by Ann Aguirre
“Whether you want to find the preservation spell, before I unlock this place.”
“Oh. In that case, it’s not up to me. It should be Booke’s call.”
I wasn’t at all surprised when, ten minutes later, after having heard what was on the table, he shook his head. “No, I’ve had enough dark magick. There’s always a cost to incantations that require a demonic touch, and I’ve paid as much as I care to.”
Though part of me wanted to protest—we’d never gotten to travel as I had promised—I didn’t say a word. Shan’s brow was creased with sadness; it was different knowing your friend was living on borrowed time. Yet shouldn’t Booke get to dictate when he died, as he’d had no say whatsoever in how he’d lived? Butch approved of this decision with an affirmative yap, then he trotted over to Booke to rub against his shins.
The Englishman picked the little dog up and cradled him in the crook of his arm. “Think that was a wise choice, do you? I tend to agree. Age apparently does bring wisdom.”
“If you’re all prepared, I’ll do as Corine has asked now.” Kel strode toward the front door.
I wasn’t ready but five more minutes wouldn’t help. So I said nothing. Instead, I followed Kel, curious as to how he would unravel the spell. His tatts glowed with arcane light, and silvery rays shone from his fingertips, gradually expanding toward the barrier that was strongest at the front door. The light brightened until it was unbearable, rippling outward over the cottage walls, then dropping away in falling sparks, as the enchantment blew apart. I narrowed my eyes, trying to track the expenditure of energy, but a low boom shook the house from the roof down.
Then I felt the heat zing through me, blinding me a second time, and when my vision cleared, everything had changed. It was twilight with a ruddy light shining through the window. All the work Booke had done on his pocket space had carried over into the real world, superimposed over the abandoned cottage. Now things were no longer dusty and abandoned. I wondered briefly what had happened to the rats and spiders displaced in the phase shift, but I was too thrilled by the view through the window to linger on the thought long; it showed wind blowing through the tall grass and whipping through the tree branches.
You did it. Thanks, Kel.
My eyes smarted a bit, tears slipping from the corners. I dashed the moisture away impatiently as I hurried toward Kel. He swayed, one hand braced on the doorjamb. His face was pale, his tattoos still glowing with a residual light, giving him an ethereal air. I touched him without thinking; my hands went to his shoulders to offer support. To my surprise, he spun away from the wall to accept my help.
He leaned into me, head bowed toward mine. “An incredible amount of rage and malice went into that working.”
“How did you break the curse?”
“I drew it in and then expelled it along with enough force to shatter the curse.”
No wonder he looked ill. That sounded an awful lot like how I felt after handling a particularly evil object. Because I always craved a gentle touch after a bad reading, I put my arms around him. Kel tensed, probably because people didn’t comfort God’s Hand.
“Easy,” I whispered. “I’m not making a move, just grounding you.”
I wasn’t sure he knew what I meant, but after a shudder wracked him, he put his arms around me and held on tight. He probably felt sick as hell; there were limits to what a Nephilim could tolerate. I rubbed his back, trying not to remember how we had been together. Savoring that memory felt like a betrayal of Chance.
“I wish—” He broke off, leaving me to wonder.
“Better?” I asked, focusing on his welfare rather than words left unspoken.
“I need to sleep to regain my full strength. But I’m well enough, all things considered.” His tone sounded strange as he stepped away from me.
“What things—” I started to ask, but Shannon and Booke joined us by the front door before I could complete the question.
“We’ll talk later,” Kel said, flinging the front door wide. He looked ready to collapse, but he had done what I asked.
As always.
A cool, inviting wind blew through the house, so long untouched by natural forces. Tears glinted in Booke’s eyes as he turned his face toward the breeze, then he set Butch gently onto the floor. He moved with the care of a much older man; his steps were tentative, shaky, even. I took his elbow, knowing the weight of those years was already coming to bear on him. It might not show instantly like a fast-forwarded video of a decaying rose, but the pain must be phenomenal.
Worth it, I thought, for a taste of freedom.
“I had forgotten what the world smells like,” he breathed.
Booke crooked his elbow, as if he were my escort, and not the other way around. In stately procession, we made our way to the front step of the cottage. Kel and Shannon followed. The yard was completely overgrown, the sky awash in purple, and I could tell by his expression that he had never seen anything so lovely. For me, it was a melancholy beauty; certainly there was pastoral charm, but it came knowing Booke’s time to appreciate it was limited.
“I have an idea,” I said then. “We’ll take a trip. Our passports should be good enough to manage rail travel. Would you like to see Paris? We’ll go. Italy? There too, if we can.” The unspoken subtext was that I didn’t know how long Booke had, but I would be damned if I didn’t keep my pledge to him.
“I have no documents,” Booke pointed out wryly.
That was a problem, but I’d figure out a way around it. Dreaming didn’t make sense in our current situation; nor would I leave him alone. Yet I’d promised him the world, and he would have it, however much could be experienced in the short while he had left. It went without saying that he would die somewhere along the way. I didn’t let myself think of that. No more good-byes. I can’t take much more. But the universe had never listened to my pleas. If there was an intelligence running the show, as Kel’s archangel claimed, then it was singularly uninterested in Corine Solomon.
“There has to be a solution,” Shannon said. “We’ll think of something.”
Booke tilted his head, entranced by the dying rays of the sunset. “Think fast. I’m a very old man, you know.”
Sands of Time
While Shannon arranged for a car to pick us up and Kel lay exhausted on the sofa, I helped Booke gather his things. He did have a birth certificate, but without a current passport he wouldn’t be able to leave the country. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to apply and wait for proper channels. We had to figure this out now.
Then it hit me.
“Eva,” I muttered, already dialing.
“You’ve thought of something?” Booke asked.
I waved him to silence, and he went back to packing, his movements slow and measured. Fortunately, the time difference worked in our favor, as it was earlier in Texas. Eva answered on the third ring.
“It’s me,” I said. “How are you?”
“Good. Tired. Cami keeps me hopping.” Cami was Chuch and Eva’s daughter. I was fuzzy on how old she was, given the time slippage in Sheol, but this didn’t seem like the time to ask.
“Chuch and the baby?”
“They’re both fine. Are you all right? Is Shannon with you?”
Dammit. I had explanations to make, so I summarized as fast as I could, leaving out the ineffable account of Chance’s death. When I finished, she said, “I get the feeling this isn’t a social call.”
“I’m with Booke. If you have contacts in the U.K., I could use them.”
“My contacts,” she repeated. “Not Chuch?” Obliquely, she was asking if I needed papers, not weapons.
“Yeah, do you know anyone?”
“I used to. Let me make a few calls and get back to you.”
So strange, but my friends Chuch and Eva had a colorful past. Chuch had been an arms dealer before he met the love of his life, Eva, who was a talented forger. They’d left their lives of crime to settle into connubial bliss in Laredo. Now Eva was a stay-at-h
ome mom, and Chuch restored classic cars. But they both had helpful underworld contacts at moments like this.
“Can she help?” Booke asked.
I turned to him; in the few moments I had been otherwise occupied, he’d already aged. His features reflected another five years in fine lines. His hair was a little thinner, his shoulders more stooped. At the rate the real world was catching up to him, he might not have more than a day or two. Part of me desperately wanted to find a Luren, no matter what Booke thought . . . but it would be wrong to make such an enormous choice for him. I had to respect his wishes.
Fifteen minutes later, we stood waiting outside the cottage with luggage in tow. A different driver arrived in a Range Rover, as Shannon had told him there were four of us. I suspected Kel was hanging around to have the conversation about my destiny, but I preferred to delay it as long as possible. That said, I owed him to hear him out, especially after he’d half killed himself for Booke at my behest.
I helped Booke into the back, Kel climbed in after me, and Shannon got in front with the driver, who was peering at the ghost cottage with a puzzled expression. “It looks different,” he said. “Less ominous. Like any regular house.”
“It’s just old,” Shan told him.
The guy shrugged, clearly uninterested in further debate as he maneuvered the vehicle around. “Where am I dropping you?”
It was an excellent question. I hadn’t thought much past getting Booke out of the cottage where he had been trapped for so long. But before I could reply, the phone rang. Eva’s number showed in the ID box, and I answered.
“Got something for me?”
She didn’t protest my terse response, knowing the situation with Booke. “Yeah. The guy I know is working in London. I’m texting you his address.”
That was the answer to the driver’s question. I thanked her, disconnected, then said, “Take us to the train station, please.”
“Very well.” The driver turned to Shannon, who responded to his overture with a tired yawn.
Booke reached for Butch, who went without protest. I watched as he petted my dog with fingers that held a slight tremor. It must be overwhelming to be moving after so long. I mean, he’d been in cars before, but it had been half a century. I couldn’t even imagine the isolation. He was watching the scenery with a fierce focus, even when it got too dark to see.
I turned to Kel with a questioning glance. “Do you want to have the discussion I deferred now or later? Are you on a schedule?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve withstood many punishments over the years.”
Guilt flared in a hard, awful twinge. “I don’t want to be the reason you get hurt, Kel.”
He shook his head, his smile haunting and melancholy in the dying light. “Don’t concern yourself with my fate. It will not change, however much I wish it.”
That sounded ominous. But he turned away, shoulders toward the door, making it clear he was uninterested in pursuing the conversation right then. It was hard to credit that we’d been close—he’d confided in me. It felt like a lifetime ago.
The ride went in silence until the driver stopped at the train station. I paid him in cash, then we unloaded. I had lost my sense of time in the real world; how long had it been exactly since Shan and I got off the train? Now we were heading back to London to look for Eva’s contact. I checked the address in my phone, then bought us all tickets. It was late by the time we boarded, and Booke was looking worse. What’re you doing? I asked myself. Maybe it would’ve been better to let him die in familiar surroundings, but it seemed so wrong. That he should pass on without ever seeing anything of the modern world firsthand. I wanted to show him everything, but there weren’t sufficient moments left for that. So I had to pick and choose.
I helped Booke get settled. Then Shannon sat beside him, which left me to take a seat behind them with Kel. It was full dark by this time, no scenery to admire. But I needed to talk to him anyway. And I could tell that he was looking at my blurry face in the glass, not peering beyond the reflection at the night sky.
“Go on, then. I’m ready to listen. You’ve been cryptic in the past, talking about me being important, hinting I have a destiny. Now, you’ve said you’re to recruit me?”
“Time to give the pitch,” he said tiredly. “The archangel to whom I report has been building alliances, preparing to wage a war against demonkind.”
“What has that got to do with me?” I asked, puzzled.
“The duality of your nature. You’ve tasted white magick and demon power. Ultimately, you rejected the demon queen and returned home. Thus, my archangel believes you’ve chosen a side.”
“That seems . . . far-fetched. Just because I didn’t want to stay in Sheol, it doesn’t mean I want to . . .” I trailed off, unsure what I was being asked to do.
“Fight?” he supplied.
“Would it come to that?” It didn’t sound like a viable option for me. I wasn’t exactly the warrior princess type.
“If Barachiel has his way, it will. He wants to conquer demonkind utterly. He’s been building toward this confrontation for centuries.”
“Why does he want me? What would I be doing?” Already, the rejection trembled on the tip of my tongue. I had learned the hard way that if powerful creatures sought you out, it was almost never to your benefit.
“If you agree, he’ll explain everything to you personally,” he answered.
I stared. “Isn’t that like asking me to sign on the dotted line without reading the contract first?”
“He’s not accustomed to being refused anything he wants. To his mind, you should be honored to be chosen.”
“Like in the old days when an angel appeared in a halo of golden light and the peasant scrambled forth in an adoring stupor to do his bidding?”
A reluctant half smile curved Kel’s mouth. “Precisely. He has not adapted well to the Information Age.”
“Then . . . I have to decline. I’m sorry. But it’s not fair to ask me to accept something like this without more details.”
“Nobody ever said life was fair,” he murmured, turning away.
“Ignoring me won’t work,” I whispered.
He shifted, so he was gazing at me full on again. “What is it, Corine?”
“What aren’t you telling me? I know you well enough to realize something’s bothering you about all this.”
Surprise flickered across his impassive features. Doubtless it was my assertion that I knew him. He tried to be remote and untouchable as a mountaintop, but I had scaled his heights, breached his imperturbable silence. And now I knew how to interpret his minuscule expressions.
Kel clenched both hands into fists, balanced them upon his knees. “I’m trapped, Corine.”
“I know.” That wasn’t news, however.
His mouth firmed into a taut, angry line. “You don’t. When I report that I’ve failed to recruit you to our cause, my next order will be to kill you.”
My blood chilled in my veins. “You wouldn’t—”
“I don’t want to,” he said, low. “But I am incapable of rebellion.”
“But . . . you were flogged in the arena.” I remembered his scars, and the way he’d trembled when I ran my fingertips across them, how he flinched when I traced the place on his shoulders where his wings used to be. “What for, if not refusing to fall in line?”
“For being a half-breed. For being insolent and irreverent.”
“You were whipped for . . . mouthing off?” I asked, trying to understand. “But you never actually denied a command?”
“If I could, I would have.” His anguish sharpened the words, made a weapon of them, until I had to reach for him.
My palm covered his knotted fist, and I stroked his knuckles until his fingers unfurled beneath mine. Then he turned his hand slowly under mine, until our palms aligned. A small part of me still loved him. Not as you build your dreams around a man, but in the way you love the stars for shining, showering ephemeral brightness.
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br /> “What did they make you do?”
“The archangel learned I had a lover,” he said quietly.
I was afraid I knew where this was going. “Asherah, the goddess of desire.”
He shook his head. “Like you, she was human, though she was a priestess.”
“He ordered you to kill her?” It seemed like the logical conclusion.
“Yes.” The raw syllable told me how much the memory still hurt him, two thousand years later.
“And you couldn’t refuse.”
“Only humans have free will.”
“But you’re so strong. There must be a way to resist your orders.”
“Do you think I would not walk away from endless war, endless death, if it were so simple?” Kel angled a hard look at me.
He had a point. His archangel—or whatever the hell the creature was—had a powerful hold on him. Maybe magickal compliance was in effect, making Kel think he didn’t have free will, due to the bullshit mythology he had been fed since birth. Regardless, it also meant I was in a hell of a mess. If I didn’t sign on with a being I wasn’t convinced had humanity’s best interests at heart, Kel would kill me. And then he’d spend two thousand years grieving.
Shit.
“How long do you have before he gets suspicious?”
“I’m not sure. He has many concerns, many agents. And I’m not his most important emissary.”
“I don’t want to fight anymore,” I said tiredly.
Kel laced his fingers through mine. “Nor do I. Even before I met you, I was weary of war, sick unto death.”
“But you can’t die.”
“No.” The word carried infinite sorrow.
“I don’t understand what the archangel wants from me. I’m not the Binder anymore. My mother’s magick doesn’t work. Which just leaves the touch. What good could that possibly do him?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. “But this I promise . . . I won’t hurt you, Corine.”
“You can’t know what the future holds.” If I had the option, I’d take a do-over in Sheol, find some way to save Chance. “Anyway, it’s not our most pressing concern. Can you stall?”