[Corine Solomon 5] Agave Kiss (32 page)

“Needs must, devil drives.”

There was nothing more to say. The final minutes were up on the scoreboard, game winding down. When we arrived at the warehouse, it looked even worse than it had on Google. Easy to imagine shady doings here. Booke took the tire iron out of the trunk and whacked the rusty padlock on the back door until it gave. Inside, it was dark, dank, reeking of pigeon shit and the acrid tang of urine. Not a romantic locale for a long-anticipated reunion. I wandered around until I found a janitor’s closet; fortunately, there was a dirty broom amid the other abandoned supplies, so I swept a portion of the cement floor clear. There only needed to be room to cast a circle, but my mother’s power was gone.

You have to use the demon magick.

Though the thought revolted me, I’d do it. My vow limited its practice to life and death, and this qualified. So one last stain to serve my purposes, and then I would turn my back on that world forever.
But what if it hurts the baby?
Was demon magick like drinking, drugs, or too much caffeine?
Shit. Who would I even ask?
No doubt I had made some impossible choices in my life, but father of child versus child? Much as I hated it, I’d have to pick our baby over Chance.

But maybe there’s a solution. You haven’t even gotten the translation yet.

I dialed the panic down to DefCon 4.

While I’d been tidying, Booke had cast his spell. He brought me the statuette, placing it in my hand with a sober look. “If everything goes to hell tonight, it’s been an honor.”

“Seriously? That’s your pep talk?”

“I
am
British, you know.”

That was a joke. I thought. So I laughed, but the sound resonated with nervous tension. Booke rubbed my shoulder with gentle affection, evidently over his prior aggravation. It hit me then that he’d be leaving soon. Regardless of how this ended he’d be in the wind, living out his dream of seeing the world before he replaced Ms. Devlin at the arcane library beneath Wonder Lanes.

Gods, I’ll miss him.

I checked the time. “I’m calling Kel. Get ready.”

Booke knew without being told that he had only seconds to keep us from ending up with Barachiel right on top of us. Hopefully his blocker would last long enough to bring Chance back, and then I’d help Kel fight the crazy-ass demon that had him on a magickal leash. We all would. The whole crew would be assembled at that point and ready for a fight.

Bring it on.

I whispered the summons soft enough that Booke couldn’t make out Kel’s true name, and this time, I put a little demon magick in the call. Using it in this realm stung, like pushing up too fast through the ocean and taking a load of salt water up the nose. But it didn’t hurt like using my mother’s magick had—and that worried me. I noticed no response from the baby, no pain, no nausea.

Kel appeared before me a few seconds later, battered, bewildered. He was also filthy, exhausted, covered in half-healed wounds. Gods, what had he been doing for the past two weeks? Booke smashed the statuette at our feet, bringing up a cloud of dust that shimmered, settling gently on my skin. The blocker was on the job. We’d see how well it worked.

“What have you done?” Kel demanded. “I warned you, this is madness.”

“We have a little time at least. Booke’s got us covered. Literally.” I paused for Kel to sense the truth, and some of his tension and rage diffused. “I need your help. You’re the only one who can do this for me. Believe me, if there was any other way . . .” I shook my head. “We tried. This is it.”

Anyone else would’ve persisted in the questions, but he read my desperation. Kel ran a hand down my cheek, left the stickiness of his blood behind. Fortunately, I had no open wounds on my face, or I’d be high as a kite right now. Last time, I went tripping balls after a hit of his blood. That made me wonder if all demon blood had healing properties, or only the ones who had been magickally fooled into believing they came from angelic origins. Not a critical question right now, though.

“What do you need?” he asked.

Ritual of Doom

Booke handed Kel his phone. “A precise translation, if possible.”

Kel skimmed the pages with quick cognition. Then he handed the cell back. “It’s a spell to part the veil. Not to Sheol. Elsewhere. But it won’t work unless you have help from the other side.”

“I do,” I said. “Can you lay it out for me? What do we need to cast it?”

Without protest, Kel made a shopping list for Booke, who took the keys to the Pinto and hurried off, muttering, “They’re going to love us at the shop.”

“You don’t have to stay,” I said to Kel. “Just write down what I need to do. I’ll take it from there.”

“Barachiel will find me,” he replied wearily. “The wizard’s spell will slow him, but the ending is inevitable. Knowing the truth, I cannot swerve. We’ve played cat and mouse for days.”

Judging from his injuries, Kel had been the mouse. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Everything ends,
dadu
.”

This time, I didn’t forbid the endearment. While he was constant, he was also an immortal half-demon, bound to a maniacal creature that believed it was an archangel destined to rewrite the world. It had been working toward that until I stumbled into the mix. With a combination of Chance’s backlash luck and my own stubbornness, I fucked up Barachiel’s life; he didn’t take rejection well either.

“Seriously, I don’t want you here if Barachiel shows up. I’ll have backup.” Whether Booke, Shannon, Chuch, Eva and I could take out an ancient demon, I had no idea. But Kel would die if we didn’t. “Just write the spell down.”

I handed him a notebook from my purse, along with a pen. Kel heaved a sigh, but he wrote in his lovely, old-fashioned hand. A few minutes later, I took the pad from him, scanned the steps.

“That doesn’t look too bad.”

“What you’re not seeing is that all great workings require a sacrifice.”

“Shit. Like a life? If I cast this spell, it might kill my baby?”

Oh, gods, no. No.
Fate couldn’t be so cruel. I’d gladly die to give Chance the life he wanted in this world, but I couldn’t kill our child for him. He wouldn’t want me to if he knew that was the price.

“You choose the sacrifice before you cast.”

“So it wouldn’t just randomly take my kid?”

Kel shook his head. “Generally, it’s a magickal sacrifice, an artifact or a foci brimming with power.”

“It’s not death magick, then.”

“Not usually, though death magick would serve as a workable substitute.”

“Dammit. I don’t have any—oh. I could give the spell the touch . . . and what’s left of my demon magick.” I gazed up at him, anxious. “Would that be enough?”

“I don’t know. It depends how much power your partner brings to bear on the other side.”

“It’s all I have to offer,” I whispered. “I’ll try.”

The ritual would leave me a normal human. That wasn’t a deterrent, however, as that was all I’d ever wanted, my whole life. If this didn’t work, I’d end up a single mom, just like my mother.
It has to work.
I was in no way strong enough to follow the example set by Cherie Solomon. All those years, she knew where my father had gone—and that he was never coming home.

Chance
is
. He promised.

Kel went over the ritual with me with tireless patience, drilling until I felt sure I had memorized all of the steps. By the time the others started arriving, I’d recited the incantation eighteen times. Shan got there first, sword in hand. Tonight, she eschewed her usual Lolita-goth gear; she was practically garbed in black leggings and a fitted black tee, no loose fabric to interfere with her movements or allow an opponent to grab hold of her. Likewise, she’d bound her black hair back into a tight French braid. Her makeup was still Shan: eyes heavily lined in kohl, ivory pale cheeks, and a blood-red mouth. She looked like a poster of a vampire I’d seen once; I didn’t say that, as she was so over the undead.

“You nervous?” she asked, giving me a one-armed hug.

“Kinda. If I let myself think about what I’m doing for more than two seconds.”

“Semper fi.”
She threw some complicated hand gestures at me, which could’ve been military, or they might’ve been gang signs.

I ignored them. “Isn’t that the Marine Corps motto?”

“That’s not the point. What does it mean?”

Though I didn’t speak Latin, I actually knew this. “Always faithful?”

“Yep.” She flashed me a triumphant grin. “And that’s you.”

My heart gave a little squeeze. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Where’s the dog?”

“Cowering in my purse. I’m thinking of charging him rent.”

Butch gave an indignant yap and trotted out to greet her. He wagged his tail hard enough to shake his whole body when she rubbed him just the way he liked. Sadly for the dog, it couldn’t last. She moved off for some practice swings, and her arcs with her sword were beautiful to behold.

Next, Chuch and Eva rolled up, looking like they could star in an action movie. Both had dressed in dark, nondescript clothing. Eva was strapped with a 12-gauge shotgun and a handgun in a thigh holster. Chuch had automatics, plus a duffle bag bulging with other goodies. If shit went down, he’d make it real. I squinted, realizing that was the same bag he’d carried the tarp in the other night.

Night had fallen while I memorized the ritual, a dark and starless night earmarked for Chance’s return. Inside the warehouse, it was gloomier still, but Eva had foreseen that eventuality. “Storm lamps,” she said, setting them around the circle I was drawing in chalk. She activated the batteries one by one, so the squalor was more evident. In the far corner, three rats skittered toward a crack in the wall.

Eva made a face. “Not exactly pretty, is it?”

“No, but if things go hideously wrong, we won’t take out a city block either.”

“There is that,” Chuch said, joining us.

I smiled, but didn’t pause in sketching the circle. My thigh hurt, the way I was crouched on the cement, but I ignored the pain. “Thanks for coming, all of you.”

“It wouldn’t be a welcome back party if the gang wasn’t all here,” Chuch said.

Well, everyone except Jesse. And he wouldn’t show unless things went catastrophically wrong.
Here’s hoping I don’t see Jesse Saldana tonight.

Booke returned last, but he had everything I needed. And he wore a harried look. “I may have scraped another car getting out of downtown.”

“I’m not worried about it,” I told him frankly.

“But I’m an outlaw now. A felon.”

“You didn’t mind leaving the country on a fake passport and a charm,” I pointed out.

“That was before I realized I’d be here to face the consequences.”

I laughed. “Quit fretting, granddad, and show me what you got.”

With a grumble, Booke handed me various dried herbs and powders while Kel reminded me when to use each one.
Soon this will be over.
That became my mantra as I prepared the site with the spell components. From that point, I ignored the others; my focus had to be complete, the ritual flawless. The susurration of their voices rolled over me in waves, but the snippets didn’t penetrate. Finally, I had everything in place, and I was ready to begin.

“I need you all to step off. I’m not exactly sure how big the gate will be—”

“Then shouldn’t you back up as well?” Chuch wondered.

“I have to stay close to the circle. Theoretically, it should contain the energies and keep the portal from spreading to alarming proportions, but . . .” I shrugged. “Just move, okay? And keep a sharp eye out for trouble.” Demon magick was notorious for rebounding in powerful, unexpected ways.

“On it,” Shan said.

Since I would be using the touch—and sacrificing it, plus the remainder of my demon magick—I got out the athame I had carried with me from Sheol. In this realm, it didn’t look as ominous, so possibly the trip back had stripped it of some of its power. But it still didn’t look harmless. I whispered the words in ancient Babylonian as I drew the blade across my palm. My blood welled up ruby red and ready to work. The crimson fluid dripped down the blade; then the warehouse seemed oddly, ominously quiet, as if there were a barrier between the others and me. When my blood trickled onto the chalk, I released the concentration that kept me from reading random objects and murmured the words of gifting—of sacrifice—and then the circle shimmered.

I hadn’t been positive this would work, but I gained confidence as my remaining abilities went into the protective ring. If this worked as a power exchange, the circle would be drained when the way opened. The ritual would take my magick and give me back Chance.
Easy, right?

Not so much.

The demon magick clawed on the way out, raking like barbed wire in my veins as blood spilled from my palm. It stuck to me like tar, unwilling to be sacrificed. With pure will, I forced it out until I had nothing left. Then I closed my fingers to get the bleeding to taper off. Booke was there with a roll of gauze; I hadn’t asked him to buy it, but he wrapped my palm without comment.

“I never saw anything like that,” Chuch murmured with a hint of awe.

I surveyed my work, and it was a pretty damn fine circle. Now, for the fun part. Chanting for gods knew how long, pushing at the way between worlds, until it thinned enough to permit passage. The ritual didn’t say how long it would take.

Eva cocked her gun. “It smells like trouble in here.”

Now that she mentioned it, I
did
smell something burning; maybe it was just the storm lamps heating up. The Babylonian words sounded strange rolling off my tongue, but they had a hypnotic quality, making it easier to focus. After a few repetitions, all distractions faded. I poured myself into the spell, all I was, all my will, until I was focused only on the circle.

How will I know if it’s working—

Before I finished the mental question, a massive boom behind me tempted me to look, but I couldn’t stop chanting, no matter what had happened.

Chuch was shouting, “Incoming! Take cover.”