Page 87 of Never Say Die
Pru held her palms open in mock surrender, seated on the furthest bed next to Dylan. “That’s family shit,” she said, and shook her head. “Sorry, bro.”
Aiden rolled his eyes.
“I see you, Shay Bennett,” Camila spat, planting her feet as Aiden tried to drag her away. She relented, just enough to stumble backward, and hissed through her teeth. “Touch him again, and I’ll show you a real Ramírez witch.”
“Cami, seriously,” Aiden groaned, and tossed her into the hall. He sucked his cheek between his teeth, standing in front of the closed door with his hands on his hips. “You’re a healer. Last time I called you a witch, you threw a plate at me.”
Camila wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Don’t change the subject. You’ve still got a handprint on your whole fuckin’ neck.”
“Feel it,” Aiden bit out, and craned toward her. “Go on. Doyour bruja shit. Feel those bruises and tell me he did it on purpose. Tell me Shay meant to hurt me.”
She narrowed her eyes but did as he asked, resting her palms on his neck, thumbs crossed beneath his chin. One deep breath later, Camila whispered, “Déjame. . .”
Sometimes, when they were kids, Camila would grab onto Aiden and come away with a truth he’d tried to hide. Other times, she’d cry with him or scold him, share a burst of joy with him or spiral into anger with him. As they grew into their teens, he shied from her affinity for spiritualism, but right then, he leaned into her power. Pushed whatever brujería bullshit he carried in his blood to the surface and tried to meet her there. Her eyebrows came together in concentration and she sighed, relieved or defeated. Both, probably.
“It doesn’t matter if he meant to or not, he still did. And this. . .” Her fingertips grazed the closed, pink line left behind from Cit’s knife. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter. “You were so scared,” she croaked, watery and hiccupped. “What happened to you? What’re youdoing?”
“We’ve got two more shows and then I’ll be home, okay?”
“Aiden, no.No. Not after tonight. Not after?—”
“Yes, Cami. You saw a crazy fan tonight. Total fuckin’ nut-job. She went absolutely apeshit and stabbed someone outside the theater,” he said, and laid his hands over her knuckles, holding her palms to his neck. “Ghoul? Yeah, sure, maybe. Evil, definitely. But probably just another white-trash psychopath on a warpath. Either way, this tour is my job. I’m leaving tomorrow, and you are, too. Right?”
Camila made a frustrated noise. “Yeah. I have a bullshit early flight.”
“Good. We check out at ten and drive straight to New York. You know you can’t stop me,” he said, as kindly as he could, and pressed on her knuckles. “But I’ll text you, all right? I’ll callMama. I’ll Facetime. I’ll let you kick the shit out of Shay if he gets too rough again. Lo juro. Pacto de sangre.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“What’s new?”
She rolled her eyes, gnawing on her bottom lip. After a beat of tense silence, her shoulders drooped. “Blessed Water,” she said, matter-of-factly, and dropped her hands to his rosary. “Wear this every day. Pray, light candles, read that damn book—use it. Listen to your instincts.”
“I will,” he said.
“Go get my purse.” Camila flicked her wrist at the door.
Aiden retrieved her purse, offering a tired, “Be right back,” to everyone waiting inside, and walked Camila to the elevator.
She kissed his cheek, scanning the marks on his neck again. “When you get home, I’m cleansing all your shit. Go ahead, roll your eyes again, I dare you.”
“Okay, fine. We’llcleanse,” Aiden said, and pulled her into a hug. He put his nose to her shoulder, inhaling remnants of her perfume—candied rose and burnt birch. “Text me before you get on the plane. Love you, Cami.”
“Yeah, love you, too,” she said, and stepped into the elevator. Her smile softened as she waved, and the doors slid closed.
Aiden stared at his distorted reflection, captured in smooth silver, sliced down the middle where the doors met. He thought of his mother and his grandmother. Fuck, he wished he could’ve seen them. Been held by them. Looked them both in the eyes and told them, she’s the good one, I know. I’ve got her, don’t worry.He hadn’t walked Camila to the lobby, because Laura could’ve gazed through his eyes and caught the license plate on her Lyft. Memorized the address on her rideshare app and trailed her to another hotel. He didn’t want to give Laura and Cit and those bastard witches a chance to find the second Ramírez, the betterRamírez, the Ramírez who found power in their blood and put it to use.
He steadied his breathing and walked back to the suite, met by Georgia and Pru whispering on one bed, and Dylan half-asleep on the other. Georgia pointed to the closed bedroom door and nodded, but when Aiden reached for the knob, she made a fast, sharp noise and waved him over.
“You two need to calm down,” Georgia said, studying his throat. “I don’t care what you’re into, I don’t care what you do behind closed doors, but the moment this stuff turns from a consensual-sex-thing into a violent-abuse-thing, I’ll put my foot down. Thisishappening with your permission, right?”
“You can tell us,” Pru said, and for once, she sounded legitimately concerned.
“Thiswas an accident.” Aiden pointed to the handprint. “That crazy bitch outside the theater startled us and he… He just gripped a little too hard. Things were heated. Shit happens.”
“Shay’s pretty torn up about it,” Dylan said, frowning as he burrowed under the comforter.
Aiden nodded and forced a smile, an attempt at normalcy. “I know. Let’s get some shut-eye, yeah? We’ve got a long drive tomorrow.”
