Cherry Bomb_ A Siobhan Quinn Novel - Caitlin R. Kiernan Page 0,74

of the Second Kingdom.

“I love you,” she whispers, knowing that she will never love another. Not even the daughter who will grow within her to be born before another year is out. Soon, she will cast his bones upon the vales of Pnath, to join their mother’s.

“You’ll not ever be forgotten, Isaac,” she whispers.

Somewhere in the twilight that hangs always above the city, there’s the rumble of thunder and the sound of vast wings bruising the air. She kisses him, then rises to take up the knife.

When I was done reading, I rolled the pages up again, opened the Porsche’s glove compartment, and stuffed them inside. Charlee hadn’t said a word the entire time I’d been reading. The radio was on, tuned to a country station. Neko Case was singing about ragtime and snow.

“Where are we?” I asked him.

“Connecticut,” he replied, as if that said all that needed saying, then added, “Qui Transtulit Sustinet.”

“What?”

“He who is transplanted still sustains. Apparently, it’s the state motto.”

“You speak Latin?”

“Girlbaby, this tongue of mine, you may live to learn that it’s no end of talented.”

To this day, I have no idea if he was making a pass at me.

“Connecticut already?” I asked, more than a little surprised. It would have taken me half an hour, at most, to read the story of Isobel and Isaac. We should have still been stuck in traffic in the Bronx or some shit. Instead, we were on a narrow two-lane highway, heading east, racing along between fields and patches of forest. At our backs, the sun was going down fast, and I glanced at the clock on the dash. It was ten past four, when it shouldn’t have been much later than two in the afternoon. Had I nodded off? I’d lost hours and fuck knows how many miles.

“What the hell, Charlee?”

“Well, I cheated,” he smiled. “I took a shortcut. You’ll find I know a lot of those.” He smiled and turned the radio down a little. Neko Case seemed to fade into the distance.

“Where the did B find you?” I asked him and began going through the pockets of the dead woman’s peacoat. I took out the pack of Juicy Fruit, the cigarettes, and the lighter. I opened the yellow pack of gum. I hadn’t tasted Juicy Fruit since I was a little kid. So far as I knew, there was no rule against vampires chewing gum.

“He didn’t,” Charlee replied. “I found him.”

“Now, that’s gotta be a tale,” I said, unwrapping a stick of gum and popping it into my mouth. I offered Charlee a piece, but he passed.

“I’m afraid it’s not especially interesting,” he said, glancing at the rearview mirror. “I was in Scotland—dreadful fucking country, by the way—studying the utter messtasrophe Miss Crowley made of Boleskine House when he ran off to Paris in 1934, because McGregor—”

“You’re a witch?”

Charlee frowned slightly.

“I’m a magician,” he said and glared at me with his too-green eyes. “An accomplished, disciplined practitioner of the true science of the Magi, not some neo-pagan Wiccan wannabe waving crystals at trees.”

“Touchy, touchy,” I muttered, then spat the pale wad of Juicy Fruit out into my palm. It was much sweeter than I remembered, or, more likely, my ramped-up taste buds made it seem that way. I rolled my window down and tossed the gum out. Cold, fresh air and autumn smells flooded the car.

“All right, so what was B doing in Scotland?”

“He never told me, and I never asked.”

“You’re right; this isn’t a very interesting story.” I rolled the window up again and checked under the seat to be sure the Madonna was still there.

“All right,” I said. “Forget how Mean Mr. B met Charlee with two e’s the magician. Here’s another one. How the fuck did he get you to volunteer for this suicide run?”

“You think that’s what it is?”

“Let’s say that I do. And let’s also note that I have more experience in that department than I care to admit.”

“You’ll get no argument there,” said Charlee. “First the Bride and then that whordeal up in Old Lady Drusneth’s place of business, you going all Arnold Schwarzenegger on her ass like that.”

“Whordeal? Did you just make that up?”

“Oh,” he went on, ignoring the question. “Plus, walking in on Capital E Penderghast the way you did, uninvited. Totally effing bravelicious, that one, or else an act of unbridled stuphoria.”

“You got it right the second time,” I said.

He had the headlights on now, and the scenery along the sides of the highway was beginning