Obsidian Butterfly

35

EDWARD LET ME drive his Hummer to the hospital. He stayed behind to wait for the witch. She was Donna's friend so he'd play Ted and hold her hand through the crime scene. It would be her very first crime scene. Talk about being thrown in at the deep end to sink or swim. Even I'd had a gentler introduction to police work than this.

Olaf stayed to commune with the bodies. Fine with me. I did not want to be in a car, or any small confined space with Olaf without Edward along to chaperone. I think the police and the Feds would have gladly given him to me for the ride, though. All he'd really done was confirm my supposition that the killer would not have willingly left his trophies behind, though Olaf knew less about magic than I did. He didn't know why the killer left. I was the only one with a scenario for that, and even I would be relieved if the wicca practitioner seconded my opinion. If she didn't, then we were truly out of guesses.

In fact, almost no one wanted to go with me. Franklin thought I was nuts. What did I mean, the survivors weren't survivors, but the living dead? Bradley wasn't willing to leave Franklin as the ranking agent on site. The geology maps were on the way, and I don't think he wanted Franklin in charge of the search. Marks wouldn't leave the scene to the Feds, and he also thought I was nuts. Ramirez and one uniform followed me in an unmarked car.

I didn't really think they'd find the monster. There had been no track. No tracks meant either it could fly or it dematerialized. Either way they weren't going to find it, not on foot, not with maps. So I felt free to go to the hospital.

Another reason to go into Albuquerque was that Edward had found me a name. A man who was known as a brujo, a witch. Donna had only given "Ted" the name on the condition it would not be used to harm the man. She'd only been given the name on the strict understanding that no harm would come to him. The one who gave up the name didn't want the brujo to come back and hurt her. He would work evil spells for money, as well as personal vengeance. If you could prove in court that he performed real magic for nefarious purpose, it was an automatic death sentence. His name was Nicandro Baco, and he was supposed to be a necromancer. If he were, he'd be the first one, other than me, that I'd ever met. The name came with one other warning. Be careful of him. He was much more dangerous than he looked. Just what I needed ¨C a necromancer with an attitude. Oh, wait, I was a necromancer with an attitude. If he got shitty with me, we'd see who was the bigger fish. Was that a chip on my shoulder or overconfidence? We'd see.

Oh, and Bernardo went with me. He sat in the passenger seat slumped down until the seatbelt I'd insisted he wear cut across his neck. His handsome face was set in a scowl, arms crossed over his chest. I think he'd have crossed his legs if he'd had room. Words like closed-off, brooding,came to mind.

Shadows stretched across the road, though there were no trees or buildings to cast them. It was like the shadows just spilled out of the earth itself to lie across the road like a promise of the night to come. If you went by the watch on my wrist, it was early evening. If you went by the level of daylight, it was late afternoon. We had about three hours of daylight left. I drove through the gathering shadows with a feeling of urgency pressing against me. I wanted to be at the hospital before dark. I didn't know why, and I didn't question it. We were being followed by a police car. Surely, they could fix the ticket.

It was frightening how quickly and smoothly the car went over eighty without me noticing it. There was something about the roads and the way they spilled out and out across the empty landscape that made lower speeds seem like crawling. I kept it at a solid eighty, and Ramirez kept up with me. He seemed to be the only one who believed me. Maybe he felt the urgency, too. The silence in the car wasn't exactly companionable, but it wasn't uncomfortable either. Besides, I had enough problems without playing crying shoulder for one of Edward's sociopathic friends.

Bernardo broke the silence. "I saw you and that detective getting it on there in the grass."

I frowned at him. He was watching me with hostile eyes. I think he was trying to pick a fight, though I didn't know why. "We were not 'getting it on'," I said.

"Looked pretty cozy to me."

"Jealous?" I asked.

His face hardened, thinning into angry lines. "So you do sleep around. Just not with us bad guys."

I shook my head. "It was a comforting hug, not that it's any of your business."

"Didn't think you were the comforting hug type."

"I'm not."

"So," he said.

"So this case is getting to me."

"I hear that," he said.

I glanced at him. His face was turned away, only a thin rim of profile showing through his hair like the moon just before it goes dark.

I turned back to the road. If he didn't want eye contact, fine with me. "I thought you were avoiding the pictures and forensic stuff," I said.

"I've been here two weeks longer than you have. I've seen the pictures. I've seen the bodies. I don't need to see it all again."

"What exactly did you and Edward quarrel about today?"

"Quarrel," he said and gave a low chuckle. "Yeah, you could say we quarreled."

"What about?"

"I don't know why the hell I'm here. Tell me what or who to shoot, and I'll do it. I'll even guard bodies if the price is right. But there's nothing to shoot at. Nothing but dead bodies. I don't know shit about magic."

"I thought you were a licensed bounty hunter that specialized in preternatural critters."

"I was with Edward when he cleaned out a nest of lycanthropes in Arizona. Fifteen of them. We mowed them down with machine guns and grenades." He had an almost wistful tone to his voice. Ah, the good ol' days. "Before that I'd killed two rogue lycanthropes, but afterwards I got a lot of calls for this shit. I took the ones that were basically just hits. The only difference was that the vic wasn't human. Those I could handle, but I am not a detective. Call me in when the kill is in sight, and I'll be there, but not this. This fucking waiting around, looking for clues. Who the hell looks for clues? We're assassins, not Sherlock Holmes."

He shifted in his seat, and struggled to sit up straighter, arms still holding himself tight. He did the headshake to get the hair back away from his face. The headshake is a very feminine gesture. A man has to be muy macho for it not to be. Bernardo managed.

"Maybe he assumed that since you helped him out with the shapeshifters that you'd be useful with this."

"He was wrong."

I shrugged. "Then go home."

"I can't"

I glanced at him. I could see most of his profile, and it was a nice one. "You owe him a favor, too?"

"Yes."

"Mind me asking what sort of favor?"

"Same as you."

"You killed one of his other backups?"

He nodded, and had to run his hands through his hair to slide it back from his face.

"Want to talk about it?"

"Why?" He looked at me, and his face, for one of the few times, wasn't teasing, but serious, even solemn. He looked less handsome without the smile and glow in his eyes, but he also seemed more real. Being real will get me into trouble faster than any amount of charm. "Do you want to talk about how you killed Harley?" he asked.

"Not really."

"Then why did you ask?"

"You seem uptight. I thought it might help to talk, or is that just a girl thing?"

He smiled, and it almost reached his eyes. "I think it's a girl thing because I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay, let's talk about something else."

"What?" He was staring out the far window now, one shoulder pressed against the glass. The road went down between two hills, and the world was suddenly dark gray. We were literally running out of daylight. But this last attack had most definitely been a daylight attack. So why was I so worried about the coming night? Maybe it was just years of hunting vampires, where darkness meant that we humans no longer had any advantage. I hoped it was just old habits, but the fluttering in my stomach didn't think that was it.

"How long have you known Edward?" I asked.

"About six years."

"Shit," I said.

He looked at me then. "What's wrong?"

"I've known him for five. I was hoping you'd known him longer."

He grinned at me. "Wanting to pump me for information, eh?"

"Something like that."

He turned in the seatbelt until most of his body was facing me, one leg drawn up into the seat. "Let me pump you, and you can pump me all you want." His voice had dropped a notch or two. His head was to one side, the hair sweeping across the seat like black fur.

I shook my head. "You're horny, and I'm available. That isn't very flattering, Bernardo."

He moved back in his seat, sweeping his hair back to his side of the seat. "Now that is a girl thing."

"What is?"

"Complicating things, needing the sex to be about something more than sex."

"I don't know. I know a guy or two that make it just as complicated."

"You don't sound happy with him or them."

"Did Edward call you before Olaf or after?" I asked.

"After, but you're changing the subject."

"No, I'm not. Edward is an expert on people. He knows who to call for any given situation, for any kill. Olaf makes sense. I make sense. You don't make sense. He knows that this isn't your type of crime."

"You lost me."

"Edward encouraged me to sleep with you."

Bernardo looked at me, shocked, I think. Nice to know he could be. "Edward match making. We are talking about the same Edward, right?"

"Maybe Donna has changed him," I said.

"Nothing changes Edward. He's a mountain. He's just there."

I nodded. "True, but he wasn't encouraging me to pick out curtains with you. He said, and I quote, 'What you need is a nice uncomplicated fuck.' "

Bernardo's eyebrows went up into his hair. "Edward said that?"

"Yeah, he did."

He was looking at me now. I could feel his gaze on me even while watching the road. It wasn't sexual now. It was intense. I had his attention. "Are you saying that Edward brought me on to tempt you?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it's just a coincidence. But he's not happy with my choice of lovers."

"First, there are no coincidences when it comes to Edward. Second, who could you possibly be sleeping with that would bother Edward? He wouldn't care if you were doing your dog."

I ignored the last comment, because I couldn't think of a comeback for it. Though notice I didn't disagree. Usually, Edward just wanted to know if you could shoot. Anything else was not important. "I'll answer your question, if you answer mine first."

"Try me."

"You may look like the cover boy for the Native American GQ, but there's no sense of you coming from a different culture?"

"Too white for you?" and his voice was angry. I'd touched the chip on his shoulder.

"Look, my mother's family is Mexican American, and you have a sense of their culture when you interact with them. My father's family is German, and they'll say things, do things that are sort of European or have a foreign flavor to them. You don't seem to have any specific culture or background. You talk like generic middle America, like television or something."

He looked at me, and he was angry now. "My mother was white. My father was Indian. I'm told he died before I was born. She gave me up at birth. No one wanted a little mixed baby, so I went from one foster home to another. When I was eighteen, I joined the army. They found out I could shoot. I killed things for my country for a few years. Then I went freelance. And here I am." His voice had grown increasingly bitter until it almost hurt to hear it.

Saying I was sorry would have been insulting. Saying I understood would have been a lie. Thanks for answering the question seemed wrong, too.

"Nothing to say?" he asked. "Shocked? Sorry for me? Give me a little pity sex."

I looked at him then. "It someone has sex with you, it isn't out of pity, and you damn well know it."

"But you don't want to have sex with me."

"It's not because of your ethnicity, or lack thereof, or your background. I've got two guys waiting for me at home. Two is one too many. Three would be ridiculous."

"Why doesn't Edward like them?" Bernardo asked.

"One's a werewolf and the other is a vampire." My words were bland, but I watched his face long enough to see the reaction. He gaped at me.

He finally closed his mouth, and said, "You're the Executioner, scourge of the undead. How can you be doing a vampire?"

"I'm not sure I can answer that question, even to myself. But currently, I'm not doing him at all."

"Did you think the werewolf was human? Was he trying to pass?"

"At first, but not for long. I knew what he was when I took him to my bed."

He let out a low whistle. "Edward hates the monsters. But I didn't think he'd give a damn if one of his backups slept with them."

"He cares. I don't know why, but he does."

"So he thought what? That one night with me would change your religion? Make you swear off the monsters?" He was staring at me now, studying my face. "I've heard that shapeshifters can change the shape of their bodies at will. Is that true?"

"Some of them can," I said. We were in the outskirts of Albuquerque. Strip malls and fast food restaurants.

"Can your boyfriend?"

"Yes."

"Can he change the shape of all his body, at will?"

I felt the blush roll up my neck into my face and couldn't stop it.

Bernardo laughed. "I guess he can."

"No comment."

He was still laughing softly to himself, a very masculine chuckle. "Is your vampire an old one?"

"Four hundred years and counting," I said. We'd left the strip malls behind and turned into a residential area. We were coming up to the first landmark on the directions Edward had given me. We'd used up nearly an hour of daylight. I almost drove past the turnoff to Nicandro Baco's place, but if I was right, if the thing we were dealing with was another type of undead from any that I'd ever heard of, then another necromancer might be nice to have around. For all I knew, this type of undead was a regional specialty, and Baco would know more than I did. I turned, checking the rearview to see that Ramirez was still behind me. We were actually all going the speed limit.

"Can you read the directions to me?" I asked.

He didn't answer, just picked the piece of paper up off the dashboard, and began reading off street names. "You're safe on the directions for a little bit. Let's get back to our little talk."

I frowned at him. "Do we have to?"

"Let me get this straight," Bernardo said. "You've been shacking up with a shapeshifter that has such fine control of his body that he can make any one part of it ... bigger."

"Or smaller," I said. I was counting streetlights, under my breath. Didn't want to miss the turn. We had time to see this guy and get to the hospital before dark, but not if we got badly lost.

"No man makes things smaller during sex. I don't care what he is, he's still male."

I shrugged. I was not going to discuss Richard's size with Bernardo. The only person I had discussed it with had been Ronnie, and that had been over much giggling, while she shared embarrassing facts about her boyfrieind Louie. It has been my experience that women tell more intimate details to their friends than men do. Men may brag more, but women will talk the nitty gritty and share the experience more.

"So, where was I?" Bernardo said. "Ah, you're doing this shapeshifter that has such fine control of his body that he can make any part bigger or smaller at will."

I squirmed in the seat, but finally nodded.

Bernardo smiled happily. "And you're doing a vampire that has been having sex for over four hundred years." He suddenly sounded faux-British. "Can one assume that he is well-skilled by now?"

The blush that had been fading came back with a burn. I'd almost have welcomed darkness to hide behind. "Yes," I said.

"Shit, girlfriend, I may be good, but I'm not that good. I am just a poor mortal boy. I can't compete with the lord of the undead and the wolfman."

We were in a section of town that seemed nearly deserted. Gas station with bars on the windows and graffiti spread across everything like a contagious disease. The storefront across from it had boarded up windows and more graffiti. The afternoon was still thick with reflected sunlight, but somehow the light didn't quite reach the street, as if there was something here that kept it at bay. The skin on my back crept so hard, I jumped.

"What's wrong?" Bernardo asked.

I shook my head. My mouth was suddenly dry. I knew we had arrived before he called out, "There it is, Los Duendos, the dwarves."

The air was thick and oppressive with the weight of magic. Death magic. Either they had just killed something to gain power for a spell or they were actively working with the dead right at this very moment. Since the sun was still up, that was a trick. Most animators couldn't raise the dead until after dark. Theoretically, I am powerful enough to raise the dead at high noon, but I don't. I was told once that the only reason I couldn't do it was that I believed I couldn't do it. But Nicandro Baco didn't seem to share my doubts. Maybe I wouldn't be the biggest fish after all. Now I got an attack of the doubts. Too late to get Edward down here for backup. If Baco got a whiff of police, he'd either run, be uncooperative, or try to hurt us. His power breathed along my body, and I was still sitting in the car. What was he going to be like in person? Bad. How bad? As the old saying goes, only one way to find out.

36

I'D PULLED INTO a deserted parking lot about two blocks down and around the corner from the bar. Ramirez had pulled in beside me, and he and the uniform, Officer Rigby, walked over to us. Rigby was medium height, well built, and moved like he worked out. He had an easy confidence, and a ready smile that went all the way to his eyes. He was entirely too comfortable in his own skin, as if nothing really bad had ever touched him. He lacked entirely that air that most policemen have of having been ridden hard and put up wet. He looked older than I was, but his eyes were younger, and I resented that.

Ramirez had spent his drive time checking out Nicandro Baco, alias Nicky Baco. He was suspected of murders, but witnesses had a strange way of disappearing or forgetting what they'd seen. He was associated with a local biker gang, ah, club. Biker gangs now preferred the more politically correct term of club, according to Ramirez. The local "club" was called Los Lobos. "Not to be confused with the music group," Ramirez said.

I'd blinked at him. Then I got the joke. "Oh, yeah, Los Lobos, the music group."

He looked at me. "Are you all right?"

I nodded. Even two blocks away I could feel a touch of Baco's magic. I was betting if someone took the time, they'd find spells, charms, wards, set up here and there in the surrounding area. I didn't think he was aware of me yet. I think the only reason I'd sensed him so strongly was he was in the middle of a spell. The charms were scattered around the neighborhood to give off a certain unease. He might have literally driven the other businesses out of business. Illegal, as well as unethical. Of course, why he'd want to destroy the entire economy of the area surrounding his bar was a mystery to me. I'd worry about it later. Murder and mayhem first. Possible real estate scam later. Some days you just have to prioritize.

"The Lobos are small and local, but they've got a bad rep," Ramirez said.

"How bad?" I asked.

"Drug running, murder, murder for hire, assault, assault with a deadly, attempted murder, rape, kidnapping."

Bernardo said, "Kidnapping?" As if the other crimes were to be expected but not the last.

Ramirez looked at him, and his eyes went from friendly to cool. He didn't like Bernardo for some reason. "We think they abducted a teenage girl, but nobody ever surfaced, and the only witness just saw her being dragged into a van that looked like one that their leader, Roland Sanchez, owned at the time. But a lot of people own gray vans."

"Have you had a lot of disappearing teenage girls?" I asked.

"Our share, but no, we haven't noticed a pattern of young women being abducted by the gang. I'm not saying they won't do it, but they're not making a habit of it."

"Glad to hear it," I said.

Ramirez smiled. "You're armed, and ... " He handed me a slender cellphone. "Press this button and it'll call this phone." He held up a matching phone. "Rigby and I will come running with backup."

My eyes flicked to Rigby, who actually tipped his hat at me. "At your service, ma'am."

Ma'am? Either he was five years younger than he looked, or he used ma'am for all women. I turned from his peaceful eyes to Ramirez. His eyes were kind but they weren't peaceful. He'd seen too much of life for true tranquility. I liked his eyes better. "You're not going to try and argue me out of just Bernardo and I walking into the bar?"

"We suspect Baco of using magic to kill people. That is an automatic death sentence. If he gets a whiff of police, then he'll clam up and start asking for a lawyer. If you want information from him, you'll have to play ordinary citizen. Now, if you planned to go in there alone without Bernardo or some man with you, then I'd argue."

I frowned at him. "I can take care of myself."

He shook his head. "In the world that this gang runs in, women do not exist except through men."

My frown deepened. "You've lost me."

"All women are either someone's mother, daughter, wife, sister, girlfriend, lover. They would not know what the hell to do with you, Anita. Go in as Bernardo's girlfriend." He had his hand up, stopping me from interrupting before I could even open my mouth and try. "Trust me on this. You need to have some sort of status that they can grasp quickly and easily. Flashing your animator's license is too close to a badge. No woman in her right mind would just wander in there for a drink. You have to be something." He glanced at Bernardo not like he was happy. "I'd go in with you as your boyfriend, but like it or not, I look like a cop, or so I've been told."

I looked at him. I wasn't sure what it was about most policemen, but after a while they really did look like cops, even off duty sometimes. It was partially the clothes, partially some indefinable air of authority or bad attitude or something. Whatever "it" was, Ramirez had it. Rigby was in uniform, and I wouldn't have taken him as backup anyway. He made me nervous with his air of contentment. Policemen should never be that well pleased with themselves. It means they haven't had much experience yet.

I looked at Bernardo's smirking face. "Agreed, under protest."

"Good," Ramirez said, but he was looking at Bernardo, too, like he didn't like the look on his face. He held a finger up near the taller man's face. "You get out of line in there with Anita, and I will personally make you sorry for it."

Bernardo's eyes drifted from amused to cool. It reminded me of the way Edward's eyes lost emotion until they were empty and somehow harsh.

I stepped between them, enough to get both of them looking at me. "I can take care of myself when it comes to Bernardo, Detective Ramirez. Thanks anyway." I'd used his title to remind Bernardo who and what he was. Even Edward treaded soft around the cops.

Ramirez's face had closed down, empty. "Suit yourself, Ms. Blake."

I realized that he thought I'd used his title because I was angry with him. Shit. Why was I always ass deep in male egos in the middle of any given crisis?

"It's okay, Hernando. I just like to remind everyone that I'm a big girl." I touched his arm lightly.

He looked at me, and his eyes softened. "Okay." That was male short hand for apology and apology accepted. Though truthfully if one of the parties involved hadn't been female, the short hand would have been shorter.

I stepped away from both of them and changed the subject. "Amazing how many bad guys and monsters will talk to me and not the police."

He nodded, face still serious. "Amazing. That's one word for it." The look he gave me was so studied, so searching, that I wondered if he'd been checking me out as well as Baco.

I didn't ask. I didn't really want to know. But he was right about Baco. If he was what people said, then he wouldn't want the police anywhere near his homes or his work area. They were not kidding about the automatic death penalty. The last execution in this country of a spell caster had been two months ago. It had been in California, which is not a death penalty state for any other crime.

They'd tried and convicted a sorcerer, or would that be sorceress, of trafficking with the demonic. She'd used a demon to kill her sister so she'd inherit the parents' estate. They suspected she'd also killed her parents, but they couldn't prove that. And who cared? They could only kill her once. I'd read some of the trial transcript. She'd been guilty. I had no doubt on that point. But it had been three months from arrest, to conviction, to the carrying out of the sentence. It was unheard of in the American justice system. Hell, it usually takes longer than that to get a hearing date, let alone a full-blown trial. But even California had learned its lesson a few years back. They'd arrested a sorcerer for very similar crimes. They'd tried to give the sorcerer the usual wait for a trial because some congressman or other was arguing that the death penalty shouldn't be allowed even in cases of magical assassination.

That sorcerer had called a greater demon in his cell. It killed every guard on the cellblock, and some of the prisoners. He'd finally been tracked down with the help of a coven of white wiccans. The death total had been forty-two, forty-three, something like that. He was killed during the capture attempt. He took thirty slugs, which meant people had emptied their clips into his body once it went down. For none of the police to get caught in the crossfire, they must have been standing over him, pointing down. Overkill, you bet, but I didn't blame them. They never did find all the body parts of the guards at the prison.

New Mexico was a death penalty state. I was betting that they would be able to beat California's three months turn-around from arrest to completion of sentence. I mean, after all, in this state they might actually put you to death for a good old-fashioned murder. Add magic to it, and they'd be scattering your ashes to the wind faster than you could say Beelzebub.

The actual method of execution is the same for everyone. America does not allow burning at the stake for any crime. But after you're dead, they burn the body to ash if you were convicted of a crime involving magic. Then they scatter the ashes, usually into running water. Very traditional.

There are parts of Europe where it's still legal to burn a "witch" at the stake. There's more than one reason that I don't travel outside the country much.

"Anita, are you still with us?" Ramirez asked.

I blinked. "Sorry, just thinking about the last execution in California. I don't blame Baco for being worried."

Ramirez shook his head. "Me, either. Be very careful. These are bad people."

"Anita knows about bad people," Bernardo said.

The two men looked at each other, and again I got that hint that Ramirez didn't like him. Bernardo seemed to be teasing him. Did they know each other?

I decided to ask. "Do you guys know each other?"

They both shook their heads. "Why?" Bernardo asked.

"You guys seem to have some sort of personal shit going on."

Bernardo smiled then, and Ramirez looked uncomfortable. "It's not personal with me," Bernardo said.

Rigby turned away, coughing. If I hadn't known better, I'd have said he was covering a laugh.

Ramirez ignored him, all attention for Bernardo. "I know Anita knows how to handle herself around the bad guys, but a knife blade in the back doesn't care how good you are. The Lobos pride themselves on using blades instead of guns."

"Guns are for sissies," I said.

"Something like that."

I had the black suit jacket on over the navy blue polo shirt. If I buttoned two buttons, the jacket hid the Firestar in front and still left me plenty of room to reach for it, and the Browning. In fact the slender cell phone swinging in the right side pocket was more noticeable than the guns. "I just love taking a gun to a knife fight."

Bernardo had thrown a black short-sleeved dress shirt over his white T-shirt. It fanned in back and covered the Beretta 10 mil on his hip. "Me, too," he said and smiled. It was a fierce smile, and I realized that this may have been the first time in weeks that he was going up against something flesh and blood and killable.

"We're going in for information, not to do the OK Corral. You do understand that?" I said.

"You're the boss," he said, but I didn't like the way his eyes looked. They were anticipatory, eager.

I'd felt paranoid this morning when I slipped the knife in its spine sheath. Now I moved my head a little back and forth feeling the handle against my neck. It was comforting. I almost always carried the wrist sheaths and their matching knives, but the spine sheath was optional. One minute you're paranoid and packing too much hardware, the next you're scared, and under-armed. Life's like that, or my life's like that.

"Do you know what los duendos are?" Ramirez asked.

"Bernardo said it meant the dwarves."

Ramirez nodded. "But around here it's folklore. They're small beings that live in caves and steal things. But they're supposed to be angels that got left suspended between Heaven and Hell during Lucifer's revolt. So many angels were leaving Heaven that God slammed the gates shut and los duendos got trapped outside of Heaven. They were suspended in limbo."

"Why didn't they just go to Hell?" Bernardo asked, It was a good question.

Ramirez shrugged. "The story doesn't say."

I glanced at Rigby standing behind Ramirez. He was standing so easy, ready, prepared like a grown-up Boy Scout. He didn't seem worried about anything, It made me nervous. We were about to go into a bar that was thick with bikers, bad guys. There was a necromancer inside so powerful that it made my skin crawl from blocks away. The rest of us looked confident, but it was confidence born of having been there and done that and survived. Rigby's confidence struck me as false, not false confidence, but based on a false assumption. I couldn't know for sure without asking, but I was betting Rigby had never really been in any situation where he thought he might not come out the other side. There was a softness to him despite the lean muscles. I'd take a few less muscles and more depth to the eyes any day. I hoped that Ramirez didn't have to come in with Rigby as his only backup. But I didn't say it out loud. Everyone loses their cherry sometime, somewhere. If things went wrong, tonight might be Rigby's night.

"Did you tell us that little story for a reason, Hernando? I mean you don't think that Baco or this biker gang are los Duendos?"

He shook his head. "No, I just thought you might want to know. It says something about Baco to name his bar after fallen angels."

I opened the driver's side door of the Hummer. Bernardo took the hint and went for the passenger side door. "Not fallen angels, Hernando, just caught in limbo."

Hernando leaned into the open window of the car. "But they're not in Heaven anymore, are they?" With that last cryptic comment he stepped back and let me raise the window. He and Rigby watched us drive off. They looked sort of forlorn standing there in the abandoned, broken parking lot. Or maybe it was just me feeling forlorn.

I looked at Bernardo. "Don't kill anyone, okay?"

He slid back in his seat, snuggling against the leather. He looked more relaxed than I'd seen him in hours. "If they try to kill us?" I sighed.

"Then we defend ourselves," I said. "See, I knew you'd see things my way."

"Don't start the fight," I said.

He looked at me with eager brown eyes. "Can I finish it?" I looked back at the road searching for a parking space. Whatever spell Baco had been working was over. The atmosphere was a little easier to breathe. But there was still something in the air like close lightning waiting to strike. "Yeah, we can finish it."

He started humming under his breath. I think it was the theme from "The Magnificent Seven." To quote an overused movie line, I had a bad feeling about this.