Devil's Punch

“It seems prudent.”



He muttered something that sounded like Fuck prudent, but I just grinned. “Speaking of which, it’s time for me to head out.”



“I’ll walk you home.”



Dating Chance was turning out to be unexpectedly sweet.



Bad News Travels Fast



Like berries fermenting on the bush, that sweetness couldn’t last, of course. But it wasn’t Chance’s fault.



With disbelieving eyes, I read the words:



Save the girl or claim your crown. Either way, you’ll come to us.



Whoever had sent this must be talking about Shannon. Visceral fear crackled like lightning in my veins. Please let this be someone’s idea of a joke. But since it was in English, not Spanish, it probably hadn’t been written by one of Tia’s bruja friends. Those witches didn’t like me, but they weren’t pranksters, either.



Shannon had a new life in Laredo. The crown…This was a guess at best, but when I’d defeated the Knight of Hell, Caim, he’d called me my queen. So maybe it had to do with that. Demons. Leaving a note. But they wanted a meeting, or wanted to lure me somewhere. If they had Shannon, this was a damn effective strategy. Even knowing it was a trap, knowing it would be stupid and suicidal, I’d go for her. I’d go.



I read the note a second time and then glanced down the street both ways. There was little through traffic this way; the streets climbed higher and higher, until they just…stopped. I’d discovered that the hard way. After backing down a narrow mountain road for half a mile, I figured my skills behind the wheel were better than average. But today there were no drivers at all, bad or otherwise. The sidewalk, cracked and uneven, stood empty.



A chill wind blew over me, and I fancied it carried a hint of brimstone. Telling myself I was being stupid, I plucked the parchment from Tia’s front gate and studied it. Expensive paper. It had a thick, quality feel, like the posh stationery someone who came from money would use. The ink, too, wasn’t simple ballpoint or even gel tip. From the swoops and curves, it had an old-fashioned look, calligraphy more than simple cursive. I flipped it over and found a set of coordinates. Longitude and latitude? Or maybe GPS. I couldn’t tell where somebody wanted me to go just by looking at the numbers, but it occurred to me I should get off the street. Though I’d taken care of the problems with Montoya, it didn’t mean I had no enemies left. They could find me.



Obviously, someone had.



It unnerved me to think of unseen eyes, watching, but that was a fact of life once you accepted magick was real. I unlocked Tia’s front gate and stepped into her courtyard. Immediately, I felt safer, though it was a psychological response at best. As I knew, magick could get behind walls to strike you if the practitioner was determined. There were ways to undermine the wards. With that in mind, I checked Tia’s protections. I didn’t touch them, as that would weaken the runes, but they yielded a strong, satisfactory glow to my trained eye.



But there were always loopholes. Hell, I could do it with simple spells, given sufficient time and planning. That knowledge unsettled me. Around me, the courtyard shivered with life, wind rippling gently over leaves and petals. Flashes of color—vert and crimson—reassured me. There was still a faint, mossy crack in the clay. Nothing had changed, even if someone had left me an inexplicable note on the door. Though it couldn’t mean anything good, I would deal with whatever new problem was about to level my life.



I let myself in and found Tia in the kitchen, making homemade corn tortillas. She greeted me with a smile and a lift of one gnarled hand. “¿Tienes hambre?”



Well, I had been hungry. Not so much anymore. I had a coiled thing in my stomach that belched and swelled like a toad. Certainly, it was dread. Everything had consequences. To wit, Newton’s Third Law: To every action there is always an equal and opposite reaction. So I’d known there would be a cost, but it wasn’t right that Shannon should pay it in my stead.



When I found Min—helped save her from her past—I incurred the wrath of the Montoya cartel. I’d resolved that threat, but in doing so, I crossed a Knight of Hell. That didn’t come without cost; demons weren’t known for forgetting. When he’d crawled back through the gate I opened, he must’ve carried a grudge with him. I’d vanquished him. Stolen his true name. A note, therefore, seemed like pretty small payback. There was no doubt it heralded more horrendous things.



Her smile faded at my silence. “What happened?”



“I’m not sure.” I showed her the note, then translated it aloud.



“You don’t know what this means?”



“I have some ideas. Nothing certain.”



Tia nodded and returned to the tortillas while I went to my room to see if I could get some answers. Which meant getting out my athame. I searched both grimoires, blue and crimson, until I found the necessary spell; then I read it twice to be sure I understood the steps. This wasn’t one I had practiced with Tia. Divination didn’t seem to be my thing; I’d had more success during our training with more proactive spells and charms.



Fighting a rising tide of worry, I dug out my magick chest. Constructed on Tia’s orders, it was a small, warded box a foot long and just as wide. Made of good cherrywood, banded with willow, it was an elegant piece, but more important, it protected my spell components, kept them fresh and prevented people from meddling with them. I’d inlaid it with a strong avoidance spell, more powerful than the one on the store where I’d bought my chalice and athame with Shannon.



To be cautious, I copied the coordinates before I got started, and then the message itself, just in case something went wrong. Though my control was better, it still wasn’t perfect. Next I set the note in the center of my desk and then arranged four white candles around the edges. Taking a deep breath, I lit them. After sprinkling a powder of sage, bay, and mugwort—commonly used in divination spells—around the outer edge, I whispered the words that encapsulated my intent. With my athame, I pricked the tip of my finger and drizzled my blood across the powerful herbs. And then I traced the athame through it. I fixed my desire in my mind—unshakable, immutable. There was a pull, painful, some resistance, but it wasn’t a block. Just…residual strength left from the last person who had touched the note. I might’ve tried to read it with a touch, but it was unlikely that the person had held it long enough to imprint it, and I needed the practice with my spells. This wasn’t dangerous. At worst, I would destroy the paper, and I had a copy of what it said.



More resistance. But this wasn’t a spell that changed anything. It didn’t do anything complicated; it was only meant to show traces of magick. Darklight kindled in shadowy swaths, streaking the paper. The stench of sulfur and brimstone whispered at the edge of my senses. That was confirmation enough. I dropped concentration. Demons had definitely had a hand in creating this thing, maybe even possessing the person who delivered it.



Feeling ever worse, I packed my arcane things. I took care in sealing up my magickal chest, and then I wrapped my athame in red satin. I gazed up at the ceiling, simple white plaster. Cobweb in the corner. Maybe the demons were screwing with me, but they weren’t known for being practical jokers.



Butch padded into the room, his nails clicking on the tile floor. He grumbled at me, so I picked him up. “Should I?” I asked him.



He yapped. Which was affirmative. I didn’t doubt he knew something was going on, and his opinions had saved my ass before, crazy as that sounded.



“And so it’s come to this, taking advice from my dog again.”



He wagged his tail as I stroked his head. I decided it wouldn’t be a bad idea to call Shannon; I still had her number. If she picked up, I’d just disconnect, knowing she was fine. No need to torture myself with the future I’d lost, though I was building a shop that could accommodate her desire for us to do vintage clothing as well as trinkets. Just in case. That meant I hadn’t entirely given up hope.



My heart pounded unpleasantly as I hit speed dial. She was my first contact. Best friend. Kid sister. Apprentice. All those words applied to how I felt about Shannon Cheney, but none was quite big enough. Losing her hurt worse than anything ever had, even my breakup with Chance. And I’d loved him like a madness.



International cell calls took a while to connect, and then it rang. And rang. Five times, then it kicked to voice mail. Unease stole over me. Maybe she didn’t answer because she didn’t recognize your number. The note isn’t talking about her. It can’t be.



Jesse came next on my phone. It had been that way from before, and so Chance was further down the speed dial, like number seven. I hadn’t changed it, full of superstitious fear that if I moved Shannon, it would be the same as accepting she wouldn’t ever remember me. It’d be like giving up on her—on our friendship and our plans—and that I would not do.



So she was one. Jesse, two. I wrestled with indecision, but before I could make up my mind, my phone rang back. Shannon’s number. Thank you. I shouldn’t answer it, but on the off chance that things were starting to come back to her, I had to.



“Hello?”



Silence on the line, for a beat too long. And then: “You just called my girlfriend’s phone. Who is this?”



Jesse. The revelation felt like a fist in the heart. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so surprised. She was young for him, but ten years or so wasn’t the end of the world in terms of age difference. What did you expect? You left them together with no memory of you, no recollection of why they mattered to each other. It was natural for them to fill in the blanks.



Shannon had just enough issues to hit Jesse’s white knight complex…and she was alone in the world, apart from the dad she didn’t want to see. She needed him. There was no way he could resist. Still, it hurt, though things were good with Chance. The pain existed because their hookup made me feel…replaceable. I squeezed my eyes shut, listening to Jesse breathe.



“Well?” he demanded. He sounded odd. Angry.



Finally, I answered, “She was a friend. I haven’t talked to her in a while.”



Hoping that would be enough. I couldn’t drag this out. Couldn’t.



“Have we met? Your voice sounds…familiar.” Now he seemed unsettled. I pictured him raking his hand through his tawny hair.



“Yeah.” No point in lying.



But that reply opened the door to more questions, answers he wouldn’t believe—or maybe he would. Maybe the fog was finally lifting. Too late. Too damn late. They’d moved on without me. I felt cheated and hurt but not angry. And not even surprised, really. Back in Kilmer, I’d seen the beginnings of a crush forming on Shannon’s end, though I’d never thought it would go anywhere. Under normal circumstances, they wouldn’t have done this. Fuck. I had to get off the phone.



“Just have her call me, I guess, when she gets a chance.”



“I’d love to.” But his tight tone caught me, and it left so many questions. He was too upset to wonder when he’d met me, this mysterious friend of Shannon’s, and that meant the bad things promised by the note on Tia’s front gate had come true.