Hell Fire

Page 16

That word conjured an immediate image of mountains, terraced houses, winding roads, and blue skies. I lived in a white adobe building that housed a pawnshop on the lower level and my bi-level flat on the upper two floors. I loved the glorious, sun-drenched warmth of Mexico City, nestled in the northern end, near Atizapan.
It had been far too long since I’d been there, and I would be lucky if the man I’d asked to run the place hadn’t absconded with all my profits by now. Sadly, Senor Alvarez probably made up the most reliable aspect of my life. When I got back—if I ever did—he’d give an honest accounting of business since I left, and go on his way.
He showed a flicker of disappointment, quickly masked. “So back to Mexico?”
I raised a brow. “Yeah. Where else?”
“I thought you might consider settling in Laredo.”
“Why? Because you’re there?”
“Not only that,” he muttered. “It’s just not a good idea for you to stay in Mexico. You know how easily Montoya can get to you there?”
Montoya. The name chilled me. We’d made an enemy when we rescued Chance’s mother from men with a score to settle. If Diego Montoya ever figured out who I was—and he would in time, as the man had limitless resources—my life wouldn’t be worth as much as a fake Versace shirt in China. I knew we were running on borrowed time. That’s why it was so important for me to figure out what happened here in Kilmer; I might not get another chance.
“He can get to me anywhere,” I pointed out.
I tried not to think about all the reasons I had to worry. Right now, I could focus on only one problem at a time. Find Butch. Then go get Chance.
Saldana narrowed his eyes on me. Nice to know I could cut through his patient persona. “Oh, right. Thanks for pointing that out, Corine. I’ll just stop worrying.”
I made my tone flip as I pushed through a natural archway of entwined branches. “Are we fighting already, honey? You just got here.”
“You drive me out of my mind,” he bit out. “I can tell you’re scared to death, and here we are, marching through trees that terrify you for reasons I don’t even understand, looking for a dog that—”
“What am I supposed to do, Jesse?” I stopped walking then and whirled on him. “Melt, just because you know how I feel? Is this where the little woman confides in you, making you feel strong and manly because you can shoulder her problems? Well, listen up: That approach doesn’t work for me. Not on any level.”
He glared at me. Between his sugar-sweet drawl, his tawny good looks, and his gentle charm, I was sure women rarely responded to him this way. But I couldn’t let past precedent inhibit a really good rant; I was working up a good head of steam, and that anger was distracting me from my worry, so I encouraged it.
“I just met you. You come running because you felt something about me from miles away? Okay, so that was nice, but—in general, I don’t like your knowing how I feel. I don’t like anyone knowing anything about me that I didn’t choose to tell them. How would you like it if I invaded your privacy?”
Running on automatic, I grabbed his wrist, ignoring the tiny shock, and permitted an impression from his watch. It stung—there was always pain—but the intensity depended on what memory was stored in the charge. His emotions surged into me, raw and tumultuous. I’d suspected that he felt things more intensely as a result of his gift and it charged his personal effects right off, but now I had confirmation. I was too angry to let a little pain stop me from making my point.
“How would you like it if I found out—without your telling me—that you think I’m cute when I’m mad and you want to kiss me?” I’d meant this as an object lesson about invading other people’s privacy, but he didn’t look discomfited.
Instead, he smiled. “I don’t mind at all. I guess you have something to think about while we walk, don’t you? Unless you’re angling for that kiss now?”
Ten minutes ago, yeah, I’d wanted it. Now I was too angry.
Wordless, I spun and stalked along the overgrown trail, hoping we were, in fact, headed toward Butch and not a hungry wolf. I found myself grinding my teeth in frustration, which was in some ways better than blind terror, but not good at all for my dental work. I forced myself to calm down and put one foot in front of the other. All too soon, the outrage started draining away, and I was left with gnawing worry once more. It was impossible to stay mad at Jesse Saldana for acting according to his nature.
We walked another fifteen minutes in silence. I noticed belatedly we had come into a tomb, or at least, it felt that way. The ambient forest noises had died away; no animals skittering through the brush, chattering, or birds chirping. Even the wind seemed loath to stir the trees.
I could smell the dankness of the swamp from here. We were close to the border, where the ground could give way suddenly, sucking you into hidden sinkholes. I studied my feet as we walked, cursing Butch silently. When we found him, he was in so much trouble. How did you punish a dog for running off, anyway?
We passed another of those natural arches; this one reminded me oddly of a gazebo, as if we were entering someone’s yard. I stepped into a small clearing. I saw evidence of passage in flattened grass and churned earth; nothing so subtle as paw prints.
Something big had traveled this way, though I didn’t know how long ago. Judging from the depressions in the dirt, it was heavy, as the channels sank almost six inches. I didn’t want to think about what could have made them, although to my morbid imagination, it looked like massive talons had raked through the soil.
I so didn’t need to be thinking along those lines.
Plants had been blackened all along this unholy trail, and a low-grade stench wafted from the dead greenery. Apparently this thing killed whatever it touched, causing wilt, wither, and rot. Where the hell was my dog?
Bile rose in my throat, preventing me from calling out. As if in answer, Butch pranced around a huge split tree that was covered in gray-green lichens. The ground around the dead tree sank inward, as if a meteor had crashed there. He barked as if to say, What took you so long?
It was nice to know the dog had so much faith in us, but why had he brought us out here? I took a step toward him. Then I knew.
Inside the dead tree sat a madman’s jumble of lost possessions: necklace, bracelet, ivory hairbrush, a china doll with its face half charred. Every item looked as though it had been plucked from a conflagration. I could almost smell the smoke.
“They’re trophies,” Jesse whispered.
“Yeah.” Even from a distance I could tell that.
This place reeked of death, solitude, and decay. I felt numb as I came forward. I thought I recognized one of the items half buried toward the back, and I could no more resist kneeling than I could have stopped breathing. Jesse stopped me from reaching out with a hand on my arm.
“You don’t want to touch those, Corine.” He left the subtext unspoken, but I suspected he was right. I’d never seen so much evil heaped in one place.
“No. I’m sorry,” I said. “I wasn’t thinking. Will you get it for me? Please?” I pointed to a delicate chain. If I was right, when he pulled it free, it would have a flower pentacle on it.
As if he sensed the import, Saldana didn’t argue, though he had to be reluctant to poke through the pile. Butch actually brought him a stick, which drew a second look from both of us. Jesse leaned in and raked a few items aside, and then, after a few abortive attempts, raised the necklace into the light.
I forgot to breathe. Tears rose in my eyes, hot and searing. The last time I’d seen this, it shone silver at my mother’s throat. Fire blackened now, yes, and filthy from the years it languished in this unholy place, but it was hers, undoubtedly.
“Oh God,” I whispered. My lower lip trembled, and I snatched the chain before Saldana could stop me.
The world dissolved in fire.
Derelict on Memory Lane
I lost myself.
First in pain, and then darkness, and then—
My daughter would die if I failed here. I knew it. Terror lent me speed, and I hurried to the chest of drawers where I kept my spell components. One mistake would be fatal. I didn’t have much time.
I cast the circle and had spoken most of the words when I sensed approaching peril. Corine was asleep upstairs; I ran to rouse her. For some reason, my frantic words made no sound, but she seemed to hear me. She argued with me.
I hugged her fiercely and then shoved her out the back door. I hoped she knew how much I loved her. I went to meet the men who wanted me dead.
My ears rang. I couldn’t hear what they said. There were twelve of them, like a jury of my peers, come to judge me. I didn’t need to see more than the torches. I slammed the door and locked it.
Then I ran back to the circle I’d drawn on the floor. My hands shook as I sealed myself inside it. I had one last thing to do.
Protect her, I begged. Give her the gifts she needs to survive. Let her live as my legacy to the world. I poured everything I was into the working.
The door flew open. A tall man stood in the doorway, and I would never forget his face. May you burn in hell for what you do this night. Turn and burn, you dark one in human skin. Licking flames threw weird shadows around the house that had been our home. Never again. Raising the athame, I gave myself over to the Lady.
And I died.
“Corine!” The voice came from a long way off, desperate, terrified. I didn’t want to heed the hands pummeling me.
At least they seemed to be. No, they were pressing down, not pummeling. Someone was performing CPR. Was I dead? My flesh felt odd and heavy, almost entirely inert.
I felt a mouth over mine, then breath being forced into my lungs. I couldn’t seem to open my eyes. And then I coughed. If dying hurt, living was worse. Butch nuzzled me, whimpering, but I couldn’t lift a hand to reassure him.
Jesse brought me upright. His hands rubbed over my back, and when I finally managed to lift my eyes, I found him looking wretched, almost as bad as I felt. The burn on my left palm felt as though it might never heal.
“You died,” he whispered, raw.
I couldn’t work up any concern over that. “So did my mother. She—she killed herself. Why didn’t she run? We could’ve both—” A sob tore free.
I didn’t need an answer after all. I’d been Cherie Solomon for the last few minutes of her life. She hadn’t run, because the men would’ve come looking, and she’d loved me so much I ached with it. My tears ran freely, slipping down my cheeks. I felt dire and bloodied. All these years, I’d thought she died in the fire.
But the truth was somehow worse. She’d died by her own hand, part of that final spell. I had always assumed they’d come upon her before she finished—and that was why my powers were incomplete. Based on what I’d just seen, that obviously wasn’t true, so the fault must lie in me. I was a faulty vessel.
“Oh God.” With gentle hands, he unfolded my fingers from around her necklace.
It fell from my grasp into his palm. Numbly I noted a new scar: The flower pentacle had been branded into my palm. The wound showed livid and purple with little white blisters around the edges. I’d never seen anything quite like it, and what seemed stranger—I had no other marks on my left hand anymore.