Blue Diablo

Traveling Blues

Talk about surreal.

Before we left, I called Chuch and asked him if he minded picking up the Camry. This served several purposes. The car wouldn’t sit all night outside Logan’s Roadhouse, Chance would have it if he needed it, and I didn’t have to tell him that I was going to San Antonio with a guy I’d just met. I didn’t envy Chuch that job.

It also served as personal security. Chuch knew where I was going and with whom. I didn’t think Saldana chopped women up and strewed their body parts along the highway to make them harder to identify, but—

Well. I knew too much about killers for my own peace of mind, but last I heard, Kel Ferguson was still in prison. And he’d never chopped up his victims as far as I knew. Quite the contrary, Ferguson had killed with a clean, cold precision that made him seem soulless. Ironic that he’d first been arrested on a kidnapping charge, but once he was in the system, his DNA tied him to a whole string of unsolved crimes.

I preferred to think about the little girl we saved.

With a faint sigh, I climbed into the cop’s black Forester. Nice ride, with anthracite cloth interiors, though a little surprising. I’d pegged him as an Avalanche kind of guy.

Saldana played the Dixie Chicks on the way. He didn’t say much, and I couldn’t blame him. My trepidation probably registered on his radar, so it’d be hard for him not to resent it. I wished I could tell him it wasn’t personal.

He slid me a look I found hard to interpret through the intermittent light from oncoming cars. “So tell me, do you ever let down your guard?”

The empathy thing would get old, I decided. Women wished for guys who always knew when something was wrong, even when they didn’t tell them, but it was quite another thing to be confronted with the long, tall reality of one.

“Once. It didn’t end well.”

That was an understatement. I was talking about Chance.

The road from Laredo to San Antonio offered nothing scenic after dark. Still I turned my face toward the window because I didn’t want to encourage him. Maybe he even saw in me one of his broken girls, a fixer-upper who needed somebody to understand her.

However, if this underground existed, then I might be able to use it to search for Min. I wasn’t sure what use I could make of it, but I knew better than to waste resources. As it stood, we needed every edge to figure out what the hell was going on.

Poor Chance.

Saldana chose the one conversational gambit guaranteed to catch my attention. “You going to tell me what went down at the warehouse?” While I weighed the likelihood of that, he went on, “You have fresh cuts on the backs of your hands, consistent with flying glass. Now, I happen to know something about that, but I don’t give you anything until you come clean. Feel like trading info?”

That sounded like a variation on “you show me yours, I’ll show you mine,” a game that got me into trouble more than once. I narrowed my eyes. “You could be bluffing.”

What could he possibly know?

“I could be,” he allowed. “But I’m not. Feel free to think it over.” With an irritating half smile, he went back to driving.

I did, but the lights of San Antonio spread out before us before I made up my mind. “We went to check out the crime scene,” I said finally. “I found a button that showed me what happened there.”

“Which was?” To my surprise he accepted my words matter-of-factly. Then again, why wouldn’t he? “No, wait. Get to that later. What was the deal with the windows?” He shook his head. “The department can’t figure out what caused the pressure change that blew all the windows inward simultaneously. They’re throwing around all kinds of ideas.”

Reluctantly I explained, though I didn’t need to say much. Saldana was familiar with such things, though he couldn’t present it as an official explanation. “That’s a heavy-duty working.” He shook his head as we exited toward San Antonio College.

“Tell me about it. There aren’t a lot of people who could bring that much power to bear, and they don’t come cheap.”

Coplike, he followed my train of thought, though Chuch had already mentioned it. “Which means they’re working for somebody who has money. What kind of range are we talking about here? Could it be sent from halfway around the world?”

“I have no idea. Rituals aren’t my thing.”

No, that’d been my mother’s forte, and I hadn’t turned my hand to one in a good ten years, not since I gave up all childish dreams altogether.

He thought about it. “I might know somebody we can ask while we’re here. Not sure if she’ll be in this late, though. We’ll see.”

“Seriously, why do you care?” The question got loose before I could stop it.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Don’t ask me that again. I know some cops don’t give a shit, but I’m not one of them.”

Wow, I pissed him off, got past the kind, patient persona. For some reason, that delighted me. I cocked a brow at him. “Is that right?”

Oh, I was asking for it.

“I’m your mentor, Corine. That means I’m here to help you.” Saldana thumped the dash for emphasis. “Maybe you’re not used to this, but I have no hidden agenda. I want to help you figure out how to make the most of being gifted. I know sometimes it sucks and you feel like you’re all by yourself. I’m here to assure you that you’re not.”

“So you’re taking me under your wing out of the goodness of your heart.” I sounded so cynical.

“Is that so hard to believe?”

I thought about it. “Pretty much. What’s your angle?”

He glared at me before realizing he wasn’t going to sell me on the idea of him as a good Samaritan. “By helping you, I help myself, if you turn up something I can use to close the books on this one. I may have to tweak the language in the file, but it’s better than an unsolved mystery.”

“Got it,” I said, satisfied. “You’re tying a string to my tail and sending me into the maze. You’ll use me to write your report when it’s all said and done.”

“Christ. You make it sound so sordid.”

“I don’t mind. People never offer an open hand, and if they do, you should step back to avoid the slap.”

Saldana offered me a look that said I’d made the short list of women he’d like to rehabilitate toward a brighter outlook. Too bad. I liked my attitude just fine. We drove through the city in silence for a few minutes.

“Anyway, it’s my turn to spill. The security guard who found the handbag wasn’t supposed to be there. He isn’t a bright guy and he somehow didn’t understand that he’d been let go. Warehouse was closed, no new shipments coming in. So Lenny lets himself into the building and it ‘smells funny,’ he says.”

Blood rituals and demons tend to make a place smell funny, all right.

“Got a last name for me?”

He grinned. “No. I won’t tell you that Lenny Marlowe works for Delta Security, the agency that just terminated a contract with IBC, the company that owns the warehouse.”

I had a feeling IBC might have ties to Southern Sanitation as well, so I made a mental note. “Thanks for nothing then.”

The area where we parked qualified as seedy, a strip on Main full of Goth bars and gay clubs. I don’t know what I expected, but I felt vaguely let down by the faded brick building on the corner. Just a small sign in violet neon proclaimed TWILIGHT.

“In the rest of these clubs,” he said as we got out, “you’ll find wannabes and college kids looking for something different. Occasionally they hit up Twilight as well, but by and large, if you find somebody hanging out there, they’re the real deal. Be extra careful—they get the occasional demon as well.”

“Doesn’t the smell give them away?” Laugh if you must, but I had limited experience with such things.

Saldana laughed as we walked up to the black metal door. “They don’t all reek of rotten eggs, Corine. Some can be quite charming, but—and I’m sure I don’t need to say this—don’t sign anything, no matter how good the deal sounds.”

“Got it. No selling my soul to the Dark One. Anything else I should know?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You look good in green.”

As I followed him into the club, I glanced down at my cardigan. Chance hated this thing, woven of nubbly yarn in uneven hues. He’d never gotten the appeal of hippie chic, but it went with my long hair at least. Considering I’d bought it at a thrift store for two bucks more than three years ago, I’d gotten my money’s worth. I liked how the extra length covered the biggest part of my ass while the belt accentuated my waist. It went over any camisole, and tonight I’d paired it with a pair of embroidered khaki pants and wedge heel sandals with glittery jade beads on the toes.

“Uh. Thanks.”

Twilight’s interior boasted a faded carpet, red lights in wall sconces, and maroon striped wallpaper. The dark wood timbers gave the place a rough, unfinished look, but the place had a schizophrenic feel—part Texas roadhouse, part dilapidated brothel. Even the music set the mood slightly askew. I didn’t know how I felt about entering to the tune of “Devil’s Dance Floor.” Not my usual thing but toe-tapping nonetheless.

I glanced around, saw half the tables occupied. Nobody looked out of the ordinary, but then again, what did I expect? Horns and tails from folks like me? Disgusted with myself, I turned to Saldana, who took a seat at the bar and waited for the ’tender.

Judging by her freckles, a natural redhead came over after she finished pouring beer for the guys sitting two stools down from us. They could’ve been construction workers in their dusty hats, plaid shirts, and Wrangler jeans.

With her coppery curls caught up in a pigtail, she radiated country cute. “Hi, Jesse. It’s always good to see you.”

A place where everybody knows your name... and you’re always glad you came... if you’re Jesse Saldana, that is. I wasn’t so sure of my own welcome. I’ve had to move in a hurry too many times to take anything at face value.

“Hey, Jeannie. This is Corine. Make her feel at home, will you?”

“Oh.” The bartender’s scrutiny gained weight and intensity.

I could feel her searching me as if she could tell by sight alone what my gift might be. Despite my intention to be cool, no matter what the night brought, my fingers curled. I didn’t want to show my scars any more than I wanted to hide them from squeamish strangers. If I flashed them, I’d bet she would observe that I hadn’t been born gifted, as if I’d stolen this ability, and I was tired of hearing it. Salt in the wound, so to speak.

I wasn’t a killer, although my mother had warned me of people who shed blood to take other people’s magick. Rapt, I’d listened to her stories the same way other girls my age clung to fairy tales. I just hadn’t known it was possible to give power away.

Not until she died.

The moment passed, but damn if I knew what Jeannie read in me. “What’ll you have?” she asked.

“Corona for me, please.” Saldana glanced at me. “You?”

“How are your margaritas?” I wasn’t the designated driver anymore.

Jeannie grinned. “Cold and strong. Want one?”

I considered for a moment. “Nah, I think I need to shake things up a bit. Can you make a blue diablo?”

Tequila, Blue Curacao, lemon juice, and Rose’s lime juice, served over ice. I wasn’t a heavy drinker, but I liked my tequila. Well, the good stuff anyway—the cheap variety produced a fast drunk and a wicked hangover. For my money, Patrón was best for sipping, followed by Herradura for mixing, but you couldn’t go wrong with Don Julio either.

She cocked her hip and answered with an exaggerated Southern accent. “I can make anything you’d know to order, sweet pea.”

“You feeling blue deviled, sugar?” Saldana’s voice came low near my ear, limned in sympathy.

“You don’t know the half of it.” I spoke beneath the music.

Between Chance and his missing mama, it was a wonder I didn’t stay right here at the bar until I forgot my own name. I didn’t want to talk about it, so I changed the subject. I leaned toward Saldana. “Jeannie. That’s not... I mean, she doesn’t—” To my embarrassment she heard me when she returned with his beer.

Her gray eyes twinkled, crinkling at the edges when she smiled. I revised my estimate of her age to north of forty. “Grant wishes? The whole ‘yes, master,’ flick my ponytail thing? Nah, that’s just my name.”

“Right.” I hunched my shoulders, feeling out of my depth.

“Thanks, Jeannie. Is Twila around?” Right then I could’ve kissed Saldana for changing the subject.

The bartender arched a well-plucked brow. “How come you don’t come in here just to see me anymore?”

Jesse came back, “Because your husband threatened to tie me up with my own intestines if I didn’t stop mooning after his woman.”

She beamed. “Twenty years, and Bucky’s still a sweetheart.” I didn’t think that sounded sweet, but I’d already made an ass of myself. “She’s in the office, honey. You can take your drinks on back.” Her gaze returned to me. “I’ll have yours in a minute.”

Jesse headed off, but I waited until she delivered my diablo in a chilled, salted glass. “Nice meeting you,” I said to her.

“Come on.” As he wove through the tables, he beckoned me. “I know she’ll want to meet you.”

Will she? Why?

The fly-spider feeling came over me but I fought the urge to cut and run. Mustering my courage, I followed him.