Retribution

Sandra looks up when we appear in the doorway. She rushes to Culebra and Frey and hugs first one, then the other. I suspect her relief is as much the hope that she can go home now as it is her happiness to see them back among the living.

But looking around the bar, at the dozen or so assorted vamps and human hosts sharing drinks and either making or concluding their dining arrangements, it strikes me that no one here has a clue about what went on in that back room. We’re just four more customers and the glances our way reflect only curiosity. There isn’t anything to indicate we were just involved in a fight that might have killed us all. Even the blood that stained the clothing of Sophie and Culebra is gone. Dissipated by the magic of a broken spell.

There’s no sign of Williams, either. Did he leave through the back door? Is he already on his way to San Diego?

Culebra stops at the bar, murmurs something to the human barkeep and ushers us to a table. When we’re all seated, he leans forward, hands flat on the table. His eyes shine with something that looks a lot like tears, the gruff-ness I’m used to gone completely. He looks from one of us to the other.

“I owe you my life.”

Even his voice is different, softer, more vulnerable. Has the nightmare left a mark?

He continues, “You risked everything to save me. I won’t forget it. I’m in your debt. I give you my oath. We are family. No favor you ask will ever be denied.”

Uneasy silence follows his declaration. Not caused by the gratitude evident in Culebra’s words, but by the feeling we’re now inexorably bound together. I don’t know if it’s what Culebra intended, but it’s what I see on the faces of Frey, Sophie and Sandra.

It’s Sandra who breaks the tension. “Well, then. I have the first favor.”

We all look at her.

“I want to go home.”

It’s exactly the right thing to say. The bubble of anxiety bursts with an almost audible pop.

Culebra laughs. “You can go whenever you like.”

The barkeep approaches the table. In his hands he has a tray filled with shredded beef, chicken, marinated vegetables, beans, a plate piled with steaming tortillas. He plunks the dishes down along with half a dozen bottles of Dos Equis.

“I hope you will eat first,” Culebra says. He casts an eye my way. “Sorry, I have nothing to offer you, A

I shake my head, but reach for one of the beers. “I’m fine, thanks.”

I hide my impatience as Culebra, Frey and Sandra dig into the food. Only Sophie holds back.

Because of Deveraux?

He picks the question out of my head. No. It’s one of the things I like best about taking up residence in a human body. I can enjoy food again. No bloodlust.

Then why isn’t Sophie eating?

She looks over at me. “I’m not hungry. Maybe we can take a walk.”

Culebra sends a thought, cloaked, so that only I hear it. There are still questions. This may be your chance to get answers.

He’s busy eating, but his eyes are veiled and serious when they meet mine.

I push back the chair and stand. “Good idea, Sophie. I can use some air.”

I hadn’t realized night had fallen until we step out onto the boardwalk. A light breeze carries the pungent sharpness of mesquite and the subtle sweetness of night-blooming cactus. A crescent moon and a diamond-studded sky present a peaceful contrast to the hellish storm that threatened us inside just minutes before.

“It’s surreal, isn’t it?” Sophie asks.

I’m not sure what she’s referring to, the still desert night or the tempest conjured up by Burke, but I nod anyway.

Her face is tilted up toward the sky. “I never see stars like this in Denver. The desert is so beautiful. A person can hear herself think.”

I smile at the irony in that expression. “You always hear yourself think, don’t you? Literally, I mean.”

She chuckles. “You mean I always hear Deveraux think. It’s hardly the same thing.”

“Where is he? Right now, I mean.”

She puts a hand to her chest. “He’s here. He knows you and I have things to discuss. He won’t interfere.”

“Isn’t it odd? Having another consciousness, a separate being as part of you?”

The look she throws me is half amused, half surprised that I’d ask the question. “No different than you living with the dual sides of your nature. You are in constant battle against the beast, are you not? In any case, Deveraux and I aren’t so dissimilar as you might suspect. In fact, I imagine it’s easier for me than it is for you. His beast is contained. All that ’s left are his thoughts.” She laughs again. “Disturbing as they sometimes are.”

Her simple, bittersweet awareness amazes me. How much of it is the witch and how much the vampire?

We walk on in silence for a few moments, enjoying the quiet and the calm. But I know I have to broach the subject at some point, it may as well be now.

“Where is she, Sophie?”

There’s no faltering in Sophie’s step or hesitation in her answer. “She’s no longer a threat.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.” It comes out sharper than I intend.

Sophie draws a deep breath. “When I broke her spell, the evil behind the magic had to go somewhere. I captured it in the goblet.”

I remember the moment before the goblet shattered. Burke was drawn into it, too. “So the evil—?”

“Was directed back into her.”

“Could she have survived?”

“What we saw inside was a reverse image of my sister. Not her physical being. She lives but the damage done to her physically, psychically and mentally will take a long time to heal. Years. Decades, maybe.”

I watch her. Sorrow and guilt are in clear conflict with the simple truth: Burke’s actions sealed her fate.

It’s not enough. My gut aches with my own truth, there’s no comfort in Sophie saying Burke is no longer a threat. The bottom line is that as long as she is alive, she is a threat. I want her dead. “Do you know where she is?” I ask quietly.

“No.” She stops and turns to face me. “That is the truth. She may be on this earthly plane, she may be on another. She’s gone away to heal. I can’t reach her. I won’t try. I promise you, she is no longer a threat. It’s all I have to offer.”

But I think of Williams and Ortiz and those girls tortured in that warehouse. “She has much to answer for. I’m not sure I can let it go.”

Sophie’s voice is just as determined. “You may not have a choice.”

We continue walking along the boardwalk. The wind has picked up a little, dust whirls at our feet, clouds skitter across the sky. The silence stretches between us.

At last Sophie says, “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Burke hurt—”

“No. I don’t mean about Burke. What are you going to do about you. Deveraux called you the chosen one. You seemed distressed by the idea.”

Distressed doesn’t begin to cover it. When I don’t answer, Sophie turns to look at me. “We can’t fight our destiny, A

She’s smiling softly, I see it in the darkness. It strikes me that if Williams had said that to me —shit, he has a million times—my back would be up, my defenses at the ready. Sophie, however, brings forth a startling burst of clarity.

“I’m afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Of not knowing what it means to be the chosen.”

She laughs. “That’s easy enough to find out. Ask Williams.”

I shake my head. “He’d be only too happy to tell me. But it would be his version. I don ’t trust him. He’s too far removed from—” I struggle to find the right word.

“Humanity?”

“Yes. From humanity. He’s forgotten what it means to be human. I can’t let that happen to me.”

We’ve reached the end of the boardwalk. The dirt road out of Beso de la Muerte stretches before us like a faint silver ribbon. I can smell a wolf prowling in the darkness, hear the rapid heartbeat of a rabbit, see the winding path left by a snake as it skims the desert floor.