Ann Aguirre - Shady Lady

Making my choice, I closed the bedroom door and spent countless moments memorizing the spell. I drew a circle around myself, infusing it with heat. This felt more natural each time I did it, though no less painful. Considering the way I’d come into my power—my mother’s power—I wasn’t surprised. A lifetime of bearing such penance prepared me for the full-body agony of casting. Once I sealed myself in, I locked the desired outcome in mind. I poured everything into the working. It had to take.

“ ‘Forget me—forget me, my face, and my name. I was never here; we never were. Let this place feel as if I never came.’ ” As I spoke the last word, a white mist rolled outward from the circle, trickling beneath the door.

I needed to give it time to permeate everywhere. A forget fog—it shouldn’t be permanent, but if I’d cast it correctly, none of them would remember I ought to be in the house for a while. They wouldn’t come looking for me. Since Shannon wouldn’t go to her dad’s house, then I’d hide her here with Jesse; that was best. Despite her love and loyalty, she couldn’t be with me when I faced Montoya. I wasn’t that criminally irresponsible.

My new clothes, along with the flowered suitcase, I left behind. They would weigh me down. I put a few crucial items in my purse, including the grimoires. Now that I could use them, I’d never let them out of my sight again. Butch yapped as I unlocked the window. Sure, the locks were securely fastened, but this house had been proofed against intruders, not people inside who wanted to escape.

“It doesn’t work on dogs, huh?”

He barked a negative.

“Of course not. I guess if I don’t take you, you’ll set up such a racket that it’ll bring someone to investigate while I’m making my getaway.”

And that would be bad news, given they wouldn’t know what the hell I was doing here. They’d call Glencannon to have me arrested—and the only way I could explain it to him would be to make him think everyone here had gone crazy. While my lucky penny might lend credence to the tale, I preferred to avoid that scenario.

So I set Butch on top of the stuff in my purse, shouldered it, hunched down, and slid over the windowsill. Pulling it down after me, I hoped Clemsen would make the rounds soon and find the window unlocked. I hated leaving them vulnerable, even so briefly, but I had to get away.

Time to finish this.

I trudged five miles. If not for my time in the jungle, the walk would’ve defeated me. In the car with Glencannon, I’d tracked the way I needed to go, but it didn’t seem as long, riding. After dark, in the middle of nowhere, without food or water, and a small, scared dog in my bag, this trip sucked. To his credit, Butch didn’t complain. He got down and walked part of the way, sniffing ahead of me like a wee safety patrol.

When I saw the lights, I almost wept with relief. It was a gas station in the middle of nowhere, glowing against the dark with halogen brightness. I took note of the number painted on the building. The only car in the lot belonged to the clerk, well and good. Staying to the shadows, I crept around back; I didn’t want the cashier to see me, though I felt near-starved. I made my way to the pay phone and dialed Chuch’s cell. Thank God I know it by heart. But he might not answer if he doesn’t recognize this number. He might not be there. If Montoya has him—

On the third ring, he picked up, rewarding my gamble. “Who’s this?”

“Corine.”

“Thank God, prima . Eva has been driving me crazy.”

It wasn’t Chuch. He’s still solid. He couldn’t sound so normal if he’d rolled on me. If Montoya forced him to a terrible choice, he’d warn me; he was that kind of guy.

“Can you come get me?”

He didn’t waste time with questions. “ Claro . Tell me where.”

I did. “Pull along the left side of the building. I’ll come to you.”

“Be there in twenty minutes. I trust you got quite a story to tell me.” With that, he disconnected.

Did I ever. Butch and I huddled together in the field behind the Supermart. Each gust of wind made me jump. More than once, I checked the amulet and found it safe and dry around my neck. Good, the pendant should still be proof against detection by supernatural means. I just had to stay out of sight.

Shadows thrown by the occasional passing car wore my nerves raw. A few people stopped at the convenience store to buy gas or smokes or whatever else they needed, milk or ice cream. For the folks who lived out here, this would be the closest store for miles.

At last I recognized the distinctive lines of his Maverick. As requested, he pulled to the left of the store, and I used the Dumpsters as cover to slide into the passenger side. With any luck, the clerk would think Chuch had stopped to check a map or something.

“Good to see you, prima . Saw you on the news, but it’s just not the same.” He flashed me a grin full of good-natured humor. “You talk. I’ll drive.”

I shook my head at the wonder of his unconditional friendship. “How can you not hate me, after all I’ve cost you?”

“You didn’t do that. Montoya did. And he’ll get his.” The ice in his voice sent a chill through me.

It seemed best to let the subject go for now; I’d find a way to make it up to them.

The Maverick cut through the dark while I summed up the situation. I left out the part about my casting the forget spell, but he had to know I was a fugitive from police protective custody. If he wanted to aid me thereafter, it was his choice.

“Anyway, that’s where I am. If you prefer to drop me off somewhere—”

“Forget it,” he said with a frown.

“Okay. If you’re still in, then I need a new cell phone, something cheap.”

“We’ll stop and get you hooked up.”

We passed from the country and into the city; Chuch took me to a warren of low-slung buildings where the streets narrowed and people stood outside drinking. Salsa music thumped from somebody’s speakers. If I hadn’t been with him, I’d have been nervous. Then again, at this point, I felt mostly numb.

He approached a guy sitting on the trunk of a blue Dodge Dart. I wasn’t sure about the year, but I guessed late sixties to early seventies. Unlike Chuch’s cherry vehicles, this one could use some work. It showed primer and a few dings.

The dude jumped down and clasped Chuch’s hand with an appearance of genuine welcome. Chuch had contacts all over the place, and I was grateful. I stood quiet, conscious of Butch’s interest.

“¿Qué pasa, Ramos ?”

Ramos opened up a plastic red and white cooler, lofting a Negro Modelo. “Nada. ¿Quieres una cerveza?”

“ No, gracias. I’m here on business.”

That actually brightened Ramos’s smile. He cracked the beer open on the fender of his car and then popped the trunk. Inside, he had a wondrous rainbow assortment of electronics. I chose a shiny blue phone, and Ramos dug a charger out of the side netting. Everything was tangled, so it took a while.

“Good solid tech,” he told me, as if I wasn’t already sold. “You can find out your new number by calling Chuch. You, um, may get some hang-ups and wrong numbers for a while.”

I didn’t inquire if it was stolen. I did ask, “This isn’t a contract phone, is it?”

“No,” Ramos said. “These are prepaid. Traded or bought from people who wanted a different model. You can dial this code to check your talk time, and if you get low, just stop at a gas station and get a new card.”

“Yeah, I know how it works. How much?”

“Forty bucks. This is a good deal. Still charged up, and it has plenty of minutes left.” He proved it by calling up the automated line and letting me listen.