[Corine Solomon 5] Agave Kiss

by Ann Aguirre

  youre running out of time

  “For what? Chance?”

  Butch gave an affirmative yap. Then he went back to work. This time the letters shaped into:

  if you dont open the way during the festival of the dead it will be too late

  I glanced at Booke, who got out his phone. He Googled, then said, “It’s in October. You have a few weeks yet.”

  But given the complications so far, I could understand why Chance was worried. I still hadn’t figured out a way to handle things on my end. The only thing I knew about opening gates between realms involved sacrificing a soul, and I damn sure wasn’t doing that. But there must be a solution, somewhere.

  “Why? I don’t want to wait another year, but—”

  By the way that Butch went after the tiles, Chance had an urgent message to convey. I stopped, waiting for the letters to fall into shape. Booke patted my hand as if he could make things better with a touch. And it helped a little.

  next year i wont remember you

  Shit. “Is that your father’s solution to your unwillingness to assume Daikokuten’s mantle?”

  this realm strips you of mortal ties

  That made sense. Otherwise people who crossed over would constantly be trying to get back, like Chance. I guessed only his divine heritage made it possible for him to hold on to us—me—for this long. But time was running out. No wonder Butch had been so agitated. I felt that way myself.

  “What can I do?”

  open the way

  i love you

  Feeling stupid, I said to open space, “Chance, don’t give up. I’ll find a way. See, you have more reason than ever to get back here.” I drew in a hard, hurting breath, wondering if I should tell him like this. “We’re having a baby.”

  Silence. The Chihuahua eyed me, but didn’t respond. Instead, Butch sat back on his haunches, studying me with liquid, sympathetic eyes. By his current demeanor, I guessed Chance had gone, but I needed to confirm. “It’s just us now?”

  Affirmative yap.

  “Did he hear me?”

  I got the dog equivalent of a shrug. It was possible Chance had heard me as he was slipping away, but Butch couldn’t guarantee that. Dammit. You should’ve said something sooner, given him a reason to fight harder.

  Still, I owed appreciation where it was due. “Thank you, buddy. You gave me a much-needed heads-up.”

  If I didn’t solve this problem in fourteen days, Chance would be lost to me forever. That could not happen. In my head, I heard that stupid song from Jeopardy! I blocked out the nerves that were surely creating that distraction, then turned to Booke.

  “You’re the resident genius. You said you want to repay me. This is the time. I’m . . .” My voice broke. “I’m at my wit’s end. I don’t have anything left to give, and yet it’s more critical than ever—”

  “Hush, sweetheart.” His tone was endearingly avuncular as he drew me against him, and I ugly-cried all over his gray sweater. “You didn’t just let me die . . . and I’m not going to let you lose the man you love either.”

  “Okay.” Booke’s unconditional support gave me the strength to clamber to my feet. “Let’s check out this arcane library.”

  My backpack was already in the bedroom, courtesy of Booke, and he’d staked his claim on the couch. He gave me his arm like a proper gentleman, though I think it was more out of concern for my balance than out of good manners. Together, we headed out to the car, and Butch trotted at my heels with a faintly aggrieved doggy sigh. Without urging, he hopped into the back of the Pinto. Booke still had the keys, so when he swung into the driver’s seat, I didn’t protest. My right leg was iffy anyway, and it made sense to rest it as much as I could, as much as the mission allowed.

  “This is a terrible car,” he observed, starting it.

  “At least it runs. And I have a propensity for misplacing my rides, so I understand why Chuch didn’t want to sell me anything he could make real money off restoring.”

  “I can’t imagine there’s much demand for a classic Pinto.”

  “Exactly. That’s why I don’t have the Charger or the Maverick. And he took a loss on this.” It was all I could do to get him to accept a measly three hundred, when I knew he’d paid four, then bought some parts and spent some time on the engine, if he hadn’t gotten around to the body yet.

  “It can be hard to let friends help when you’re in a bind, but they have the comfort of knowing they did right by you. And you can offer the same support when their backs are to the wall.”

  “You just need to call, any of you,” I said huskily.

  “I know,” Booke said. “I did. And you came.”

  His obvious gratitude and affection warmed me. I patted his leg because it would be a bad idea to strangle-hug the driver while the vehicle was in motion. Our journey ended at a large tan brick building with a giant red and yellow sign that proclaimed WONDER LANES on it. If that hadn’t clued me in, the black ball and white pins depicted below would’ve done the trick.

  Staring incredulously, I asked, “The arcane library is in a bowling alley?”

  “Would you come here to learn the secrets of the universe?” He raised a brow.

  “You’ve got a point.” The people I’d known who bowled certainly weren’t on quests for enlightenment. They were there to hang out, have fun, drink some beer, maybe eat a pizza, no chance of them stumbling through a hidden door, unless they were drunk and looking for the bathroom.

  I figured gifted secrets were concealed better than that. “Does Twila run this place?”

  “She runs the whole state of Texas. So the short answer is yes. But she doesn’t manage the library personally.”

  “She must have her fingers in a lot of pies,” I said.

  “You’ve no idea.” He paused, as if wondering whether he should tell me something. Then he came to a decision. “I suppose there’s no harm. I know you’ve been worried about me, but you truly shouldn’t be. You see, I’ve agreed to step in as the curator at the library here . . . when my sabbatical ends.”

  “That’s the deal you made with her?” Learning the truth was a big load off my mind. But I had questions. “You won’t be forced to live there, will you? I mean, it’s not like exchanging one magickal prison for another?”

  “No,” he answered, laughing softly. “It’s an employment contract. While it’s true that it doesn’t end until Twila deems my debt repaid, this will be a job, not an incarceration. I’m free to live as I choose when I’m not on duty. Obviously, that necessitates my relocation to San Antonio, but I don’t mind. I’m quite weary of Stoke.”

  “Then you must be pretty excited, getting to see the place for the first time.”

  “I am, rather. The librarian who’s been running the place for the last twenty years has nearly squared her account with Twila, so I’m queued up to take her place.”

  “You don’t draw a salary, I guess?”

  “Of course not. But once I resolve my identity crisis and claim my inheritance, I’ll be fine. And I have some other irons in the fire, financially speaking.”

  I studied him, impressed with his fortitude and resilience. “You’re amazing. Not many could endure what you have.”

  “Loneliness and introspection made me a better man,” he admitted. “I had no choice but to own my role in the mess my life had become. Of course, after that I went a bit mad for ten years or so . . . but I got better.”

  I grinned as I climbed from the car and opened my arms to Butch. “Monty Python.”

  “Yes, I caught sketches on the Web. By the time they were new to me, they were old to the world. So odd, that. I had such a limited window to learn and experience anything.”

  “It’ll be different from now on.”

  Working in the library didn’t sound like a bad job, especially for an intellectual like Booke. He might even find it fascinating, and on the plus side, he got to go home at the end of the day. Presumably, there would be weekends off, a chance to travel around Texas,
see the sights, and have sex with lots of women who couldn’t resist the accent. That picture of his prospects made me smile.

  “Let’s go see what my future holds, shall we?”

  Yet knowing Kel was out there, buying time, at such personal cost, knowing that the punishment for his escape might be death this time, it was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other. I felt as though in pursuing a ritual to bring Chance back, I was abandoning Kel. Regardless, I had made my decision in Sheol. No matter how much it hurt, this time, it wouldn’t change.

  Squaring my shoulders, I stowed Butch in my bag, shouldered it, and followed Booke. My stick made no sound against the pavement due to the rubber tips on the bottom, but it steadied me. Eventually the Englishman noticed I couldn’t keep up with his long strides and he slowed his pace to match mine. I had constant pain in my leg; part of me wondered if it was permanent, and if the injury would end up being for nothing if Kel got himself killed playing bait. But that was dark and desperate thinking. I couldn’t permit such ideas to take root. Without hope, I had nothing.

  Booke strode confidently toward the building and pushed open the doors, which took us into a real bowling alley. This time of day, there were a few people using the lanes, some bored waitresses filling plastic cups of beer. The place smelled simultaneously dusty and alcoholic with a soupçon of sweaty feet and oregano. He led the way past the shoe rental and the snack counter; nobody was interested in our business. When he opened a maintenance closet door, I thought he had to be kidding.

  But nope, he pushed it open, stepped in, and beckoned to me to follow. Shrugging, I closed the door behind me, which prompted him to jiggle one of the shelves, and a secret door opened; the whole unit moved to reveal cement steps leading down.

  “Is this safe?” I asked. “Couldn’t the janitor find that by mistake?”

  “Not unless he has one of these.” Booke showed me a token with Twila’s personal insignia branded on it.

  “Ah, so this is magickally secured as well as hidden.”

  “Yes. Come along.”

  Marveling at how weird reality could be, I followed him.

  Mystifying Secrets of Mystery

  No lie, the library had been built beneath a bowling alley. But it had the charm of a historical building, despite the subterranean locale. The shelves were burnished mahogany, filled with books that looked incredibly old. Overhead, the noise from the bowling alley wasn’t audible, which meant the walls were extremely thick . . . or that the spell securing the place also incorporated some soundproofing.

  There were a few other patrons paging through tomes at a couple of tables nearby. Booke spared them no attention; instead he made straight for the desk he would presumably occupy in just under a year’s time. His predecessor was a slim woman in her early fifties with retro tortoiseshell glasses and smooth silver hair, styled in an elegant bob. She wore a good gray suit and a string of quality pearls. The pawnshop owner in me immediately appraised them. Yeah, they’d fetch a nice price.

  “Twila didn’t mention you’d be stopping by today,” the woman said coolly. Her accent was hard to place at first, and then it came to me—Boston. Not Southie, but subtler, the vowels not quite as sharp. Between her appearance and her cultured tones, her whole presence spoke of moneyed antecedents.

  “This is personal business,” he told her. “But it’s good to meet you, Ms. Devlin. I expect we’ll have a number of details to cover . . . another time. Are we free to access library resources?”

  “Certainly. The books are available to all in good standing within Twila’s demesne.” Her eyes held a warning light, however.

  Booke ignored the subtext. “Could you acquaint me with the filing system?”

  While he handled our business with the curator, I wandered off to peruse the stacks. The tomes in here were impressive; some looked comical, as if they had been printed in someone’s garage as a joke. But I knew better than to dismiss something based on appearances. After all, you’d never guess by looking that my dog could talk.

  I had read a few pages of The Baroness’s Cure for Intimate Ailments by the time Booke joined me. “She gave me a few leads, though she wants you to know she doesn’t approve of our endeavor.”

  “I don’t care,” I said honestly. “I have one shot at this. One. If we don’t have the right ritual, or if something goes wrong? I’ll never see Chance again . . . and this kid won’t ever meet his dad.”

  “I understand. Just be warned that such powerful spells always exact a price. You may not like the cost of what you want.”

  “That’s not news.” After the trip to Sheol, I understood better than anyone how much could be taken in recompense.

  “Then let’s move forward. As you said, time’s running out.”

  He settled me at a table, then went off to collect a vast number of books, based on recommendations from Ms. Devlin. We split them down the middle, and that was a long damn day, punctuated by page turning and ponderous silence. Followed by another one just like it. All the while, I was aware of the clock ticking down. After the second day, I got smart and packed us a lunch. On the fourth day, I had a doctor’s appointment in the morning, so we got a late start. Booke went with me, which was odd, but cool. At least I didn’t endure everything alone.

  The doctor was aware I’d seek out another physician once I returned home, so he didn’t ask a lot of questions. He just gave me a general OB tune-up and assured me that the baby was fine, despite the damage to my leg. Then he put a gizmo on my stomach, so we could listen to the heartbeat, and that was when I fell in love. I pressed both hands to my stomach, unable to believe there was really somebody in there. I mean, I had known, but until this moment it wasn’t 100 percent real to me. Now I had this other person, somebody to love and protect, and everything I did going forward would be for him or her.

  The doctor pronounced me sound, but cautioned, “Make sure to take your prenatal vitamins daily and get plenty of rest.”

  “I’ll make sure she does,” Booke promised.

  I shot him a dirty look for making it sound like I couldn’t care for myself, but I knew he meant well, so I kept quiet. At the front desk, I paid for the office visit, then we walked out to the Pinto.

  “Do you mind if we stop by a pharmacy before going to Wonder Lanes?”

  “I intended to insist, if you didn’t mention it.”

  “You’re a sneaky alpha male, you know that?”

  “It often works to my advantage. Dress a man in wool cardigans and women simply don’t expect him to be domineering.”

  “That was pretty amazing, right?” I touched my belly.

  His expression softened, his gray eyes warm and friendly. “It was. I’m honored I got to be there.” He paused as we got into the car, and he didn’t speak until we were almost at the drugstore. “They didn’t have anything like that when Marlena was pregnant. I never heard my son’s heartbeat like that . . . and after he was born, I saw him very little. I don’t think he ever knew—”

  Oh, man.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I think of them as belonging to another life,” he said quietly. “It’s the only way to manage it. Since escaping Stoke, I’m a new man. I have to be. I won’t make the same mistakes.”

  “No question of that. From what you told me you weren’t at all responsible or controlling back then, more of a hedonistic devil.” I grinned to show I was teasing.

  “I still have those tendencies, but I’m doing my best to quell them.”

  Booke waited in the car while I ran into the drugstore. As mine wasn’t a complicated scrip, it only took a few moments to get what I needed. Then I hurried back out. There wasn’t nearly enough time to do everything. With the baby to think about and Chance, whom I loved and might never see again, I felt like I was drowning; each breath was a gasp, pulled into tight, burning lungs.

  As if he shared my dark mood, Booke fell silent as we drove back to Wonder Lanes. This afternoon, it was packed—jumping even—
due to league activity. Men in bowling shirts high-fived each other over pitchers of beer. The high population made it easier to slip into the maintenance closet and then venture downstairs. I supposed if the foot traffic were higher, people might eventually notice, but there had never been more than four other patrons downstairs, no matter how often we came. The gifted didn’t often need to do extensive research in San Antonio, it seemed.

  Another fruitless day dragged on. By the end of it, my eyes hurt, my back hurt, I was cranky, and I wanted a nap. Plus, I had a sick suspicion that I’d waited too long. Spent too much time on Booke and Kel—and that there was no way to find out what I needed to know before the deadline. Panic clutched at my throat with cold, clawing hands, until I had to put my head on the table to meter my breaths.

  Booke’s hand rested on the back of my head. “Calm down. Nobody said this search would be easy. We have a little time yet.”

  “I’m gonna fail. And then he’ll lose all desire to be human again—”

  “Shh, sweetheart, don’t cry.”

  Somehow I restrained my overactive pregnancy hormones; surely that was the reason I kept melting down. I’d been in some tough spots and rarely yielded to the urge to bawl about it. But lately, I couldn’t seem to help myself. The other night at Eva’s, I was watching a commercial about a woman who couldn’t get ahold of her mother due to a bad long-distance plan, and I nearly burst into tears.

  Gods, I don’t think I can stand nine months, being this emotional.

  Then I wanted to cry because that sounded like I didn’t want the baby—and that wasn’t true. In a long history of untenable situations and being an emotional mess, I had never been this mercurial or unstable. The inside of my head was a train wreck, teeming with dark thoughts and irrational fears.

  “Smack me or something. I’m crazy.” I sat up, striving for control.