Shady Lady

The End Is the Beginning Is the End

At daybreak we dressed in clean underwear, filthy clothes, and our hiking boots. The village remained unnaturally quiet. I sensed people watching us through their windows and sometimes I caught movement in my peripheral vision, but when I turned, I saw only closing doors. A few children were bold enough to stare out the windows, but their parents swiftly pulled them away and closed the curtains against us.

The silent message was clear: They weren’t coming out until we were gone. Based on the events of the night before, I understood their caution. Only the churned earth and faint, lingering smell gave a hint what had happened here. Maybe in a few days’ time, this would seem like a collective hallucination, and they’d start to forget. Today, the silent treatment proved a pain in the ass, and I didn’t look forward to more walking, but we wouldn’t receive further assistance. I was glad, however, that none of the villagers had come to harm because of me; I didn’t think I could stand more innocent blood on my conscience.

I ate the last of the protein bars and drew some water from the public well. With a philosophical shrug, I filled my bottle, and Kel did the same. The parasites might bother me, but we needed to keep moving. If we lingered here too long, Montoya’s sorcerer might send something else, something worse, though that defied imagination. Since I hadn’t known demons could be summoned in corporeal form, there was no telling what gruesome surprises lay in store.

In silence, I led the way toward the church, intending to ask the priest for directions, but the doors were closed, and he didn’t respond to my tentative knock. I glanced up at Kel, who said, “The best thing we can do is move along.”

Since I agreed, I didn’t argue. Logistics posed a problem, however. “But where?”

He canted his head while the day brightened around us, as if listening to silent voices. Then he pointed. “That way.”

“Did your archangel tell you how far it is too?”

Kel almost smiled. “No. I don’t call him—he calls me.”

“Oh.” I fell into step beside him. The dirt track led toward gently rising hills. “So what did you do just now?”

Once, I never would’ve bothered asking, but there was something between us now, even if impossible, ephemeral, and fragile as spider silk. He waited to answer until we had left the village some distance behind. I concentrated on walking.

“I can . . . ask questions,” he said eventually. “Mine information.”

“Kind of like a divine Internet?” The concept amused me.

“A little. But it’s not as comprehensive.” He looked as if he wanted to explain further, but in the end, he chose not to, and I didn’t press.

The path led toward the mountains in the distance, hulking and dark, wreathed in mist at their peaks, but the way before them lay green and bright. My steps followed a route that looked as though it had been worn by horses and donkey carts. I didn’t think cars had ever been out this way. It would take a helicopter to reach this hidden valley.

For this last leg of our journey, we had water, but no food. I regulated my sips and kept walking. In the distance eucalyptus groves rose, slim and straight, but far enough that we wouldn’t pass through unless the path turned. Instead we trudged through pampas grass, interspersed with the brightness of coral trees, orchids, dusty ferns, and lady’s slipper. Other plants defied my ability to name them, blooming in a profusion of yellow, scarlet, and shades of pink. The landscape was a study in contrasts: here brown, there green, prickly and delicate by turns. I particularly admired a plant with veined oval leaves and red bell-shaped flowers that hung in a graceful cluster.

Now and then, Kel slipped off to forage; he found breadfruit, wild potatoes, and a couple of custard apples. The first two needed to be cooked, but we could eat the latter now. As if in response to my thought, he broke one of the apples in half and I took the offering. Inside, the green tuberculated fruit was pale, dotted with dark seeds. I pried those out and tossed them away; then I ate greedily, finding the taste a perfect blend of pineapple, strawberry, and mango. I’d never had anything so good. Using my fingers, I scraped out the last bit and then dropped the skin.

“There’s another one,” he said, “but we should save it for later.”

I nodded. After taking a little more water, I had the energy to go on. My muscles burned, and I had bruises and cuts from the confrontation with Caim; I didn’t mention them. Kel might feel compelled to heal me again, and my crazy reaction to his blood sounded worse than bearing the pain.

Come nightfall, he built a fire and roasted the breadfruit and potatoes on sticks. By that point, I was ravenous, and could hardly wait for the food to cook, let alone cool. I burned my tongue as I ate and didn’t care at all. Insects and birds serenaded through the meal, though the smoke kept the worst of the former away. Kel broke the last custard apple and I devoured it as dessert. The temperature dropped enough for me to be grateful for the sleeping bag after we finished the meal.

It’s a good thing he didn’t go comatose, I reflected. I would’ve had no way to get out of the village, no way to move him, and the villagers’ animosity would’ve manifested, if Kel had been unconscious. One lone woman wouldn’t seem like a threat with her protector down. If the Peruvian villagers weren’t worrisome enough, failure to move on would’ve earned Montoya’s sorcerer another shot at us. Without him, I wouldn’t know which way to travel or how to find food.

Even now, he protected me, per his orders, but it was more too. He set his sleeping bag no more than five inches from my own. Part of me wanted a repeat of the night before by crackling firelight, beneath this star-studded sky, though the rest of me knew it would be ludicrously unwise.

“Will you remember?” I asked into the silence.

Maybe time fades it. Maybe he won’t. But, I told myself, he recalls Asherah. And there was no telling how long ago he’d lost her. While I awaited his reply, lyrics from an old Sarah McLachlan song ran through my head.

But Kel knew what I meant, and his answer pierced my heart. “Yes. Always.”

That was comfort of a sort. Even when I died, as I inevitably must, last night guaranteed me some form of immortality. Silence fell and I closed my eyes.

In the morning, we had the rest of the breadfruit and potatoes. We walked on.

Eventually the track widened and went from dirt to rough pavement. Miles farther, I heard the roar of a distant engine. Civilization at last.

I waved my arms frantically as the rattletrap truck barreled toward us. A raised thumb might not convey the urgency. At first, the driver passed us, and my heart sank, but he slowed and pulled to the shoulder. Without looking at Kel, I summoned the last of my energy and sprinted toward the vehicle.

A quick conversation and the last of the cash convinced the driver to take us to the nearest city, where he was headed anyway. At his request, we got in back. I didn’t blame him; we smelled pretty rank.

The trip took most of the day, and the wind whipped my face like mad, but the weather was clear, and by dark, we arrived in Huánuco. This city was big enough that our appearance drew attention in a different way from in the village.

The streets were narrow, cobbled in places. Many of the homes were adobe, as in Mexico, but there was a faintly Mediterranean influence as well in the open terraces and breezy arches. Stone walls marched up gentle inclines to the market; this was a proper zócalo filled with merchants, artists, and artisans in a beautifully landscaped garden. We didn’t linger there.

People gave us a wide berth. Not that I cared. I wanted this madness to be over, so I could see my friends again, and then take the next step toward handling Montoya. He’d killed a man I admired and respected, along with Ernesto, who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Montoya had nearly slain me twice. I felt hard as I never had before, coolly determined. As long as I had Kel beside me, I feared nothing; I’d come to rely on him more than I cared to admit.

Outside a tiny convenience store, I found an outdoor outlet for my cell phone. We worked quickly to disable the deterrent measures; then I plugged in and powered it on. It wouldn’t be long before someone caught me and shooed me away. My tired eyes located the street sign—oh, God, it was littered with “Q”s, “L”s, and “A”s, not Spanish. I’d never pronounce it, assuming I could get hold of Escobar.

He’d put his number in my directory as Efraín. I hit the green button on my keypad and lifted the phone to my ear. It rang three times and then: “Bueno. I trust you have good news for me,” he continued in Spanish.

I answered in kind, though my mind was slower at translations than I would’ve liked. So damned tired. “I have it. I’m in Huánuco, on . . .” I spelled the street for him and then glanced at the store for the number.

At that point, the owner stepped onto the walk and started cursing me for stealing his power. The socket had been secured; Kel had snapped the padlock and I’d pried the cap off it, so I couldn’t argue with his outrage, and I had little currency to soothe his distress. My partner in crime overheard.

“Give him the phone,” Escobar ordered.

I did as instructed.

Five minutes later, the owner handed it back with downcast eyes and he hurried back into his shop. I honestly didn’t want to know what Escobar had said or promised. “¿Ahora qué?” I asked. Now what? It was a good question.

“Wait there for my men,” he answered. “The proprietor has been instructed to offer you food and drink. He will be recompensed.”

“Hecho,” I said. Which meant, roughly and in short, You have a deal.

Since, after that, I had permission to use the outlet, I sent texts to both Jesse and Shannon. I didn’t feel up to long phone conversations with either of them. Doubtless Chuch and Eva would want to hear my story too, so apart from my low-ebbing energy, I was also being practical.

Kel stepped into the shop, and when he returned, he carried a small bag. He produced tortas wrapped in waxed paper, and two icy orange sodas. A few moments later, the owner brought us a couple of rickety chairs. Clearly he wanted us gone but he also didn’t want trouble. He set them down with a muttered imprecation, well outside the store. I sat down gratefully as the day died around us.

We ate in silence, but I could finish only half of my sandwich. I gave the rest to Kel, and downed the Fanta in a thirsty rush. I ached from head to toe. By the time we finished and balled up our trash, a dark town car was pulling up to the curb. Two men in black got out. Since it was nearly dark, they didn’t wear shades, but their impassive expressions matched what I had come to expect in minions.

One of them went into the store to settle our account; the other waved us into the backseat of the vehicle. They drove us to an airfield an hour outside the city, and soon, we were in the air. Thank all gods and goddesses this was nearly done. I’d had enough of playing this man’s game, and I badly wanted some return on my time and trouble.

The flight was long, and we stopped once to refuel—I didn’t know where. Kel and I stayed on the plane. He was so quiet it troubled me, but I could find no way to inquire. At the second takeoff, he surprised me by curling his fingers through mine.

“You don’t like to fly?” I guessed.

His mouth turned down ever so slightly. “Not like this.”

Ah. I understood. I wished I didn’t. In my mind’s eye, I saw scars, not wounds he’d taken fighting, but those inflicted while he knelt bound and unable to resist. The amputation of his wings had been a punishment for some transgression; I knew that much. The demon had hinted that the archangels abused him both because of his human mother and his own disobedience. How much of that was true? He hadn’t denied anything, as I recalled, except the idea that desire required penance.

At length, we slept, and I held his hand until we landed. When I opened my eyes next, I recognized this airstrip, and the house in the distance. We were back on Escobar’s property, wherever that might be.

Goon A escorted me from the plane while Goon B took charge of Kel. “You will be permitted to bathe and change before you see el Señor.”

I found the honorific amusing because that was also what some people called God around here. Or maybe I just was too tired to know what was funny. “Gracias.”

Paolo stood waiting for me on the veranda. When I turned, I couldn’t see Kel anywhere. I started to protest but he held up a hand. “Your companion will not be harmed. He is simply not part of your business with my father.” He spoke kindly, gently, but his eyes reflected the same implacable core I’d glimpsed in Escobar.

Divide and conquer. I recognized the tactic, but I couldn’t think of a reason to fight it. Kel could take care of himself.

“Okay,” I said wearily. “I’ll take that shower.”

The boy led the way to the suite I’d occupied before, what seemed like ages ago. I cringed a little, catching hints of my filth in reflective surfaces along the way. Even so, I wasn’t prepared for the wreckage that greeted me when I stepped into that palatial bathroom.

My hair stood in a wild nimbus on top, a straggling, messy braid down my back as if those feral demonic monkeys had styled it for me. I had a long scratch down my throat from where the demon marked me, and various bruises darkened my skin. More shocking, my face was thin and sharp, browner than I could ever remember seeing it. The blue of my eyes gleamed brighter by comparison. I got my biggest surprise when I peeled out of my filthy clothes. I ran my palms down my stomach. Ribs. I could feel my ribs. I had no idea how much weight I’d lost out there, but I could see the difference. The muscles—and apparently I had some—showed much closer to the skin now.

Well, whatever. It wouldn’t do to keep Escobar waiting—any longer than necessary, anyhow, because I didn’t mean to rush this shower. Given free rein, I’d spend days getting clean.

A long while later, I stepped out of the stall. I took advantage of the nourishing creams and then wandered into the bedroom, steam trailing me like wistful air elementals. I tried not to be outraged when I saw he’d replaced the clothing in the wardrobe with smaller sizes. I was even more agitated when they fit. I hated the idea that Escobar could foresee every eventuality, as if he were privy to a celestial chessboard nobody else could see.

“If that were true,” I said aloud, “then he wouldn’t need me to help him take out Diego Montoya.”

I told myself I wasn’t putting on the white dream of a dress to impress anyone, but part of me wanted Kel to see me wearing such a lovely thing. It was a pure slice of feminine vanity, but it suited me, and I would’ve never dared to wear a halter top before. I made sure it was tied tight before I went to work on my hair. It took longer than I liked to dry it, but after so many days of braids, I wanted to wear it loose.

Paolo knocked on the door as I finished up. He paused for a moment, taking in the picture I presented, though I was too old for him. Still, it was a kind flattery, one seen often in Latin men. “Come. It is time.”

His escort was unnecessary. Along the way, he showed off for me a little, spinning another white rose in the air. I caught it and found it had already been stripped of thorns. So when I stepped into Escobar’s sanctum sanctorum, I carried a white bloom. White dress, red hair, brown skin, blue eyes—I didn’t think I’d ever been so exotic before. I hoped Escobar didn’t expect a virgin sacrifice to seal the deal. That ship sailed long ago.

I wasn’t surprised at all to find him standing before the windows, back to me. That sort of pose offered all kinds of power advantages, especially if I sat. I didn’t. I was patient; I could wait him out.

The backpack that contained the crucifix sat on a striped damask chair nearby. To confound his expectations, I crossed the room and stood beside him. This side of the room had a majestic view, and for the first time I realized the house had been built into the mountainside. Below lay only open space.

He turned then, assessing me in a glance. “Show me what you found.”

Obedient, I snagged the backpack and dug inside it. Happily, someone had already disposed of the other noisome items it’d contained, leaving only the tarnished silver cross. Making sure of my shields—because I assuredly did not want to read this thing, as I had likely imprinted it with my struggles—I lifted the icon into the light.

“Here it is.”

“Tell me the story.”

After offering it to him, I summed up what I’d learned. “You placed the clay statue there,” I finished. “You must have, like a marker for me to follow.”

“Not me,” he said. “One of my men.”

“Why didn’t you have him fetch that thing home? Or do it yourself?”

His lips quirked. “Do I look as if I would enjoy trekking through the jungle?” As a matter of fact, no. “I admit to being curious as to how you deciphered the markings. Your phone indicates no outside help. Does your companion speak Aymara?”

I merely smiled. Let him wonder.

Accepting my silence as reply, he went on. “And the relic would have done me no good without someone to give me the answer I sought.”

“Which was?”

“Whether the story was true.”

“Why did you care? It was so long ago.”

“Blood matters,” he said gravely. “Would you not wish to know whether you came from a line of liars and rapists?”

I found his concern for family honor peculiar and offkilter, given how he had built his own empire. Still . . . “Yes. I’d want to know. But why did you think it would be so bad, that handling?” In truth, my courage had been tested more in other ways over the course of the trial.

“Wouldn’t it have been, if it had been true?”

Ugh. Yes. The priest might’ve clutched it, reliving his awful deeds, and his salacious sadism would’ve filled me as if I were a drunkard’s barf bucket.

“I’ve done it,” I said then. “Passed your challenge. May I go now? I need to reassure my friends and get some rest before we begin.”

Get your live bait, right here. Sweet Georgian bait. That would go over big with the folks in Texas.

“You’re worthy. Our initial agreement stands.” Escobar lifted the crucifix as if weighing the silver content, and his nostrils flared. “What’s this on the bottom of it? It reeks.”

“Demon blood.”

“And yet you’re here. You made no mention of demons before.”

“I guess I didn’t.” There seemed to be no point in doing so now.

“The journey did you well.”

I raised a brow. “How do you figure?”

“Some metal, inferior metal, will break if you attempt to smelt and refine it. Quality steel only becomes finer and sharper.”

“That might make sense, if I were a weapon.”

He smiled then. “But, querida . . . you are.”

I ignored that, despite the shiver of dread it raised on my spine. I’d wondered before if the blade in my side was shaping my decisions, turning me into a killer suited to its use. “Am I free to go? Can you get me to the border and give me bus fare?”

“I treat my allies far better than that,” he said gently. “But I see you’ve lost your protective charm. That’s probably why you had demons. I’ll give you another—please try to be more careful with it, and don’t remove it until I tell you.”

“Until we’ve laid the trap.”

“Yes. It will drive Montoya mad when his sorcerer fails . . . and fails and fails. He’ll contact you, if I know him at all. He’ll try to draw you into the open.”

“And I’ll go,” I said softly.

“But of course. You’ll insist on a face-to-face to settle things. He’ll see it as very Wild West. He likes that. If you live, I’ll pay you handsomely.” When he finished, he gave me his back.

Clearly dismissed, I strode toward the door. Paolo opened it. In one hand he held an amulet similar to the one I’d worn before. This one whispered of a different caster; I listened to its secrets with half an ear as I looped it around my neck.

“Aren’t you worried that the time I’ve spent in this house will lead Montoya right here?”

Paolo shook his head, smiling with patient amusement. “The whole place is warded. I’m surprised you can’t feel it.”

Now that he mentioned it, I could. Little tingles of energy struck my feet as I walked, as if the floor itself had been laid with magickal energy. Though I cringed at the notion of getting on another plane, I was so eager to get to Shannon, Jesse, Eva, Butch, and Chuch that I’d run all the way to Texas.

“Where’s Kel?”

“Your companion is waiting for you in the kitchen. I have instructions to feed you both and then have our pilot take you to Laredo.”

I didn’t want food. I wanted to leave. But since I needed Kel before making my escape, I followed Paolo through the winding halls.

Kel sat with a plate untouched before him, and he glanced up as I came through the swinging door. The kitchen was as large as one might expect, but emptier. The space echoed, and there were no servants to be seen. For a nonsensical moment, I wondered if this mansion was like that haunted castle, where common household furnishings came to life to tend the beast.

“Are you ready?” I asked him.

He stared at Paolo until the boy shifted uncomfortably. “Give us a moment.”

With alacrity astonishing in one who had surely grown immune to intimidation, Paolo disappeared the way we’d come. I stood still, not knowing what to expect. He rose and crossed the floor to me. They’d given him black to wear; doubtless the outfit belonged to one of the burly henchmen.

“You look lovely.” And he seemed surprised to hear the words, as if he had meant to say something else. Kel stopped just short of touching me.

“Thanks.” That was why I’d worn the dress, after all, but I felt stupid, trying to please him as if he were the kind of man who could be swayed by such things.

“He’s sworn to protect you?”

“Mission accomplished,” I answered, lifting the amulet.

“I have a new one. It’s supposed to last until we’re ready to deal with Montoya.”

“Ah,” he said, and a whisper of regret salted the syllable.

My breath hitched. “No.”

“The risk fades to acceptable levels once you secure the alliance with Escobar. You’ve done so. My mission is ended.” He was so terribly gentle. “I will not be going with you any farther.”

“New orders?”

“Yes.”

Maybe they’d demanded he depart already. He had places to go and people to kill. I appreciated him sticking around to say good-bye; that might even be borderline disobedience, the sort of thing that earned him castigation before. I wouldn’t make it worse for him, even if tears clotted my throat.

I managed a light tone. “Maybe our paths will cross again someday.”

“Perhaps. You do attract trouble.” He hesitated, then took my hand. “I can’t promise. I may never be sent to you again.”

The faintest stress on the word sent made me furrow my brow as I gazed up at him. My mind was tired or I would’ve caught on right away. A smile built when it dawned on me. Both Kel and Caim had named me Binder. If I’d called him once, I could do so again. Only one thing must I remember: I could call and call and call him, but he could never stay.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I must go.”

The request burst from me before I knew I meant to make it. “One kiss?”

Keepsake, memento, something. Please. Ease my way into this good-bye.

In answer, he dipped his head and brushed my mouth with his. I felt as though the heat of him would melt my bones with the aching. And then he stepped away. I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t see him go. A word drifted back to me, lower than a whisper—a sigh. I thought I’d heard it the night before, but he hadn’t spoken it to me then, not when he knew me, at least, and even now I wasn’t sure.

Hours later, I sat in an impersonal motel room in Laredo. Since it was late, I wouldn’t call the others to come get me yet. Not until I had a chance to sort these feelings and seal them away.

With keyboard in my lap, I sat cross-legged on the bed at three a.m., Googling old Babylonian words on the inroom television. Apparently, dādu meant beloved, and Asherah had been the Assyrian goddess of desire.

I wept.