Page 74 of Never Say Die
“Nothing’s free, sweetheart. Consider this a line of spiritual credit. One day, I’ll bill you.” A radiant smile dimpled her cheeks. “Be well, both of you,” she said, in her ridiculous, hotline-voice. She swung into her shawl and left the bar, grinning widely at convention-goers.Oh, yes, hello. Yes, darling, so good to see you. Your energy is divine, dear.Her cooing faded, engulfed by chatter and suitcase wheels.
Aiden drank his lukewarm beer and stared at the lipstick print on Kelly’s martini glass. “Should we trust her?”
“I don’t think we have a choice,” Shay said.
“Think she’ll bait us into a trap?”
“She values her life, like she said.”
“True.”
“You didn’t tell me you saw. . .” Shay gripped Aiden’s thigh, tucking his thumb along the seam of his jeans. “Last night, you didn’t?—”
“Tell you I saw you covered in blood while you wereinsideme? Yeah, no, I skipped that part, Shay. Can you blame me?”
He blushed and pushed his fingers through his damp, auburn hair, recently colored with dye from a box. “You could’ve, though. You know that.”
“Yeah, babe. I know. Thank you, I hear you, but there’s not a single universe in existence where I would’ve willingly mentioned it, okay? One, I was more than a little traumatized, two, I’d downed, like, ninety-four cocktails.”
“Ninety-four,” Shay repeated, humming sarcastically. He finished his drink and pushed Aiden’s temple with two fingers as he stood. “You still have all the shit you used for your ritual-thing?”
Aiden almost saved himself some heartache and saidno, but he drained his beer, hiccupped, winced, and told the truth. “Some of it. Why?”
“You said Cit’s ritual was similar to yours. That Laura came back because we redirected their intent or something, right? If we can figure out the difference between the two… whatever,spells, I don’t know, then maybe we can figure out how to undo it.”
“We haven’t found a single resource that can tell us what, exactly, you are. Personally, I’m still convinced you’re a Chupacabra,” Aiden said. Shay shushed him and Aiden shushed him back louder. “How are we supposed to figure out how toundoanything?”
“Well, we have a crazy, black-eyed, devil-bitch leaving bodies on our doorstep, so we might as well try,” Shay snapped, voice low and secretive. “Beer or liquor?”
“Both. All. Tell the bartender to drop two shots of tequila into whatever IPA they have on tap.”
“No,” Shay said, point-blank. “Absolutely not.”
“Okay, then get me an IPA and a double Patron, and I’ll do it myself.”
“That’s revolting, Aiden. I’m not letting you?—”
A crisp, familiar voice shot through the air. “Aiden?” Then a gasp.Great. Called from his childhood like a night terror.Awesome. Followed by sisterly fury.Here she comes. “Qué le hasheche a tu pelo? Ay dios mio!” Camila Ramírez angrily roped a Metaphysical Assembly lanyard over her head, and rounded the table, jabbing his buzzed hairline with her square, manicured fingernail. “Why?!”
“Ow—stop—because I wanted to—seriously,stop,” he said, and swatted her hand. “Everyone else said it looks good. Anyway,hi.” Aiden kicked a chair toward her. “I clearly remember the wordconventionnotassembly.Since when are you into this woo-woo bullshit,” he teased, dodging another mean jab. “Kidding, I’m kidding. Stop!”
Camila dropped into the chair. Her long, midnight hair was slicked into a rose-shaped bun, eyebrows sharply penciled, brick-colored lips lined in maroon. “You look like a gang member,” she said.
“Uh huh, and you look like the icon on a bag of tortillas—don’t!” He pulled his knee to his chest, dodging a slap.
“I’m here on business. If I don’t look chicana enough, white ladies won’t stock us at their uppity crystal shops. You know how it is. I come to this thing every year—got a booth and everything. You’d know that if you ever helped out at the botanica, no?”
Shay, very quietly, said, “Hey, Cami.”
“Hi, asshole,” she said, without looking at him.
Aiden shot him a tight smile.
“IPA, double patron. Got it,” Shay mumbled, and walked to the bar.
“You should’ve told me that ticket was for you. I thought you were asking for a friend,” he said, frowning. “So, you’re promoting the store? Selling rosaries and Mama’s wax figures?”
“Yeah, believe it or not. Candles, rosaries, herb packets, books, all the good stuff. I’m on a few panels, too. Monetizing Mexican American Witchcraft and Practical Santeria. Got one tonight, actually. You could come,” she said, hopeful. Shecrossed one leg over the other, creasing her black, floral dress, embroidered like a modern huipil.
