Song for the Dead: An Ada Palomino Novel

by Karina Halle

  “No,” I tell him, my voice a hush. “No. I think we should leave.”

  “Are you sure?” He’s watching me closely, trying to pry me open with his searching eyes.

  I nod. “Yes. I think…this would be a mistake. I think I’m not supposed be here. That I should just let things be. He made his choice. I’m the one who has to come to terms with it. There’s nothing I can do to change things anymore. If he wanted to be with me, we would be together already. He knows where to find me. He knows what I want.”

  Or what I wanted.

  Max looks past me at the house. “I almost feel sorry for him.”

  “Feel sorry for him how?”

  He gives me a soft smile. “Poor boy doesn’t realize just what he’s giving up.”

  Then he starts the car and we turn around in the cul-de-sac, roaring down the street, leaving the blue house in the desert dust.

  Fifteen

  “I go missing, no longer exist. One day I hope I’m someone you’d met.”

  – I Appear Missing

  Days go by in a flash.

  We left Tucson with the sun setting and didn’t stop until past midnight, where we rolled into a roadside motel outside of El Paso, Texas. At that point I was half-asleep and way too tired to protest, and luckily the motel was fairly clean, the beds comfy enough for one night.

  Then the next day we did twelve hours from El Paso to Houston. That was boring as shit.

  And now we’re at the end of our five-hour drive from Houston, coming into the outskirts of New Orleans.

  “It’s funny,” I muse to Max, as we pass by swamp after swamp. “I always thought you were a full-on Cajun swamp boy through and through. Your accent, your swagger, your…predisposition to plaid. Now I realize that it’s all ruse. You don’t even have that accent half the time. You belong as much here as you do in the Pacific Northwest. You could have been a lumberjack this whole time.”

  He tilts his head. “What can I say? I’m a man of the world.” He takes in a deep breath. “Though, I have to admit, this place still feels like home to me. Maybe because it’s where I built so many memories. The ones that really mattered.”

  “Maybe you’ll just build new ones in Portland and that will start to feel like home too,” I say, trying not to sound too hopeful.

  His eyes soften, becoming the same mossy green as the land outside. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  But there’s something in his voice, something that makes feel anxious and on edge and I don’t really know why.

  The last few days we’ve returned to the same normalcy as at the beginning of the trip. We’ve had our own beds in the hotel rooms, we’ve eaten out at shitty restaurants, we’ve gotten drunk and watched TV. We’ve talked and joked and listened to music on these long stretches. When you have someone like Max with you, there really is no boring conversation. Sometimes he’s insanely quiet and trapped in his head, but most of the time he’ll talk your ear off if you prompt him enough.

  As for me, well, I haven’t forgotten that we kissed. Twice. I haven’t forgotten that he was okay with being my rebound before completely dropping the conversation. I haven’t forgotten the dirty things he said to me. I don’t think I ever will, to be honest. He said there was a thin line he didn’t want to cross, but he doesn’t realize that he crossed it. And that I pulled him over.

  But there’s also a lightness inside me that wasn’t there before, a weight lifted off my shoulders. While I still worry about Max, about his psyche and his soul and what this journey into NOLA will bring us, what Rose will do to him, I think not seeing Jay helped me immensely. Maybe that was the closure I needed. Not for him to change his mind. But for me to change mine. To walk away and leave it in the past.

  We haven’t seen any demons either, which has been a relief. I’m sure they’re just lurking around the corner, and New Orleans seems like a place that would have a ton of them, but I’m grateful that none of my clothes have been ruined since we left San Francisco.

  The closer we get to New Orleans though, the more that Max seems on edge, kneading the steering wheel, his jaw tight. I can’t blame him. This is the climax, the crescendo, the point of the whole trip. Everything hinges on this, even the things I don’t understand yet.

  “So, what’s the plan, Stan?” I ask Max as we head up the wrought-iron stairs that lead to the third floor of our hotel on Royal Street. He’s carrying both suitcases with ease, thank god, because the staircase is narrow as hell and totally open, going up the middle of an inner courtyard.

  “Well,” he says, going to our door. “First we get settled and I might want a nap.”

  I step inside the room after him. It’s large, bright white brick with a window overlooking the street below, a horse and carriage passing underneath. It’s by the far the nicest room we’ve had and I’m grateful that Max used his voodoo magic on the receptionist, especially since we might be here for a few days.

  It’s also just one bed.

  Thankfully, it’s a king. Even if nothing happens between us, and that increasingly seems to be the case, he’s a really big guy and he takes up a lot of the space.

  He puts the suitcases down and then immediately crawls on top of the pristine white cover, lying face down.

  “So that’s it?” I ask, leaning against the wall. “You’re just going to go to sleep?”

  “Yep,” he mumbles into the bed, moving his arms above his head, his green t-shirt raising a few inches, showing a slice of his strong back. Naturally, my predatory gaze goes to his ass, his jeans really showing it off. Big, bouncy, nothing but muscle.

  Instinctively I reach out and smack him right across his cheek, the sound echoing against the bricks.

  He stiffens, head up, giving me the most incredulous look that I have to laugh.

  “Ada! What the fuck?”

  “What?” I say, holding up my palm like a weapon. “Like hell I’m going to let you take a nap when we literally just got to the French Quarter.”

  “Sweetheart, I’m exhausted,’ he says to me, frowning at my palm. “And you need to put that away.”

  I bite back a smile. “I’ll put it away if you promise me we’ll have a bit of fun tonight. We’ve been doing nothing but driving.”

  “And that’s why I want a nap. Fuck, Ada. I’m old as hell. Give me a break.”

  “Fine,” I tell him, sitting on the corner of the bed. “I’ll let you nap. Just tell me the plan.”

  “I sleep. Then I’ll take you to a few of my favorite bars—”

  “On Bourbon Street?” I ask excitedly.

  “Hell no,” he says. “That place is trash. You’d get into too many fist fights.”

  I grin. “Oh yeah? Maybe I’m a little more open to attention this time around.”

  “Then I’ll get into too many fist fights,” he says, turning his head away from me.

  Okay, I admit that tiny inkling of possessiveness makes my stomach flutter. I’m a simple girl, what can I say?

  “Then what happens after the fist fights?”

  When do we see Rose?

  He sighs. “Then we’ll go to Rose’s bar and figure it out from there.”

  The fluttery feeling in my stomach grows hard.

  “What do you think will happen?” I ask, my voice going quiet.

  “I don’t know,” he says. He sounds sleepy. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

  What if right now is the only time I get with Max? What if Rose breaks off her engagement once she realizes that he’s alive? What if this is the start of their happily-ever-after? I might be sleeping here alone tonight. I might have to fly home. I might not ever see Max again.

  I’m so tempted to crawl onto that bed to be with him in whatever way that I can. But the more I stare at him, the more my heart fumbles in my chest over the idea of losing him to her, losing him before I even had him, the more I realize that there’s nothing I can do to stop any of this.

  Maybe it’s destiny.

  I gulp, my stomach in k
nots, wanting to say something else to him.

  But I don’t know what, and I think he’s actually asleep right now from the way his back is rising and falling.

  So I quickly change out of my shirt into a fresh flowy white one that shows off what modest cleavage I have, grab my purse, and I head out the door.

  I don’t go far. Even though it’s winter, it’s humid as hell, hot even, and I still don’t know how far away from Max I should go before it affects him. So I find a quaint bar around the corner from the hotel and order a Bloody Mary, totally expecting to get turned down because I don’t have ID.

  But the bartender serves me anyway, so I take a seat at the bar and just take in the sights and sounds of the city. The other side of the bar is a window where you can just walk up from the outside and get a drink to go, and holy shit, this town is going to be the death of me.

  I’m about two-and-a-half Bloody Marys in when Max texts me, wondering where I am, and I swear I can hear the panic on the screen. I tell him the bar, and a minute later he strolls on in, ducking slightly as he goes through the door. This city isn’t built for those who are six foot four.

  I stare at him for a moment, a moment where I pretend he’s mine and he’s meeting me here for a date and for that moment I’m shot up with giddiness. Helps that he’s looking extra dashing, full of sex and swagger, with his hair styled back off his face, wearing boots, dark-grey jeans, a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showcasing his forearms, the first two buttons undone, the collar having a pointy western flair.

  And then my heart absolutely sinks when I realize why he’s made such an effort to look extra hot.

  It’s not for me.

  It’s for Rose.

  “There you are,” he says to me, sliding onto the stool next to me, his presence so wonderfully overwhelming after being apart from him. He smells like pine and cinnamon and I’m instantly brought back to New Year’s Eve when I forbade him from kissing me. Oh, if I could go back in time.

  He eyes the drink. “I see you’re getting by without me.”

  I manage a smile. “Maybe I have my own voodoo magic.”

  “That you do,” he says, eyes briefly resting on my chest before he looks at the bartender. “I’ll have the same as the lady. Then we’re going to leave and not pay the bill.”

  “Got it,” the bartender says with a smile, and gets to making the drink.

  I shake my head at him. “It’s been a while. I’ve missed that.”

  “Feels like a special occasion.”

  “Well, you’re dressed for one.”

  He looks down at his shirt. “This old thing?”

  “What I’m trying to say is, you look good.”

  “Thanks,” he says. He starts tapping his foot against the floor.

  “Nervous?”

  He nods. “Yeah. Guess I am. Nap did me some good though. Feel like I’ve got my head on straight for once.”

  “You might be the only person in this town who hasn’t lost their head. Did you know they serve alcohol here to go?”

  He laughs softly. “Yes. I know. It’s dangerous.”

  “It’s awesome is what it is,” I say, taking a long sip of my drink just as the bartender hands him his. “Well, cheers.” I raise my glass, making sure to look deep in his eyes as I clink my drink against his.

  “Cheers, sweetheart,” he tells me, his gaze pinning me in place, causing my skin to feel overheated, and it’s not just the humidity.

  I turn my head away from him and finish the rest of my drink in one sip.

  “Ada,” he warns.

  “What?” I say. “I’ll just get one to go.”

  “There is such thing as too many Bloody Marys,” he says, though he’s making quick work of his. “And, knowing you, the minute you come across a hand grenade you’re going to want to drink that. I’m telling you now that you shouldn’t.”

  “Oooh, a hand grenade. Now that sounds dangerous. I can’t wait.”

  I clap my hands, smiling gleefully.

  But it’s all an act.

  Because I’m just pretending that I’m fine.

  I’m not.

  I’m really not.

  I’m worried as hell about what’s going to happen when we find Rose.

  If she takes him back, do I have to see that? I think it would break me, to be honest.

  And if she doesn’t take him back, am I prepared to deal with his state of mind? I already know what it’s like inside of him. It’s Hell. I brought him out of Hell, but he brought Hell along with him. It lives inside him. Will Rose push him over the edge, or unleash something that neither of us want to see?

  “Ada,” he says to me gently, his voice breaking through my thoughts. He reaches out and grabs my hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “I’m going to be okay. This is something that needs to happen.”

  The energy goes from my palm to his and back again. “You’re reading my mind.”

  He shakes his head slightly, a ghost of a smile. “No. I just know you better than I know myself.” Then he finishes the rest of his drink. “Come on. Let’s get you a hand grenade.”

  He keeps hold of my hand as we get off the stools and he leads me outside, the bartender wishing us a nice day as we leave.

  Outside, he readjusts his grip on my hand, holding it tighter still, and we walk down the street a couple of blocks until we hit Bourbon Street.

  And oh boy, I needed a distraction, and this place is that distraction.

  It’s pretty early, around dinner time, and yet the place is crawling with drunk people like it’s the middle of the night. There are old people, young people, couples, and an obscene amount of frat boys running around shirtless with beads around their neck, neon green drinks in their hands.

  “Oh my god,” I exclaim at the anarchy.

  “Told you. It’s trash. But maybe we need a bit of trash. Just a taste.”

  “Taste of trash,” I say. “I like that.”

  So we head into the crowd and he brings me to the first walk-up bar we see. It’s so loud and chaotic in the line that he ends up paying for two giant things of hand grenades, the voodoo Jedi stuff not working at the moment.

  “Here’s to us,” he says to me, voice raised above the din as he hands me my drink. “And here’s to you. For getting us both here. You didn’t have to come with me, but you did. And I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you, Ada.”

  God, he looks so damn serious right now.

  I try to shake it off, shrugging, smiling. “It was nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing,” he says, his voice cracking just a little, the kind of crack that makes my chest feel open wide. “It’s everything.”

  Okay, I don’t like this.

  I don’t like how grave he sounds. This is the kind of thing you say when you say goodbye.

  But if I play it off, he’s going to get annoyed.

  “I’d do anything for you, big guy,” I admit, just as some drunken idiot, shoves me right into him.

  My drink spills, partly on my shirt, the rest onto the ground, and Max immediately puts his arm around me, pulling me into him, and I am so sure that whoever pushed me is about to get his ass fucking beat, if not by Max then by me.

  The guy just stands there gawking at us and I look up to see that Max is staring at him, staring at him so hard that I swear his eyes are going dark. There aren’t any flames, so it’s not a demon he’s having a face off with, but even so, this is odd. And a little scary.

  Because the douchebag that Max is mad-dogging is blinking hard, his eyeballs going wide, his face going red, like he’s choking in front of us. It’s enough that a few people have stopped their revelry and are gathered around the guy, asking if he’s okay.

  Then the guy collapses to his knees and sucks in a deep breath, to the relief of people around him.

  Max finally takes his eyes off the guy and then turns, keeping his arm around me, leading me out of the crowd and down the next street.

  �
�What the fuck just happened?” I ask him, but he doesn’t answer, just keeps me pressed against him. “Did you…did you do that?”

  We’re still walking, and I suddenly stop, pulling myself out of his arm.

  “Stop,” I tell him. “Max…”

  He’s breathing hard, giving me a harried look. “I don’t know what happened.”

  “You don’t? Your fucking Jedi shit went to the dark side, that’s what. You officially went from Skywalker to Vader.”

  “Vader was a Skywalker.”

  “Max!” I hiss. “Next time you want to hurt someone, just fucking beat them up the old-fashioned way. Fist to face.”

  His nostrils flare as he breathes in sharply through his nose. Then he nods quickly. “You’re right. That wasn’t like me.”

  “No. It really wasn’t. Did you even know you could do that?”

  He shakes his head. “No. I just…thought about it and it happened. That’s never happened before.”

  “You’ve thought about something like that?”

  “Yeah. At the rave. When the guy was creeping on you. I imagined choking the shit out of him, but nothing happened, not that I was expecting it to. You had a handle on it anyway.”

  I’m unsettled as fuck. “Maybe this place is doing something to you.”

  “Could be,” he says. “Or maybe it’s just a matter of time.” Then he eyes my shirt. “Your shirt’s ruined.”

  I look down. Great. A splash of lime green across my white tunic. Another one bites the dust.

  I throw my arms out. “Just a day in the life of Ada Palomino, huh?”

  That manages a small smile out of him. “Should we go back and get you another one?”

  “Nope. What’s the point? We might run into some demons later.”

  “Hope not. The sword is in the trunk.”

  “How about we just go find Rose and get all this over with? It’s obvious that, until we do, the both of us are going to be a mess. I don’t want any more drinks spilled on me, and you don’t want to kill someone with sheer suggestion. K?”

  He exhales, running his hand through his hair, turning away from me. Stares at nothing for a moment and then nods. “Yeah. I reckon you’re right.”