“After all the harm I’ve caused,” he said humbly, “I don’t deserve your friendship. But I treasure it.”
“Bullshit.” I tried on a
do not argue with me
look, and it worked.
Kel didn’t say any more about his inadequacies, which was just as well. I didn’t feel emotionally equipped to reassure anyone else; at the moment, my psyche was held together with duct tape and baling wire. But I did give him a hug, as those I could offer freely. He returned it fiercely, burying his head in the crook between my neck and shoulder. I stroked his back, feeling maternal toward him, possibly because he was so very broken.
Eventually, he whispered, “I can’t fight him and win . . . but I think I can grant you time to do what’s needed.”
Though I had no idea what that meant, Eva interrupted the conversation by asking how I felt. The others tiptoed around me that night, though Chuch was adorable, bringing me food and beverages, standing in for Chance, as he put it. I kinda loved him in a nonsexual, utterly platonic fashion.
That night, I called Tia to check in, and she seemed delighted to hear my voice.
“Hola, mija
.
”
Until this moment, I hadn’t realized how much I missed her . . . and Mexico. We chatted a little about how she was doing, she promised to wire me some more money in the morning, and then she said, “Are you coming home soon?”
Five words, but they broke my heart, because I had to answer, “I don’t know when. I’m still following some leads here, looking for Chance.”
Feels like I’m totally Cat-in-the-Cradle-ing her.
I hadn’t told her exactly what happened or how I ended up stranded in the U.K., but her tone became sympathetic. “You don’t come home without that boy, okay? He’s the one for you.”
“Si, claro,”
I promised, hoping I could make the words true.
Once we hung up, I struggled with the pit opening in my stomach, sadness wrapped around despair. I beat them both down because that couldn’t be good for the baby. Oh, gods, from this point on, that refrain would haunt my every moment. Part of me wondered if it was okay to be this conflicted, so ambivalent about bringing a life into this world. It wasn’t that I didn’t want Chance’s baby, more that I doubted my ability to raise a kid properly. Shit, what did I know about
anything
?
The next day, Kel disappeared. He didn’t say good-bye, and I hoped like hell he had sense enough not to go after Barachiel a second time on his own. There was no way I could cut him free again. Not now. Between a bun in the oven, a bum leg, and an impossible quest, I had too many other chainsaws to juggle.
That night, I found a note from him in my purse.
Corine,
he wrote in perfectly elegant calligraphy.
Where I’ve gone, you must not follow. For while Barachiel chases me, he cannot hunt you. The time I can grant you is limited; eventually, he will find me, and I do not know if we will meet again. Yours always, Kelethiel.
I pressed the note to my heart, trying to stem a pang of pain. Fear for my friend tightened my chest. And so I brooded while my other loved ones gave me a wide berth. Though it hurt, I couldn’t go after him this time; my priorities had changed forever.
For the next week, my life consisted of sleep and food. It couldn’t go on in that fashion, however. Once I started physical therapy, the crew had to admit I was well enough to get on with my mission, regardless of how crazy it sounded. To their credit, my friends didn’t argue with me, and I half suspected it was out of a desire not to enrage the pregnant lady. They’d learned that lesson with Eva.
Booke approached me when the others didn’t dare. “Are you recovered enough to get on with saving Chance?”
I stared, astonished that he seemed to understand how driven I was. Physical pain didn’t matter. Nor did obstacles. If there was a brick wall between Chance and me, I’d demolish it. “Where do we start?”
“I’ve been reading on Area 51 . . . and it seems that there’s one place we can start looking.”
“Oh?” I hauled myself out of the chair. The stitches pulled, but I could walk if I took it slow. I wobbled a bit, despite the tight wrap on my upper thigh. This was both to protect the surgical work and to provide extra support. If Eva caught me, this mission would end in an argument.
He answered, “It’s an arcane library in San Antonio, and like most gifted places, the actual purpose is concealed from the public.”
“So where is it exactly?” I asked, pushing to my feet.
“You’ll see.” Booke could be annoyingly mysterious. “First, we need to see about a home base while we’re in San Antonio.”
I nodded. “It’s too far to drive back and forth.”
While Eva and Shannon were occupied with the baby and Chuch was in the enormous garage, showing Jesse the rebuilt 440 Magnum engine he’d dropped into the car recently, I limped back to the guest room to gather up my stuff. I hoped to sneak out without it becoming a big deal. Which would mean stealing a car from my friends.
Dammit.
I had just realized my getaway plan had a fatal flaw when Eva said, “Just
where
do you think you’re going?”
Every Dog Has His Day
“To San Antonio,” I murmured.
“Are you coming back? What’s our plan?” Eva was already summoning everybody back into the house for an impromptu meeting.
While I appreciated the support, it just wasn’t feasible for them to put their lives on pause, especially when I didn’t know what I was doing. What I needed. Sighing, I sat down at the kitchen table and perused some listings on Booke’s phone, which we’d purchased at the mall the other day. Within minutes, I found a furnished apartment for five hundred bucks a month, and it made sense to get my own place, as it was hard to say when I would be up to the task of finishing what I’d started. Physical therapy would go slower than I preferred—not that I expected an insta-fix—and I couldn’t impose on Chuch and Eva forever. An argument ensued, wherein they all talked about me as if I wasn’t present.
“She can’t be on her own,” Eva protested. “Corine needs support.”
“Yeah, we can’t be sure she’s sleeping right or eating enough,” Chuch agreed.
Shannon and Jesse both had opinions; he said I could stay with him, but that would be super awkward, and Shannon had a roomie who might object to a long-term houseguest. Finally, Booke cleared his throat—and it actually worked. In a quiet, understated way, he had quite a commanding presence. The others fell quiet.
“I think it’s best if Corine rents the flat. It’s likely to be small, but I’ll happily sleep on the couch. That way, she has company . . . and backup, should she require it.”
Booke . . . I could stand rooming with him. And hopefully, as he noted, it wouldn’t be too long. Time felt like a ticking bomb, as if my relationship with Chance had an expiration date—and that was to say nothing of other dangers: an open dispute with demons, plus an insane “archangel” who intended to recruit me . . . or murder me.
Either way.
Ferocious certainty hardened my spine. There was
no way
that crazy bastard would ever hurt my baby.
“That’s fine,” I said into the silence.
Before they could pose objections, I got on the phone, reached the owner on the first try. “I’m interested in the apartment you have for rent.”
The woman sounded husky, as if she smoked, or did a lot of yelling. “Did you want to see it? I’ll need a month’s rent, plus half for damages.”
“To be honest, I just need a place for a little while. So I don’t really care what it looks like, as long as it’s clean.”
“It is that.” From her less than ringing endorsement, I figured it was a dump, but at this point, I didn’t care. She gave me the address over the phone, and I turned to Chuch with an inquiring look. “Can I buy the Pinto?”
“Three hundred bucks,” he said.
Eva swatted him on the arm. “You’re
not
charging her for that piece of shit.”
Oh, gods. Another argument.
“But she’ll get mad if she thinks we’re offering charity,” he protested.
“He’s right,” I said. “And stop talking about me as if I’m not
right here.
”
Getting away from my friends was paramount; they might smother me with good intentions, plus I needed space—and time—to plan my next move. Getting maimed by a hellhound hadn’t been in my playbook, and it definitely set me back in terms of progress. But I’d handle this, as I’d navigated every other obstacle.
I always knew a relationship with Chance wouldn’t be easy. But even I didn’t guess it would end up being this hard.
The drive to San Antonio felt like it got longer each time, though I was becoming very familiar with the highway in between. At the midway point, we stopped at a gas station to fill up, get snacks, and use the restroom. Inside the store, I spotted a rack of canes of all things. After pricing them, I decided I needed one, and added that to the fuel and food. I paid our shot, then used the walking stick to make my way back to the car, where Booke was giving Butch a drink. For somebody who had spent so much time alone, he sure knew how to look after a dog. I slid into the front seat again and nodded off before I realized what had happened.
When I woke, Booke had turned down a side street. I couldn’t tell what side of San Antone we were in, but it appeared to be inner city, near to the jail, judging from the bars on the windows and the number of bail bondsmen doing business in the neighborhood. Our building was a run-down adobe duplex, divided neatly in the middle. We were in the B unit, so I figured the landlady lived next door.
With a whispered admonition for Butch, I knocked on her door with cash in hand. The woman who answered wore a green sweat suit and a tired look. She didn’t ask questions, just took my money and handed over the keys.
“If you plan to stay over,” she told me, “then I need another five hundred this time next month.”
“I’ll let you know.”
“And keep it down over there. I don’t like a noisy neighbor.”
“We’ll be model tenants,” Booke promised.
As usual, his accent got a second look. Then she smiled. “A pleasure doing business with you.”
I limped over to our side of the house and unlocked the front door. The apartment
was
a dump. But then, what did I expect for five hundred a month, furnished? It looked like a crash pad for a desperate college kid whose roommate situation fell through at the last minute, but as the landlady had promised, the place was clean, albeit furnished in mid-century rummage sale. The couch sagged in the middle and the brown fabric was worn nearly through in places. Each end table came from a different set, and the coffee table had an odd leg; someone had hammered a different one into place so it sat faintly lopsided. There were no paintings on the walls, and no TV, not even an old one. The bedroom looked like a monk’s cell with a single mattress on a metal frame and an ornate crucifix on the wall. A battered chest of drawers sat to one side of the narrow window.
None of those things bothered me. Gods willing, I wouldn’t be here long. To my relief, the rental was on the ground floor; otherwise I might’ve had some trouble, as my leg still hurt like a bitch. My phone rang as I was putting my stuff away.
“Corine Solomon.”
“This is Sarah Messner calling from Our Lady. I’m pleased to report that the test came back negative on the animal that attacked you. There’s no need for the rabies vaccine.”
My knees went weak, dropping me onto the narrow bed. Best news I’d had all day. Maybe demonic possession rendered an animal immune to viruses. I pressed both palms to my belly and managed to say, “Thanks for letting me know.”
“You’ve made an appointment for your first physical therapy?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I went to tell Booke the good news. He hugged me, then said, “You realize I won’t let you shirk your medical obligations.”
“I know. Single-minded pursuit of Chance is off the table.” I collapsed on the couch more than sat. Gods, was it the injury or the baby sapping my energy this way? I didn’t know how women survived nine months of this, and from what I’d seen with Eva, it would only get worse.
“Home sweet home,” Booke said as he settled beside me.
I glanced at the tired furnishings and the scarred veneer on the shelves. It was, unquestionably, a depressing base of operations.
But not for long,
I promised myself.
You’ll get this sorted. Then Booke can travel . . . and you can go back to Mexico.
“You didn’t have to come with me.”
“I know. I chose to.”
Butch wandered around the apartment, smelling everything. I wondered how many different tenants he could still detect. Now and then he paused to growl. Booke watched in apparent fascination as the dog asserted his dominance over his new surroundings. I struggled to my feet to show him where I’d put his food and water dish in the kitchen. He licked my fingers as I jiggled the bowl, so I stroked his head. Poor little dude had really gone through a lot in the past months.
So have I.
After Butch ate, he trotted to me and pawed my leg, but when I went to pick him up, he gave two negative yaps. Which meant I got to play the guessing game.
“Something on your mind?”
One yap.
Yes.
“Should I get the Scrabble tiles?”
Again, yes.
“Would you mind?” I asked Booke. “They’re in my purse.”
“Your dog
really
talks.”
I raised a brow, wondering if I hadn’t mentioned that to Booke. No, I was sure I’d regaled him with stories prior, and I wouldn’t have omitted such a pertinent detail. “This is not news.”
“But . . . I thought it was colorful embellishment for the sake of the story. Scrabble tiles! How marvelous.” Smiling, he went to the small table where I’d dumped my bag earlier.
The tiles were still in their Ziploc baggie from the last use. Butch pranced at my feet, his body shaking so hard that I’d think he needed to go outside if we hadn’t paused on the way in. By the time Booke put the letters on the floor, he was whining.