by Ann Aguirre
At three, Eva pronounced the house ready and the food sufficient for the guests she’d invited. With a sigh of relief, I escaped to the guest room to shower. Once I was clean, I poked through my backpack. What I’d bought in London didn’t provide much choice, but as I stood in my T-shirt, Eva came in with an armful of clothes. She laid them on the bed with a smile.
“My stuff should work for you. I figured you might want to dress up.”
“Thanks. That should cheer me up a little.” It was the first time I’d referred to the emotional devastation I carried, hung around my neck like prison chains.
She hugged me. “Don’t give up, chiquita. We’re all here for you.”
“That’s the only thing keeping me going.”
Party Hearty
In the end, I wore my own jeans, paired with a silver sparkly top that belonged to Eva. I left my hair down and put on minimal makeup, as I didn’t feel like celebrating, but for Booke, I’d put on a good show. I came out of the guest room in time to act as hostess alongside Eva, who was run ragged between the food and a clingy Cami. My goddaughter liked people, but not in these quantities. I wished I could take her to her room and hide, but nobody was letting that happen. Various aunts and cousins whisked her away, handing her off like a beloved parcel, until all the attention cheered Cami up.
Which freed me to mingle. Awesome.
The musicians were setting up out back, a four-piece roughneck crew who looked like they laid pavement for a living, but after they started tuning their instruments, I changed my mind. Amazing how fast Chuch and Eva had put this together, never imagining it would be a congratulations party and not a farewell. Rich melody poured out of the guitar, sultry and danceable. Apparently others had the same idea, as couples formed up on the patio and spilled over into the yard, Shan and Jesse among them. I was glad to see they didn’t seem self-conscious around me anymore; that was one loose end tied off.
Booke was dancing with one of Chuch’s cousins, the thin and bedazzled Dolores, who had participated in a séance with us a while back. We had been seeking answers from Jesse’s deceased ex, but she didn’t respond well to the fact that he brought a diaphragm as the focus object . . . that belonged to some other woman. That didn’t end well. After the garbage disposal exploded all over the kitchen, I was a little startled to see her, but she seemed to be having a good time with Booke, laughing at his jokes. For my part, I was glad to see him manage a spirited Texas two-step.
A few minutes later, Ramon came up to me, sans Caridad. “Wanna dance?”
The band was just striking up a new tune. “What happened to—”
“Eh, she didn’t pass the family test. Chuch told his mom that she refused to help out, and Tia Elena burned up the phone lines. An hour later, I had my mother on the phone, yelling at me.”
“Not worth the grief?” I wondered aloud.
“Hey, I’d only been out with her four times. I’d have to be nuts to piss off my entire family unless I was crazy in love.”
“Then, sure,” I said. “I’ll dance, as long as there’s not a vicious witch of an ex waiting to hex me over it.”
“Nah.” He wheeled me into the grass, as all the patio space was taken. “I’m pretty irresistible and all, but it takes more than four dates to work the Ortiz magic.”
“You mean that in the figurative sense, right?”
Ramon laughed. “Si, I didn’t get the gift, but my sister did. She throws some mean bones.”
“How does that work?” Though I wasn’t sure, I had the impression Jesse Saldana’s mother didn’t know about his father’s ability to grow gigantic vegetables or her son’s empathy.
Chuch’s cousin raised a brow at me. “You don’t know?”
“I didn’t have a gifted support network growing up, so I missed a lot of things, including the forum where you outsource work, and the ins and outs of—”
“I understand.” He cut me off politely, which I appreciated. Rambling explanations while trying to follow his enthusiastic turns hadn’t been easy. “If you marry into a gifted family, it’s pretty much common knowledge. If you marry a normal, then you keep it quiet, even from your spouse.”
“So Jesse’s mother doesn’t come from a gifted background,” I guessed.
“Probably not. My family, on the other hand, tends to seek mates in the life, so to speak. So even those of us born without any abilities still know the score.”
“That makes sense. Thanks for the tip.” It also explained why Chuch and Eva remained unfazed by the strangeness that I routinely sprang on them.
Based on what I knew of Jesse’s romantic past, he was trying not to follow in his father’s footsteps. He must’ve seen how hard it was to keep a crucial secret, so he started looking at gifted girls when he was ready to settle down. I hadn’t been the one, but maybe Shannon was; given how crazy she was about him, I hoped so.
“You look thoughtful,” Ramon said.
“Is that bad?”
“You’re supposed to be having fun.”
“I’ll do better.” With some effort, I got into the party spirit. “I’ve been meaning to thank you.”
“For what?”
“Hooking me up with the trailer . . . and the Chevelle. I still need to repay you for losing it.”
He shrugged. “It was a lemon anyway. Chuch told me about your problem keeping cars.”
“He makes it sound worse than it is,” I protested.
“Really?” Ramon cocked a skeptical brow, and I fell quiet.
After him, I danced with a number of other cousins. Most of them had wives who didn’t mind parting with them for five minutes, and I put a good face on for the occasion. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Chuch’s primos, just that they were the wrong men. An hour into the dancing, I begged off and went to look for something to eat.
Eva’s food was a big hit; I loaded up my plate more than once. Since I’d helped make everything on the buffet table, I felt justified in savoring it. There were homemade chips and fresh salsa, guacamole and empanadas, plus more American standards, like deviled eggs and a cheese and fruit plate. There were multiple salads other women had brought in—my favorite was one with marshmallows, mandarin oranges, and plenty of whipped cream. It looked more like a dessert to me but I didn’t argue its placement in the food pyramid.
Once it got dark, Chuch fired up the barbecue, and Ramon kindled the strands of twinkle lights, which gave the yard a festive air. Booke came up beside me, as I was having seconds on the fruit and whipped cream salad. He had been dancing nonstop, enjoying his newfound vitality. His moves were a little old-fashioned, but the ladies seemed to find him charming.
“Having fun?” I asked.
“It’s fantastic. American women are astonishingly susceptible to the accent,” he told me. “If I’d known that in 1947, I’d have done a number of things differently.”
“I imagine,” I said drily.
He laughed, then his clever face fell into somber lines. “I don’t know that I deserve a second chance, but I intend to make the most of this one.”
“Where are you going first?”
He thought about that. “Shanghai, I think. I’ve always fancied a tour of the Orient. For a while, I thought our dreams were the closest I’d ever come to seeing the real world again.”
Yeah, about the dreams . . . “If you ever need me, don’t hesitate to contact me that way. But maybe . . .” I didn’t know how to put it.
It’s time to impose some boundaries . . . I don’t think you should be in my head anymore when I’m helplessly, impossibly in love with somebody else.
Fortunately, Booke was every bit as smart as he looked. “I understand. Emergencies only. I won’t wander into your dreams on a whim. I’ve other things to do now anyway.”
“You’ll be busy seducing susceptible American women,” I teased.
He colored, but didn’t deny the allegation. After all, he had been celibate a long time. Which was when it occurred to me . . .
&n
bsp; “Um . . . okay, so I know you had Internet access—” Oh, God, why was I broaching this subject and not Chuch . . . ? Don’t be a wuss. He’s your friend. Yet my tongue cleaved to the roof of my mouth, and for the life of me, I couldn’t get the safe sex lecture off the ground.
Booke interrupted my fumbling. “I’ve seen my share of pornography over the years, and I’m familiar, at least in the abstract, with the perils of modern courtship.”
By which I guessed he meant STDs and the like. I just nodded and mumbled, “That’s good. Wear a jimmy hat.”
He eyed me oddly. “Jimmy hat. Must Google that later.” Before he could say more, Dolores waved at him from across the yard, her face alight.
She had a prominent nose and receding chin, but nice eyes. And her style drew attention anyway, as she was draped with a load of flowing scarves and bangles, plus twelve rings on ten fingers, along with three ankle bracelets, one of which had bells on it, and a glimmering toe ring that complemented a pretty French pedicure.
Booke responded to her hail with a lifted hand, indicating he was almost through. “I expect this will be a lively overnight visit.”
Oh, man. He was going home with her later? Go, Dolores. For her sake, I hoped Booke remembered what to do with his equipment, but that wasn’t my problem. Inwardly masking my impatience, as I longed to apply myself to Chance’s return, I joined a group of wives who were chatting at the edge of the patio, children playing—or napping—at their feet, Eva among them. I listened to their jokes and stories, feeling more alone than I did in bed in the dark. Something about being surrounded by happy people made grief worse.
Still, the party was a success. Though it had started early, people kept arriving late, until the Ortiz house and yard was overflowing. The music got louder and more boisterous, until I thought it was a good thing they didn’t have close neighbors. I knew from personal experience that these shindigs could run until three in the morning. At least we don’t have a full mariachi band.
“You look tired,” Jesse said, plopping down in a chair beside me.
He had been dancing with Shannon all night, so tender and sweet that it made me glad to see them together, even if things were a mess for me. I wasn’t such a selfish person that I couldn’t stand for others to be happy, even when I wasn’t. But apparently he didn’t feel like he needed to be tactful anymore either. No woman wanted to hear she looked like a train wreck, even at her worst.
“That’s not the right word,” I answered.
“What is?”
Part of me wasn’t sure if I was ready to confide in him as I had during the early days of our uncertain relationship. Once, it had been really easy to talk to him, but so much had changed. Everything, in fact. Before, I had been a roiling ball of doubt, unsure of what I wanted. Not anymore. But if I didn’t try, there would always be this awkwardness between us, and Jesse might always wonder if, no matter my claims otherwise, I harbored a smidgeon of resentment toward him.
“I’m just . . . tired of waiting. I’m glad for Booke, but for me, this party is something I have to endure before I apply myself to getting Chance back.”
From his expression, I could see I’d shocked him. “Corine . . . from what Shan said, he died. People don’t come back from that. He’s gone, sugar. I’m sorry, but he is, and you have to—”
“Normal people don’t,” I cut in. “But Chance wasn’t and neither am I. If she told you everything, then you know I had a demon queen running amok in my head. I ruled hell for a while. Didn’t do a particularly good job of it but that’s not the point.”
“What is?”
“That if I could go to Sheol and come back, Chance can cross back from wherever he is. His mortal body died, but he’s still out there. I talked to him.”
“Through Shan’s radio.”
Which only reached dead people. Yes, I knew that. Anger suffused me, and I opened my mouth to yell at him. Who knew what I might’ve said . . . because at that point, the demons arrived, and the party I wasn’t enjoying went from bad to worse.
Three extraordinarily handsome men strode around the side of the house, chiseled features, well dressed, and impeccably coiffed. One was blond, the second brunette, and the other one had a remarkable shock of white hair, though his face looked young. As one, the women sighed and mentally offered up their ovaries. I might’ve reacted the same way if I hadn’t recognized the stink of brimstone and sulfur on them—and if they didn’t move with a hint of awkwardness in their newly acquired bodies.
These weren’t just any old demons. They were Luren, drawn to beautiful victims and summoned in the most intricate of sex rites. God only knew what they were doing at Chuch’s backyard barbecue, but I couldn’t imagine it meant anything good. I headed them off before they could start an estrogen riot, as the female guests were staring like they couldn’t wait to get to know the new guests better, preferably topless. Maybe I was reading into the situation, but it seemed likely that this visit related to my recent sojourn in Sheol.
“What’re you doing here?” I demanded.
“We’ve come for reparations, Corine Solomon.” The taller one with the white hair did the talking for the diabolically sexy trio.
“What the hell—” Chuch started.
The demon ignored him. “You made a bargain with our knight, Sibella. Those terms were not met.”
“Because the Hazo staged a coup,” I said incredulously. “Not through any contractual failure of mine.”
He was right; I’d made a deal with Sibella. I was supposed to take seven days to learn the lay of the land in Sheol and then return to come to terms with whatever it was Sibella had wanted of me. Instead, the demon queen living in my head broke the terms. It appeared it was time for me to pay her bill.
Fantastic.
“You did not return to our stronghold in seven days, as promised. Instead you attempted to claim the city for your own. The original bargain was not met.”
“Good luck enforcing that.”
“That’s why we’re here. Unless you’re prepared to meet Sibella’s champion, you will deal with us, here and now.”
Uh-oh. It sounded an awful lot like they intended to wreck up the place. But how much damage could sex demons do? Some of Chuch and Eva’s family were gifted, but would they fight? I didn’t like my odds, three on one, and though Butch had the heart of a lion, he still had the teeth of a Chihuahua. Still, I had to try to minimize the collateral damage. I’d cost the Ortizes enough over the course of our friendship.
“Come with me,” I invited, “and we’ll have it out.”
Mostly I wanted to get them away from the rest of the guests. Fortunately, most women had downed enough booze to react with less intensity to the Luren appeal as they would otherwise. Still, some of them were looking for their husbands, initiating long, intimate kisses without understanding why. It helped that the Luren weren’t here incarnate; the draw was lessened in possession. Still, their human hosts radiated a raw lust that unsettled me. Jesse and Shannon had stopped dancing, and were mostly just grinding on each other. His face was a taut, erotic portrait, and she looked like she wanted to climb him. In two minutes, we’d be in the middle of an orgy, or somebody would be dead.
Tense, I waited to see if the demons would take the bait. Namely me.
No such luck.
The dark-haired one was becoming alert to the potential in the situation, both for feeding and chaos. He smiled with beautiful white teeth. “I think not. Perhaps we’ll take payment from your friends and loved ones instead.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal,” I said. “Sibella made the deal with me. Any breach—and I am not admitting there was one—must be addressed with me.”
“She’s right,” a silky voice said.
Oh, gods, it only needs this.
I turned slowly, hoping I hadn’t identified the speaker correctly. Barachiel stood at my shoulder, cloaked in radiance from head to toe. No lie, he was actually glowing a little bit, and the light show
hinted at great white feathery wings unfurling at his back. Then I blinked and the suggested shape blurred into the line of his jacket, but I knew better than to believe it was a trick of my tired eyes. Barachiel did everything for a reason.
“Corine has aligned herself with the host,” he told the Luren. “Should you choose to pursue this debt, it will be tantamount to an act of war. Are you content to begin the battle tonight?” He tilted his head, visibly charmed by the idea. “I am.”
“No. This is not happening. I’m not the catalyst for the end of days or whatever.”
“Are you sure?” Barachiel asked.
I wasn’t.
Inwardly, I quaked in terror. This was too much, yet another choice being forced on me. I could see if I permitted Barachiel to protect me now, he would call the balance due later. I wanted to cut free of all supernatural things and just live my life, but I had long since lost any ability to chart that course. Yet I was weary of bouncing from one catastrophe to the next, living on borrowed karma.
The blond one cocked his head, as if listening to unheard voices. “Yes. We are content to fire the opening salvo, Barachiel.”
Uh-oh. That had to mean they had some trick up their sleeves. I feared Barachiel, and I didn’t want to work for him. That didn’t mean I wanted him to end up in a cage match at my friend’s barbecue. Sometimes my life sucked so much, there were no words. So. Not. Good. I had to stop this, somehow, but my mind was an utter blank; I had no cards left to play.
The archangel whipped out a gleaming silver sword, forged of a metal sharp and preternaturally strong, like the knife Kel carried. Moonlight ran like water down the blade. In response, the three demons drew their own weapons, black as night, barbed and serrated like hungry teeth.
And that was when the screaming started.
Battle Royale
The party guests weren’t prepared for Armageddon to break out amid cheese rolls and onion dip, so I didn’t blame them for panicking.