Devil's Punch (40 page)

Oh, Chance, no. Not like this. I can't live through this. I
can't.

“He loved you,” she was whispering. “So damn much.”

The words meant to comfort only made it worse. I'd never wanted him to love me so much that he died for me.
There was so much blood…
.

Stop.
With imperfect self-control, I fought the anguish down, even though I had never been this broken. First
my father, and now Chance. It was too much; I could not bear it. I leaned like so much rubbish against a broken brick wall. The darkness of the wrecked building loomed behind me, and from this angle I could almost see the other side, could almost touch what I'd lost. A great yawning hole echoed inside of me, as if I'd had more than my heart ripped out in the last thirty seconds. I was…empty. Incomplete.

I sat away from Shannon and brushed the damp hair away from her cheek; it was sticky with sweat or tears or both. “Are you all right?”

“No,” she said, her voice thick. “He shouldn't have—”

“I know.” I didn't say he'd done it for me, for
us
, but she understood. I'd asked the question of myself before, but now I had my answer. Sometimes the price of survival was too high; I had been ready to die beside Chance, but he'd inflicted upon me a role ten times harder—making me fall in love with him again and then forcing me to live without him.

“We'll make the most of his sacrifice.” Using my thumbs, I wiped away my tears and blotted my face on my sleeve.

I glanced down to see how bloody I was, and then I realized the black I'd preferred as the demon queen didn't show the stains. The fabric simply swallowed them, as if it hadn't happened; he hadn't died. Shaking from head to toe, I pushed to my feet, and then offered her a hand. Together, we were strong enough to survive anything. Even the unthinkable. Even
this
.

Fortunately, Shannon had gathered our things before pulling me through the gate. Otherwise, I'd be injured, exhausted, brokenhearted, and stranded wherever we were without any recourse. I couldn't think about Chance. Had to focus on one minute at a time, one heartbeat. Thinking about the future was impossible. With effort, I turned my mind to practical matters. After taking my purse from Shannon, I opened it to hide the bloody athame and Butch popped out.

“You made it,” I said in relief.

The little dog sniffed me with puzzling suspicion and
then licked my cheek, kissing away my tears. At least I still had Butch…and Shannon. For now.

First order of business was to figure out where we were.

I picked up my belongings from where Shannon had dropped them—all I had left of Chance—and spun in a slow circle. The buildings were old, shoddy brickwork and rickety fire escapes clambering up the sides. Across the way, bright graffiti had been sprayed all down one side, but it was in a different style than what I'd encountered in Mexico City. Plus, the air was cool and damp, the sky overcast.

“Where do you think we are?” I asked. Not because I expected an answer, but because I thought she needed the question, giving her a reason to separate from the trauma and think of something else.

I could do it, one minute at a time, but I had never wanted those minutes less.

She took her own inspection and then shrugged. “I'm not sure. Nowhere I've been before.”

“Let's find out.”

I strode from the alley onto a narrow street with vans and cars parked untidily along the curbs. The shops were small, with advertisements posted in the windows for products I didn't immediately recognize. But all the signs were in English, which limited the options as to where we'd ended up. I noted the faces of passersby, a good mix of colors; we'd landed in an interesting, culturally eclectic neighborhood.

“England.” Shannon grabbed my arm. “It must be. Look inside the cars.”

The steering wheels were all on what would be the passenger side in North America. Given the other clues, I agreed with her. “Good eye.”

Chance brought me here once.
Memories of that trip pelted me like small, fierce knives: laughing in the rain, a kiss on the stairs leading to the metro station, and the posh shop where he bought me frangipani perfume. Those memories became diamond-hard in my heart because nobody who still lived in this world could remember them with me. Mine alone.

Alone.
I could die of that word, a cold so deep it became fever.

“I can't believe he's gone,” Shannon said huskily.

I couldn't either. But he'd said,
Even death will not keep me from you.
Perhaps those had only been words to drive the grief away, but I'd cling to them. I'd look for him. Find him again, somehow.

We strolled in silence, Shannon distracted by the new sights and me numb. People stared at my bruised and swollen face and then hurriedly swung their eyes away, as if abuse might be contagious. The street market we passed reminded me of the ones near my shop, and a wave of homesickness swept over me. My gaze lingered on the variety of goods, though we had no local currency. People milled and bickered. Now that we were in the throng of shoppers, the prevailing accent was a dead giveaway. I wondered how Shannon and I looked, if we seemed like exhausted tourists or whether people thought we belonged.

“I should find a phone,” she said softly. “Call Jesse.”

It was a good idea. As we walked, I glanced around and didn't find one. Pay phones had just about gone the way of the dinosaurs since everyone carried cells these days. Mine was a paperweight, though; there hadn't been any outlets in Sheol.

“We might be better off buying a travel charger.”

She nodded.

A few blocks down, I went into a small electronics store. The man behind the counter looked up from a magazine. He was tall and thin with a crop of ginger hair that looked as if he hadn't combed it in a week, and his face was covered in freckles. He greeted us with a broad smile and a thick accent. “What can I do for you, ladies?”

“My cell phone died. I'm looking for something to juice it up quick.”

“An instant travel charger, eh? What model have you got?”

I checked. “I have a Nokia.”

As I recalled, she'd left her phone at Jesse's house, so she didn't have one in her backpack. Yet thinking about them together roused fresh grief.
Not
because I wanted
Jesse—because I'd lost Chance. Shannon interpreted my expression correctly; she looked so sad and tentative that it broke my heart. Which didn't take much doing, as it was already smashed into tiny pieces. But I didn't mean for her to feel she had to hide her happiness or walk on eggshells around me.

So I asked, “Where's yours again?” My tone was teasing, for the benefit of the man behind the counter, but it gave Shan the proper message.

It's all right. Really
.

Her smile bloomed. “I have a Samsung Infuse at home. It was a gift from Jesse.”

“So you could stay in touch better while he's working?”

The sweetness of it was so Jesse Saldana. Shannon was a lucky girl, but I didn't have even a whisper of regret that things had turned out this way. At least she had him, waiting for her to come home.

I didn't. The man in my life, the one with the infernal luck, had died for me. Good fortune wasn't enough to save him; or rather, he wouldn't let it. After so long in Sheol, I needed a cleansing, but I didn't know any practitioners here, and likely none of them would help out if they got a good look at me with their witch sight. Plus, I swallowed a scream at the idea of erasing any part of Chance, even the bad stuff. I wanted to keep him close; I wanted to
remember
. Anguish boiled up in a hot rush, filling my eyes with tears again, and I blinked them away as the clerk sorted through his inventory. He didn't react to my bruised face, which I appreciated.

“Here, I think this will do,” he said eventually. “You can use it up to four times, though that'll depend on the battery size.”

Mentally crossing my fingers, I gave him the prepaid Visa card I carried in case of emergencies. Without Shannon's cool head, we'd be really bad off right now. I didn't have a bank account, and I'd changed dollars to pesos as I needed it from the briefcase Escobar had given me. In Mexico, it was easy to live that way. Nobody blinked if you paid your bills in person and with cash. In fact, most people did.

He ran it with no questions asked. “Do you need a receipt?”

“No, it's fine. Do you know of a good hotel or a bed-and-breakfast nearby?”

The young man offered a sympathetic smile. “Had a run of bad luck, eh?”

“You could say that.” His kindness, after everything we'd been through made it harder to keep my composure. Maybe it had something to do with how battered I looked; men wanted to save women, even when it wasn't possible.

He thought for a moment, then named a place. “My cousin stays there sometimes when he comes to town.”

“Thank you.” I took the charger. “Would you mind jotting down the address?”

“I'll do better than that. I won't send you over to Amhurst Park unless they've rooms available. Give me a mo.” To my surprise, he went to work on the laptop open nearby, checking on a reservation for us. “You'll want a twin, en suite, I'm guessing. Americans don't usually like sharing bathrooms.”

“Please,” Shannon said.

I exchanged a look with her, and she was smiling. How…unexpected. After being with demons, I'd almost forgotten people could be nice for no reason.

“You're in luck. Can I help you with anything else?” he asked gently.

Was my face tearstained in addition to beaten the hell up? I wondered. It was the only explanation I could conjure for his continued willingness to assist us.

“If you know of a currency exchange, that'd be everything.”

“Let me check.” He played with the laptop a little longer and then said, “There's one on Moorgate. I've never been, but I can print you some directions.”

“Thank you.” Maybe I
wasn't
covered in Chance's ill luck anymore. It was possible the gate had stripped the effect from me, just like the results of the forget fog I'd cast at the house outside Laredo fell away from Shannon.

“My pleasure. I was just surfing anyway. It's a slow
day.” He handed me a sheet of paper with some instructions.

In the grand scheme, using his laptop for us didn't amount to much, but considering how fucked up I felt, how broken, it might be the difference between getting through this day and surrendering. With a quiet wave, I stepped back onto the street. First thing, I cracked open the battery and plugged in our phones.

Next, using the directions, I navigated the route to the currency exchange, which involved one train and some walking. I exchanged the dollars and pesos I had on me for British pounds. It amounted to £150, which I hoped would be enough for a room. Shannon had all of twenty-four bucks in her backpack, and she converted that too—around fourteen pounds and change. I could give them my prepaid card for incidentals if they insisted. I hoped the clerk hadn't sent us to a pricey, upscale place.

Until I got hold of Tia and asked her to wire some money, I couldn't afford to splurge on a cab, so we walked ten minutes to the Kentish Town West station, took the overground toward Stratford, and got off at Hackney Central. I was bone-tired, and my injuries throbbed. Four minutes later, we reached the hotel. If the guy at the electronics store could be believed, shelter waited for us. Here, I could rest and make plans.

Figure out how to survive.

But I don't want to
.

With desperate determination, I drove that voice out of my head. The brownstone looked clean and respectable. Inside, it was a budget hotel, no bells and whistles, but they took my cash and gave us a key. In the morning, I'd worry about passports and how the hell we were getting home. The ones Eva had cooked for Shannon and me were sufficient to pass land border scrutiny between the U.S. and Mexico, but I didn't think she had the skill to clone RFID chips to fool the scanners. Which meant we'd have to apply for passports at the embassy and go into the system, unless a better alternative presented itself.

At this point, I couldn't imagine what that would be.

Our room was clean, with a tiny private bathroom. Twin beds took up most of the space, and they were covered in black and white plaid. With a sigh, I set down my backpack and got out Butch's water dish. I filled it from the tap and put it down. I had no kibble for him, but I needed to rest before I went back out.

From her expression, I could tell Shannon wanted to call Jesse, so I handed over the phone and stepped into the bathroom to give them some privacy. I splashed water on my face, cleaned up as much as I could. Unfortunately, even with the door closed, I could hear her side of the conversation.

“Jesse, it's me.” A pause. “Yes, Corine found me.” More silence. “I'm in London.” He had to be tearing her a new one, and she sniffed in response to whatever he was saying. “No, it wasn't like that. I promise I'll explain everything when I'm home. I am safe, though.” A longer break—I sensed the warmth of her reaction to his words. “I know. I'm sorry. But I'm glad you knew before I called. I promise I got on the line as soon as I could.” And then, “Yes, I love you too.”

Their conversation lightened from there. “I have my laptop, so I'll be online in a little while if you want to talk more. I can't burn all Corine's minutes.”

She talked to him for five minutes more, laughter in her voice, and I hated her in mute silence, my head resting against the bathroom door. Not because she'd taken Jesse Saldana from me, but because the man she loved might be across the ocean but he was still in this world with her. She would
see
him again.

So will you,
I told myself.
He'll find a way. He keeps his promises
.