Free Shady Lady by Ann Aguirre Page B

seemed to like his job, and strong happiness soaks in as well as the bad stuff.”
    Kel nodded. “Good idea.”
    Anyone else would’ve attempted to talk me out of it, like, say, Jesse or Chance. They’d seen me read a whole house in Kilmer and knew how much this would hurt. I rather doubted Kel cared, as long as I lived through it. We needed the information; this was the way to get it.
    “Could you move Ernesto?”
    I just wasn’t cold enough to hop behind the wheel on top of his body. Christ, I didn’t know what we were going to tell the Mexican police. I didn’t look forward to all the questions. Everywhere I went, it seemed I wound up on the wrong side of the law. Except Mexico City. The place was clearly charmed, and the only spot where I could consistently stay out of trouble.
    In answer, he bent and scooped the man into his arms. He whispered a few words—probably a blessing of some kind—and then tossed the body over the side of the boat. There was a splash, and Ernesto sank from sight. I’d forgotten how fucking heartless God’s Hand could be.
    “Doesn’t he deserve a service?” I demanded.
    His customarily blank face showed a shimmer of emotion. “I have the blood of angels in my veins, Corine Solomon. I defy you to find anyone more worthy to send a soul to his rest.”
    Blood of angels? What does that even mean? I hoped it didn’t mean he’d been drinking it. Because . . . gross.
    I tried once more to explain why I found this course objectionable. “But what about his family? They’re going to wonder.”
    “Explaining the circumstances behind his death would prove impossible. The Mexican police would discover that I have a record and they would attempt to extradite me. Such events, while not catastrophic, would interfere with my ability to protect you.”
    “Yes, I understand that, but—ah, never mind.” It wasn’t like I could change anything now. Ernesto had sunk as if he had a pocketful of stones—and for all I knew, maybe that was what Kel had been murmuring, a magickal rock-whispering spell.
    I might as well handle and get it over with. But as I sat down, he touched my arm lightly, his fingers patterned gruesomely with blood in the bright sunlight. “His mother is devout, so I can touch her dreams. She will not wonder.”
    Small comfort, maybe, but it did help. I acknowledged that concession with a nod, took a deep breath, and curled my hand around the wheel. Pain surged through me, laced with heat, but it wasn’t the I wish I were dead kind. This contained joy at its core, as if I’d held a sparkler too long.
    Because Ernesto had gripped this wheel for so many days, it had absorbed a great deal of his memories. They flickered before me in quick succession. I saw that he’d taken us on a standard tour, but he sometimes took people to see the island witch too. With great determination, I fixed the course in my mind and marked which island before the images melted away.
    My hand was red and sore, but it wasn’t marked; I thanked my mother’s power for that and called this a good reading because I could stand the burn. Sometimes handling left me crippled with pain for days after, if the charge left behind was traumatic enough. When I opened my eyes, I found Kel’s attention split between the remaining monkeys and me. I couldn’t blame him for that. Talk about culling the local primate population.
    He brushed his fingertips lightly across my palm. The resultant tingle banished any residual pain, leaving me pleasantly light-headed. “Wow. How come you never did that before?”
    “I wasn’t sure you were worthy.” Ouch . “We are taught not to waste our gifts. But you hold heaven in you as well as hell, and you have yet to choose your course.”
    Sometimes he sounded utterly crazycakes—and sometimes I feared the world he lived in because it was real , simply layered above and below my own. At a loss, I muttered, “Thanks.”
    “How much does your arm hurt, by the