Ann Aguirre - Hell Fire

I nodded. “If you don’t mind, it might be helpful.” In a few words, I summed up what I’d gleaned, which wasn’t much when you got right down to it.

More than we had before. My fingers stirred in the ashes and gray motes twirled on the kitchen table. Nothing like this has ever happened before. Like Chance, I was wondering where it would stop. My gift had taken a decidedly dark turn.

“No problem,” she said.

The others let me fill the silence—or not. I did, by telling them all about the girl I’d glimpsed in the attic and how I thought she’d been Gifted too. They all appeared thoughtful when I finished.

“Kilmer has been producing Gifted for a long time,” Jesse murmured. “I don’t know what to make of that. It usually runs in family lines.”

I nodded. “From what you said, it’s more genetic, and it shouldn’t just randomly appear in different families who have never known the likes before.”

“Maybe it just skipped a generation or two,” Shannon offered. “Like a recessive gene or something.”

Chance drew a complex pattern on the kitchen table. “Could be. But that’s probably not the whole answer.”

“I’m sure,” I agreed. “But we won’t solve it tonight. We should get some rest.”

Shannon slipped from her chair and peered at my hands. A little shiver went through her. “No offense, but I’m glad I don’t do what you do.”

“Me too.” I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, not even somebody I didn’t like.

“G’night.”

Her exit sparked the rest of us into motion. The guys cleared the table, and I made my way down the hall to what had been Chance’s room. Since he’d offered it to me, I wasn’t going to argue. He could sleep on the couch. I’d done it at Chuch’s place, after all.

Crap, that reminded me I’d meant to call the mechanic about Shannon’s gift and see if he had any advice. It was too late now. In the morning.

Jesse caught up with me before I reached my door. “You can take my room. Chance and I are switching off on the couch, and it’s my turn.”

Such gentlemen. But I just gave a weary nod and turned my steps in that direction. To my surprise, he followed me. When I turned, I saw he had the salve; it was good he remembered, or I would have paid for it in the morning.

Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, I offered my hands palms up, as if he were trying to arrest me. Amusement flickered in his dark eyes, but he merely knelt and started tending my wounds. His ministrations stung like a bitch, but I bore them with stoicism. This wasn’t my first time, after all.

“You are such a bulldog,” he murmured, tawny-streaked head bent.

“Wow, that’s uncommonly sweet talk, even for you.”

He offered me a wry half smile. “I meant once you lock your jaws into something, you just don’t turn loose. I admire it. If you didn’t hate cops so much, you’d make a heck of an investigator.”

“I don’t hate you ,” I said softly. “It means a lot that you came all this way.”

“Yeah?” Jesse skated a thumb down the curve of my cheek to my jaw. The touch sparked gently, and I was starting to see that tiny blue flicker as a sign of connection. It meant after so many years of searching, I’d found somebody like me. “I’d love to pull you up against me until we both stop hurting.”

“But you won’t.”

He shook his head. “I promised Chance I’d back off if he did.”

“Like I told him . . . thanks.”

“God, Corine, you’ve put me through more in a few days than Heather did in a whole year—and she was half crazy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not.”

After Jesse left, sleep didn’t come easy, and I dreamed of laughing demons with hands full of fire.

I woke up with both hands shiny with salve. The blisters around the brand on my left palm had gone away entirely, leaving the smooth imprint of the flower pentacle. For a while, I lay there savoring the peace and the softness of the mattress beneath me.

Even minor creature comforts impressed me these days. I’d driven myself long and hard, and I desperately needed a break. But I couldn’t relax until we’d finished there. Then I’d go home and ease back into my old routine at the pawnshop. I’d take Shannon with me, if she wanted to come. I even had a spare bedroom. Otherwise, I’d help her get wherever she wanted to go.

Butch bounded in, made the short leap to join me, and curled up beside me. “What do you think?” I asked him. “Do we do more legwork today?”

He yapped in the negative. It seemed he’d had enough of crawling around in the woods. Sadly, he was probably smarter than the rest of us put together.

That day we listened to the dog and didn’t move much. To my amusement, the other three joined forces to keep me under house arrest. They didn’t want me doing anything more strenuous than sitting on the couch.

For the most part, we passed the time talking with Shannon about the Gifted community. She had a number of questions about the kinds of powers other people had. We explained the way Chance’s ability usually worked. I was glad of the quiet, for all it reminded me of the calm before the storm.

In the afternoon, I called Booke to thank him for saving me—and to confirm I wasn’t losing my mind. He picked up on the second ring.

“I’m so glad you called,” he said.

We then spoke at the same time.

“Did I imagine—”

“What happened to you—”

“It was real,” I breathed in relief. “I wanted to thank you.”

His deep voice revealed his abashment. “It was nothing.” Booke hastened to change the subject. “But I did find something out about the spell components you sent me.”

My interest sharpened. “Oh?”

“After a number of esoteric tests, I’m relatively certain it was meant to be used in a binding spell.”

“Like to bind demons?” Unexpected. Had Sandra been trying to sic a monster on me while I was in the bathroom? That didn’t seem sporting.

“No,” Booke answered. “If it had worked, it would have prevented you from moving until something more . . . permanent could be done to you.”

I cast my mind back to that day. Sandra had seemed insistent that we stay to dinner, and her husband had been quietly miserable. Plan B?

“So it would’ve immobilized me,” I guessed. “But something went wrong. Do you have any idea what?”

“If I had to speculate,” Booke’s tone became a touch pedantic, “well, I’d say it could have been any number of things. The person may not have been skilled enough in the dark arts. It is rather a precise business. The spell may also have failed because there were two of you in a small space she’d guessed would contain only one.”

“The not-being-skilled part tracks with our observations here,” I said.

“Perhaps they are dabblers.” His voice reflected his disdain for such dilettantes. “Did you find anything out about the library?”

Crap, I hadn’t even asked. I made a note to check with Shannon. After a few more pleasantries, Booke advised me to take care of myself and disconnected. While I was making calls, I checked in with Senor Alvarez, who assured me everything was fine at the pawnshop. Then I went looking for our resident speaker for the dead.

When she heard what I wanted to know, she said, “Yeah, actually. The library used to be a church, a really long time ago. My grandpa had the new one built in . . .” She thought for a moment. “I’m not sure when, actually, but it was before I was born.”

“Thanks.”

In late morning, Shannon took a trip with Jesse to find out whether Mr. McGee had any connection with Curtis Farrell. She came back aglow with her success.