I had no idea why I’d told him that. He was the last person who wanted my confidence at this point. But he looked surprisingly intrigued.
“I suppose that is true. The world you grew to maturity in is very different than the one I knew.”
I couldn’t even imagine. “I know you were born to Uriel and Vashti, but did they raise you? How did that work?”
He shook his head, an old sorrow weighing on him. “Barachiel took me to oversee my upbringing. My birth was a sin. The archangels were forbidden to consort with mortal females. That my father could not resist the temptation was his shame . . . and mine.”
An old Bible quote surfaced, probably due to one of the foster parents who had dragged me to Christian church. “‘Yet he does not leave the guilty unpunished; he punishes the children and their children for the sin of the parents to the third and fourth generation.’”
Kel nodded. “So it’s just as well I cannot reproduce.”
“Cannot?” That one night we shared in Peru, I hadn’t asked about contraception or STDs. Which was actually kind of irresponsible of me.
“Like many hybrid creatures,” he said quietly. “I am sterile. But it is not a bad thing. My children would be cursed as well.”
“Provided it’s true. That you’re Nephilim . . . and not half demon, as the demon queen, Ninlil, believed.” I wasn’t sure what the rules were on half demons, whether a half demon could reproduce with a human. Maybe not. But the Old Testament curse was probably bullshit.
He jerked upright, eyes locked on my face. I realized it was the first time I’d spoken of it to him. “What did you say?”
Uneasily, I gave him her version of history—how there was a war in Sheol and his team lost, thereby being banished to the human world; I finished with my theory about magickal compulsion. Back in Booke’s cottage, it had occurred to me that if he could be trapped by a curse, so could Kel. Who was pale as I’ve ever seen him by the time I stopped talking. His knuckles burned white on the edge of the bar, the wood groaning, bowing inward. I grabbed his hand, trying to calm him down, as Jeannie was giving us the stink-eye.
“I must go,” he said dazedly. “I . . . have to think.”
“Kel, wait. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t confront Barachiel until we have a chance to—” But dammit, I was talking to air.
He must be upset as hell because he poofed right in the middle of the bar, leaving me talking to an empty stool. Even in an establishment like this one, that display of power drew some looks. In twos and threes, they glanced away and went back to talking and dancing, once it became clear there was no brawl brewing.
Jeannie slid me another Agave Kiss. “You look like you could use one. He’s an intense drink of water, huh? What is he, a tetchy warlock?”
“I wish I knew,” I said.
And so does Kel.
Worry knotted my stomach into badge-worthy tangles. While waiting for Booke, I shut down two guys who tried their luck, both decent looking. Once, I’d have given anything to draw attention like this. Now I just wanted Chance . . . and for my friends to be all right. Which included Booke and Kel. Maybe this was a bad idea, but I couldn’t sit here, not knowing what Twila was doing to my friend. When Jeannie turned to help another customer, I slid off my stool and crept down the corridor that led to her private rooms. Her office door was wide open, which meant she had taken him to the apartment upstairs, where I had once spent the night with Jesse. Shannon didn’t know that, but we’d only made out a little, no sex, which was just as well. It could only make things weird. Weirder.
I might end up fried for this, but so be it. The door to the stairwell swung open; no preventative spell exploded as I put my weight on the first step. As I climbed, a sound reached me, like ten souls moaning in harmony, but it wasn’t pain, more an inexorable pleasure. When I peered over the top step, the scene hit me in a rush: the dark and shifting spirits writhing around Booke, who was completely naked. Twila governed the moment like the priestess she was, arms upraised to press the loas on. I couldn’t tell exactly what they were doing to him, but he didn’t seem to mind.
That was when I lost my nerve, and the fear of getting caught outweighed my curiosity. As quietly as I could manage, I slipped back down the stairs. Jeannie cut me a look when I reclaimed my bar stool, but I wasn’t talking. I’d never tell a soul what I saw up there. Shaken, I nursed my second Agave Kiss.
An hour later, I almost didn’t recognize Booke when he strode out of Twila’s office, but the chunky sweater vest and the seventy-year-old slacks gave him away. He looked exactly as he always did in my dreams—nut brown hair with a gentle wave, soft gray eyes, lean, acetic face. Despite the indenture that bought him those additional years, I couldn’t stifle the happy squeal as I bounded toward him. He caught me in his arms and lifted me, not a romantic gesture, but more of a demonstrative one: Look how healthy and strong I am.
Tears leaked out the corners of my eyes, until I didn’t know why I was weeping, really. It was so good to see him hale and whole, but I hated the bargain he’d made, as if he’d traded one prison for another. But it was unlikely Twila would chain him to the bar, so however she used him, it would still be better than that damned cottage in Stoke.
“Was it bad?” I whispered, hugging him hard around the neck.
“Dodgy enough,” he answered, “and a bit humbling, but she kept her word. No demons. I shouldn’t like to meet those loa in a dark alley, however.”
“What now? Where will you go?”
“Are you cracked? I’ll stay and help you bring our lad back, of course.”
I shook my head. “Don’t be stupid. You only have a year, Booke. You’ve got to make the most of it. If you need money—”
“Tosh. I had a bank account in 1947. I’ve no doubt it’s quite healthy by now, though I may have some difficulty obtaining access, or retrieving the funds, if the account was closed due to inactivity.” He shrugged. “But I shall fret about that later. I propose a deal then. I’ll grant you two weeks. If we haven’t solved the problem by then, I’ll go about my business. Will you accede to those terms?”
“Sounds good,” I managed.
“Where’s Kel got to, then?”
“I don’t know. But we should get back to relieve Chuch’s mind. He’s going to be so happy.”
Until he finds out the terms of the deal. But I didn’t say so aloud.
“Indeed. I’m quite looking forward to the party, as it won’t be the depressing farewell I feared. But I do have one request,” Booke added.
“Shoot.” I was already headed for the door, lifting a hand to Jeannie.
“Let me drive.”
What the hell. If Booke wrecked the Charger, he could make it right with Chuch. He had the time, after all, and it appeared he was moving to Texas.
In reply, I tossed him the keys.
Amends
Booke drove like a bat out of hell—or to coin a specific metaphor, a recently released Englishman. He made the trip back at speeds Chance would’ve envied. I didn’t talk, fretting about Chance and Kel by turns. Fortunately Booke was too enthralled with the Charger to notice. He only turned to me if he had questions about the route, and those were few, as he’d been paying attention on the way.
After we arrived at the Ortiz place, he parked in the garage with a flourish and then leaped out on legs that were much stronger than the ones he’d left with. Chuch and Eva hurried out to see the results of our trip. Both froze in the doorway, hovering between delight and disbelief. I understood the reaction; part of me thought it was too good to be true. The aspect that understood how Twila worked worried about how things would turn out for him. He might have a long indenture ahead of him.