Never Say Die

Chapter Twenty-Seven

M aeve set a porcelain teacup on the table amidst bloody plumage.

“You could’ve called,” she said, draped in her chiffon robe and a floor-length nightgown. “Whiskey or vodka?”

“Whiskey,” Aiden said. Webbed feet and gangly, black legs jostled on his lap. “Sorry, buddy,” he mumbled, and tore a handful of snowy feathers from the dead heron’s hide. Its narrow beak pecked the sofa, bobbing as Aiden plucked. “Do you have a bowl? Or a mason jar, maybe? This might get messy.”

“Blood is more potent straight from the beast. I’d leave it for now.” Maeve tipped an expensive-looking bottle with a label he’d never seen, and yellowish liquid splashed into his tea.

“Think it’ll work?”

“Ritual is a powerful thing, and you’re a powerful vessel. I’d like to say yes, but these situations are complicated. Nobody knows if it’ll work until it does.” She leaned against the armrest beside him. “Or doesn’t.”

“Comforting, thanks.” Aiden shot back his whiskey-infused Earl Grey.

Forty-five minutes ago, Aiden had hailed a Lyft to King Gasoline and used the flashlight on his phone to light his way along the bayou boardwalk.

Maeve had swung the front door open, sleepy and irritated, and listened to him ramble about ritual sacrifices and Camila Ramírez.

When he handed her Shay’s pocket-sized journal, she’d flipped through pages, nodded silently, and welcomed an absolutely batshit idea.

If I die, Laura dies , he’d said, and the words had thickened in his throat, but if there’s a prophecy, I’m supposed to die, and if someone performs a ritual, I’ll come back like you. Maybe this is an opportunity.

Maeve had hummed, skeptically, and filled the kettle.

Aiden was almost certain she’d agreed to help him because she wanted to study the method, document the outcome, watch a ritual rise to a crescendo and land on the other side of another life.

Or fail, miserably. There would be no middle ground.

Aiden would die and stay dead, or he would die and return.

Either way, Laura stopped existing. Hopefully.

“My late husband would hate to see a dead bird on his Italian leather,” she said. “More tea?”

“Sure, yeah. Another husband, huh? What happened to the second one?”

“Richard? Oh, he caught me throwing away a Versace suit jacket and assumed I was being unfaithful. I wasn’t, but I hadn’t told him about my dietary needs, and, well, it’s not an easy thing to explain.

He lost his temper—old money makes men far too brave—and hit me, closed fist, right here.

” She tapped her cheek. “I apologized and booked us a romantic Colorado camping trip. Unfortunately, he was mauled by a bear. Eviscerated, honestly. Ruined our good tent.”

Aiden snorted out a laugh. “Tragic.”

“Extremely,” she said, and refilled his cup. “I kept his name, though. Has a good ring to it. King. . .” The word fit like steel in her mouth. “I wear it better, anyway. ”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“They’ll be here soon.” She pinned him with a questioning look, brows arched, mouth set, and picked Defiéndase Con El Diablo: Magia Negra up off the table, dusting a feather from the cover.

“Are you sure this is what you want? Shay doesn’t seem like the risk-taking type. Not with you, specifically.”

“I want this. I’ve wanted this. Shay might not understand, but I have a feeling you do,” he said, shifting his eyes to the woman beside him.

Maeve sipped her tea. “Power is tempting, but it’s not a guarantee.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll take my chances.” He plopped the near-naked heron on the table and gathered feathers into a paper grocery bag.

“I’m no witch, but I need to do this shouty-ass summoning spell, thing, whatever, before he gets here or he’ll…

I don’t know. Throw me over his shoulder.

Knock me out. Do, literally, anything and everything he possibly can to stop me. The book says wrist, right?”

“Over your pulse, into the cup.”

Aiden glanced at the dog-eared page. Mitades, llamarse entre sí. Vivo y abandonado. “Okay,” he said, exhaling sharply. “Okay, so…” He bent his wrist. Set the knife across copper skin and blue veins.

“Not too deep,” Maeve noted. “Sacrifice and suicide are two different things despite the situational similarity.”

He steadied his nerves, and pressed the blade down, dragging in a straight line.

“Ven a mi,” he said, and watched blood seep, drip, drop into the teacup.

He reached for Laura. Felt for the remnants of his blood inside her and yanked her to him.

Truthfully, he had no idea what the fuck he was doing, but he needed this magic—their magic, Ramírez magic—to work.

Camila had always said you’ll feel it, someday .

And suddenly, finally, he did. Familiarity, like déjà vu, tingled in his gums and pulsed in his temples, accompanied by otherworldly silence.

“Ven a mi,” he said again, and lifted the cup, sucking blood and whiskey into his mouth.

The air shifted. Energy rippled, extending from Aiden like an invisible beacon.

“Nice work, not-a-witch. I’ll get you a bandage,” she said, and patted his knee.

Aiden blew out a breath. He’d anticipated being afraid—more afraid, at least. Thought he’d run.

Leave everything he’d known behind and let Laura chase him from state to state, city to city.

But what kind of life would that have been?

Who would he choose to be if he walked away from Shay Bennett?

What sort of future would he be living if he didn’t spark his own transformation?

If he didn’t take power when power was right there , ready to be taken?

Someone weak, he thought. Someone who hadn’t erupted from a claustrophobic shell with thicker skin, and broader shoulders, and a name he’d seized for himself. Someone unfamiliar with death and rebirth.

Someone else.

Footsteps banged on the porch. He heard Kelly say wait , but the door flew open, and Shay barreled inside.

His chest lifted on big, heavy breaths, dressed in one of Aiden’s shirts and wrinkled jeans.

He glanced from Aiden to the half-plucked bird on the table, then to the knife. Lifted his chin and sniffed.

“You’re bleeding,” he blurted, and shook his head, as if he’d said the wrong thing. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Shay,” Aiden said, swallowing hard.

“Shoes!” Maeve hollered. She pointed at Shay’s boots and leaned over the back of the couch, wrapping a beige compression bandage around Aiden’s sore wrist.

Kelly, swathed in a pink pajama set, hair tied into a slouchy bun, side-stepped Shay and adjusted the dog stuffed under her arm. “You almost gave him a heart attack, which almost gave me a heart attack,” she spat, glaring at Aiden. Disheveled, and beautiful regardless.

“Give the boy a break. He’s not very charming, but he’s got courage,” Maeve said.

Aiden jerked his head, offended.

“Can someone, maybe, like, explain what the hell is going on? What. . .” Shay gestured loosely to the feathers, the knife, the teacup. “What’s happening?” he asked, softly, and met Aiden’s eyes. “Why didn’t you answer your phone? Why’d you take off like that? What’re we doing here?”

Aiden gripped the bandage, holding his wrist tightly. “I couldn’t tell you?—”

“I was fucking scared, Aiden!” Shay’s teeth clicked .

His lips thinned, and a hush fell over the house.

Like this, with his defenses shattered, Shay was so much himself, so much the boy Aiden had grown up and into.

Defiant and human and selfish and good. “There’s a psycho-demon-bitch stalking you and?—”

“She’s on her way here,” Aiden said. Unearned regret needled his esophagus.

Shay blinked. His lips closed, parted, closed again. Aiden watched the pieces come together. Watched his mouth quiver and his throat flex. Pain cracked through the rage and worry on his face, and Aiden reminded himself to breathe.

Maeve curled her fingers, calling Kelly into the kitchen.

“I need you to listen to me,” Aiden said, as gently as he could. “Laura saw Cami, okay? She saw my sister, and if she can’t have me, she’ll go after her. She’ll find Ramírez blood, my blood, somewhere else.”

“You don’t know that,” Shay said, anger flaring again.

“I do.”

“How? ”

“Because it’s what I would do,” Aiden said, and it was the truth.

Shay shook his head. “Blood isn’t exchangeable.”

“No, it isn’t. But Camila grew in the same belly I did. She shares my history, my family. Everything. I saw Laura look at her, and she saw her, Shay. If she can’t have me, she’ll try the next best thing. I can’t. . . I can’t let that happen. I can’t put my sister in danger over?—”

“You put a goddamn knife in me and kicked me off a cliff, Aiden. Please, don’t bother trying to fool me with your righteous, bullshit savior act,” Shay snapped.

Kelly clucked her tongue and poured herself a cup of tea. “Goddess, have mercy.”

Aiden almost said , you’re not my fucking sister , but he clenched his jaw and turned toward the window, staring into the restless bayou. “I’m performing another ritual. If I brought you back, you can bring me back?—”

“Absolutely the fuck not,” Shay said. Anger gave way to something else. Something splintered and broken.

“Maeve has the ritual items, she knows the steps, she’ll walk you through everything?—”

“ No .”

“What, then? You kill Laura, I die. Laura kills me, I die. Laura kills Camila, I kill Laura and I still die,” Aiden said, and lifted Shay’s journal.

“If we do the ritual, at least there’s a chance I’ll come back.

Yeah, I put a goddamn knife in you,” he said, chewing on the words.

“I kicked you off a cliff. You think that shit doesn’t have consequences?

You think what we did in the desert didn’t come with a price-tag?

A prophecy? Nothing’s free, carino. Nothing. ”