Shady Lady (Corine Solomon 3)

This was my breaking point—even a cornered rat would fight, sometimes with more ferocity than folks believed possible. While I hated the necessity, I wouldn’t shrink from it. They had gone too far. I didn’t want this. I hadn’t started it. But from this point on, I would make an implacable adversary; I would protect the people I loved.

I set the bags down and scoped out the place thoroughly—two bedrooms, living room, kitchen, and bath. One bedroom had a full-size bed; the other offered bunk beds. I guessed this was where they stashed their women and children. The furniture was clean, despite the neighborhood, and the door had a heavy steel core. Seven dead bolts, plus a chain and crossbar reinforced it. Clearly they didn’t mean for anyone to get in who didn’t belong.

“You know he might have family there,” she said softly. “People who haven’t done anything. There might be staff who don’t know what he does for a living, only that he pays well.”

“I considered all of that.”

“And you’re still going through with it?” I hated the disillusionment in her voice. She rested her elbows on her knees and wouldn’t look me in the eyes.

“Escobar made it clear I need to drive Montoya crazy. I have to push him over the edge if he’s going to contact me, so I can arrange a meet.” Where he’ll be shot like a dog. “And I don’t know how to accomplish it other than to pay him with his own coin. There may be casualties. I accept the risk.”

“I see your point,” she said dully. “But I’m glad it’s not on my conscience.”

There was nothing I could say. I had already let slip the dogs of war, so I merely got out my cell phone. I called the FedEx customer-service line and spent twenty minutes being transferred around, while I gave people the tracking number of the package Tia had sent from Mexico. In the end, I managed to get the grimoires rerouted. The perky rep promised I’d have my package in the morning.

“We should get some sleep,” I told Shannon.

“I guess.”

I hesitated, wishing I could make up for disappointing her like this. “You can have the big bed if you want.”

“Whatever. I’m going to check my e-mail.”

Her attitude hurt, but I couldn’t rouse any anger. It was a good thing I wasn’t officially a witch, part of some coven, or this path would get me booted for violating the “do as ye will, an it harm none” tenet. I took the lower bunk bed as a sort of penance, and my dreams that night were uneasy.

In the morning, I awoke to pounding on the apartment door. I’d slept in my clothes, so I rolled out of bed fully dressed with my heart hammering. Nobody should know we’re here. Still, I stopped off at the kitchen for a knife. Stupid as it seemed, I felt better with a weapon in hand, even if I couldn’t use it expertly. Anything that could break down the door would likely eat me in one bite. Nonetheless, I braced myself.

I peered out the peephole, and I recognized Petrel first. His height made him memorable. Relief blazed through me. After undoing all the locks, I let them in. They carried the smell of fire and smoke with them, and they all wore wolfish smiles. No visible injuries.

I asked nonetheless, “How’d it go?”

“No major hitches,” Morales said.

“Do you have a phone?”

He nodded, so I extended a hand for it and programmed my number in. “If you need to get in touch with me, that’s how.”

Hesitantly, Santos offered me a package. “Are you expecting this? Should we dunk it? We pulled up just as the delivery guy was about to leave.”

“No, don’t.” I snagged it from him, recognizing Tia’s spidery writing on the label. “It’s definitely for me.”

Shit, I’d forgotten there was no way into the building from the front. Those doors were boarded up, as if the place had been condemned. They must’ve intimidated the driver into handing the parcel over. I couldn’t worry about a FedEx driver’s bad day, however.

“García wanted to chuck it,” Petrel said.

“Well, you wanted to open it, cabrón.”

They were like children, fighting to impress the schoolteacher. I stifled a sigh.

“Good work, all of you. Head home and get some sleep. I want you all back here tonight for round two, because that was only the beginning.” I made a point of patting Morales on the shoulder, because he was young and cocky, and he’d least suspect a casual touch. Sure enough, he smirked as he made his way to the door.

As the soldiers left, Shannon stumbled into the living room, where I sat opening the package. Tia had wrapped the grimoires in newspaper, so it smudged off on my fingers. I washed my hands after I threw the paper away; I didn’t want to stain the pages. These books were incredibly old, and they summoned a mental image of my mother as soon as I took the first one in my lap.

“Oh, wow,” Shannon breathed. From her tone, she’d either forgotten she was mad at me or the grimoires trumped her anger. “Can I see?”

“Sure, but don’t read any of the incantations aloud.”

I handed her the blue one—with runes etched in silver, it was the smallest and contained the most advanced spells. I wouldn’t try those for a long time, assuming I could make the magic work at all.

“Okay. I’ll be careful.” She touched the engraved cover with reverent hands.

The one I held was oversize and bound in vermilion leather; before she died, my mother had let me practice some charms. I couldn’t remember whether I’d ever gotten one to function properly. I just knew I’d enjoyed spending time with her, measuring the herbs and saying the words. These were blessings, mostly, and mild spells. With these, I could make someone crave strawberries or give them a gentle run of luck; it was suitable for children.

Taking a deep breath, I opened a spell book for the first time in many years. Even the smell—old paper and ink—filled me with nostalgia. I could almost hear my mother murmuring, Be careful with that, Corine.

I flipped through the book until I found the spell I wanted. Nothing heavy, nothing difficult or sophisticated. Eyes fixed on the page, I memorized the chant. This was it—the big test.

Taking a deep breath, I went to the kitchen and rummaged for a plain white ceramic dish and a book of matches. I set both items on the table. Across the saucer, I laid a strand of Morales’s hair, the one I’d stolen. Thus fueled, if I couldn’t make this spell work, I never would. It was that simple.

With my eyes closed, I created a mental image of Morales: his black hair with a hint of a wave, his liquid brown eyes and caramel skin. I added the cocksure smile and the glint in his eyes, the hint of a swagger in his step. Then I sent the heat of my gift to fuel the compulsion; the same fire that burned me when I read an object would touch him, just a whisper.

Once I held his visage firmly in mind, I whispered, “By fire, earth, wind, and rain, you will not rest until you hear my voice again. As I will, so mote it be.” In speaking the last words, I struck the match and burned his hair until there was nothing left but the lingering smell.

Shannon came to the doorway of the kitchen, watching with a raised brow. “What did you do? Did it work?”

I don’t know, I started to say.

And then my cell phone rang.

Swerve

After assuring Morales we were fine, I disconnected.

Shannon stared at me with a touch of amazement. “You made him call you.”

“I think so, yeah.”

“What else can you do?”

“I can make breakfast.” Sadly, I found only instant oatmeal in the kitchen. In sealed cartons, it kept better than milk or eggs.

But it was sustenance, so I made it and doctored the bowls with packets of sweetener and instant milk. The time in the jungle with Kel had reduced my standards on what constituted a meal. We ate in silence.

“Are we just hanging around here all day until they get back?”

I was torn. “If I’m going to practice, I need supplies.”

“Like what?”

“An athame and a chalice, for starters.” I paused, sighing a little. “If my mom had lived, or if they had managed to save more of her things, I’d have hers.”

“I’m sorry,” Shannon said softly.

“For what?”

“Judging you.”

“It’s understandable.” I didn’t like the path I’d chosen any more than she did, and sometimes only the fact that Kel had endorsed it made it bearable. Which spoke volumes—once, I’d thought him crazy as bedbug; now I considered him a moral compass. Surely his archangel wouldn’t give him orders that resulted in a gross loss of innocent life. Would he? No. I shook my head, trying to reassure myself.

“Not really,” she said. “I mean, I have my own regrettable shit. I left my dad, knowing he felt guilty, when it would’ve meant everything to him if I’d given him some hint I didn’t blame him for the Kilmer clusterfuck.” She bent her head, so that black hair hid her face. “But the truth is, he was supposed to protect me, you know? And I don’t know if I’ll ever trust him again.”

Wow. I didn’t know how to respond since I tended to hold a grudge. It took a fair amount to get me riled, but once somebody landed on my list, I almost never changed my mind. Yet I didn’t feel comfortable preaching the Dead to Me philosophy when Jim Cheney was Shannon’s closest relative.

“I guess you give it time. When missing him outweighs the anger, then you go see him.”

She pushed her bangs back, blue gaze steady on mine. “What if it never does?”

“Honestly, I try not to think about the future when it’s hard enough to get through a single day.”

“Carpe diem.”

“Exactly. Do you have your laptop?”

In answer, she got it out of her backpack. I waved her over to the desk, where there appeared to be a cable. I plugged in, booted up, and found we had Internet. Shannon must’ve discovered that last night; I remembered her saying she was going to check e-mail.

“What’re you doing?”

While Shan watched, I pulled up Area 51, a hidden bulletin board that pretended to be full of conspiracy theorists, when gifted humans—those with weird abilities, like Shannon and me—actually populated it. I skimmed the general posts, more curiosity than anything else. Telepath looking for love in Atlanta. White witch new to Chicago seeks coven. Palm reading and tarot, first session free—Newport Beach. Then I moved to the business listings, which was why I’d pulled up the site. Seeing her curiosity, I decided to make this a teaching moment. I was supposed to be her mentor, even if I hadn’t offered her much worth learning lately.

“In most cities,” I explained, “the true witch stores run quietly. They don’t advertise in the Yellow Pages or put their information on the Net for the general public. So if you find a ‘New Age’ place that way, chances are they sell fakery stuff, gewgaws and worthless inventory. Nothing you could really use to cast a spell.”

“So you’re looking for a real one.”