Hell Fire (30 page)

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.

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.”

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.