Ann Aguirre - Blue Diablo

“Used to be?” A spark of interest flared to life in his eyes, quickly quelled. “Never mind. Where are you staying? I’ll take you to dinner tomorrow and tell you everything.”

“I’m not sure. We came straight from Monterrey.” I knew a flash of longing for the luxurious hotel we’d left behind. Unlikely we would ever find anything like that here.

“I’ll also do everything I can to get you a look at that purse, although I can’t go through channels.” Saldana gave an apologetic shrug. “But I understand how important it is now.” He regarded me for a moment before adding, “One last thing. Since I found you, that makes me your mentor. If you object, say so and we’ll call it.”

Found me. That made me sound like a lost dog.

I shrugged. “I don’t know you well enough to mind. I don’t even know what this entails, so give me your card, and we’ll rectify that. I’ll call when we’re settled.”

His smile flashed, white teeth in his scruffy sun-bronzed face. “Sure you will, Corine. That wouldn’t be the first time a woman brushed me off like that.”

“Yes, it would,” I said with no little disgust.

With a boyish shrug, he admitted to the bullshit, which was better than false modesty. “Here you go. Better head out there before you get left, sugar.”

By the time I got to the car, Chance looked like he could happily blow things up. Because I was curious I touched him on the arm as I came around to the passenger side. Nothing. No shock. Huh. Whatever Chance did, he did it differently than the rest of us. His power must somehow fall outside the range of “ordinary” human gifted. But then, I’d always sensed something special about Chance, a preternatural polish and grace.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about what I’d learned inside the station. Well, assuming Saldana wasn’t a nut job. And maybe he was; a badge didn’t make him trustworthy. Sometimes it just focused the crazy.

“Have a nice chat?” Chance asked, turning the key in the ignition like he wanted to break it off.

Purposefully I gazed out the window. I hated Laredo. When I’d left the first time, I promised myself I’d never come back and yet here I was. Overall, I wasn’t much fonder of the rest of Texas, although I didn’t mind Texarkana. When I passed through in July of last year, it was still lush and green, reminding me more of the Smoky Mountains where I’d spent a few summers camping, before my mama died.

She hadn’t told me anything about people being gifted or not gifted, or little blue sparks to set them apart. I don’t know if all practitioners react to each other this way or only those with limited talents. I’m also not sure if she didn’t know about all this, or whether she never got the chance to clue me in. But then, she worked her magick through ritual, focus, and dreamy soft chants that sounded like low, husky lullabies.

If I closed my eyes, I could hear her, even now. Singing.

It never occurred to me to question her about whether her powers were real or if I should listen to the kids at school who made Bewitched jokes. I guess all little girls secretly think their mamas are magical, and mine gave me more proof than most. My mother taught me everything I know about love. She gave me life, and twelve years later, she died for me. What more is there?

I didn’t let my thoughts continue to roam that way, but my voice sounded more clipped than I wanted when I finally replied. “Yep.”

“Are you planning to tell me what that was about?”

Flicking the card between my fingers, I decided to tell the literal truth. “He wants to take me to dinner while we’re in town.”

Yeah, I made it sound personal. Sue me. Chance owed me for a lot of bad moments over the years, wondering whether he wanted me or just my gift. Wondering whether he slept with me to keep me biddable.

His hands tightened on the wheel, incredulity and... jealousy?... warring in his voice. “You made a date with him?”

“Tentatively.”

“My mother is God knows where,” he bit out, “and you’re thinking with your crotch.”

Such language wasn’t like him. He never lost control, never slipped that way, and I felt savage satisfaction at having goaded him to that point.

I shrugged. “Why shouldn’t I? I’m pretty good in bed. Maybe I can win some influence with him. Get him to break some rules. How’s that different from the way you pimped me?”

He cut me a daggered look as we turned into the parking lot of a shitty La Quinta Inn. “Were you always such a bitch?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t I notice?”

Because I cared desperately what you thought of me then.

I shrugged. “Why didn’t you notice a lot of things?”

“I have no idea,” he said, sounding dazed. “But it turns me on something wicked.”

I peeked at his lap as he parked the car and decided he wasn’t kidding.

With a snicker, I left him to wait the problem out.

The Chance I remembered didn’t suffer from inconvenient erections, nor did he get horny at inappropriate times. He planned lovemaking, all details in place for a perfect, civilized seduction, everything in its place, everything orchestrated. Me, I like a good bit of cloth ripping, panties on the lampshade, and some shouting before it’s over. He’d never gotten there with me, and I’d figured it was somehow my fault.

But I was done with that mentality.

I handled check-in while he unloaded the bags. Just as well because the woman’s Spanish was better than her English, even in Laredo. Chance came up to the counter just as I concluded the deal, and I passed him his key-card, taking a certain petty pleasure in his annoyance that I’d booked separate rooms. His jaw clenched when I blithely told him how much he owed but he forked over the money.

“Why are we here?” I asked as we walked. Reading his look, I clarified, “This motel. It doesn’t look like you, so there has to be a reason.”

It was a peeling pink stucco building, set amid an industrial area. The only other open business was the Denny’s next door. Everything else had shut down, installing gates and bars to keep kids from breaking in.

“You act like I’m an elitist snob or something. Maybe I’m being frugal.”

“You are an elitist snob. Why are we here?”

Chance sighed. “I caught a peek at the file in Saldana’s office and I saw the address of the warehouse.”

That made sense. “So we have a reason for being in this neighborhood.”

He’d never have stayed here otherwise, and certainly not with his mom. Wherever they’d stayed, the room was long cleaned by now, and I couldn’t reasonably be expected to find anything. At the warehouse, though—well, they’d have probably taped it off as a crime scene, better safe than sorry. Blood made people twitchy.

I stepped into my room without enthusiasm. What they called a queen bed looked no more than full to me, and the mattress felt hard as brick. The room was decorated in vintage motel with a cheap orange spread and muddy paintings on the wall. Gazing at the pasteboard furniture, I felt a touch claustrophobic and hoped I wouldn’t have to spend much time here. Worse, it felt damp inside, so I flicked on the air con. In response, water immediately began to drip somewhere from the bathroom ceiling.

My backpack bounced on the bed where I tossed it, and I sank down beside it, unzipping the front pocket to delve beneath blouses and hair ties until I found what I was looking for. Cradling it in my hands, I studied the black pillow, no more than six inches wide and embroidered with white characters I couldn’t read. I traced them with a fingertip, remembering.

“I know what being with Chance can be like,” she’d said with a half smile. “So I’m giving you some luck of your own.”