Devil's Punch (4 page)

I didn't even know if I
wanted
jewelry with such strings attached.

“Are you bored yet?” I asked Chance one night.

He shook his head. “I'm considering my options.”

“Do you want to work in the shop with me?”

“Doing what?”

“Appraising items? Customer service? Inventory? Bookkeeping? Financial—”

“Bookkeeping,” he said at once. “I can handle that for you, and I'll probably do some online trading. Advise you on good investments.”

I wasn't averse to increasing my nest egg, and Chance had a knack. “Of course.”

“I won't be at the store full-time, though. Just as needed to keep the books balanced.”

At some point I needed to replace Señor Alvarez, who perished when the Montoyas firebombed the pawnshop, but that was a raw spot, and I couldn't bear to consider it yet. There would be time once the workers finished the new building. Assembling the pieces of a broken life couldn't happen overnight.

“Then I should ask a different question, a more important one. Are you happy here?”

Chance considered, delving into his pocket for his silver coin as he always did when he was thinking. He spun it along his knuckles until he decided what to say. The silence didn't worry me. I'd rather have the truth than a polite lie.

“I'd be happier with you,” he admitted finally. “
Really
with you. Because that would mean you trust me. But I enjoy figuring things out. It's an adventure, though I do feel a bit
Stranger in a Strange Land
at times.”

“It took me a year to acclimate. You'd do better if you took some Spanish classes.”

“Can't you tutor me?” He arched his elegant brows. “The fringe benefits are exceptional.”

“I'll take a class with you,” I offered.

My Spanish was good, but not perfect. It couldn't hurt to learn more. Gratification spilled through me when Chance nodded. His willingness to try made me believe, more than anything, that he wasn't just screwing with me, trying to even the scales or something so he could be the one to leave me this time. Yeah, my ego was fragile enough to wonder, but only a lunatic would uproot his life this way for such a petty revenge. Chance was many things—obsessive among them—but I didn't believe he was nuts.

“How much longer are you going to live with Tia?” he asked, nuzzling my neck. “It makes sense for you to move in here.”

Mmm.
He remembered perfectly what to do with the side of my neck—wandering lips, gentle scrape of teeth. I contemplated his soft bed and tried to recall why I wanted to go slow.

“Does it?” I breathed.

“Mm-hmm. Even after your property's rebuilt you still have to furnish the upstairs apartment. Whereas mine's ready for you, and you helped decorate it.” He pressed a trail of kisses down my throat, nuzzled my collarbone. “It's a smart business decision. You could rent the flat above the shop. That's more income.”

“So you're only thinking of my financial future?”

He flashed me a wicked grin. “Well, I didn't say I had no personal stake in the matter.”

The kisses grew more heated. Chance drew me down on top of him, so I could feel how much he wanted me. I teased him a little, and he groaned.

Eventually I said, “If things are still…this way between us when construction's complete, I'll give your proposal serious thought.”

It wouldn't be as convenient, living here, but it wouldn't hurt me to walk six blocks to work instead of
running downstairs with my hair wet. At the least, the sun and the wind would dry it a little by the time I arrived. And the exercise would be good for me.

“Until then, you'll go back to Tia's every night?” His disappointment rang like cathedral bells.

“It seems prudent.”

He muttered something that sounded like
Fuck prudent
, but I just grinned. “Speaking of which, it's time for me to head out.”

“I'll walk you home.”

Dating Chance was turning out to be unexpectedly sweet.

Like berries fermenting on the bush, that sweetness couldn't last, of course. But it wasn't Chance's fault.

With disbelieving eyes, I read the words:

Save the girl or claim your crown. Either way, you'll come to us
.

Whoever had sent this must be talking about Shannon. Visceral fear crackled like lightning in my veins.
Please let this be someone's idea of a joke.
But since it was in English, not Spanish, it probably hadn't been written by one of Tia's
bruja
friends. Those witches didn't like me, but they weren't pranksters, either.

Shannon had a new life in Laredo. The crown…This was a guess at best, but when I'd defeated the Knight of Hell, Caim, he'd called me
my queen.
So maybe it had to do with that. Demons. Leaving a note. But they wanted a meeting, or wanted to lure me somewhere. If they had Shannon, this was a damn effective strategy. Even knowing it was a trap, knowing it would be stupid and suicidal, I'd go for her. I'd go.

I read the note a second time and then glanced down the street both ways. There was little through traffic this way; the streets climbed higher and higher, until they just…stopped. I'd discovered that the hard way. After backing down a narrow mountain road for half a mile,
I figured my skills behind the wheel were better than average. But today there were no drivers at all, bad or otherwise. The sidewalk, cracked and uneven, stood empty.

A chill wind blew over me, and I fancied it carried a hint of brimstone. Telling myself I was being stupid, I plucked the parchment from Tia's front gate and studied it. Expensive paper. It had a thick, quality feel, like the posh stationery someone who came from money would use. The ink, too, wasn't simple ballpoint or even gel tip. From the swoops and curves, it had an old-fashioned look, calligraphy more than simple cursive. I flipped it over and found a set of coordinates. Longitude and latitude? Or maybe GPS. I couldn't tell where somebody wanted me to go just by looking at the numbers, but it occurred to me I should get off the street. Though I'd taken care of the problems with Montoya, it didn't mean I had no enemies left. They could find me.

Obviously, someone had.

It unnerved me to think of unseen eyes, watching, but that was a fact of life once you accepted magick was real. I unlocked Tia's front gate and stepped into her courtyard. Immediately, I felt safer, though it was a psychological response at best. As I knew, magick could get behind walls to strike you if the practitioner was determined. There were ways to undermine the wards. With that in mind, I checked Tia's protections. I didn't touch them, as that would weaken the runes, but they yielded a strong, satisfactory glow to my trained eye.

But there were always loopholes. Hell,
I
could do it with simple spells, given sufficient time and planning. That knowledge unsettled me. Around me, the courtyard shivered with life, wind rippling gently over leaves and petals. Flashes of color—vert and crimson—reassured me. There was still a faint, mossy crack in the clay. Nothing had changed, even if someone had left me an inexplicable note on the door. Though it couldn't mean anything good, I would deal with whatever new problem was about to level my life.

I let myself in and found Tia in the kitchen, making
homemade corn tortillas. She greeted me with a smile and a lift of one gnarled hand. “
¿Tienes hambre?
”

Well, I had been hungry. Not so much anymore. I had a coiled thing in my stomach that belched and swelled like a toad. Certainly, it was dread. Everything had consequences. To wit, Newton's Third Law:
To every action there is always an equal and opposite reaction.
So I'd known there would be a cost, but it wasn't right that Shannon should pay it in my stead.

When I found Min—helped save her from her past—I incurred the wrath of the Montoya cartel. I'd resolved that threat, but in doing so, I crossed a Knight of Hell. That didn't come without cost; demons weren't known for forgetting. When he'd crawled back through the gate I opened, he must've carried a grudge with him. I'd vanquished him. Stolen his true name. A note, therefore, seemed like pretty small payback. There was no doubt it heralded more horrendous things.

Her smile faded at my silence. “What happened?”

“I'm not sure.” I showed her the note, then translated it aloud.

“You don't know what this means?”

“I have some ideas. Nothing certain.”

Tia nodded and returned to the tortillas while I went to my room to see if I could get some answers. Which meant getting out my athame. I searched both grimoires, blue and crimson, until I found the necessary spell; then I read it twice to be sure I understood the steps. This wasn't one I had practiced with Tia. Divination didn't seem to be my thing; I'd had more success during our training with more proactive spells and charms.

Fighting a rising tide of worry, I dug out my magick chest. Constructed on Tia's orders, it was a small, warded box a foot long and just as wide. Made of good cherrywood, banded with willow, it was an elegant piece, but more important, it protected my spell components, kept them fresh and prevented people from meddling with them. I'd inlaid it with a strong avoidance spell, more powerful than the one on the store where I'd bought my chalice and athame with Shannon.

To be cautious, I copied the coordinates before I got started, and then the message itself, just in case something went wrong. Though my control was better, it still wasn't perfect. Next I set the note in the center of my desk and then arranged four white candles around the edges. Taking a deep breath, I lit them. After sprinkling a powder of sage, bay, and mugwort—commonly used in divination spells—around the outer edge, I whispered the words that encapsulated my intent. With my athame, I pricked the tip of my finger and drizzled my blood across the powerful herbs. And then I traced the athame through it. I fixed my desire in my mind—unshakable, immutable. There was a pull, painful, some resistance, but it wasn't a block. Just…residual strength left from the last person who had touched the note. I might've tried to read it with a touch, but it was unlikely that the person had held it long enough to imprint it, and I needed the practice with my spells. This wasn't dangerous. At worst, I would destroy the paper, and I had a copy of what it said.

More resistance. But this wasn't a spell that changed anything. It didn't do anything complicated; it was only meant to show traces of magick. Darklight kindled in shadowy swaths, streaking the paper. The stench of sulfur and brimstone whispered at the edge of my senses. That was confirmation enough. I dropped concentration. Demons had definitely had a hand in creating this thing, maybe even possessing the person who delivered it.

Feeling ever worse, I packed my arcane things. I took care in sealing up my magickal chest, and then I wrapped my athame in red satin. I gazed up at the ceiling, simple white plaster. Cobweb in the corner. Maybe the demons were screwing with me, but they weren't known for being practical jokers.

Butch padded into the room, his nails clicking on the tile floor. He grumbled at me, so I picked him up. “Should I?” I asked him.

He yapped. Which was affirmative. I didn't doubt he knew something was going on, and his opinions had saved my ass before, crazy as that sounded.

“And so it's come to this, taking advice from my dog again.”

He wagged his tail as I stroked his head. I decided it wouldn't be a bad idea to call Shannon; I still had her number. If she picked up, I'd just disconnect, knowing she was fine. No need to torture myself with the future I'd lost, though I was building a shop that could accommodate her desire for us to do vintage clothing as well as trinkets. Just in case. That meant I hadn't entirely given up hope.

My heart pounded unpleasantly as I hit speed dial. She was my first contact. Best friend. Kid sister. Apprentice. All those words applied to how I felt about Shannon Cheney, but none was quite big enough. Losing her hurt worse than anything ever had, even my breakup with Chance. And I'd loved
him
like a madness.

International cell calls took a while to connect, and then it rang. And rang. Five times, then it kicked to voice mail. Unease stole over me.
Maybe she didn't answer because she didn't recognize your number. The note isn't talking about her. It can't be
.

Jesse came next on my phone. It had been that way from before, and so Chance was further down the speed dial, like number seven. I hadn't changed it, full of superstitious fear that if I moved Shannon, it would be the same as accepting she wouldn't ever remember me. It'd be like giving up on her—on our friendship and our plans—and that I would
not
do.

So she was one. Jesse, two. I wrestled with indecision, but before I could make up my mind, my phone rang back. Shannon's number.
Thank you.
I shouldn't answer it, but on the off chance that things were starting to come back to her, I had to.

“Hello?”

Silence on the line, for a beat too long. And then: “You just called my girlfriend's phone. Who is this?”

Jesse
. The revelation felt like a fist in the heart. Maybe I shouldn't have been so surprised. She was young for him, but ten years or so wasn't the end of the world in terms of age difference.
What did you expect? You left
them together with no memory of you, no recollection of why they mattered to each other. It was natural for them to fill in the blanks
.

Shannon had just enough issues to hit Jesse's white knight complex…and she was alone in the world, apart from the dad she didn't want to see. She needed him. There was no way he could resist. Still, it hurt, though things were good with Chance. The pain existed because their hookup made me feel…replaceable. I squeezed my eyes shut, listening to Jesse breathe.