Chapter Twenty-Four #3
“Thirty-nine,” Maeve said, humming around her French manicure. “Cellist from Chicago. Vegan, I believe. I aged her in a bourbon barrel. Marinated her organs in apricot preserves, blended her, strained her. She had a soft spot for raspberries—ate them with everything.”
Aiden stood impossibly still. The urge to flee surfaced. Go, run, get the fuck away . But he didn’t move, didn’t blink or breathe or say a word. When Kelly handed him a glass, he took it. When she sipped from her own, he mirrored her, drinking until his throat turned chalky.
“You first.” Shay wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“You’re quite brave,” Maeve said, surprised.
Her laughter rumbled, deep and rich. “Fine, fine. I made myself, to be honest. Found out my first husband was having an affair and went a little…” She paused, nodding solemnly.
“You understand. I drunkenly attempted an offering to the Orishas. Rum, jewels, tobacco, and my blood—stupid, stupid little girl. I cut too deep, opened a vein… Died right there in our bathtub. I’d meant to do it, I think.
But not like that.” She wrung her hands and clucked her tongue.
“I woke where I’d died. Same bathtub, same sour water.
Then I found him, of course. Left his bones buried on the beach where we’d honeymooned.
I was theatrical back then— dramatic , really.
Anyway, I found the other woman, too.” Maeve turned her gaze to Kelly, sighing contentedly. “A gorgeous Baywatch blonde.”
Kelly turned her gaze to the window. “We made a deal,” she said, simply.
“One husband wasn’t enough, so Kelly tried to take mine.” Maeve smiled, hardly sweet.
“I didn’t know about you, Maeve. We’ve been over this. I married young, same as you. Never thought my Leo would become what he did, so I found someone I thought was better.” She rubbed her wrist between chunky, gold bangles, the same place Shay had grabbed her in the elevator. “Men are animals.”
“We all are, sometimes,” Maeve said. “Long story short, Kelly offered her services to me whenever and however I needed them, and I took care of her husband. Leonardo Crawford died at sea, leaving his beautiful, unfaithful wife a hefty inheritance. She was happily widowed; I was a happy employer. After that, I sought out others like us. Black-eyes. The returned. I found some. Not many, though. And it’s been a very long time since I’ve met someone new. ”
“She knew what he was,” Aiden said, jutting his thumb at Kelly. “We could’ve saved a lot of time?—”
“She’s under strict instruction not to reveal a damn thing until I give her the go-ahead.
Our survival rate is abysmal, Aiden.” Maeve said his name casually, as if she hadn’t threatened to fucking eat him.
“Do you know how many times I’ve connected with someone like us only to hear of their death weeks later?
That they’ve been imprisoned, taken their own life, been drained during some shoddy, pagan ceremony by people like Catherine Emerson?
Oh, please—don’t look at me like that. Who do you think told Kelly to call you?
Camila Ramírez might’ve been the soft-spot, but I was the authority. ”
Aiden snatched the decanter and filled his glass. How many times had a terrifying woman said his sister’s name? He drank, fiddling nervously with his rosary.
Kelly pitched her hip toward Shay, gesturing from his feet to his forehead, and said, “I see quite a few people dealing with inner demons, actual demons, possession, but I felt your essence. You weren’t empty.
I’d seen your past, experienced your death.
Life clung to your bones like barnacles.
You were still you . So, an hour after I met with Laura, I called Maeve. ”
“Lucky for us, you’re quite popular,” Maeve said, smirking. “Easy to track, especially with Emerson’s posse on your scent.”
“Was Cit after you, too?”
Maeve laughed, just once. “We knew each other, if that’s what you’re asking. Mistakes were made. Lives were spared.”
“And you track us, too?” Shay asked .
Maeve nodded. “I do.”
Shay turned inward, scooting until his knees touched hers. “Are we. . . ? What are we? We’re not possessed, but are we demonic? Are we vampires? Are we?—”
“Are we vampires ,” she said through a groan and tipped her head back to laugh.
“That’s the question, isn’t it? I wish I had an answer.
Cultures and religions have always had their village vampire.
Nightmare fuel, you know. Maybe we are, maybe we aren’t.
But I don’t have a maker and I can’t survive on blood alone.
I walk in sunlight, I’m not allergic to silver, I still age, and I’m certainly not immortal.
” She paused to consider, exhaling slowly.
“In the end, I’m only sure of one thing: how we’re made.
Ritualistically. Sacrificially. Accidentally.
In my case, I believe Oyá sent me back. It’s always been that way, even with the others I’ve met.
They usually mention a deity—gods, goddesses, demons, angels—a being beyond them.
So, no, I don’t believe we’re vampires. I think we’re returned.
I think we’re repurposed by entities we can hardly comprehend.
” Again, she paused, went quiet. Waited. “Who sent you back, Shay?”
Aiden followed dust particles floating near the window, trapped in a strike of sunlight, and clenched his jaw as everyone turned toward him.
“Ask him,” Shay said. “He’s the one who killed me.”
Maeve King arched a thick, black eyebrow. “Aiden Moore Ramírez,” she said, thoughtfully, and gave a curt nod. “Who answered your call?”
“Wish I knew,” Aiden said. He licked wine from his lips and folded his arms, clutching his chest the way his binder used to, solidly, like a security blanket. “I left the offering open-ended.”
“Ritual is a powerful thing. Intent is, too. Tell me, at your most vulnerable moment, who did you call for?”
“Shay, at first,” he said. Heat burned from his sternum to his cheeks. “I just. . . I prayed. I begged. My intention changed. I asked whoever was listening—anyone, everyone—to give him back. I. . .” He swallowed hard, dislodging the lump in his throat. “I don’t know who answered, but someone did.”
“You’re not a man of faith?” Maeve asked.
Aiden bristled. “God hasn’t done shit for me, so no.”
Her gaze dropped to his neck. “Your rosary is decoration?”
He grabbed the cross dangling between his collarbones.
“Look, I don’t know who sent him back, okay?
I know he’s back. More importantly, I know Laura Noble’s back.
I know she left a heart—like, an actual heart —on our fucking pillow this morning, so can we focus, please?
Because I’d like to avoid being murdered by a Hot Topic advertisement.
” Aiden huffed and lifted his shit, displaying the faded scratches raked across his stomach.
“I’d also like to know why the hell this keeps happening. ”
“They’re tethered,” Kelly said, and offered Maeve a sad, worried smile.
Maeve lifted her chin. She fiddled with a flower laced through her braid, and said, “Tell me everything.”
Aiden rambled, but halfway through, Shay took over.
He tugged Aiden by the beltloop and placed him on the sofa, palming his thigh as details came and went, questions fired off and answered.
Shay said, Aiden sliced his throat open by accident , and dizziness followed.
He felt someone drown . Aiden faced the window again, listened but didn’t, breathed but didn’t.
Yeah, I… I’ve bitten him. Three times, now.
Oh, twice. The first time… He tracked a striped heron outside the window, wading through swampy grass.
Six people, I think. Six, right? Aiden. Hey, babe ? —
“What?” Aiden cleared his throat, blinking away anxious fog. “Yeah, yes. Six witches in the desert. Cit, Laura, and four others.”
“All with their own intent?” Maeve asked.
Kelly hummed suspiciously .
“Yes,” Aiden said. “I don’t think Laura died that night in the desert. I think whatever brought her back?—”
“Continued the ritual when she dove off the roof, freeing her body for a new occupant,” Maeve said, nodding.
“I think you’re right. Which means the intent those witches manifested and released had to make a home somewhere.
It also means, if I’m putting this together correctly, that your blood became the valve between here and there, Laura’s body and their intent.
She’s following you, leaving offerings, making a promise. ”
Shay narrowed his eyes. “A what? ”
“Blood is a sacred thing. You’ve given her access to life, yes.
But because she’s an empty vessel, you’ve also given her reason to take what you have.
Your blood, your lifeforce, your permanence—she intends to harvest it.
Like any ritualistic sacrifice, there’s the one doing the offering and the one being offered.
In this case, a sacrifice was never made.
Nothing was taken or given. Because of that, you’re tethered to her.
Spiritually bound. What’s yours is hers, what’s hers is yours. Whatever is left of Laura, of that…”
“Poor dear,” Kelly mumbled.
“That child is hardly recognizable. Like I said, intent is power. What they’ve filled her with? I can’t imagine,” Maeve said, and shook her head. “I don’t want to imagine.”
“That’s it? We’re being stalked by a bloodthirsty meatsuit filled with bad fucking vibes from a bunch of white-trash witches and she’s spiritually bound to my boyfriend?
No ,” Shay snapped. He stood, pacing in front of the window.
“No, that… I don’t accept that, okay? We can untie them, or un-tether them—whatever—we’ll find a way. ”
“There’s no life inside her, only dead intent. She can’t possibly survive for long, but that doesn’t change your situation. She’s here, now. She’s hunting, now. And you’ll only be able to outrun her for so long. ”
“Okay, just. . . Fuck, do you have a bathroom? I need to think for a minute,” Shay said. Maeve pointed to a doorway across from the kitchen. He touched Aiden’s shoulder as he crossed the parlor and disappeared behind the door.
Aiden watched the heron again. Sacrifice. Spiritually bound. Promise. Occupant. What’s yours is hers, what’s hers is yours. He thought he might cry in that white house on the bayou. Weep like a bitch, and fall to his knees, and throw his rosary to the gators.
“You understand,” Maeve said, quietly.
Aiden nodded, rolling his lips to stop the quivering in his chin. He dug his fingernails into his wrist and hoped Laura felt it. “Prophecy,” he said, spitting the word like venom, and drove his nails in deeper.