Flailing baby hands made it pretty hard for me to get bites of cereal into her mouth. By the time the bowl was empty, I was wearing a good portion of her oatmeal, and she was covered in it. Chuch smirked at me over the edge of his paper.
“You should have like five,” he said.
I nodded. “At least. I’m thinking we’ll just hose off in the backyard.”
“Watch the crime scene tape.”
A cold chill washed over me. For a few moments, playing with Cami, I had forgotten everything. Kel, missing. Chance, trapped between his desire and his destiny. The demons who wanted me to pay my debt and the archangel who wanted my help in changing the world. What amazing power in a child’s laughter—that it could carry me away even for a heartbeat. I wanted to go back to that mental quietus, but it was impossible. The real world had intruded.
But I’d promised Eva I would watch the baby for a while, so I bathed her. By the time I finished, I needed another shower, but there was no time. Cami wanted to play, and it was more exhausting than I would’ve imagined. I was ready for a nap by the time she started fussing and rubbing her eyes.
“That means she’s done,” Chuch said helpfully. “Lay her down. She may complain for a little while but she’ll go to sleep.”
He was right. After five minutes of grumbling, Cami passed out, freeing me to clean up for the second time. I put on jeans, a white lace-trimmed tank top and a long, belted charcoal cardigan. The plain colors fit my mood. I left my hair loose, mostly because I didn’t feel like fooling with it, and I was putting on my shoes when Booke came back.
He was whistling. Which I took to mean that Dolores had lived up to expectations. “Fun night?”
“Better than yours from the looks of it.”
First Jesse, now Booke? What the hell was wrong with these two? “It’s rude to insinuate that a woman looks less than her best.”
He flashed me a charming grin. “And I’m sure I’d care greatly if I were trying to sleep with you.”
I eyed him. “Thanks, I’m sure.”
His good mood dimmed a little; I could see the self-consciousness kick in, as if he was trying to guess whether he’d insulted me. Sometimes British people were incredibly cute. “It’s not personal,” he hastened to assure me. “I do like you. Just—”
“You don’t have to make excuses for not being attracted to me.” I grinned at him. “You made it clear in our dreams that you go for the tall, leggy type. Dolores has far more of that going on than I do.”
“You were having me on then.”
“A little, maybe. Don’t tell me how terrible I look, even when it’s true, and we’re good.”
“Done. Are you off somewhere?”
“Yeah, I’m trying to find Kel.”
“Is he lost?” Alarm flickered across his face, dispelling the satisfied glow.
“I’m afraid he’s trapped.”
Booke appeared to make a quick decision. “Give me a moment and I’ll come with you.”
“You don’t have to.” I was touched, but part of me wished he’d get on with his life. I felt guilty that he wasn’t already on the road, seeing the beauties he had missed while trapped in Stoke. The idea of being an obligation made me feel queasy.
“I want to,” he promised.
I studied his face, and eventually I believed his sincerity. Since it made no sense to argue, I jingled the Pinto keys in my palm. True to his word, Booke was fast in the bathroom, returning with damp hair and fresh clothes five minutes later. On the way to the car, I teased him about making the walk of shame, but since I had to explain what I was talking about, it killed some of the humor. Still, he seemed amused when he got the gist.
“Yes,” he said drily. “It’s very humiliating for the world to know I had intercourse last night. I don’t know how I’ll bear it.”
“Smart ass.”
I got into the Pinto and stuck the key in the ignition. Like most of Chuch’s cars, this one ran well. Not perfectly, but the engine sounded smooth enough, though the exterior looked like crap. The Pinto had patchy paint, bits of primer showing through, two doors didn’t match the sides, and the hood was a different color entirely, making the car resemble a quilt.
“Are we going to that seedy cantina I’ve heard so much about?”
I nodded, putting the car in drive to pull around the garage and onto the street. Without GPS, we’d have to rely on my memory, so this should be fun. However, as I’d been there more than once, maybe I wouldn’t get lost. Maybe.
“Oh, that’s splendid. I can’t express how delighted I am to be having adventures of my own, rather than hearing about them.”
“Stick with me,” I muttered, “and you’ll get more excitement than you really want.”
Booke leveled a sober gaze on me. “Somehow I doubt that.”
Finding Kel
A quick call to Ramon netted me an address for his ex-girlfriend, Caridad. Since I would be arriving today with cash in hand, I didn’t imagine she’d mind seeing me during business hours. Booke, Butch, and I drove downtown, which was a little run-down, populated with Popeyes and cheap clothing stores, along with a shop that sold various designer knockoffs. I got lucky with a parking space, and we only had to walk a block down to the small storefront where Caridad had her shop.
Orange neon rimmed the window and a small palm glowed red at the center. The frosted letters read FORTUNES BY CARIDAD; and the sign with the hours on it had been flipped to OPEN, so I pushed through the door, jangling a bell tied to the top. Booke came up behind me to stand at my shoulder while I took stock of the room; it was decorated like an old-fashioned parlor with velvet and damask furniture in hues of wine and saffron. In the middle sat a table with a black fringed cloth. Handwoven tapestries covered the walls, presumably to make potential patrons forget they were five minutes away from chicken being sold by the bucket.
“The only thing missing is the crystal ball,” Booke said.
I nodded as Caridad came out of the back.
“I suspect you don’t want your palm read,” she said, after she placed me. Booke, she seemed not to recognize at all, which was probably for the best. “So I won’t give you my usual patter about palmistry. What do you need?”
“My friend’s gone missing, and I have reason to believe he may be in trouble. I wondered if there was a way you could scry for him.”
Once, I could’ve cast this spell myself. Now, I’d only be able to do it via demon magick, and I was resolved not to use it, unless it was a matter of life and death. I didn’t know how bad things were for Kel at the moment, so I needed to find out. If it required deploying Dumah to save him, I would . . . but not without further intel. I hoped Caridad wouldn’t check me out with witch sight, then she did.
Her gaze narrowed. “Why should I help you?”
“Because I’m paying cash.”
“Do you have any of his personal effects?” That was the magic word apparently. Caridad cared more about the state of my wallet than for my morality.
I cast a look at Booke and then answered softly, “No. But he and I were lovers once. He said that means we still have a . . . connection.”
“Does your friend have any unusual qualities?”
“Yes, definitely.” If I understood the question correctly, she was asking if he was gifted, or could use magick. Since I wasn’t about to tell her he was Nephilim—or half demon, whatever—that was the most I could reveal.
“Then it’s possible I can scry for him using your blood. Unless this connection he mentioned is strong, however, the results will probably be weak and limited, provided it works at all. The cost for the spell is five hundred dollars, payable up front and regardless of results.”
Without haggling I counted out the bills. “I assume you don’t do your real workings in the front?”
She shook her head. “Let me flip the sign and lock the door. Go on back.”
We passed through a black velvet curtain into a more utilitarian space. Caridad had a stove for cooking potions and salves, a plain wood table, and four rows of shelves filled with various components neatly labeled in glass canisters. Booke took a seat as Caridad joined us. Muttering, the witch set the ingredients she needed on the counter, then she turned to me with a sharp silver athame.
“I need seven drops of your blood in the chalice, please.” Now that she had my money, she was polite and professional, no hint of the arrogance that had colored our interaction at Chuch’s place.
After pricking my finger, I squeezed out the requested amount; then she gave me a gauze pad. “This will take a few moments.”
I nodded. “Anything else?”
“No. Just permit me to focus.”
The hair rose on my arms as she summoned her power. Caridad mixed the herbs along with oil, water, and my blood, which gave it an oddly prismatic effect. As she whispered to the mixture, images resolved in the shimmering liquid, but they were vague and weak; I could only make out what looked like the thrashing of limbs—
But she was frowning. “It looks as if he’s confined. Chained. I can’t make out more, unfortunately. If you had something that belonged to him, I might be able to pinpoint his precise location. But this is the best I can do. I’m sorry.”
I pushed out a slow breath. “It’s fine. I’ll track him down another way. It’s enough to receive confirmation that he needs my help.”
“Was that all?” she asked.
“Yes, thanks for your time.”
Caridad escorted us to the door, unlocked it, and turned the sign back to OPEN. “Please consider me if you need more assistance. Have a good day.”
I supposed there were worse things a witch could be, other than mercenary. Before we set out for La Rosa Negra, I gave Butch a drink and let him stretch his legs on the sidewalk. He promptly found a strip of grass and anointed it. Then he trotted back to me with a cocky Chihuahua strut.
“Done?” I asked.
Affirmative yap.
The trip wasn’t bad if you stuck to the highways.
Driving in Texas was always a bit of a crap shoot, as sometimes there were great ruts in the roads, but not this time. Highway repair crews had been out recently, so the Pinto putted along, reliable if not desirable. Sadly, the route didn’t offer much in the way of scenery—dry scrubland interspersed with rest areas and the occasional overpass oasis. Summer had fried the grass to a fire-hazard brown, and I imagined I could hear it crackling like tinfoil in the breeze as we blew past.
Booke was quiet as we drove, then he seemed to make a decision to exist in the present with me. I could only imagine what memories had been haunting him. He’d lost the woman he loved, a son he hardly knew, and his whole life. This had to feel like a dream to him sometimes, where he feared wakening with all his muscles clenched and in a cold sweat only to find he’d never left the ghost cottage after all.
“Tell me about this cantina.” In his quiet voice I heard the unspoken plea.
Help me forget.
