Free [Corine Solomon 5] Agave Kiss by Ann Aguirre

kitchen. The place was cleaner than the forger’s pants. He beckoned us upstairs with an impatient wave of one hand.
    “My studio’s upstairs. Can you make it?” Stenton asked Booke.
    “I’ll manage,” he answered.
    With my help, he clambered up the stairs, but I could tell by his expression it was painful. How old was he now? Eighty? I wished I could calculate the rate at which the years were catching up to him. Then I might be able to predict how long he had left. My sense of urgency built even more; I had to show him something lovely before he died. I’d promised .
    If my mother taught me anything, it was the importance of keeping my word.

Frequent Flyer
    Conscious of timeticking away, I made short work of our business with Geoff Stenton, and I paid him handsomely for the interruption to his sleep. The others milled in various stages of boredom, until he needed Booke to pose for a picture. Then Stenton referred me to a local witch who could help us leave the country with our false passports.
    “How long will Booke’s cooked documents take?” I asked.
    He considered. “Ordinarily, a couple of days, but with what you’re paying, I’ll get it to you within a few hours. Where should I send it?”
    “Do you think the witch would mind if you sent a courier there?”
    Stenton shook his head. “No, we’ve often dealt with gifted who have a need to leave the country in a hurry.”
    I didn’t doubt that at all. Geoff gave off a sketchy vibe, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. That concluded our business, so we caught a cab to our next destination while Booke grew frailer by the moment. At night, London radiated a much different vibe than Mexico City. Even in the evening, there were always people milling around open-air cantinas, dogs lolling on the sidewalk in hope of scraps. Police cars patrolled with their lights flashing, though you only had to worry if they turned on the sirens. The lights were just to let you know they were watching. London was quieter by comparison, less yelling in the street, certainly no mariachis, but there was plenty of traffic, even at this hour.
    The cabbie dropped us at the door of a crumbling brick row house. I could tell that the neighborhood wasn’t the best. If only I had my witch sight, I could check the premises for wards and see how effective her work was. Crazy, but I had gotten used to my magick, started taking it for granted. And then it was gone, leaving me to miss it. The same could be said for Chance. I banged on the door with a closed fist, angry with the awful grief that hung around my neck like an albatross. The fury accompanied the feeling because it implied I had accepted he was gone. It was a stage in the mourning process—and I did not concede that he was beyond my reach.
    Even death cannot keep me from you.
    I kept thumping on the painted red door, until it swung open to reveal a podgy little woman with her hair up in curlers; I hadn’t known women still did that. At first, the witch was no happier about being awakened in the middle of the night.
    “Come in, before the neighbors decide I’m running a bawdy house.” She stomped inside, muttering, “At this hour? Can’t imagine what Geoff was thinking.”
    “Probably that you wanted to get paid,” Shan said.
    “What do you need then? Spit it out.” I couldn’t blame her for the attitude, as being rousted from a warm bed by demanding patrons who wanted a spell right now had to suck. This never happened when you ran a store with regular hours, one of the compensations of working in retail. When she saw my cash, her mood improved dramatically.
    Inside, her room was busy with arcane accoutrements paired in uneasy truce with excessive lace and handcrafted knitted goods. I wondered if she could make an athame cozy, and then decided I was too tired to be funny. Shan helped Booke over to a chair with a kindness I found touching. She hadn’t known him as long, but he was definitely part of our crew, even if