Shady Lady

Page 13

“Shower,” I said, snagging my backpack.
The bathroom possessed an austere charm, marbled but lacking in decorative touches. I turned the tap to hot and stepped into the tub as steam swirled in the room. After today, I had a lot to wash away. Plus, showers were great for thinking things through, and by the time I got out, I felt sure Kel was going to argue my scheme. That could prove problematic, as he had the car keys.
I dried quickly, spritzed my hair with leave-in conditioner, combed it out, and dressed. When I emerged from the bathroom, the food was waiting; it didn’t take long to grill some meat and slap it on a bun. Kel opened the balcony door and pushed the small table outside. With someone else, I would’ve taken the move as a romantic overture. In this case, I couldn’t imagine his intentions.
Nonetheless, I grabbed the tray and carried our food out while he brought the chairs. I took the one facing the playground, though the swings were quiet. The reason for this tête-à-tête became clear when he shut the door. Right, he wanted to talk about something in private. At that point I was too hungry to care what he had to say before I’d eaten, so I dug into my burger. He followed suit.
Sunset over Lake Catemaco defied description. The colors melted into the water, but the sunlight went fast. There was very little transition, and no city lights to stave off the dark. Gnats buzzed around the window; we wouldn’t be able to stay out here long. This time of year, they flew in clouds.
When we had only fries left on our plates—and I was more picking at mine than really eating them—he broached the subject. “We can’t go back to Mexico City.”
So he already had an idea of what I had in mind, and he wasn’t on board. That was less than ideal, since he played a vital role in capturing the next guy they sent to kill me. I couldn’t manage that alone.
“Then what do you suggest? I have a girl and a dog depending on me for their livelihood. If we—”
“Stop,” he said. “It would be best if you sent Shannon away until the dust settles. I’m sure her father would take her in.”
Well, of course. Jim Cheney had moved out of Kilmer just a few weeks after we left. He hadn’t even waited to sell the house. Now settled in Oklahoma City, he sent Shannon regular cards and e-mails; they spoke on the phone every Sunday night. He had a good-size two-bedroom rental house; I knew because he’d sent us pictures of the place. He’d put a daybed and a computer desk in the second bedroom, so he could also use it an as office. From Shannon’s other comments, I knew he was doing handyman work and basic carpentry.
No wonder Kel had wanted to have this conversation out of earshot. She wouldn’t be pleased, especially not when she’d just started to feel safe with me. We had a good thing going, and she fit in pretty well in our neighborhood, considering she was a white Goth girl living in Mexico.
I swirled a fry in catsup and then ate it to buy time, considering the pros and cons. It would be good to know she was safe. I wasn’t sure if physical safety was worth the emotional damage, though. I didn’t want Shannon to think I didn’t trust her to pull her own weight or value her enough to believe she could help. After all, she wasn’t a kid—and that made up my mind.
“Look, I appreciate your concern, but she’s my worry, and I’m not sending her away. She’s my friend . . . and besides, we might need her.” At his doubtful look, I explained how she’d helped in Kilmer, what she could do, how she’d invented a portable personal protection charm—otherwise known as Tri-Ps—and repaired Chance’s luck, at least while he held the clay tablet inscribed with runes similar to those found on the public library building where my phone had worked.
He considered my words with a somber look and then asked, “Did she bring the radio with her?”
The balcony door slid open in answer. Shannon stood in the doorway, arms folded across her chest. “Of course I did.”
So much for a secret discussion.
Kel glanced over at Shan and seemed to register her determination. “Then forget it. I’ll do my best to protect both of you.”
“Thanks,” she said softly. But she was talking to me, not him, and the quiet pleasure in her face rewarded me far better than anything I’d known prior.
I grinned at her. “Let me guess. You’re a champion eavesdropper.”
“Yep.” She shrugged. “There wasn’t a lot to do in Kilmer.”
Obviously there was no point in staying outside, and with the gnats swarming, it was smart to head in. I let Kel bring the furniture while I carried the tray; Shannon rang the kitchen to tell them we had dishes outside to be collected. Afterward, she and I sat cross-legged on our bed, facing him, with the TV running for background noise. I’d always found it comforting—like nothing bad could happen in a house protected by a laugh track.
“You want to go back to Mexico City so you can sell those,” Kel said, indicating the salt and pepper shakers with a tilt of his head.
I laughed. Already he knew me better than I’d expected, but he couldn’t read me like a book. Not like Chance. “Well, of course I’ll give them to Señor Alvarez while we’re there, but no, that’s not my primary motivation.”
“What is?” Shannon asked.
I laid out my plan, and Kel shook his head. “Montoya will send someone. Before we got Nalleli to remove the tracking spell, the sorcerer would have relayed our new location, at least in general terms.”
“The tracking spell went out on the island,” Shannon put in, “but you told me Nalleli said they wouldn’t be able to scry her.”
“So our last known location is here. Or nearby,” I finished, annoyed with myself. People had hunted me often enough—through means both magickal and mundane—that I should be well able to predict their movements. “If we stay put, the next hitter on Montoya’s list will come to us.”
Fortunately, we had a killer of our own.
Kel nodded. “That seems likely.”
“That’s good, right?” I considered the interrogation aspect of my plan. “We’ll have ample chance to question him.”
The corners of his mouth curled. “You’re a formidable woman.”
“I don’t like being threatened,” I said. “I like it even less when people make good on those threats and try to kill me.”
Most likely we could expect Montoya’s man to burst into our room in the middle of the night. Instead of running, like sensible people, we hoped for that development as the best possible outcome. How fucked-up was that?
With a faint sigh, I picked Butch up. After dinner, he needed a bathroom break before we could retire for the night. The dog nestled into my arms as I opened the door. Kel followed me like he thought I might be in danger every waking moment, and based on events to date, I couldn’t say he was wrong.
“Lock the door,” he told Shannon.
Worry dawned on her pale face, as if up until this point, it had all seemed like a game. I didn’t want her traumatized, but a healthy amount of fear offered a certain value. Though I’d come up with this plan, anxiety thrummed through my veins. Butch caught my mood and stood up in my arms, licking my cheek with his little tongue.
“It’ll be all right,” I told him.
He yapped twice, disagreeing with me. I let that go. You just couldn’t win an argument with a Chihuahua.
When we reached the ground floor, I set him down just off the path and let him frolic in the manicured foliage. In the distance, I could hear drums and chanting; it came from the small clay house at the far end of the property. Smoke rose from the building, indicating that a tourist group was participating in the temascal ritual, which involved smearing mud all over your body and sitting in a steam bath with a local shaman. With faith and preparation, you could experience visions and learn about your animal spirit guide as well as purify your spirit. But after my time with Nalleli, I didn’t need a cleansing; nor did I imagine Kel had any dirt clinging to his soul.
The lights lining the walk shone brightly enough for me to keep an eye on Butch. I made sure not to look at Kel, who carried sigils in his skin that rendered me wildly uneasy; I didn’t want to recall what he’d said about my bloodline or what it portended. He astonished me when he turned my face toward him, forcing me to meet his gaze. In the dark his eyes shone like mirrors, silvered and reflective. Though he dropped his fingers right away, I could feel them burning on my cheek.
“You cannot hide,” he said softly. “Ignoring me does not change what will be. Refusing to acknowledge truth does not make it a lie. It only makes you a coward.”
“You can’t have it both ways,” I told him angrily. “Either I have free will or I have a destiny. It cannot be both.”
Kel smiled, and his tats gleamed blue in the dark, a tiny little ripple of power that I didn’t like at all. “No?” he asked, and I felt sure he already knew the answer, glimpsed from some high precipice.
“Well, maybe you do know how it all turns out. I don’t want to.”
And I didn’t—because such knowledge would pare away my humanity. As far as I knew, Kel couldn’t receive comfort from a touch or take pleasure in anything at all. Long ago, he had pledged to a greater good, and now he existed only to serve and follow orders. To me, that sounded like slavery.
Perhaps he read a glimmer of my thoughts in my expression. The light died away, leaving his face in shadow, revealing only the edge of his brow and the slope of his nose. He was magnificent and terrible in the dark.
“Some things about you, I cannot see.” He leaned in, and I froze, too astonished to breathe, until he plucked a struggling moth from my long hair.
Embarrassed and bewildered, I called Butch and fled back up the stairs as if all the hounds of hell followed at my heels, not a holy warrior sworn to guard me.
Dead Man Says What?
I woke to two silenced shots hitting the towels mounded to look like me. At Kel’s insistence, Shannon and I had bedded down on the floor in between the two beds. Now I appreciated his caution.
Her breathing said she was awake, but we didn’t speak. The slow grate of footsteps over glass, coming through the balcony door, suggested the gunman meant to check his work. He was competent; he’d just never run into targets like us before. Montoya should’ve briefed him better.
His shadow fell across the bed as he ripped the covers back. An oath escaped him when he saw he’d killed a number of dirty bath towels. Kel hit him from behind, wrapping a shoelace around the other man’s neck. Their struggle was relatively quiet, as such things go, until at last the gunman went limp. Kel made sure he wasn’t playing possum, and then he swung him over his shoulder, strode to the balcony, and jumped.
That was our cue. We weren’t conducting the interrogation in here; blood in a hotel room would arouse too many questions. For a moment I paused, shocked at the coldness of the thought. Likely, such a consideration wouldn’t have occurred to me before. I didn’t even know whether the thought had come from me or some darkness lingering from the demon who saved me . . . or the murderer’s weapon in my side. It was a pragmatic concern, however, and I could not deny its validity. Still, I shivered, a ripple of dread warning me that once I started down this path, there could be no return to innocence.