It carried with it the faint scent of decay and decomposition, not of meat, but of vegetation. The smell was pungent, but not revolting. I breathed it in, feeling dizzy. I forced my eyes open—or thought I did—but I couldn’t seem to move. Fear slalomed through me like an Olympic event. The heaviness all around us increased.
Shit, we hadn’t accomplished anything at all by staying. It would devour the bones and this time, us too. The futility enraged me; I couldn’t even turn my head to see if Chance was all right. If anything happened to him because he’d wanted to protect me . . . damn. I should have insisted he go with the others. He was helpless without his luck, and I should have thought of that.
“What do you want?” I managed to push the words past numb lips.
Tendrils so cold they burnt brushed my lips and cheeks in an unholy caress. I couldn’t sense malice in the touch, but I was damn near freezing to death. It was possible my brain no longer functioned at peak efficiency.
“This is my dominion, darling child.”
With an inward shudder, I recognized the voice from the last time. Any last shred of uncertainty dissolved. I imagined a certain cloying fondness in the endearment it spoke, and I remembered the dark thing had claimed to know my mother.
“I was granted this territory in a pact I have honored even when others have not. So what do I want? I want redress.”
Pact. The word resonated, lending unmistakable significance. It confirmed what I half suspected when first we discovered Chance’s luck didn’t work here.
“Who made the pact?” As the dark mist roiled away from me, it grew easier to speak. I even managed to turn my head, but Chance seemed to be asleep. I told myself not to make any sudden moves. This thing might take pleasure in talking to me—and then it might decide it would enjoy rending me limb from limb. Best not to provoke it.
“The twelve,” it said, “long since gone to dust.”
If they’d long since gone to dust, how did they manage to burn down our house? I wouldn’t start with that, though. Part of me couldn’t believe I was sitting there, talking to the thing, but I didn’t have much choice. Though I could speak and turn my head, I still couldn’t get up. Certainly I couldn’t run, not with Chance comatose.
Since it seemed to be in an expansive mood—and who knew how long that would last—I asked the obvious question. “Why did you have my mother’s necklace?”
Icy phantom fingers lingered at my throat. I imagined it tracing the curls and curves of the flower pentacle and tried to suppress a shiver.
“I was fond of her,” it answered at length. “I had a forest creature bring it to me. I kept it for you. . . . I remember you, darling child. She asked me to keep you safe.”
She asked. It could only mean Cherie Solomon, my mother.
Demons lied. It was what they did. So I don’t know why the words rocked me so much. I should have been able to shake them off, dismiss them as false. Instead, they ate into my psyche. Perhaps it was because I’d recently seen how little Chance knew his own mother. No matter how much we loved, how could we ever truly know anyone else’s heart?
“How . . .” I cleared my throat and started again. “How did you know her?”
“She left gifts sometimes. She knew I was lonely.” The earth itself shivered a little with the last word.
Could that be true? Had my mother been kind enough even to take pity on an exiled demon? Well, exiled or bound. It said it was granted these woods as its territory, but in exchange for what? What were the terms of the agreement? If I thought it would answer honestly, I might ask.
Instead, I asked something that had been bugging me. “How come you let us go before?”
“Darling child, I would never harm you.”
Huh? “Why not?”
Its amusement rippled all around me. “Have you not guessed? Hadn’t you noticed the hell fire that powers your rather unusual gift?”
Oh, Jesus. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like this.
“Corine . . . I am your father.”
“Bullshit!” I might not remember much about Albie Solomon, but I was sure he hadn’t been a demon. Maybe he couldn’t put up with being tied down or my mother’s eccentricities, but he hadn’t possessed a drop of infernal blood. I’d stake my soul on it.
Well, maybe not literally . . .
“Kidding. I’m kidding. I always wanted to say that.” To my astonishment, the dark mist coalesced into the shape of a small man, not much taller than me. He hunkered down next to me. I didn’t know if that was good or bad. “Between you and me, little one, I get tired of the whole I-will-devour-your-soul routine. Sure, I feed off the visceral terror, but where’s the spontaneity, you know?”
“Uh, right,” I said. “So what’s your name?”
He answered scornfully, “Do you think I was summoned yesterday? First I give you my name and we’re talking and having a good time; then you bind me to something worse than this forest. Forget it. You can call me Maury.”
I stifled a laugh. “Okay then, Maury. Did you kill this kid?”
The demon seemed affronted. “Certainly not.”
I raised a brow, waiting. Maybe that was true, but it wasn’t the whole truth. I knew enough about demons to be sure they told you whatever they thought you wanted to hear.
“He might’ve been fleeing from me in fear,” the demon admitted, after a lengthy pause, “but the fall killed him.”
Semantics. No wonder attorneys and demons got along so well.
In quasi-human form, the bane of my existence was short and dumpy, a little round about the middle. He had bushy salt-and-pepper hair and robust sideburns. The demon could’ve easily been someone’s uncle. And I realized I wasn’t scared anymore, not even a little bit. That could’ve been a failure of some self-preservation instinct, but I was inclined to believe the thing didn’t mean me any harm.
I just didn’t know why.
“Seriously, why aren’t you terrorizing me?”
He looked at me in disgust. “Because I don’t want you to die.”
“But why?”
“You’re my ticket to freedom,” he said.
Direct questioning didn’t seem to be getting me anywhere, so I tried another tack. “Who were the twelve?”
“The ones who summoned me.”
“How long ago was that?”
Maury shrugged. “How would I know? I spend my time in a forest. Do you see a clock out here?”
“Corine!” Booke’s voice boomed out of nowhere.
That was my first clue I wasn’t awake. “What are you doing here?”
Our contact in the UK came toward me through the woods. “I don’t think you should be here with me right now,” he told me. I remembered he’d said he could find me anywhere in the world. “And it doesn’t feel like real sleep; something’s wrong with it.”
He touched my cheek gently—
—and I snapped awake.
Chance cradled me close, his face livid with worry. “Are you all right? You’ve been out for ages.”
“Cold,” I managed to whisper.
Damn, was I ever. For the second time that day, I found myself lying in the dirt, this time on a bed of decomposing leaves, next to a pile of bones. But at least I had Chance underneath me. I gazed up the heavy lattice of tree limbs overhead and couldn’t tell how long I’d been out. Butch whined and licked my cheek.
“All right, I’ve got you,” he murmured. He took my hand between both of his, chafing the skin. I could hardly feel it at all.
“Talked to a demon named Maury.” Or had I dreamed that? Had I dreamed about Booke saving me? I licked my lips and my tongue stuck. It took me a couple tries to get out, “It must’ve been a nightmare for you. I’m sorry.”
No working phone. No luck. I couldn’t imagine his fear.
“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “Here, drink a little.” Chance held a water bottle to my mouth, and my throat ached as I swallowed. “Stay with me. Don’t close your eyes. Tell me about this demon. Did you really say Maury?” From his tone he was humoring me.
I refused on principle to answer questions when I knew he didn’t believe me. I tried to struggle upright.
“I’m better; fine, in fact. What time is it?”
Before he could answer, I heard the crunch of footsteps. Thank God—the cavalry had arrived at last.
When Sheriff Robinson, Jesse, Shannon, and three people I didn’t know strode down the slope and into the gully, I’d never been so happy to see other human beings in my life. Mrs. Walker had insisted on coming along with Sheriff Robinson and the two men he’d drafted to accompany him. When the woman recognized his class ring, as Shannon had, she sank down on her knees and wept.
It would likely take them hours longer to deal with the situation, but Chance conferred briefly with Jesse, probably telling him I’d had another one of my “episodes,” which made me sound nuttier than a fruitcake. Jesse agreed I needed to get home, get warmed up, and eat something. He slanted a hard look at me, as if he suspected something had happened that we weren’t telling, but he had yards of red tape to deal with.
Butch tucked under his arm, Chance set off with me through the woods for home—well, our temporary one, anyway. My real home was warm and sun drenched. I hoped I still had it when all this was over.
I missed the pawnshop. I missed good tacos al pastor. I missed Tia, the local curandera who had a stall on market days. I missed the peace.
Nothing bothered us on the way out of the forest. Maybe Maury figured he had tormented me enough.
When we came trudging out of the woods and across the yard, Butch was happy as hell to see the house. He yapped like a wild thing and wagged his tail until Chance put him down and let him run. I gave him a quick pat on my way to take a hot bath. Forget a shower—I intended to soak away the cold that had seeped into my very bones.
By the time I got out of the tub, my skin was pink and wrinkled. I dried off on one of our contraband towels, got dressed, and went to look for Chance.
To my amazement, he’d made soup for me. Just bouillon and rice, but I’d never known him to cook before. I arched a brow, standing in the kitchen doorway.
“Did you think I was dying?” I asked.
Without turning, he answered in neutral tones. “Yes.”
“Oh, Chance.”
He spun, slamming his hand against the cupboard. “We’re done, do you understand me? I can’t take this. We don’t even know what we’re fighting, and I’m sick of seeing you nearly kill yourself when I can’t do a goddamn thing to protect you. Are you trying to punish me, Corine?”
I found myself smiling. It would only make things worse, but I couldn’t stop my lips from curving up. Chance was losing his temper. Chance. I didn’t dare speak for fear I’d laugh out loud. Instead, I sat down, trying to compose my face.
“Is this funny to you?” he demanded, shoving my bowl of soup across the table.
“A little,” I admitted. “Your clothes are dirty and wrinkled. Your hair’s a mess. Your luck doesn’t work for shit here, and I’m apparently driving you crazy. So why are you sticking around?” I spooned up some broth, waiting for his answer.