Ann Aguirre - Agave Kiss

For Laura Bradford, who said, A series set in Mexico? Really? Well, lets see. . . . Told you I could make it work. Corines HEA is for you.

Im starting with Anne Sowards. Ive mentioned her before, but Im not sure if Ive encompassed the depth and breadth of how much joy there is in working with such an amazing editor. Her notes make my books exponentially better, and Im thrilled she acquired me. My gratitude extends to her assistant, Kat Sherbo, a woman of marvelous acumen and endless patience. Actually, I appreciate the entire Penguin team. Everyone who works on my novels has my deepest appreciation.

Theres also the Loop That Shall Not Be Named. I cant say much, or the ninjas will get me, but trust me when I say theyre essential to my survival. I heart them. Theyre my best friends and the wind beneath my wings, the spicy taco sauce on my cheese enchilada. Hm. Yeah, Im stopping, before this goes too far.

Next, theres Suzanne McLeod, who generally has first eyes on my books. Im not sure how she became my crit partner, but it works beautifully, and my books are shinier because shes so clever.

Have I mentioned my kids? Theyve grown into such magnificent people, and Im proud of them. Their imaginations are so impressive; they can usually dream their way out of the awful situations I devise. Thanks for all the hours spent listening to me.

Finally, I thank Andres for . . . everything. Ive never had a dream he didnt help me build in some fashion.

We had been in London for a week when my cell phone rang, an early call. My best friend, Shannon, had just talked to her boyfriend, Jesse, the night before, so it probably wasnt him. It might be Tia, I supposed, concerned that I needed more money, but she had already wired me plenty.

I didnt blame my teacher for being worried; it wasnt every day that a pupil went to Sheol to rescue a friend, staged a minor coup, lost her lover, and then returned via demon gate to a different continent. The journey started on a remote mountaintop in Mexico and ended in a London alley. For obvious reasons, I was struggling to find a way for us to get home. Official channels were out, as the U.K. would ask too many questions about how wed arrived without passports. A fresh headache throbbed, a vise around the back of my skull.

My gifts were complicated. Once, I only had the touch, which permitted me to read charged objects; they could tell me secrets people didnt want me to know. Then I gained my mothers witchy skill, but I burned her white magick out in Sheol, channeling demon energy at a ferocious rate. I could probably still read objects, and the demon magick lingered, an echo of the demon queens possession in Sheol. If I had any choice, I wouldnt use that again. To make matters worse, the trouble probably hadnt ended with my exit. Demons had long memories, and I still owed a debt to Sibella, the Luren Knight. With my luck, she would hunt me down.

The phone rang for the fourth time. My dog, Butch, nudged me. He was curled up on the bed beside me, and he looked worried as only a Chihuahua could.

Hello. I didnt want to talk to anyone, but our friends in Texas were worried, wondering when wed hop a plane. That depended on a number of factors.

Are you all right? Booke asked.

No, I thought. I never will be again.

The love of my life, Chance, was gone; hed sacrificed himself so Shannon and I could escape Sheol. Shortly after our crossing, wed raised him on Shans spirit radio, which meant his soul hadnt been destroyed by the demon gate, but . . . Shans gift permitted her to talk to the dead. So he wasnt here anymore.

It was hard for me to think beyond my own pain, imagine what the future might hold. But for Shannon, I had to get things straightened out. Life went on whether I wanted it to or not.

Fine, I managed.

Im sorry if this is a bad time.

Its not. Why?

I thought it might be because I havent been able to find you. Not online. Not on your cell. Not even in dreams. Where did you go that I couldnt touch your dreams? He sounded terse. Worried, even. Which wasnt like him.

The Booke I knew was an unflappable scholar, better suited for research than human relationships. There was doubtless a reason. Maybe Id learn why, at long last. Any other time, my curiosity would be piqued beyond bearing.

Id rather not talk about it. My secrets matched his, though I hoped his didnt come with such awful, aching depth. You were looking for me, I take it?

He inhaled sharply, his distress plain. It might be tough for him to ask for a hand, but I needed the distraction, so I waited for Bookes request.

I need your help rather desperately, Corine.

Mentally, I was already packing my bag; I didnt have as far to go as he imagined. Im listening.

Its a bit complex to get into long distance. Can you come? Ill pay for the ticket. I know its asking a lot

Im in London, I cut in, hoping that would stem the apologetic tide.

The pause said Id surprised him. I imagined he was weighing whether to ask what I was doing there, but in the end, he opted not to pry. He had been guarding his own secrets so long that it probably felt awkward to poke at someone elses. And it wasnt that Id refuse to tell him; I just wasnt ready, particularly over the phone.

You already know I live in Stoke . . . its not far on the train.

Give me your address.

He did, and I scrawled it on the cheap pad of paper provided by the economy hotel where Shannon and I had been staying. I hadnt been looking forward to living here for an extended period anyway. The amenities were basic, at best.

I suspect the cottage will strike you as a tad ramshackle, but inside its not as bad as it looks. Ill leave the door unlocked, so just come straight in.

Ill see you later today, I said, and then rang off.

Maybe it was just as well we had a side trip, as I needed time to pull together our exit strategy. Our cooked passports would pass cursory inspections for national rail travel, but if we tried to leave the country, and they scanned them, well, that would be a problem, one that required a solution, and I was working on it.

Though I tried to stay out of the system, I had no outstanding warrants. Id been questioned a few times over the course of my work with Chance, but mostly I had enemies Id pissed off by discovering the very bad thing theyd done. Many of those people were in prison, but caution had become second nature; I worried about people finding me who shouldnt, flagged by governmental forms.

Who was it? Shannon asked, as I started packing.

Booke. I think hes in trouble.

She straightened from her lounge on the twin bed, covered in a rumpled black and white spread. Whats going on?

He didnt tell me.

You sure youre up to working? As she hadnt put on her Lolita makeup yet, I could see the faint worry creasing her brows.

I thought about that as I packed my few belongings. No, but the alternative is sitting here, staring at the walls. I dont think that will help my state of mind.

Shan made an openhanded gesture that I took for agreement; then she gathered up her stuff too. Neither of us had much, so it didnt take long. I shouldered my purse with Butch inside it, then picked up my backpack. Booke needed my help, and as many times as hed saved my ass, I owed him.

It didnt take long to check out, as we had been renting day by day; fortunately the hotel was booked light enough to accommodate this laissez-faire strategy. On the street, it was cool and damp, not quite raining.

I liked the ready access to public transportation here, however. We made our way to the tube, and with minimal effort got a train to Stoke. They ran regularly, faster than driving, according to Shans Internet search. In short order, we settled into the car along with the other passengers. Some looked like commuters; others were sightseeing, based on their luggage and camera addiction. Shan settled in the window seat, which left me on the aisle. The car was three-quarters full. I said little as we pulled out of the station. Butch stayed hidden in my bag as we hadnt checked the pet policy before we traveled. But it was a short trip, so he could nap for that long.