I don’t want to read this. When I turn around, Poncho is there.
There’s a twinkle in his eye, and I wait. I had this whole speech planned out, about how I knew that he was really Vassago because of that stupid sock, and I demand to know why he is here. But now that I’m in front of him, I’m not really sure I want to know. It’s so ironic.
“I think the word you are looking for is hypocritical, not ironic,” Poncho says. He takes a step toward me and leans on the back of the chair. “And that would be a correct word.”
“How are you two people?”
He smiles. It’s so much like Vassago that it’s jarring. But then, he is Vassago. Somehow.
“Here, in this room, I am Poncho. Out there, I am Vassago. Decades ago the Triad came seeking me out, and I helped them with a problem. It’s a long story that I shall tell another time. In result of it, they gave me a job, and bound my magic to their DNE system. It’s been safer for me hiding out here.”
Protective custody for demons? That existed? “Why would the Triad help you?”
Poncho doesn’t move his gaze away. “When you know the things I know, both sides want to use you. I serve all, but sometimes that means you can only appear to serve one.”
I nod my head slowly. “How did they know they could trust you?”
“Intuition is a lot of it; proof is another. Miss Grey, do you know what happens when you rip someone’s magic away from their soul?” He doesn’t allow me to answer. “They fight back.”
I raise my eyebrow. “The soul or the magic?”
“Both,” he says.
There’s a silence between us so loud that when Hyde meows, we both look at him. “So you do have magic, but it’s bound. How do they even do that?” I ask.
Poncho shrugs. “Is there anything else?”
I want to mention Azsis, but I need a break. A short one. Without conspiracies. I want to celebrate this minor win for my side. If being a demon—half demon—is a win. This whole thing is weird, but I’m tired. I think I’m done digging for answers. At least for this month.
“Maybe later,” I say, standing up from my chair. Poncho nods and I move toward the door. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Miss Grey,” Poncho calls. I move toward the door and then pause as he continues to speak. “We are not through, you and I. Matters of the heart are often poisonous,” he says.
Why would he say that? I turn, about to ask a question, but he’s already gone.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Ric pushes Connie as we turn out of St. Elmo’s Coffee Pub. They are arguing about who was hotter in the movie: Chris Pine or Bradley Cooper. I still think Zac Efron is the best of all of them.
“I don’t understand them,” Carter says, pointing between Ric and Connie. He presses his lips against my temple. I love being near him.
“Where to next, Con?” I ask. She snaps out of her argument and plasters on her smile. She has this whole day planned as a celebration for all three of us becoming Enforcers. None of us mention the whole halfway-to-hell thing, but I know that she’s secretly celebrating our survival of that, too. She and Ric know the whole story, the real one. No more lying to my best friend and my sister.
“Hot-boy movie is a check, so next it’s the park.”
“The park? You really suck at this whole ‘celebrate’ thing,” Ric says.
She waves him off. “Just wait. It’s going to be way more exciting than a normal day at the park.” Oh man, cue the freaking clowns. Or ponies. Or flying trapeze artists jumping over fire.
That last one could be cool.
It would be better than her other idea to have each of us break a big rule before we took our vows. We tried that this morning and the most dangerous it got was me having a triple shot in my latte. We party big.
Connie bumps into my hip. “I can’t believe two of my favorite people are going to officially be Enforcers.”
“That’s not nice. What about Carter?” Ric asks, looking over at her.
“I was talking about Carter,” she says. Carter chuckles, and Ric kicks at my sister before he hugs her. Idiots, both of them.
We turn the corner and Carter yells, “Detour,” before pulling me away from my sister and Ric.
“What are you doing?”
“Just a second,” he says. We run down the street, and I look over my shoulder toward Ric and Connie, but they’re talking about something else entirely. The magic is going too crazy as we move, but it’s only a few more blocks and then I realize where we are: our alley.
Someone cleaned all the glass from the ground, but aside from that, it’s still the same. Last time I was here, everything changed. I didn’t know anything about myself, and now I know everything. I’ve gotten everything I’ve always wanted. I toe the iron grate with my shoe—amazing that this small, unimportant thing made me whole. “Thank you.”
“Are you talking to me or the iron?”
“Both,” I say, turning to face him.
He smiles and pulls me in. “Witch,” he says, his lips on my neck, “you smell good.”
A smile plays on my lips. “That’s the smell of pure power with whipped cream on top.”
Carter pulls me around and his smile is large, his eyes glistening. I kick at his feet. “Your lucky shoes,” I say, pointing down at his bright blue Converses. “I didn’t realize you were wearing those.”
He shrugs. “I don’t know anymore. They keep bringing this girl around and she’s sort of a stalker.”
I gasp and hit him on the shoulder. He laces his hand with mine, then grabs my arm, pulling me toward him. He pins me against the wall with a smile and presses his body against mine. My hand slides up his chest, around his neck.
“I will always fight for you,” he says, his voice low.
I look into his eyes and I know, without a doubt, that I trust him. “I will too,” I whisper.
His lips are against mine, and my tongue slides against his. My fingers roam up his neck as the brick digs into my back. Carter leans into me. This is what I want. Carter and me. Everything else can work itself out. It doesn’t matter like this matters—like he matters.
He smiles against my lips. “You know what?” he says between kisses. His lips tickle mine when they move. “Maybe these are lucky shoes.”
I laugh. “I know they’re mine.”
He kisses me again, long and deep. Fire builds between us. Our bodies fold together; warmth seeps through the layers of fabric. I could get used to this. He moves away from me, and I moan under his lips. A soft kiss pecks my forehead as he trails his fingers on the bare skin of my arm, leaving goose bumps where his touch lingers. I smile, out of breath, and the air fills the small space between us.
“We should go back,” I say, but I don’t even mean it.
“We should,” he says, but he keeps me close.
His breath on my ear makes me giggle. I’m totally that giggle-at-her-boyfriend girl. “So we’re officially Enforcers now. That should be fun,” I say.
“Only if we get to spar some more.”
“You like that?” I ask with a smile.
“Not as much as this,” he says, leaning in to kiss me again.
I don’t like it as much as this, either.
Acknowledgments
Salt has been a crazy journey, and none of it would have been possible without my three Boston boys. Joshua Sheena, who insisted that I watch Supernatural and meet the Winchesters because my life was missing something. It was, so thank you for showing me the errors of my ways. Derrick Pyle, who locked me in my room, talked me out of corners, helped me get out of my own way so I could write the things that had to be written even when I didn’t want to. Thank you for that, and for Vassago because he was all your idea. And Nathan Behit-Aharon, who was there to listen, to overanalyze male counterparts in YA, and to make me laugh with bad puns. You are like geometry: without you, life is pointless.