Ann Aguirre - Hell Fire

Instead, I asked something that had been bugging me. “How come you let us go before?”

“Darling child, I would never harm you.”

Huh? “Why not?”

Its amusement rippled all around me. “Have you not guessed? Hadn’t you noticed the hell fire that powers your rather unusual gift?”

Oh, Jesus. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like this.

“Corine . . . I am your father.”

“Bullshit!” I might not remember much about Albie Solomon, but I was sure he hadn’t been a demon. Maybe he couldn’t put up with being tied down or my mother’s eccentricities, but he hadn’t possessed a drop of infernal blood. I’d stake my soul on it.

Well, maybe not literally . . .

“Kidding. I’m kidding . I always wanted to say that.” To my astonishment, the dark mist coalesced into the shape of a small man, not much taller than me. He hunkered down next to me. I didn’t know if that was good or bad. “Between you and me, little one, I get tired of the whole I-will-devour-your-soul routine. Sure, I feed off the visceral terror, but where’s the spontaneity, you know?”

“Uh, right,” I said. “So what’s your name?”

He answered scornfully, “Do you think I was summoned yesterday? First I give you my name and we’re talking and having a good time; then you bind me to something worse than this forest. Forget it. You can call me Maury.”

I stifled a laugh. “Okay then, Maury. Did you kill this kid?”

The demon seemed affronted. “Certainly not.”

I raised a brow, waiting. Maybe that was true, but it wasn’t the whole truth. I knew enough about demons to be sure they told you whatever they thought you wanted to hear.

“He might’ve been fleeing from me in fear,” the demon admitted, after a lengthy pause, “but the fall killed him.”

Semantics. No wonder attorneys and demons got along so well.

In quasi-human form, the bane of my existence was short and dumpy, a little round about the middle. He had bushy salt-and-pepper hair and robust sideburns. The demon could’ve easily been someone’s uncle. And I realized I wasn’t scared anymore, not even a little bit. That could’ve been a failure of some self-preservation instinct, but I was inclined to believe the thing didn’t mean me any harm.

I just didn’t know why.

“Seriously, why aren’t you terrorizing me?”

He looked at me in disgust. “Because I don’t want you to die.”

“But why ?”

“You’re my ticket to freedom,” he said.

Direct questioning didn’t seem to be getting me anywhere, so I tried another tack. “Who were the twelve?”

“The ones who summoned me.”

“How long ago was that?”

Maury shrugged. “How would I know? I spend my time in a forest. Do you see a clock out here?”

“Corine!” Booke’s voice boomed out of nowhere.

That was my first clue I wasn’t awake. “What are you doing here?”

Our contact in the UK came toward me through the woods. “I don’t think you should be here with me right now,” he told me. I remembered he’d said he could find me anywhere in the world. “And it doesn’t feel like real sleep; something’s wrong with it.”

He touched my cheek gently—

—and I snapped awake.

Chance cradled me close, his face livid with worry. “Are you all right? You’ve been out for ages.”

“Cold,” I managed to whisper.

Damn, was I ever. For the second time that day, I found myself lying in the dirt, this time on a bed of decomposing leaves, next to a pile of bones. But at least I had Chance underneath me. I gazed up the heavy lattice of tree limbs overhead and couldn’t tell how long I’d been out. Butch whined and licked my cheek.

“All right, I’ve got you,” he murmured. He took my hand between both of his, chafing the skin. I could hardly feel it at all.

“Talked to a demon named Maury.” Or had I dreamed that? Had I dreamed about Booke saving me? I licked my lips and my tongue stuck. It took me a couple tries to get out, “It must’ve been a nightmare for you. I’m sorry.”

No working phone. No luck. I couldn’t imagine his fear.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “Here, drink a little.” Chance held a water bottle to my mouth, and my throat ached as I swallowed. “Stay with me. Don’t close your eyes. Tell me about this demon. Did you really say Maury?” From his tone he was humoring me.

I refused on principle to answer questions when I knew he didn’t believe me. I tried to struggle upright.

“I’m better; fine, in fact. What time is it?”

Before he could answer, I heard the crunch of footsteps. Thank God—the cavalry had arrived at last.

When Sheriff Robinson, Jesse, Shannon, and three people I didn’t know strode down the slope and into the gully, I’d never been so happy to see other human beings in my life. Mrs. Walker had insisted on coming along with Sheriff Robinson and the two men he’d drafted to accompany him. When the woman recognized his class ring, as Shannon had, she sank down on her knees and wept.

It would likely take them hours longer to deal with the situation, but Chance conferred briefly with Jesse, probably telling him I’d had another one of my “episodes,” which made me sound nuttier than a fruitcake. Jesse agreed I needed to get home, get warmed up, and eat something. He slanted a hard look at me, as if he suspected something had happened that we weren’t telling, but he had yards of red tape to deal with.

Butch tucked under his arm, Chance set off with me through the woods for home—well, our temporary one, anyway. My real home was warm and sun drenched. I hoped I still had it when all this was over.

I missed the pawnshop. I missed good tacos al pastor. I missed Tia, the local curandera who had a stall on market days. I missed the peace.

Nothing bothered us on the way out of the forest. Maybe Maury figured he had tormented me enough.

When we came trudging out of the woods and across the yard, Butch was happy as hell to see the house. He yapped like a wild thing and wagged his tail until Chance put him down and let him run. I gave him a quick pat on my way to take a hot bath. Forget a shower—I intended to soak away the cold that had seeped into my very bones.

By the time I got out of the tub, my skin was pink and wrinkled. I dried off on one of our contraband towels, got dressed, and went to look for Chance.

To my amazement, he’d made soup for me. Just bouillon and rice, but I’d never known him to cook before. I arched a brow, standing in the kitchen doorway.

“Did you think I was dying?” I asked.

Without turning, he answered in neutral tones. “Yes.”

“Oh, Chance.”

He spun, slamming his hand against the cupboard. “We’re done, do you understand me? I can’t take this. We don’t even know what we’re fighting, and I’m sick of seeing you nearly kill yourself when I can’t do a goddamn thing to protect you. Are you trying to punish me, Corine?”

I found myself smiling. It would only make things worse, but I couldn’t stop my lips from curving up. Chance was losing his temper. Chance. I didn’t dare speak for fear I’d laugh out loud. Instead, I sat down, trying to compose my face.

“Is this funny to you?” he demanded, shoving my bowl of soup across the table.

“A little,” I admitted. “Your clothes are dirty and wrinkled. Your hair’s a mess. Your luck doesn’t work for shit here, and I’m apparently driving you crazy. So why are you sticking around?” I spooned up some broth, waiting for his answer.

The simple soup was good, exactly what I needed. It soothed my sore throat. I picked up the bowl, forsaking the spoon, drained the broth, and then scraped up the rice.