I suspected just this much contact was draining him; a full connection might kill him, if Nephilim could die. Fear spiked through me like a gladiator’s gauntlet. Closing my eyes, I willed my energy through that tenuous connection, knowing that was more wishful thinking than true magick.

But maybe, maybe it was enough. Because a place popped into my head, or rather, the image of one. Unfortunately, I had no idea where it was. From the surrounding countryside, it was probably on the Tex-Mex border, scrubland full of broken mesas and dry as dust.

Then even the prickle left me.

I got a piece of paper before the image left my mind’s eye. Though I wasn’t much of an artist, I captured the shape of the rock. I hurried out to the patio, where Jesse and Chuch were talking to some uniformed officers. Three squad cars had turned up, and since there was a dead body on the premises, they’d call the crime scene unit out too.

“. . . dunno who they were,” Chuch was saying. “Never saw ’em before.”

“You had trouble with the Montoya cartel, correct?” At Chuch’s nod, the officer made a note.

I could already see who would get the blame for this. It would probably be the first severed head in Texas that the Montoyas could honestly say they had nothing to do with. The two surviving brothers weren’t running the op anyway. A second in command had stepped up, from what I heard, and eventually it would be known as the Ramirez cartel, once he consolidated power. Not my business. I was finished with the cartels. I wanted to be done with angels, demons, and decapitations as well.

It took hours for them to gather all the witness statements and wrap up the scene. Since the criminals never entered the house, it minimized the inconvenience to the Ortizes, at least. Jesse stayed, overseeing the process, and offering plausible theories whenever another officer picked a hole in Chuch’s story. I was grateful to have him here.

At two a.m., the last of the city officials finally left. I touched Eva on the arm. After all the drama, I hated to bother her, but I intended to get moving as soon as I had enough information. “Who would know the famous rock formations nearby?” I asked.

Her jaw dropped. “You want to go sightseeing? Tonight?”

“No.” I hastened to explain, then showed her the drawing I had done.

“Oh. So you’re looking for Kel. You think he’s trapped?”

“I’m afraid he is.”

“Honestly, my mind’s a blank. Let me sleep on it. I’m sure I can come up with a local expert in the morning.”

That was frustrating, but it wasn’t like I could do anything about it. If I’d known where to look on my own, I’d already be asking to borrow the Charger. In their shoes, I didn’t know whether I’d loan me a ride, as I had a history of losing them. Over the past few years, I had gone through three vehicles; only the Mustang had withstood my reign of terror, and technically speaking, that belonged to Chance. Which was probably why it had survived.

So many problems to solve and I had so few resources. I closed my eyes on a sigh, resting my head on the back of the couch.

“That was more excitement than I’m used to,” Booke said, breaking my reverie. “Well, in person at least.”

Dolores laughed. “Stick around, you’ll get used to it.”

“If you get the chance, bid the others bonne nuit for me, will you?” He offered a cheery salute. “Oh, and don’t wait up.”

The slender woman blushed a little, and swatted at him with one of her myriad scarves. But she didn’t dispute his assessment of the situation. The two strode out to her car, entirely in charity with one another. Apparently Dolores only cut and ran if the spatter got on her outfit, which was a pretty impressive line in the sand. Otherwise, like most of Chuch’s relatives, she was rock solid. Of course, maybe she’d be more upset if the deceased had been fully human.

“We ID’d the host,” Jesse said, coming to the doorway a few minutes later. “Gigolo out of Vegas who went missing a few months back.”

“Is it possible for the Luren to take an unwilling host?” I asked.

“I’m not the expert, but I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure they can only be summoned into a willing body via sex magick.”

That sounded right, based on what I remembered from Sheol, but my time there was becoming vague and fragmented. Since I hadn’t been driving most of the time, that made sense. And sometimes the memories sneaked up on me like a sudden kick in the face. Then horror suffused me, and I worked to bury it all over again. Some of those things I said and did . . . how did I handle it? Denial wasn’t a solution, but I just couldn’t deal with everything at once.

One step at a time, right?

“I’m guessing the guy didn’t imagine the demon would use his body to go up against Barachiel, though.”

“Probably not.” Jesse didn’t sound sympathetic, though.

I figured he thought the dude should’ve known better than to rent his body out to a Luren. All kinds of things might’ve been promised in payment, none of which the guy would ever enjoy. No matter how foolish he’d been, I couldn’t be utterly unmoved by his fate. I hadn’t wanted to think about it until now, but that was a human being who lost his life in Chuch’s backyard.

Dammit.

“I don’t envy the detective working the case,” I said then.

He shook his head ruefully. “Me either. He’ll be looking for normal connections between the vic and killer, but there won’t be any. He’ll spin his wheels for a week and get nothing, even with our descriptions of the attackers. That’ll really stick in his craw.”

“You sound like you’ve been there.”

“Not under these circumstances, but yeah. And sometimes I wonder if a crime is demon-touched, if that’s why I’m coming up empty.”

A sudden thought struck me. “Is there an underground gifted network within law enforcement? To keep things hushed up?”

He smiled down at me. “Good question. It’s kinda nice to get back to the old footing, Corine. I’d almost forgotten I’m supposed to be mentoring you.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Yes. Weird tales would be in all the papers, not just the tabloids, if we didn’t do our part.”

“It must be pretty hard sometimes. Do you ever wish the gifted could come out to the world?”

He shook his head. “We tried that. It didn’t end well.”

“The witch hunts?” It was incredible to realize that for every name on the rolls of the dead, it had probably been a woman like me. Not evil. Not possessed by the devil, just a person with a strange gift and no ability to blend in.

“Yep.”

“Listen, Corine, if you have more questions, text me. I have work in the morning, so I need to get to bed.”

“That’s my cue,” Shan said.

She leaned down to give me a hug, and I squeezed back. Gods, I was so freakin’ proud of her. Two girls from Kilmer got out, I thought. And we’re both doing all right. Frankly, her success ratio was higher than mine. Despite the whole talks-to-dead-people thing, she didn’t seem to attract trouble the way I did. And I was incredibly tired of it.

I said my good nights. Then I checked on Butch. When the fighting started, he’d hidden and hadn’t come out since. He was cowering behind a flowerpot on the patio when I found him, ears down, paws over his face.

“It’s going to be fine,” I promised him. “Things are a mess right now, but I’ll figure it out.”

Butch whined at me; then he offered two yaps. No. Whether he doubted my promise or the likelihood of my finding a workable solution, I wasn’t sure. Bending down, I picked him up and cuddled him to my cheek, whispering reassurances. I only wished I believed them.

The dog didn’t even pretend; he knew bad things were coming, and as usual, they had my name written all over them.

Dream Lover

This time, there was no period of disorientation, no confusion when the dream came. I recognized the field of jonquils and the perpetually sunny day immediately, and I ran through the flowers in the direction Chance had come last time. But instead of Chance, I met an unfamiliar man by the river. The water was clear and fast-moving, rippling over the pretty polished stones lining its bed. As for the man, he was middle-aged, Japanese, with a softly rounded belly and a balding pate. His dark eyes held a merry twinkle, and when I met his warm look, I understood why Min had succumbed to his charms.

“Ebisu,” I whispered.

I had no freakin’ idea how one greeted a god, even one present in dreams. Should I drop to one knee, curtsy, genuflect . . . ? While I agonized over what gesture of respect to offer, he held up a hand, smiling.

“Today, I greet you as my son’s father, though I would not mind if you wished to pay proper respect at a shrine after we conclude our discussion.”

“I will,” I managed. “Sir, I’m sorry—”

He held up a hand. “No apologies. I have wanted to meet my son, and he chose his manner of ascension in the style of a true hero.”

“Ascension?”

“That’s why I wished to speak with you.” His friendly face took on a rather forbidding air. “I am not sure how familiar you are with my story.”

“Not very,” I admitted.

“In the scrolls, I am paired with Daikokuten, the god of wealth, and in some variations, we are father and son.”

Uh-oh. I had a feeling I knew where this conversation was headed. I only offered a nod, encouraging him to go on, when I feared the conclusion of his revelation.

“Chance has shed his mortal skin and dwells among the gods now. He will assume the mantle of Daikokuten, as he was always meant to do.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but.’”

“You’re a clever woman,” he said approvingly. “He refuses to drink from the fountain of renewal and claim his godhood. He thinks of nothing but getting back to you, of keeping his promise. So I’ve come to appeal to your conscience. Do what’s best . . . and let him go.”

The request hit me like a blackjack in the back of the head, and the pain came as a shock in contrast to the sunny splendor of the meadow. For a few seconds, I couldn’t get my breath; the idea of never seeing him again felt like it might kill me.

Then I realized I didn’t care what Ebisu wanted. He’d let Min raise Chance alone all these years. If I could bring him back to her, I would. But I wasn’t that unselfish because I wanted him back for me too, for the life he’d promised me.

Yet it didn’t seem like a good idea to defy a god, even a small one, on his home turf. If I declined, maybe he wouldn’t let me go. So I prevaricated.

“Will I have the opportunity to say good-bye?”

“One last meeting, I can permit,” he said quietly. “But then, Daikokuten must accept his destiny. One cannot fight fate . . . and he is not meant for you.”

“So you had a son, knowing he would die?” That sounded so horrible, so calculating. And it reinforced my decision not to fall in with his plan.