Agave Kiss

No More Demons

Have you ever tried dealing with a dog’s bathroom needs when the outdoors isn’t really the outdoors? Butch showed a marked reluctance to venture into that gray mist, even provided we could get out the front door—and we couldn’t. Which left me holding him above the commode, trying to convince him this was a good plan.

To my surprise, he managed the job when I set him on the toilet seat. Then he cocked his head at me, as if to say, Oh, you can accept me spelling with Scrabble tiles, but this is too much for you?

Point taken, dog.

“What do you think we should do?” I asked, as I washed my hands.

He trotted off, and I followed him because he’d never steered me wrong. Oddly, the genius dog was the most normal part of my life. Ironic, when I desperately craved a white-picket-fence scenario; it didn’t look like that was in the cards for me.

Butch met me in the hall, my bag clenched between his teeth. Since it was almost as heavy as he was, he was towing it with adorable Chihuahua grunts. I knelt to get out the Scrabble tiles, as I suspected that was what he wanted. Sure enough, as soon as I scattered them on the wood floor, he went to work with his little paws. When it came, his advice was succinct.

no more demons

“You’re probably right,” I said.

But that left only Kel as an option for breaking the spell. No matter how much information I found in Booke’s library, it was useless to me. I’d had the shortest career imaginable as a witch. Still, I spent another hour among the books, looking for a way that would permit me to solve the problem. Unfortunately, I only had the touch.

By dinnertime, I had given up. As Shannon and Booke put together a meal, I withdrew to the privacy of the guest bedroom we’d shared the night before. Butch slipped in behind me, but since he wasn’t whining, I couldn’t be in mortal danger. I’d take that as an indication that I had made a good choice. No more demons, indeed.

Mentally, I braced myself. The last time I’d seen Kel, who initially scared the hell out of me, because I thought he was a murderer, he had been kissing me good-bye. Obviously, things had changed between us during our time together in Peru. But however sweet and tender those moments, I’d known from the beginning that he wasn’t a viable option for a happily ever after. Most notably because he was Nephilim—half angel—and bound to serve. Unlike humans, he lacked free will.

It felt a little wrong to summon him to do my bidding, but I told myself it wasn’t for me. This is for Booke. So I took a deep breath and spoke the words: “Kelethiel, my true friend, son of Uriel and Vashti, on the strength of your sacred vow, I call thee!”

And nothing happened.

The last time I called him, I’d pulled him out of Sheol itself, a feat that boggled the mind, now that I’d actually been there. Maybe you got the words wrong. I tried again, a couple of variations, but still nothing. I supposed the curse might be hindering him, but I didn’t see how a decaying spell, cast by a mortal practitioner, could block an ability that had crossed dimensions before.

Confused and disappointed, I opened the bedroom door, Butch trotting at my heels. After setting out a dish of food for the dog, I ate in silence along with Shannon and Booke. At least the food stayed down, as had lunch. They could tell I wasn’t in the mood to chat, so they kept the conversation alive on their own. Shannon asked a lot of questions about the war and the Blitz; it was intriguing to get a firsthand account from someone who was still coherent.

As Booke opened a tin of cookies, the air changed, gained electricity. And Kel appeared in the kitchen. He was still tall, bald, and pale; icy-eyed with impressive muscles and arcane tatts that sometimes kindled with magickal light. I stared at him, utterly confounded. That was not how it had worked before. Before I could frame any of the questions bubbling at the forefront of my mind, he took my arm.

“I have an urgent need to speak with you.” He’d never been much on manners or pretending to be normal.

So this didn’t surprise me at all. With a muttered excuse for the others, I let him tow me into the other room. “You’re here.”

A pang of bittersweet memory went through me, but to my astonishment, it wasn’t attached to anything stronger. We’d shared a lovely interlude, but I had no desire to spin it into something else or build impossible dreams around him. The only man I wanted was beyond my reach. Kel studied my features in silence for a moment, and then he inclined his head, as if he read the truth in my face.

“I’m very relieved you called me, Corine.”

“Called,” I repeated. “Not summoned?”

“That’s why I need to talk to you. Do you remember in Catemaco when I said you held the potential for heaven and hell and that you had not yet chosen?”

I recalled the scene well. We had been on the lake, stranded in the lancha, surrounded by feral monkeys. “Yeah, why?”

“Because you have chosen.”

“Surely I would be aware of something like that,” I said skeptically.

“When you fled Sheol, you rejected the demon inherent in your line. Did you not feel it when Ninlil left you?”

There definitely had been pain when I dove through the gate, returning to the mortal realm. But Chance had just died, and I was injured. I hadn’t been entirely sure whether I’d imagined that wrenching pain. To my shame, my head hadn’t been clear while I was in the demon realm. I’d made an unholy bargain to save my friends, which resulted in the demon queen, Ninlil, using me as a meat puppet, doing terrible things while I watched in horror.

“I felt . . . something,” I admitted.

“It’s like an absence.” At that, I only nodded, and he went on, “Which is why I’m glad you called me first. You no longer have the ability to summon or compel demons, Corine. At least, no more than any other practitioner. If you had called a demon without first setting all protections in place—”

“Then they would make a meal of me.” I liked to think I was fairly intelligent, so I wouldn’t have called a demon without all the trappings of ritual. Would I? At this juncture, distracted by the loss of Chance and worried about Booke, I had to admit it was impossible to say for sure.

Hopefully not. Probably not.

“If I didn’t summon you, why are you here?”

“I felt your use of my true name,” he said softly. “It was a tug on my attention, but not irresistible. I had to wrap up a few things and get permission from my archangel first.”

“Oh. He let you come?” Bits and pieces I remembered through the lens of Ninlil’s cruelty. She had hated the archangels with a passion—called them ka, which meant ancient spirits. In her reality, they had started as demons too, until being cast out of Sheol. I didn’t know if that was true, but it was more information than I’d ever gotten from Kel.

“Yes, to recruit you.”

I stared. “Are you kidding? For what?”

“Didn’t you wonder why your causes received such attention?”

Obviously, I had. At first, Kel had been vague, hinting at a destiny and first claiming God had sent him to help me. Eventually, he stopped playing crazy long enough to explain how things actually worked—that his orders came through an archangel, not the high one himself.

“When we first met, you were pretending to be a lunatic,” I pointed out. “So obviously, I took your words with a grain of salt.”

A whole shaker, actually.

“Why did you do that?” I added.

“What?”

“Act so . . .” There were no words for it, but I remembered how he had been in Texas when he escaped prison and hunted me down.

“To make myself comprehensible to you,” he said gently. “You could fathom a religious fanatic. Would you have believed me then if I had said, ‘I’m a supernatural being, impossibly ancient, and I’m here at the behest of my archangel’?”

“No. But I didn’t believe you served the Lord directly either.”

“Yet you’ve heard of people who believe the holy spirit speaks to them, impels them to do things.”

“Of course. And most of them kill people.” I realized I’d just made his point. “Can we talk about my destiny later? I called you to help my friend Booke.”

“I’m listening,” he said.

Apart from breaking this curse, the only other thing I cared about was finding a way to get Chance back. I wanted the life I had been dreaming about since I ran away from Kilmer. If I could make wishes come true, I’d have Chance and my pawnshop, and someday, down the line . . . kids. Just before he died, we’d finally gotten to a place where we trusted each other, despite the demon queen’s meddling. He died for me, for God’s sake. There was no matching him, now or ever.

I choose you, I told Chance silently. Wherever you are.

Kel read my sincerity with a glance. He knew I had accepted the end of things when he kissed me good-bye. As it turned out, I wasn’t always self-destructive. Sorrow darkened his features for an instant, but only that—because he hadn’t been fixed on an impossible dream either. In a life so long, he had learned the value of resignation; and without free will, he could only follow orders and obey, no matter what his heart desired. I wondered if things had ended badly for him and Asherah too, the goddess he loved so long ago. His ship did not sail toward a happy ending.

I studied him, wondering if he could be this detached. My decision meant we’d probably never see each other again. And while a long-term relationship was off the table for oh-so-many reasons, it stung for him to show so little concern over our final parting. What did I want, exactly? I had no idea. Kel pretty much wrote the book on stoic acceptance. But whatever he thought or felt, it was, frankly, irrelevant. And pursuing it wasn’t fair to either of us. It served no purpose to dig into his state of mind just to sate my curiosity. He didn’t owe me a damn thing.

“Will you get in trouble for helping me?”

“I’m not on the clock right now, though I have permission to be here.”

In Peru, Kel had told me he could access his archangel in his head, along with a sort of divine Internet that let him find information that other members of the host knew. If I was interpreting his words correctly, he currently wasn’t plugged in. Which meant we had a little time.

“Okay, here’s the situation.” In as few words as possible, I explained Booke’s problem, and then concluded with, “That’s why I called you. I wondered if you could disrupt the spell.”

He had told me he couldn’t interfere with most human interaction, unless specifically directed to do so, though I was starting to wonder how much of that was bullshit hand-fed to him by the archangel that Ninlil claimed had started life as a demon. I mean, if Kel found out he could do what he wanted without reprisal, it might get ugly for those who had bossed him around for eons. But then, I had no guarantee that anything Ninlil fed me in Sheol was the truth either. An old saying went: there’s his side, her side, and then there’s the truth. That adage fit this situation.

“Under ordinary circumstances, no,” he answered.

“But these aren’t usual?” I hoped not, anyway.

“You said the original caster is deceased?”

I nodded.

“At that juncture, his will ceased to be a factor.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore whether he wanted the spell to last forever,” I guessed. “Since he didn’t have the life expectancy to make his will reality, you can affect the outcome?”

“I can,” he acknowledged.

“Will you? As a favor to me?”

“You realize it’s not a solution. Dispelling the magick won’t restore Booke’s lost years or stop the march of time.”

“I know,” I said softly. “And so does he.”

“There is a way. It requires the blood of a Luren.”

That made sense, given that the Luren were a race of preternaturally beautiful, seductive demons who drank blood. So it stood to reason that their blood would possess certain rejuvenating qualities.

I cocked a brow. “I’m not sure what you’re asking me.”

“Whether you want to find the preservation spell, before I unlock this place.”

“Oh. In that case, it’s not up to me. It should be Booke’s call.”

I wasn’t at all surprised when, ten minutes later, after having heard what was on the table, he shook his head. “No, I’ve had enough dark magick. There’s always a cost to incantations that require a demonic touch, and I’ve paid as much as I care to.”

Though part of me wanted to protest—we’d never gotten to travel as I had promised—I didn’t say a word. Shan’s brow was creased with sadness; it was different knowing your friend was living on borrowed time. Yet shouldn’t Booke get to dictate when he died, as he’d had no say whatsoever in how he’d lived? Butch approved of this decision with an affirmative yap, then he trotted over to Booke to rub against his shins.

The Englishman picked the little dog up and cradled him in the crook of his arm. “Think that was a wise choice, do you? I tend to agree. Age apparently does bring wisdom.”

“If you’re all prepared, I’ll do as Corine has asked now.” Kel strode toward the front door.

I wasn’t ready but five more minutes wouldn’t help. So I said nothing. Instead, I followed Kel, curious as to how he would unravel the spell. His tatts glowed with arcane light, and silvery rays shone from his fingertips, gradually expanding toward the barrier that was strongest at the front door. The light brightened until it was unbearable, rippling outward over the cottage walls, then dropping away in falling sparks, as the enchantment blew apart. I narrowed my eyes, trying to track the expenditure of energy, but a low boom shook the house from the roof down.

Then I felt the heat zing through me, blinding me a second time, and when my vision cleared, everything had changed. It was twilight with a ruddy light shining through the window. All the work Booke had done on his pocket space had carried over into the real world, superimposed over the abandoned cottage. Now things were no longer dusty and abandoned. I wondered briefly what had happened to the rats and spiders displaced in the phase shift, but I was too thrilled by the view through the window to linger on the thought long; it showed wind blowing through the tall grass and whipping through the tree branches.

You did it. Thanks, Kel.

My eyes smarted a bit, tears slipping from the corners. I dashed the moisture away impatiently as I hurried toward Kel. He swayed, one hand braced on the doorjamb. His face was pale, his tattoos still glowing with a residual light, giving him an ethereal air. I touched him without thinking; my hands went to his shoulders to offer support. To my surprise, he spun away from the wall to accept my help.

He leaned into me, head bowed toward mine. “An incredible amount of rage and malice went into that working.”

“How did you break the curse?”

“I drew it in and then expelled it along with enough force to shatter the curse.”

No wonder he looked ill. That sounded an awful lot like how I felt after handling a particularly evil object. Because I always craved a gentle touch after a bad reading, I put my arms around him. Kel tensed, probably because people didn’t comfort God’s Hand.

“Easy,” I whispered. “I’m not making a move, just grounding you.”

I wasn’t sure he knew what I meant, but after a shudder wracked him, he put his arms around me and held on tight. He probably felt sick as hell; there were limits to what a Nephilim could tolerate. I rubbed his back, trying not to remember how we had been together. Savoring that memory felt like a betrayal of Chance.

“I wish—” He broke off, leaving me to wonder.

“Better?” I asked, focusing on his welfare rather than words left unspoken.

“I need to sleep to regain my full strength. But I’m well enough, all things considered.” His tone sounded strange as he stepped away from me.

“What things—” I started to ask, but Shannon and Booke joined us by the front door before I could complete the question.

“We’ll talk later,” Kel said, flinging the front door wide. He looked ready to collapse, but he had done what I asked.

As always.

A cool, inviting wind blew through the house, so long untouched by natural forces. Tears glinted in Booke’s eyes as he turned his face toward the breeze, then he set Butch gently onto the floor. He moved with the care of a much older man; his steps were tentative, shaky, even. I took his elbow, knowing the weight of those years was already coming to bear on him. It might not show instantly like a fast-forwarded video of a decaying rose, but the pain must be phenomenal.

Worth it, I thought, for a taste of freedom.

“I had forgotten what the world smells like,” he breathed.

Booke crooked his elbow, as if he were my escort, and not the other way around. In stately procession, we made our way to the front step of the cottage. Kel and Shannon followed. The yard was completely overgrown, the sky awash in purple, and I could tell by his expression that he had never seen anything so lovely. For me, it was a melancholy beauty; certainly there was pastoral charm, but it came knowing Booke’s time to appreciate it was limited.

“I have an idea,” I said then. “We’ll take a trip. Our passports should be good enough to manage rail travel. Would you like to see Paris? We’ll go. Italy? There too, if we can.” The unspoken subtext was that I didn’t know how long Booke had, but I would be damned if I didn’t keep my pledge to him.

“I have no documents,” Booke pointed out wryly.

That was a problem, but I’d figure out a way around it. Dreaming didn’t make sense in our current situation; nor would I leave him alone. Yet I’d promised him the world, and he would have it, however much could be experienced in the short while he had left. It went without saying that he would die somewhere along the way. I didn’t let myself think of that. No more good-byes. I can’t take much more. But the universe had never listened to my pleas. If there was an intelligence running the show, as Kel’s archangel claimed, then it was singularly uninterested in Corine Solomon.

“There has to be a solution,” Shannon said. “We’ll think of something.”

Booke tilted his head, entranced by the dying rays of the sunset. “Think fast. I’m a very old man, you know.”