“What are you doing?” Amber asked.
“Black salt,” he signed. “And brimstone.” He had to fingerspell brimstone.
“Brimstone?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Sulfur. Brimstone sounds cooler.” It was another favorite word of his. He remembered it from when Amber had died. When hell rose to get the priest attacking her. He’d never forget the scent. Rune had told him years later that it was brimstone, and it had stuck. He’d written it down and prayed the priest was still choking on it to this day.
“Salt really works?” she asked.
“Depends on how my luck is going.”
She raised a wing-shaped brow. “Have you seen your back?”
He tossed her a playful glare. It was like they’d never been apart. Life with Amber was always so easy. Comfortable yet intense. Joking in between longing looks over steaming cups of coffee. And even now, he fell right back into their routine. Their banter.
“You want in here?” he asked the two departed.
They stepped into the circle before he closed it and then hopped onto the table with Amber. The man with the clipboard—Kyle?—had to push his glasses up his nose after the jump.
The woman looked at Amber. “I’m sorry I got you into this, Amber.”
“What? Dora, this is not your fault. This was a horrible thing that happened to you.”
The woman nodded, unconvinced, then looked up, her face full of concern.
Amber pulled her knees up under her chin, and Quentin longed to tell her the floor was lava like he used to. They were kids then, and now was hardly the time, but it had been a favorite game of theirs.
“Quentin?”
He stopped setting items on the table and turned toward her. She looked like a little girl, hugging her knees. She started to say something then seemed to change her mind.
Worried the rickety table wouldn’t take their weight, Quentin sat on it anyway, scrounging up the courage to do what he had to do next.
Amber turned to him and signed, “At least your shirt matches your jeans now.”
He looked down. “I like these jeans.”
“I do, too.” When he tossed a curious gaze, she said, “I mean, I like jeans. You know, in general. It’s just, yours have seen better days.” She poked a finger into a hole, her touch igniting him instantly. It was the wrong thing to do, and she knew it. She jerked back her hand and continued hugging her knees.
He gave his jeans another once-over.
“She is a traveler. The demon will crave her.”
He stilled and asked Rune, “In what way?”
“Her soul would taste like forbidden fruit to him.”
Quentin didn’t quite understand. “So, like illegal fruit?”
“No, it would taste like something succulent he can’t have. He shouldn’t have. But he will not be able to help himself.”
Quentin hopped off the table again, frustrated. “Fucking English. Just say that, then.” He took out what amounted to his only two weapons. The compass, which did way more than just give directions, and the dagger. “Is she what is luring him closer?”
“Hard to say. He has seen us, too. And he has no reason to leave yet. He’s looking for something.”
“What?”
“His car keys. How should I know?”
Quentin ground his teeth. “You don’t have to be a smartass about it.”
“Sure, we do. We are frustrated. And this demon is a dick.”
“Aren’t you all?” Quentin could practically feel the glare coming from his rideshare.
“What are you going to do with that?” Amber asked, her voice more lyrical than he imagined it could’ve been. It was soft and tinkling like wind chimes. She gestured toward the knife.
He decided to play Russian roulette by balancing it on his palm, flipping it, then sliding it back into its sheath. “Hopefully, not a damned thing.”
“How are you hearing me?”
He tripped over her words, then asked, “What do you mean?”
She tilted her head to one side to look into his face. “I didn’t sign that. You heard me.”
He tensed and chastised himself. He hadn’t even noticed. He was so shaken by her. So stunned. Like that kid Charley Davidson had rescued that dark night over a decade ago. The first time he saw Amber, he fell. She was gorgeous even then. Even as a skinny kid with tangles down her back. But it was her personality. Her… He dug out his notebook and flipped to the page he wanted. Her effervescence.
She frowned and tried to read the notebook, so he slapped it closed and returned it to his back pocket. “And how can you talk so well now?” she asked, undeterred.
“Speech therapy,” he said, signing the words.
“Bullshit.” She signed it. Of course, she signed it. It was one of the first words he’d taught her.
“What did you mean earlier,” he asked, changing the subject, “when you said Mrs. Rod…” He stumbled over the woman’s name and gestured toward her. “She is your client?”
“Mrs. Rodriguez, Dora, came to me this morning. I’m a PI now. She hired me to look into her case.”
“Like Charley?” Quentin asked, his surprise evident on his face, he was certain.
Amber beamed at him. “Maybe someday. She helped a lot of people.”
“She’s a god. Or have you forgotten?”
“No, I haven’t. But thanks for reminding me how inadequate I am.” Before he could reply, she said, “You couldn’t have cordoned off an area with access to a bathroom?”
He stuffed the compass into one pocket and a handful of black salt into the other.
“What does that do?” She pointed to the pocket with the compass.
“I have a few tricks up my sleeve. Just what were you planning on doing with the demon when you got here?”
Amber crossed her arms over her knees again. “I have a few tricks up my sleeve, as well.”
He leaned closer. “Unless you have a rocket launcher in your pocket, I’d say you were screwed from second one.” He held out the sheathed knife to her.
She straightened in alarm. “What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Use it, but only as a last resort. And whatever you do, don’t cut yourself with it. It’ll kill you.” He leaned closer. “The goal is to kill him first. Then sheath the dagger.”
“Ay, Dios mio,” Dora said, making the sign of the cross.
He’d seen a lot of that at the Vatican. He’d never seen proof that it actually worked, though—unlike the dagger he was trying to give the elfin queen. It was a cursed dagger, but still.
“Why?” Amber asked. “What are you going to do?”
“Get us out of here.”
“And how are you going to do that?”
He took out the rest of the black salt, pushed up his sleeves, and stepped out of the circle.
Amber jumped off the table and grabbed his arm, her skin warm against his. “Wait. What are you doing?”
“I’m going to try to contain the demon inside the house, then create a pathway for us to get out.”
“You can do that?”
Her blue eyes gazing up at him stopped his heart. In all the years he’d known her, he’d rarely seen her wear black. It looked good on her, but he got the feeling it meant something much deeper. He could only imagine what his sudden departure had done to her. How it’d changed her, especially after all their plans. And how she was risking her life for a departed woman—someone who was already dead.