Because I’d summoned her before—and she was already in this realm in a human host—Dumah appeared in a swirl of inky smoke. I spoke quickly, racing Vicente to the finish. “For this single moment, my enemies are yours. In return for your help I offer you their souls and their power. You will not harm me or mine.”
Annoyance flashed on her ephemeral face and then she registered those outside the circle. Greed and hunger replaced her displeasure. I wasn’t binding her to me permanently and forcing her to serve; this was a simple summoning—catch and release. I hadn’t broken the letter of our agreement . . . but it bothered me just how good I had become at negotiating in such degrees.
As Vicente released his spell, the demoness whispered in my head: Done. This time, I knew to drain the energy from the circle before breaking it, and Dumah flowed in inky darkness toward the two men. She ate the magickal energy en route—it strengthened her—and then she continued toward them.
Montoya responded by unloading his whole magazine, the last of his ammo. I had no defense against that; Dumah was a creature of spirit, and could not stop a bullet. Maybe this was it. Butch whined as I dove; I tried to save him from the impact.
There was no need.
Bullets hung in the air like black hailstones, mere inches from my body. Paolo trembled, his face pale and damp. Sweat rolled off him from the strain of such fine control, and then they all fell, bouncing against the ground. I couldn’t believe his father had asked this of him—and I was glad I hadn’t asked him to kill for me. Better I should bear another astral scar; it was worth the price to see this nightmare ended at last.
The two Montoyas screamed as Dumah pressed against their eyes, testing their defenses. She devoured Montoya first; like the old witch in the supply store, his shields were soft and weak. In a black trickle she slithered in through his eyes, and he clawed at them, screaming. His nails left bloody runnels on his face until his whole body went slack. Horror seeped through me.
She’d eaten him, just as I promised she could.
Vicente lifted his hand, preparing another spell, but Dumah went for him next. His brother’s soul had made her stronger, so she had the power to fight him. His shields were stronger, but while he resisted her attack, he couldn’t cast. Paolo dived for Montoya’s weapon.
“No,” Dumah said. “This one’s mine. Promised.”
I stilled the boy with a hand on his arm. “We must let her have him or she’ll be free to turn on us.”
I could banish her, perhaps, using the incantation I had used on Caim—assuming my shields were good enough to stave her off—but maybe, like Vicente, I wouldn’t be able to remember the words while struggling with her for control. I would rather not risk it. What was more, that call, if I succeeded, would seriously piss Maury off. I didn’t want to get on his bad side.
At last, she took Vicente and swept through him like a dark tide. His body crumpled, still living, but empty. I stared at the two Montoyas, chilled at the decision I’d made and what it meant. Paolo raised the gun and glanced at me for confirmation.
“Our bargain is done,” Dumah whispered. “I give you leave to call me anytime, Corine Solomon. This was . . . fun.”
Worse and worse. I didn’t banish her; she simply threaded away—back to the body she’d left behind, I assumed. I imagined the scene there: Woman fainting on the sidewalk. Maury telling people she was pregnant, not to worry, she’d be fine in a few minutes.
“I should finish this,” the boy said. “As my father requires.”
Gods knew I didn’t want to, so I merely nodded and turned my face away. Two shots rang out. Simple. Elegant. Awful. I’d fed the eternal part of them to a demon. Even if they were awful men, there was no denying it; I was a bad woman.
The devil shone in Paolo’s eyes as he examined the bodies. “Ah, Montoya. A son is always more powerful than a brother.” He gave me a look. “You will wish to turn around now.”
I didn’t ask why. I complied. When I glanced down again, the heads were missing. In response to a gesture, the two corpses bounced away, obedient to his will, until they landed in the drainage ditch on the side of the dirt road. I knew now what the black duffel was for. I didn’t imagine we’d be smuggling those back into the States.
“I need proof,” he said in a faintly apologetic tone. “Shall we call him?”
We did. Escobar instructed us to meet his men at an airfield three hours away. Numb, I drove on with two heads in a bag in my backseat and a killer beside me. Paolo scared me now because he seemed so gentle, and yet I saw nothing in his eyes that indicated conflict over his actions, whereas I felt like a hot mess of roiling regret and uncertainty. But a good robot never doubted its programming.
A plane sat waiting for us. Two hours in the air, and we arrived at a new location. Three goons conveyed us to yet another Escobar property. I hadn’t seen this house before; it was almost a cottage compared to the other. Beachfront property—the ocean glimmered silver in the moonlight.
Escobar greeted us on the terrace, a glass of wine in hand. Once more, he was barefoot, clad in white, and wearing a most disarming smile. Before he spoke, he took the black bag from Paolo. He looked inside with a ghoulish expression of anticipation. A quiet inhalation bespoke pleasure, and I shuddered as he handed the duffel off to one of his henchmen.
Christ, I couldn’t get away from these people fast enough. I might never wash myself clean. And, of course, there was the matter of what I’d done to survive.
“I am proud of you, hijo.” I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever called him that before. Escobar clasped Paolo on the shoulder. “There are only two Montoyas left, and they will not fight me. One is stupid, and the other is lazy. He will take what money he can and find someplace to retire.”
“Pleased I could help,” the boy said, as if he’d gone to the store for milk.
I closed my eyes. I wanted to be away from here. But I feared insulting my host. Now that he needed me no longer, I’d become acutely aware of my isolation and my vulnerability. He might decide I knew too much or something equally clichéd.
“You may go now,” he said, and Paolo passed along the terrace without another word to me.
Eventually I opened my eyes and studied the view. Staring out over the sea, I didn’t move when Escobar joined me. His tone was musing when he spoke. “You have proven useful. I believe I owe you payment for your time and effort.”
“That was the bargain.”
At a gesture, one of the goons brought him a fine leather briefcase. He opened it, and I got to see what 100K looked like in cash. “I will have my people take you wherever you like, one last time. I trust we will not bother each other again.”
“Never,” I promised.
Escobar was a man of his word, fortunately. Perhaps he had more of that stern priest in him than I’d realized. No question, he was an evil man who did terrible things, but like all demons he abided by his agreements.
“Where to, then?”
“Back to Laredo, please.” I needed to see how Eva and Chuch and the baby were doing. I wanted to see Shannon and Jesse. “Will you make sure law enforcement learns that Montoya is dead? I need to get a friend out of protective custody.”
“What would you have me do, order my men to toss those heads into a cantina, as you hear of imbeciles doing on the news?”
“Could you? This once?” I smiled as if that might persuade him. Escobar had ice water in his veins.
He considered. “Yes, but only because it amuses me. Someone else will surely take the blame, because that is not my style.”