Ann Aguirre - Hell Fire

He hesitated, seeming unsure of himself. “Because I promised you I would.”

Ah. My smile faltered. I didn’t like remembering how I’d bound him, making him promise to come here with me in exchange for my help in finding his mother.

I leveled a look on him. “You can go. I release you of all obligation to me.”

Chance shook his head, dropping to his knees beside me. His inky hair was tousled, windblown, and his cheek-bones seemed sharper than usual, as if he hadn’t been eating. I hadn’t paid that much attention before now.

“I won’t leave you,” he promised. “Not for all the spirits and demons in the world. I will stand with you.” His voice softened then. He reached out, stroking the loose, damp mass of my hair. “I don’t know what to do here, though. I’m not used to being unable to impact events. I’m not used to being powerless. I hate it.”

An ache started in my chest. I couldn’t imagine the old Chance confessing this to me in a million years. He’d rarely talked about his feelings. He never shared himself. This Chance knelt on a battered Linoleum floor and gazed up at me as if I were his sun, moon, and stars, wrapped up in one slightly bedraggled package.

Oh God. I didn’t know whether I could survive him a second time. I couldn’t speak for the pounding of my heart. A multitude of words crowded my throat, and I couldn’t decide which ones to use.

He took in my stillness and went on speaking, doggedly, I thought. “It seems everyone in the place is more use to you than I am. I hate that too. But even weak, even useless, I will not leave you.”

“You’re not useless. You’re not weak, either.”

Before he could press for more, Jesse and Shannon came in. They made toast and dished up some of Chance’s consommé. The girl sat down across from me, thin and pale, but seeming no worse for wear. It occurred to me then that we looked oddly like a family, sitting around the table in this worn, outdated kitchen.

“Did someone check the wards?” Jesse asked.

Chance stood up. “I’ll do it. You two eat. Be right back.”

While he was gone, I explained what had happened in the woods. Both Jesse and Shannon wore a frown when I finished.

“That’s so not cool,” she said, “knowing that thing can put a brain freeze on you in the woods anytime it wants.”

I considered that. “Have you ever heard of that happening to anyone else?”

She shook her head. “But people don’t always live to tell, either.”

“Comforting.” Jesse eyed me over the rectangle of bread he was munching. “I knew there was something wrong, but it didn’t seem like the time to ask.”

“I appreciate that. We don’t need any more attention from Sheriff Robinson. How’s Rob’s mom doing?”

Shannon studied her hands. “She was pretty busted up, but I think she was glad too—to finally have an answer.”

I could feel good about what we’d accomplished, then. It was worth spending a little time with a demon to put a mother’s uncertainty at rest. Now at least she could start grieving instead of clinging to false hope.

“Wards are solid,” Chance reported, coming back into the kitchen.

“Do me a favor?” I asked Shannon.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Bring me the Bible we stashed earlier.”

Her expression brightened. “Are you going to handle it?”

I couldn’t help smiling back. “Seems like somebody ought to.”

The girl crossed the black-and-white linoleum in a shot. Within seconds, she was back, worn leather book in hand. I despised handling two objects in the same day because the next day I wouldn’t be able to touch anything without paying the price. But sometimes it was worth it. November was rushing to a close—it would be Thanksgiving soon—and then December would start trickling away. I had a bad feeling we didn’t want to be there on the winter solstice. We needed to complete our business and make our getaway before then.

That meant doing my part. With a faint sigh, I put my uninjured hand on the good book and closed my eyes. It took longer than I’d expected to relax my guard; I was even more reluctant than usual to do this—and that was saying something.

To my surprise, there was nothing significant about the book. There were only simple images about where it had been manufactured. Some concerned evangelical type had given it to Farrell—and only that person’s profound faith had left much of a charge at all. The item hadn’t been special to the gas station attendant after all.

When I opened my eyes, I found Jesse, Chance, and Shannon regarding me expectantly. I shook my head. “Dead end.”

“Damn,” Jesse muttered.

I sympathized with his frustration, as I would very much like to know why there was a demon in those woods, what pact he was talking about, who made it, why, and what it had to do with my mother’s death. It didn’t seem likely anyone would volunteer those answers, so we’d have to force the truth out of folks.

“That wasn’t as exciting as I’d hoped,” Shannon said.

I grinned at her. “Between you and me, your gift is way more impressive. You could make a TV show out of it, if you really wanted to.”

“That would be wicked.”

Jesse frowned at me. “I wholly advise against that, Shannon. We’ve stayed healthy by keeping a low profile for the last four hundred years.”

“Like anyone would believe it wasn’t fake.”

The girl had a point. I listened to them bicker for a bit before I remembered the scrap of paper that had been in the Bible, marking the verse numbers Farrell had haphazardly painted over on his front door. So I flipped to that page. Chance was watching me, and I think he knew what I intended, but he seemed resigned to letting me take all manner of risks.

After scanning the poem penned in Mr. McGee’s crabbed handwriting, I sealed my hand atop the page. Pain shot through my palm and up to my elbow. I moaned, but the scene tore through my barriers, so I had no time to prepare—I was simply yanked in headfirst, whereupon I once more became Curtis Farrell. His immense shame and anger slammed through me. He and Mr. McGee were arguing about something.

They stood in the basement of the library, though what the gas station clerk would’ve been doing down there, I had no idea. He slammed something down on the workbench and shook his fist at Mr. McGee. The old man didn’t back down; he had the air of a man chastising somebody who deserved it.

I focused on his lips. Don’t be an idiot, boy. You could get out of here. I wasn’t sure about all of that, but I knew I’d gotten the first bit right, because McGee exaggerated his mouth movements as if he was, in fact, talking to an idiot. And that was all.

My palm throbbed, matching the pain in my other hand. Great. Nothing like a matched set. I exhaled in a shuddering sigh and opened my eyes. The others were staring at me in alarmed silence. I had no idea why until I glanced down.

The paper had burnt to ash beneath my fingers.

“That’s too much power,” Jesse said uneasily.

A hard tremor rocked through me, and I thought I might be sick. It took all of my self-control to battle it down. I knew Jesse suffered everything I did when I handled, and I felt bad for inflicting that on him. At the same time, it was also comforting to know I wasn’t totally alone with it, even if I didn’t choose to talk about it. It almost seemed like he was beside me on the path.

“Did you get anything helpful?” Chance asked quietly.

“I’m not sure. Shannon, did Curtis Farrell have any kind of personal connection to Mr. McGee?”

“I have no idea. I didn’t know him that well, really. But I can find out.”