Ann Aguirre - Shady Lady

“Oh, wow,” Shannon breathed. From her tone, she’d either forgotten she was mad at me or the grimoires trumped her anger. “Can I see?”

“Sure, but don’t read any of the incantations aloud.”

I handed her the blue one—with runes etched in silver, it was the smallest and contained the most advanced spells. I wouldn’t try those for a long time, assuming I could make the magic work at all.

“Okay. I’ll be careful.” She touched the engraved cover with reverent hands.

The one I held was oversize and bound in vermilion leather; before she died, my mother had let me practice some charms. I couldn’t remember whether I’d ever gotten one to function properly. I just knew I’d enjoyed spending time with her, measuring the herbs and saying the words. These were blessings, mostly, and mild spells. With these, I could make someone crave strawberries or give them a gentle run of luck; it was suitable for children.

Taking a deep breath, I opened a spell book for the first time in many years. Even the smell—old paper and ink—filled me with nostalgia. I could almost hear my mother murmuring, Be careful with that, Corine.

I flipped through the book until I found the spell I wanted. Nothing heavy, nothing difficult or sophisticated. Eyes fixed on the page, I memorized the chant. This was it—the big test.

Taking a deep breath, I went to the kitchen and rummaged for a plain white ceramic dish and a book of matches. I set both items on the table. Across the saucer, I laid a strand of Morales’s hair, the one I’d stolen. Thus fueled, if I couldn’t make this spell work, I never would. It was that simple.

With my eyes closed, I created a mental image of Morales: his black hair with a hint of a wave, his liquid brown eyes and caramel skin. I added the cocksure smile and the glint in his eyes, the hint of a swagger in his step. Then I sent the heat of my gift to fuel the compulsion; the same fire that burned me when I read an object would touch him, just a whisper.

Once I held his visage firmly in mind, I whispered, “By fire, earth, wind, and rain, you will not rest until you hear my voice again. As I will, so mote it be.” In speaking the last words, I struck the match and burned his hair until there was nothing left but the lingering smell.

Shannon came to the doorway of the kitchen, watching with a raised brow. “What did you do? Did it work?”

I don’t know , I started to say.

And then my cell phone rang.

After assuring Morales we were fine, I disconnected.

Shannon stared at me with a touch of amazement. “You made him call you.”

“I think so, yeah.”

“What else can you do?”

“I can make breakfast.” Sadly, I found only instant oatmeal in the kitchen. In sealed cartons, it kept better than milk or eggs.

But it was sustenance, so I made it and doctored the bowls with packets of sweetener and instant milk. The time in the jungle with Kel had reduced my standards on what constituted a meal. We ate in silence.

“Are we just hanging around here all day until they get back?”

I was torn. “If I’m going to practice, I need supplies.”

“Like what?”

“An athame and a chalice, for starters.” I paused, sighing a little. “If my mom had lived, or if they had managed to save more of her things, I’d have hers.”

“I’m sorry,” Shannon said softly.

“For what?”

“Judging you.”

“It’s understandable.” I didn’t like the path I’d chosen any more than she did, and sometimes only the fact that Kel had endorsed it made it bearable. Which spoke volumes—once, I’d thought him crazy as bedbug; now I considered him a moral compass. Surely his archangel wouldn’t give him orders that resulted in a gross loss of innocent life. Would he? No. I shook my head, trying to reassure myself.

“Not really,” she said. “I mean, I have my own regrettable shit. I left my dad, knowing he felt guilty, when it would’ve meant everything to him if I’d given him some hint I didn’t blame him for the Kilmer clusterfuck.” She bent her head, so that black hair hid her face. “But the truth is, he was supposed to protect me, you know? And I don’t know if I’ll ever trust him again.”

Wow. I didn’t know how to respond since I tended to hold a grudge. It took a fair amount to get me riled, but once somebody landed on my list, I almost never changed my mind. Yet I didn’t feel comfortable preaching the Dead to Me philosophy when Jim Cheney was Shannon’s closest relative.

“I guess you give it time. When missing him outweighs the anger, then you go see him.”

She pushed her bangs back, blue gaze steady on mine. “What if it never does?”

“Honestly, I try not to think about the future when it’s hard enough to get through a single day.”

“Carpe diem.”

“Exactly. Do you have your laptop?”

In answer, she got it out of her backpack. I waved her over to the desk, where there appeared to be a cable. I plugged in, booted up, and found we had Internet. Shannon must’ve discovered that last night; I remembered her saying she was going to check e-mail.

“What’re you doing?”

While Shan watched, I pulled up Area 51, a hidden bulletin board that pretended to be full of conspiracy theorists, when gifted humans—those with weird abilities, like Shannon and me—actually populated it. I skimmed the general posts, more curiosity than anything else. Telepath looking for love in Atlanta. White witch new to Chicago seeks coven. Palm reading and tarot, first session free—Newport Beach. Then I moved to the business listings, which was why I’d pulled up the site. Seeing her curiosity, I decided to make this a teaching moment. I was supposed to be her mentor, even if I hadn’t offered her much worth learning lately.

“In most cities,” I explained, “the true witch stores run quietly. They don’t advertise in the Yellow Pages or put their information on the Net for the general public. So if you find a ‘New Age’ place that way, chances are they sell fakery stuff, gewgaws and worthless inventory. Nothing you could really use to cast a spell.”

“So you’re looking for a real one.”

“Yep. Looks like there’s a place downtown.” I finished reading the description and then added, “Between Popeyes and a store that sells knockoff designer handbags.”

“I’ll get dressed.”

After taking staggered showers, we headed out. I had to risk removing the amulet during my three-minute toilette; otherwise a thorough drenching might ruin it. Escobar hadn’t included a care manual. It was unlikely that the sorcerer would be able to get a lock on us in the time I had it off. Even so, I didn’t like driving the Forester in broad daylight, but Laredo was a decent-size city. Since they didn’t know where we were right now, the gain should be worth the risk.

It was no trouble to find the store. Parking proved a little more difficult. I circled the block twice before sliding in when a van left. We walked two blocks to where the storefront advertised, ORIENTAL HOME FURNISHINGS. A bell tinkled as we came in, and a small shock sizzled through me.

To my astonishment, as I spun, I saw runes laid on the doorframe. They pulsed a pale, sickly green; I’d never been able to detect that kind of thing before. It was just a discouragement spell, old and faint, making random patrons feel like there was nothing they wanted in here.

A true practitioner would shrug it off, if he even felt it through his shields. I wasn’t sure I had any, though Jesse said he couldn’t feel me anymore. I’d either developed rudimentary shields or what happened with Kel severed our tenuous emotional connection. Damn, I had so much to learn—and fast.