Ann Aguirre - Shady Lady

She nodded, thoughtful. “We need help from somebody higher up the food chain this time.”

Like that was going to happen; I didn’t know any cartel bosses. In Mexico, it was bad news to evince curiosity about doings near the border. Living in the interior in a safe neighborhood was a different world from Juarez, Nuevo Laredo, or Tijuana.

We needed to move. . . . I just didn’t know where to go.

Kel had been quiet. I glanced over and saw his eyes were closed. For all I knew, he was communing with his archangel, and was about to dump us for new orders. I didn’t kid myself he’d care.

Sensing my regard, he sat forward in his chair. “There was a woman who helped you before. In Texas.”

I shook my head. “Oh, no. I’m not dragging Eva into this. She’s got to be eight months along.”

“Not Eva.”

For a moment I couldn’t think of any other woman, and then it hit me. “You mean Twila?”

Right, he’d been shadowing me, so he had probably trailed me to her house. I knew that because he saved my life for the first time in the cemetery. Back then things were simpler, because I thought he wanted to kill me.

“Yes. She may have contacts we can use.”

“To do as Shannon suggested?” Surely he wasn’t endorsing the idea that we join forces with a rival cartel. That was like using a rabid dog to kill a few rats. The whole thing put me in mind of the old lady who swallowed the spider; this idea had a snowball-rolling-downhill feel to it.

“I have been watching the possible outcomes,” he said softly. “And that may be your only hope.”

The words dropped into the room like lead shoes, so when Shannon crumpled her candy wrapper and Butch whined, the sounds seemed extra loud. Even my breathing rasped in my ears. Kel alone appeared unmoved by the pronouncement. My little dog covered his muzzle with his paws and burrowed deeper into my arms.

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

In answer, he clicked on the television; I judged the move wholly out of character until the clicking remote stilled. Kel left it on a news channel. I didn’t understand why, but we watched for five minutes in silence. And then the presenter answered my questions in the worst possible way.

I translated the Spanish mentally and came up with: Firebomb in Mexico City. As yet no terrorist factions have claimed responsibility. Luckily there was only one fatality and the blaze did not spread to adjacent buildings. Police suspect it may have been cartel related. Gang and drug violence on the rise— Kel muted the television before the man could complete the sentence.

“No,” I breathed.

Stop , I mentally commanded the announcer. I don’t want to see—

Oh. Before the images came up on-screen, I knew. It was my shop. Kel had known before the news came on; perhaps he had been receiving a bulletin in his head. From the beginning, he might have even known I’d never see the place again, and I hated him for his distance, his surety, and his calm.

Seeing the truth made it no easier to bear. Burned plaster and chunks of cement littered the street. As the camera swung around, they showed scavengers picking through the rubble. Once again, I was homeless, reduced to what I could carry. Chance had sent my belongings as promised, including my Travis McGee book collection. All gone. Those were my things, treasures Señor Alvarez had—

One fatality. It sunk in at last, above my own misfortune. Oh God. Oh my God. He died because of me. First Ernesto, and now Señor Alvarez. Sick, I wondered how many innocents would die so that I might live. At what point should I stop running and take the bullet?

“When did this happen?” I asked hoarsely.

Shannon didn’t know, of course, but the question wasn’t for her. Kel answered readily. “Shortly after the gunman died.”

I thought about that, and came up with only one interpretation. “It was a warning. Montoya’s sorcerer must’ve known his spell went off. So now he’s telling me that no matter what I do to him, he will visit it upon me a hundredfold.”

“Yes,” Kel said. “You see why I counseled you to seek aid from one as powerful as Montoya.”

“Because you can’t just smite him,” I said nastily. “What good are you?”

Nothing I said touched him. He was made of ice and silver. “There are limits to my power, as there should be.”

The weight fell on me like my collapsed shop. When I turned to Shannon, I saw the echo of it in her eyes. She, too, had been displaced. She, too, had lost her home—for the second time in less than a year. I tried to bite back my tears, but when I saw her eyes swimming, I stopped fighting it. We went into each other’s arms and wept for everything we’d lost. I couldn’t tell her it would be okay; I had no platitudes, but I wouldn’t ever leave her. That much I could promise.

Kel stood and gave us his back. It might’ve been embarrassment at our weakness or kindness in offering privacy. “Get ready. We’re heading for Texas in an hour.”

It took us nearly a whole day to reach Texas.

I received four texts from Jesse during that time. Something’s wrong. What’s up? He also tried to call, but the mountains played hell with reception and the connection dropped before we could talk. I replied without revealing how bad things were; there was no point in worrying him. Instead, I texted: I’m fine, try not to worry. I know you’re soaking this up and I’m sorry. I’ll explain when I see you.

As we drove, I thought about the strange dream and his sadness over me. God, I didn’t want to hurt him. Maybe it was backward of me to want to protect him, but I did. His life had been golden, with a family who loved him no matter what. I didn’t want my darkness rubbing off on him; deep down, I hoped if I ever came out on the other side of this mess, he might be waiting and I could make a place in his world, even if I hadn’t been born to it.

His reply came in slower. . . . I could sense his resignation. You’re safe?

Yes , I typed, and then leaned my head against the window, watching the world go by. Eating or sleeping didn’t seem important, given current events, so we committed to finishing this journey in one go. Since it was a seventeenhour trip, it helped that we could all take turns driving.

We headed up the coast through Tampico and Tamaulipas, staying on the cuotas— toll roads—and carreteras— highways. I rode in back because I didn’t want Shannon to see me crying and I teared up at odd moments. I hadn’t felt so bereft since my mother died. Her grimoires had been upstairs, and I didn’t know if they’d survived the explosion. Following her example, I’d kept them in a fireproof box, but someone would probably steal them from the wreckage before I got back.

Montoya intended me to run home, shocked and grieving, where he’d take another crack at me. That was the other purpose behind the bombing—to herd me. Well, I took the warning, but I wouldn’t let him drive my decisions, however painful that resolve proved to be.

Kel was behind the wheel when we reached Avenida de las Americas and started seeing signs directing us toward International Boulevard. We crossed at Brownsville via the international bridge over the Rio Grande. For the first time since I’d known him, he donned a cap to cover his tats. Likely he knew law enforcement would look longer at somebody all inked up, and most people wouldn’t recognize the patterns; an average cop would take them for gang symbols.

Once we were back in the U.S., we put two hours between the border and us. I felt a little safer on American soil, but not much. Montoya had a long reach, and even now, his sorcerer was probably working on a way to locate us. Fortunately, scrying spells proved nearly impossible to tune correctly so long as the target stayed on the move.