Chapter Seventeen
W ell, fuck.
Aiden squared his shoulders, guided at gunpoint to the edge of the bed.
His pulsed tripled. In all his life, he’d never thought to prepare for this particular turn of events.
Despite his affinity for danger, he’d never seen a gun.
Not a real one, at least. He glanced at Shay, who watched helplessly from the center of the room, palms raised, throat bobbing as he swallowed.
It’s okay, he wanted to say. Don’t do anything batshit crazy yet.
“I’m Cit,” the woman said, and pointed at the bed. “Take a seat. You’re Aiden, right? Two of Cups?”
“That’s me,” Aiden said.
“Then you must be our Ten of Swords. C’mon, now. You, too,” Cit said. She gestured from Shay to the bed with the sleek, black barrel, sighing over his name. “Shay Bennett, a Black Mass miracle in the making, wouldn’t you say?”
“What do you know about me?” Shay asked. The bed dipped. He sat straight-backed and still, like a viper masquerading as a vine.
Cit leaned against the rickety dresser across from the bed and folded her arms, gun dangling over her slender elbow.
She was a waifish, heroin-chic cowgirl, built like a chipped axe, wieldable and dangerous despite the mileage.
She sucked her teeth and nodded toward Laura, who had slinked away to stand beside the closet.
She held out her hand, and Laura gave her the journal.
“From what I’ve been told, you met my protégé, Laura, on the road.
And you see, boys, I’d usually dismiss a sighting.
Too many dead-ends, smoke and mirrors, young folks playin’ pretend.
But we’ve learned how to find the truth, and my children, well, they’d been keepin’ tabs on you.
Seems we have a few things in common. You and Laura met with a pretty little psychic, Miss Kelly Crawford,” she said, cooing her name, “and you both crossed paths with my dear Cassandra Ray, who was eaten alive in a filthy bathroom and left to rot by a mysterious beast. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? ”
Anxiety rattled Aiden from the inside out. Shay didn’t move. Didn’t breathe or blink.
After a strained, silent moment, Cit opened Shay’s journal and turned her eyes to the page.
“I slaughtered her without a second thought,” she read, pausing to sigh.
“I’d convinced myself that she’d get away, that she’d run once we were alone, that I wouldn’t chase her, but I didn’t give Cassie the chance.
I’m a monster, I think. Don’t know how I could be anything else.
I bet cops’ll find my DNA underneath her fingernails.
I kind of hope they do.” She stopped. Flipped a few pages.
“I dreamed about killing him again. Aiden underneath me, gasping for breath, his blood on my hands, in my mouth.” Licked her thumb, skipped to another page.
“I convinced myself that I wanted him dead. But when I had the perfect opportunity, everything changed. He tasted like peaches and cigarettes and old cologne—smoke and fruit. I think he’s meant too much to me for too long.
His death would kill me again. Would fucking destroy me.
How do I live with this? How do I live with what I’ve done?
With who I want? How can I possibly love him?—”
“Stop,” Shay snapped.
Her lips turned at the corners. “You crawled from the sea after your childhood sweetheart—the man you love, whose death you’ve prophesized—flayed you open like a trout,” she said, abruptly.
“I’ve read your sad story, but I’d like you.
. .” She tilted the journal toward Aiden.
“. . . to tell me how . Let no detail go unsaid.”
Shay exhaled a shaky breath. “We don’t know what I am.”
Cit tipped her head, considering him. “Understandable. How, though? How were you made?”
“I wasn’t?—”
“I made a deal. His soul in exchange for the life I’d always wanted,” Aiden said. Shay snarled his name, but he kept going. “Whatever’s happening to Shay is the outcome of a specific ritual. My ritual. That’s all we know.”
“Oh.” Cit clucked her tongue, like a parent would to a child.
“Nothing is happening to him—what’s done is done.
That’s the catch with these things. Never knowin’ what you’ll get, never knowin’ who’ll come to the auction.
But those pretty black eyes? That insatiability?
” She sighed through her nose, nodding slowly.
“Someone a lot more powerful than us left a bit of themself inside him. I’ve seen it happen before, but never like this.
Black-eyes don’t stick. Like a Great White in captivity, always dyin’ before they’re useful. ”
“Look, I’m no witch, okay? I don’t know what the fuck I did. I—I just smashed a few recipes together.” Aiden’s gaze drifted to the gun. “I can’t tell you how this happened, because I don’t have a damn clue why he came back.”
Laura furrowed her eyebrows, pinning Cit with a curious stare. “Is he the wrong Ramírez?”
Cit hushed her. She set the journal down and pushed away from the dresser, baggy shirt half-tucked into straight-legged jeans. Her sunken eyes transferred between them. Aiden to Shay, Shay to Aiden. “Your sister is Camila Ramírez, correct? The intuitive Los Angeles folk healer.”
Hesitantly, Aiden nodded. “She had nothing to do with this.”
“I know.” A sigh gusted from her. “But you expect me to believe you , a Ramírez, a brujo, didn’t use your ancestral gifts to create him ,” she said, and clicked her teeth repeatedly.
Aiden shook his head. “I don’t have any gifts, lady.”
Cit gestured loosely to Shay. “My daughter has good instincts, as do all my children. She sniffed you out like a dead rat. Tracked you to that nightclub, put Cassie in your line-of-sight, followed you to that parking garage, made the evidence disappear, but I have a strong feelin’ we’ve walked into a situation far more complicated than we originally thought.
Ritualism, bloodlines, prophecy, fate . Everything intersects, don’t it? ”
“I’m telling the truth. I don’t have a goddamn clue what kind of witchcraft I used,” Aiden said.
Cit hummed. “Black-eyes are born from a bond. Negotiated into existence from somewhere else, by somethin’ else. Eaten away, usually. Possession is an appropriate enough word.”
“I’m not possessed,” Shay bit out.
Cit nodded. One brow lifted. “I’m gatherin’ that. See, if a vessel dies, possession ends. But if you aren’t a vessel, then I’m bettin’ you were bit by a different bug. Just can’t quite understand the reason, though. How are you still kickin’ with all that power inside you, darlin’?”
Shay stayed silent.
Aiden swallowed around the stone growing in his throat.
“Cassandra—God rest her soul—was supposed to confirm your. . . behavior, so to speak. But she went too far. Got too curious. Can’t blame her.
I’ve searched high and low for someone like you, Shay Bennett.
Power is a rare, rare thing, and walkin’ around with it, unguarded and unclaimed?
Well, that’s brave. The tough thing about possession—you can’t break it down.
Can’t take power from the source, because the source is the power.
You’re different. Stable by the looks of it.
Strong. Giving, I hope,” she said, and smiled.
“We’ve tried for years. Offered our own as vessels, attempted to transfer power from one person to another, found ourselves dealing with the same problem over and over.
That’s the stickler, I guess. Can’t put power elsewhere when power itself is a sentient being.
But there’s another catch here, isn’t there?
Because you aren’t shared, Shay. You’ve carried somethin’ back from somewhere the living can’t reach.
Foretold a future for the one who cut you down.
” She paused for another sigh, dragging her eyes from his feet to his face.
“I’ll put this as plainly as possible—I can save him,” she said, and gestured toward Aiden with Shay’s journal.
“And I can take what you have. I don’t mind if you fight, but I’d prefer if you went willingly. ”
“Save him. . . ?” Shay asked, breathlessly.
“Prophecy is a powerful thing. Same as ritual. If the intention exists, it’ll ripple into your life. Those dreams could very well come true,” Cit said. “I’d bet good money they will.”
“She’s lying,” Aiden said. His heart skittered, his hands shook, and Cit’s voice kept echoing: peaches and slaughtered and love .
Cit licked her lips. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry it’s like this. Life, I mean. It’s a sorry thing. And I’ve spent mine lookin’ to get what you’ve got, so one way or another, I will undo your unfortunate future, Aiden Ramírez, and I will take that power, Shay Bennett.”
Again, Shay said nothing. He blinked, inspecting Cit the way a vulture would a carcass.
The question fluttered under Aiden’s breath. “Who the fuck are you? ”
Cit hummed, appreciatively. “No one, sweetheart. Just another person willing to do what you’ve done. It’s scary, though, isn’t it? Runnin’ into someone worse than yourself. I’ve been where you are. I know the feeling.”
“You’re not worse than me,” Aiden assured, spitting laughter at her feet. “I can promise you that.”
“We’ll see.” Cit tipped her chin toward the door. “We’re goin’ for a drive. Make a sound, I’ll shoot you. Try to run, I’ll shoot the pretty girls in room sixteen. It’d be an awful shame to sacrifice them, too. Do we understand each other?”
Shay turned toward Aiden. “We understand,” he said, expression soft and hopeful.
Aiden chewed on the inside of his cheek. I might die tonight , he thought. Shay can’t die tonight . He stood, nodding, and Cit tracked him with her gun. He touched Shay’s knuckles. “Yeah, we get it.”
“Good,” Cit said. “Laura, tell the others to pull the truck around.”