Ann Aguirre: Devil's Punch

Alone. I could die of that word, a cold so deep it became fever.

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” Shannon said huskily.

I couldn’t either. But he’d said, Even death will not keep me from you. Perhaps those had only been words to drive the grief away, but I’d cling to them. I’d look for him. Find him again, somehow.

We strolled in silence, Shannon distracted by the new sights and me numb. People stared at my bruised and swollen face and then hurriedly swung their eyes away, as if abuse might be contagious. The street market we passed reminded me of the ones near my shop, and a wave of homesickness swept over me. My gaze lingered on the variety of goods, though we had no local currency. People milled and bickered. Now that we were in the throng of shoppers, the prevailing accent was a dead giveaway. I wondered how Shannon and I looked, if we seemed like exhausted tourists or whether people thought we belonged.

“I should find a phone,” she said softly. “Call Jesse.”

It was a good idea. As we walked, I glanced around and didn’t find one. Pay phones had just about gone the way of the dinosaurs since everyone carried cells these days. Mine was a paperweight, though; there hadn’t been any outlets in Sheol.

“We might be better off buying a travel charger.”

She nodded.

A few blocks down, I went into a small electronics store. The man behind the counter looked up from a magazine. He was tall and thin with a crop of ginger hair that looked as if he hadn’t combed it in a week, and his face was covered in freckles. He greeted us with a broad smile and a thick accent. “What can I do for you, ladies?”

“My cell phone died. I’m looking for something to juice it up quick.”

“An instant travel charger, eh? What model have you got?”

I checked. “I have a Nokia.”

As I recalled, she’d left her phone at Jesse’s house, so she didn’t have one in her backpack. Yet thinking about them together roused fresh grief. Not because I wanted Jesse—because I’d lost Chance. Shannon interpreted my expression correctly; she looked so sad and tentative that it broke my heart. Which didn’t take much doing, as it was already smashed into tiny pieces. But I didn’t mean for her to feel she had to hide her happiness or walk on eggshells around me.

So I asked, “Where’s yours again?” My tone was teasing, for the benefit of the man behind the counter, but it gave Shan the proper message.

It’s all right. Really .

Her smile bloomed. “I have a Samsung Infuse at home. It was a gift from Jesse.”

“So you could stay in touch better while he’s working?”

The sweetness of it was so Jesse Saldana. Shannon was a lucky girl, but I didn’t have even a whisper of regret that things had turned out this way. At least she had him, waiting for her to come home.

I didn’t. The man in my life, the one with the infernal luck, had died for me. Good fortune wasn’t enough to save him; or rather, he wouldn’t let it. After so long in Sheol, I needed a cleansing, but I didn’t know any practitioners here, and likely none of them would help out if they got a good look at me with their witch sight. Plus, I swallowed a scream at the idea of erasing any part of Chance, even the bad stuff. I wanted to keep him close; I wanted to remember . Anguish boiled up in a hot rush, filling my eyes with tears again, and I blinked them away as the clerk sorted through his inventory. He didn’t react to my bruised face, which I appreciated.

“Here, I think this will do,” he said eventually. “You can use it up to four times, though that’ll depend on the battery size.”

Mentally crossing my fingers, I gave him the prepaid Visa card I carried in case of emergencies. Without Shannon’s cool head, we’d be really bad off right now. I didn’t have a bank account, and I’d changed dollars to pesos as I needed it from the briefcase Escobar had given me. In Mexico, it was easy to live that way. Nobody blinked if you paid your bills in person and with cash. In fact, most people did.

He ran it with no questions asked. “Do you need a receipt?”

“No, it’s fine. Do you know of a good hotel or a bed-and-breakfast nearby?”

The young man offered a sympathetic smile. “Had a run of bad luck, eh?”

“You could say that.” His kindness, after everything we’d been through made it harder to keep my composure. Maybe it had something to do with how battered I looked; men wanted to save women, even when it wasn’t possible.

He thought for a moment, then named a place. “My cousin stays there sometimes when he comes to town.”

“Thank you.” I took the charger. “Would you mind jotting down the address?”

“I’ll do better than that. I won’t send you over to Amhurst Park unless they’ve rooms available. Give me a mo.” To my surprise, he went to work on the laptop open nearby, checking on a reservation for us. “You’ll want a twin, en suite, I’m guessing. Americans don’t usually like sharing bathrooms.”

“Please,” Shannon said.

I exchanged a look with her, and she was smiling. How…unexpected. After being with demons, I’d almost forgotten people could be nice for no reason.

“You’re in luck. Can I help you with anything else?” he asked gently.

Was my face tearstained in addition to beaten the hell up? I wondered. It was the only explanation I could conjure for his continued willingness to assist us.

“If you know of a currency exchange, that’d be everything.”

“Let me check.” He played with the laptop a little longer and then said, “There’s one on Moorgate. I’ve never been, but I can print you some directions.”

“Thank you.” Maybe I wasn’t covered in Chance’s ill luck anymore. It was possible the gate had stripped the effect from me, just like the results of the forget fog I’d cast at the house outside Laredo fell away from Shannon.

“My pleasure. I was just surfing anyway. It’s a slow day.” He handed me a sheet of paper with some instructions.

In the grand scheme, using his laptop for us didn’t amount to much, but considering how fucked up I felt, how broken, it might be the difference between getting through this day and surrendering. With a quiet wave, I stepped back onto the street. First thing, I cracked open the battery and plugged in our phones.

Next, using the directions, I navigated the route to the currency exchange, which involved one train and some walking. I exchanged the dollars and pesos I had on me for British pounds. It amounted to £150, which I hoped would be enough for a room. Shannon had all of twenty-four bucks in her backpack, and she converted that too—around fourteen pounds and change. I could give them my prepaid card for incidentals if they insisted. I hoped the clerk hadn’t sent us to a pricey, upscale place.

Until I got hold of Tia and asked her to wire some money, I couldn’t afford to splurge on a cab, so we walked ten minutes to the Kentish Town West station, took the overground toward Stratford, and got off at Hackney Central. I was bone-tired, and my injuries throbbed. Four minutes later, we reached the hotel. If the guy at the electronics store could be believed, shelter waited for us. Here, I could rest and make plans.

Figure out how to survive.

But I don’t want to .

With desperate determination, I drove that voice out of my head. The brownstone looked clean and respectable. Inside, it was a budget hotel, no bells and whistles, but they took my cash and gave us a key. In the morning, I’d worry about passports and how the hell we were getting home. The ones Eva had cooked for Shannon and me were sufficient to pass land border scrutiny between the U.S. and Mexico, but I didn’t think she had the skill to clone RFID chips to fool the scanners. Which meant we’d have to apply for passports at the embassy and go into the system, unless a better alternative presented itself.