Ann Aguirre - Shady Lady

“Is he okay?”

“As much as he ever is. He asked about you.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That you’re working for one drug dealer to drive another drug dealer crazy.”

Put that way, it sounded quite reprehensible. “In my defense, Montoya doesn’t have far to go.”

“I call ’em like I see ’em.”

“Funny.”

“Are you ready to do your thing tonight?”

“We’ll find out, won’t we?”

I occupied the rest of the day reading spells that would help if something went wrong. Even so, when the boys arrived with my shopping, I didn’t feel confident. They filed in, looking pleased with themselves.

“You had us buy some hudu shit,” García muttered in greeting. By the curl of his lip, he didn’t approve.

I pushed to my feet and folded my arms, trying to look intimidating. “Zaragoza pegged us as Escobar’s newest brujas .” I turned to the girl beside me, and to Shan’s credit, the sneer she’d perfected looked menacing. “What do you think? Should we show them?”

“No,” Santos said quickly. “We’ll take our orders and go. We don’t want to interfere with your . . . other work.”

So he’s both the oldest and the smartest. I stifled amusement at guys like this fearing us. Certainly part of that fright came from our association with Escobar, but not all. They feared the powerful woman chanting in the dark, her gleaming eyes and streaming hair, her unnatural influence.

“Very well,” I said. “Tonight, you will find one of Montoya’s businesses—a crib, a crack house, a meth lab, a warehouse where he stores the expensive imported stuff—and you will destroy it. Choose your target according to what will hurt him most.”

“ ¿ Estás segura? ” Petrel asked. “If we hit his goods, it could start an all-out war.”

“That’s kind of the point.” I considered. “How likely is this to spill into the streets? Will there be shootings all over Laredo, innocent bystanders injured?”

García shrugged. “Maybe. If we’re at war and his guys see us, they open fire. We shoot back. People will get hurt.”

“All right. Change of plans.” I didn’t need to look at Shannon to know she was relieved. “Keep it personal. I don’t want him to realize you work for Escobar until the end. Ask Zaragoza for your new target: another lovely home, something expensive. Cross the border if you must, but don’t get caught.”

“Just like last night,” Morales said. “It’s gonna be a party.”

“Once you finish, leave this where he’ll find it. I suggest attaching it to a stake and planting it at the edge of the property.”

Santos took the lock of red synthetic hair with a confused look. This strategy qualified as both cruel and playful. Montoya would get excited, thinking I was dumb enough to leave real hair for his sorcerer. Then he’d realize it was fake; if Escobar knew his enemy’s psyche, this gambit would enrage him. I had no doubt he would associate me with the token, a quiet signature that meant nothing to anybody else.

Just to fuck with Santos, I murmured, “You might want to put that away. It’s not good to hold such things for too long.”

He shuddered, stuffed the long strand of hair into a plastic bag, and then wiped his fingers against his brown pants. The others smirked a little, but I had no doubt they would react the same way, even though rationally, I couldn’t have done anything to the item. They’d picked up the hair extension for me. But when the lizard brain spewed fear, logic disconnected.

“Anything else?” Morales asked.

“No. You have your orders. Call me once it’s done.”

The boys went out into the world to wreak havoc in my name.

Darkness had fallen by this time, which meant the demon would arrive soon to demand his due. I pored over the grimoires some more, trying to get ready, but how the hell did anyone prepare themselves for this? I had no answer.

Eventually, a knock sounded. No point in asking how Maury got over the fencing, complete with barbed wire. For all I knew, he could hurdle it. I glanced out the peephole, and I didn’t recognize the man standing there.

“Maury?”

“None other.”

I unfastened all the locks but didn’t invite him in. “We’ll have to do this outside.” I turned to Shannon. “Will you bring the supplies?”

“Sure.”

The body Maury had selected offered no attraction. He was thin and reedy, balding on top. But maybe nondescript was a bonus to a demon, making it easier to go about his business. Butch growled as if to warn me that this guy wasn’t what he seemed.

I patted the dog. “Don’t worry—I know that already.”

He whined at me, none too convinced I understood what I was doing. But when I went toward the door anyway, he washed his paws of me and trotted back to the pillow we’d put on the floor for his comfort. A glance over my shoulder showed him turning repeatedly on the cushion to find the perfect place for his butt.

I chose a spot in the far left corner of the parking lot, away from the building, but screened completely by scrubby trees and chain-link fence. Here, the pavement appeared smooth enough for me to lay the pentacle, at least. In other spots, it lay broken and riddled with holes.

My hands trembled a little as I drew the pentagram. The chalk felt dusty on my fingertips, but when I finished I saw the shape was accurate enough to do the job. I followed up with a circle, and as I drew this time, I willed heat from my hands. Because of those long years when the touch comprised my only gift, I could not conceive of magic feeling any other way. By the time I closed the circle, my hand burned as if I had immersed it in a fire.

I dropped the chalk with a little moan and saw that my fingertips glowed orange like live coals. I had no doubt I could hurt someone with my bare hands. Perhaps not a fatal injury, but I could bestow a brand—sobering thought.

Seeing that, Shannon backed away. “Whoa, is that normal?”

“For most witches, no.” I had handicaps, but considering I’d never thought to work my mother’s spells at all, I could bear the pain. I was used to it, after all.

“What are you waiting for?” Maury demanded, as I trickled salt atop my chalk circle. This demon wasn’t going anywhere unless I willed it.

“Almost finished. But I need her name now.”

He pronounced each syllable with great care, as if caressing his absent lover. I found it oddly endearing. “Dumah Porai Valyonatha.”

“It’s been a long time since you’ve seen her.”

“Only by your standards,” he muttered. “But I have been away longer than I expected. She will be missing me.”

I tried to sound casual as I finished spreading the salt. “You could go back. I could send you.”

“I think not. Your people call my world hell for a reason.”

“Very well.” Using my athame, I cut a narrow slice in my palm and let the blood drip inside the pentagram. I was careful not to break the circle, however. “By fire, earth, wind, and rain, I call you forth, Dumah Porai Valyonatha. I offer sacrifice in your name. As I will, so mote it be. In the name of Solomon the Binder, whose blood I carry, you must obey.”

Unlike the spell I had used on Morales, this one required focus and repetition. My mother had once said: There are no true magic words, only your will behind them. Power sizzled through me, far more than I’d ever held before—more than it took to read a house or a patch of dirt. It felt as though my heart must cook inside my chest. I sent it to the circle and the salt ate it, blackening beneath the heat.

I don’t know how long I chanted, but the air churned inside the pentacle. Not like Caim’s manifestation, but it grew dark with smoke that writhed with signs of life. I saw a glimmer of eyes, a suggestion of a face.