Page 82 of Never Say Die
“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,stupidlittle 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 Ithoughtwas 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 neededthem, 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 fuckingeathim. “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 stillyou. 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 youtrackus, too?” Shay asked.
Maeve nodded. “I do.”
Shay turned inward, scooting until his knees touched hers. “Are we. . . ? Whatarewe? We’re not possessed, but are we demonic? Are we vampires? Are we?—”
“Are wevampires,” 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. Iasked 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 actualheart—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 hellthiskeeps happening.”
“They’re tethered,” Kelly said, and offered Maeve a sad, worried smile.
