“I think it’s best if Corine rents the flat. It’s likely to be small, but I’ll happily sleep on the couch. That way, she has company . . . and backup, should she require it.”
Booke . . . I could stand rooming with him. And hopefully, as he noted, it wouldn’t be too long. Time felt like a ticking bomb, as if my relationship with Chance had an expiration date—and that was to say nothing of other dangers: an open dispute with demons, plus an insane “archangel” who intended to recruit me . . . or murder me. Either way. Ferocious certainty hardened my spine. There was no way that crazy bastard would ever hurt my baby.
“That’s fine,” I said into the silence.
Before they could pose objections, I got on the phone, reached the owner on the first try. “I’m interested in the apartment you have for rent.”
The woman sounded husky, as if she smoked, or did a lot of yelling. “Did you want to see it? I’ll need a month’s rent, plus half for damages.”
“To be honest, I just need a place for a little while. So I don’t really care what it looks like, as long as it’s clean.”
“It is that.” From her less than ringing endorsement, I figured it was a dump, but at this point, I didn’t care. She gave me the address over the phone, and I turned to Chuch with an inquiring look. “Can I buy the Pinto?”
“Three hundred bucks,” he said.
Eva swatted him on the arm. “You’re not charging her for that piece of shit.”
Oh, gods. Another argument.
“But she’ll get mad if she thinks we’re offering charity,” he protested.
“He’s right,” I said. “And stop talking about me as if I’m not right here.”
Getting away from my friends was paramount; they might smother me with good intentions, plus I needed space—and time—to plan my next move. Getting maimed by a hellhound hadn’t been in my playbook, and it definitely set me back in terms of progress. But I’d handle this, as I’d navigated every other obstacle.
I always knew a relationship with Chance wouldn’t be easy. But even I didn’t guess it would end up being this hard.
The drive to San Antonio felt like it got longer each time, though I was becoming very familiar with the highway in between. At the midway point, we stopped at a gas station to fill up, get snacks, and use the restroom. Inside the store, I spotted a rack of canes of all things. After pricing them, I decided I needed one, and added that to the fuel and food. I paid our shot, then used the walking stick to make my way back to the car, where Booke was giving Butch a drink. For somebody who had spent so much time alone, he sure knew how to look after a dog. I slid into the front seat again and nodded off before I realized what had happened.
When I woke, Booke had turned down a side street. I couldn’t tell what side of San Antone we were in, but it appeared to be inner city, near to the jail, judging from the bars on the windows and the number of bail bondsmen doing business in the neighborhood. Our building was a run-down adobe duplex, divided neatly in the middle. We were in the B unit, so I figured the landlady lived next door.
With a whispered admonition for Butch, I knocked on her door with cash in hand. The woman who answered wore a green sweat suit and a tired look. She didn’t ask questions, just took my money and handed over the keys.
“If you plan to stay over,” she told me, “then I need another five hundred this time next month.”
“I’ll let you know.”
“And keep it down over there. I don’t like a noisy neighbor.”
“We’ll be model tenants,” Booke promised.
As usual, his accent got a second look. Then she smiled. “A pleasure doing business with you.”
I limped over to our side of the house and unlocked the front door. The apartment was a dump. But then, what did I expect for five hundred a month, furnished? It looked like a crash pad for a desperate college kid whose roommate situation fell through at the last minute, but as the landlady had promised, the place was clean, albeit furnished in mid-century rummage sale. The couch sagged in the middle and the brown fabric was worn nearly through in places. Each end table came from a different set, and the coffee table had an odd leg; someone had hammered a different one into place so it sat faintly lopsided. There were no paintings on the walls, and no TV, not even an old one. The bedroom looked like a monk’s cell with a single mattress on a metal frame and an ornate crucifix on the wall. A battered chest of drawers sat to one side of the narrow window.
None of those things bothered me. Gods willing, I wouldn’t be here long. To my relief, the rental was on the ground floor; otherwise I might’ve had some trouble, as my leg still hurt like a bitch. My phone rang as I was putting my stuff away.
“Corine Solomon.”
“This is Sarah Messner calling from Our Lady. I’m pleased to report that the test came back negative on the animal that attacked you. There’s no need for the rabies vaccine.”
My knees went weak, dropping me onto the narrow bed. Best news I’d had all day. Maybe demonic possession rendered an animal immune to viruses. I pressed both palms to my belly and managed to say, “Thanks for letting me know.”
“You’ve made an appointment for your first physical therapy?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I went to tell Booke the good news. He hugged me, then said, “You realize I won’t let you shirk your medical obligations.”
“I know. Single-minded pursuit of Chance is off the table.” I collapsed on the couch more than sat. Gods, was it the injury or the baby sapping my energy this way? I didn’t know how women survived nine months of this, and from what I’d seen with Eva, it would only get worse.
“Home sweet home,” Booke said as he settled beside me.
I glanced at the tired furnishings and the scarred veneer on the shelves. It was, unquestionably, a depressing base of operations. But not for long, I promised myself. You’ll get this sorted. Then Booke can travel . . . and you can go back to Mexico.
“You didn’t have to come with me.”
“I know. I chose to.”