Rick Riordan: The Devil went down to Austin

He dug a manila folder out of his seat, tossed it to me. "Maybe I caught the Christmas spirit. Ruby's will-she left the whole damn marina to Clyde, did you know that? We damn near had to peel him off the ceiling when he heard. I figured Ruby was good enough to do that, I'd better make her proud of me."

I looked at the documents inside the folder, saw Lars Elder's name, First Bank of Sabinal. I saw yellow highlighted places, red Xs where I was supposed to sign.

I looked at Garrett. He was grinning.

"Garrett," I said. "This isn't right."

"Just sign that puppy, Tres. Make it official. I'm giving the ranch to you."

"This isn't what Dad wanted."

Garrett laughed. "Come here, ugly."

I took his hand and he pulled me into a sloppy hug, then pushed me back with equal force. "It's what I want."

I looked at Maia. She was smiling like she'd known this was coming.

Garrett told her, "Try to keep him from getting shot while I'm gone, okay?"

Maia said, "No promises. Take care of yourself, Garrett."

Clyde Simms said, "Concert in Houston ain't going to wait, man."

Garrett put down his shades, gave the thumbsup, and the caravan moved out in a roar of exhaust and black leather and tiedye.

Maia looked at me, looked at the deed, and had to laugh.

Then she kissed me, and everything went digital-sound, colour, all of it superreal.

She pulled away, said, "What if I told you I was staying in Austin for a while?"

I tried to concentrate on the man selling eggrolls across the street. His vending cart, at least, I could think about without raising my blood pressure.

"Are you telling me that?"

She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "I need to get some things out of my system. I was thinking a few months of extreme heat might do the trick."

"Really. What things out of your system?"

She looked straight at me. "Mostly you, Tres. I don't know if I've quite gotten you out of my system, you bastard."

The wedding guests had all drifted away. Students walked around us, the water fountain churned, the eggrolls' smell wafted across the street.

Maia's smile made me remember a night in Berkeley a dozen years ago, when she'd left her business card on the bar next to the last round of margaritas I'd ever mixed for money.

"I have some calls to make," she said, "some apartments to look at. See you tonight?"

And as I watched her walk away down 24th, I thought what I'd thought so many years ago in Berkeley-that this was a woman who would either change my life or get me killed.

"Come on, tonight," I murmured hopefully. Then I went to talk to the vendor across the street. His eggrolls smelled awfully good.