped enough for me to be grateful for the sleeping bag after we finished the meal.

It’s a good thing he didn’t go comatose, I reflected. I would’ve had no way to get out of the village, no way to move him, and the villagers’ animosity would’ve manifested, if Kel had been unconscious. One lone woman wouldn’t seem like a threat with her protector down. If the Peruvian villagers weren’t worrisome enough, failure to move on would’ve earned Montoya’s sorcerer another shot at us. Without him, I wouldn’t know which way to travel or how to find food.

Even now, he protected me, per his orders, but it was more too. He set his sleeping bag no more than five inches from my own. Part of me wanted a repeat of the night before by crackling firelight, beneath this star-studded sky, though the rest of me knew it would be ludicrously unwise.

“Will you remember?” I asked into the silence.

Maybe time fades it. Maybe he won’t. But, I told myself, he recalls Asherah. And there was no telling how long ago he’d lost her. While I awaited his reply, lyrics from an old Sarah McLachlan song ran through my head.

But Kel knew what I meant, and his answer pierced my heart. “Yes. Always.”

That was comfort of a sort. Even when I died, as I inevitably must, last night guaranteed me some form of immortality. Silence fell and I closed my eyes.

In the morning, we had the rest of the breadfruit and potatoes. We walked on.

Eventually the track widened and went from dirt to rough pavement. Miles farther, I heard the roar of a distant engine. Civilization at last.

I waved my arms frantically as the rattletrap truck barreled toward us. A raised thumb might not convey the urgency. At first, the driver passed us, and my heart sank, but he slowed and pulled to the shoulder. Without looking at Kel, I summoned the last of my energy and sprinted toward the vehicle.

A quick conversation and the last of the cash convinced the driver to take us to the nearest city, where he was headed anyway. At his request, we got in back. I didn’t blame him; we smelled pretty rank.

The trip took most of the day, and the wind whipped my face like mad, but the weather was clear, and by dark, we arrived in Huánuco. This city was big enough that our appearance drew attention in a different way from in the village.

The streets were narrow, cobbled in places. Many of the homes were adobe, as in Mexico, but there was a faintly Mediterranean influence as well in the open terraces and breezy arches. Stone walls marched up gentle inclines to the market; this was a proper zócalo filled with merchants, artists, and artisans in a beautifully landscaped garden. We didn’t linger there.