Half-Resurrection Blues_ A Bone Street Rumba Novel - Daniel Jose Older Page 0,48

the stranger, the dead . . . Where’s the grounded ghost?”

“There.” Mama Esther points to the giant skull floating above everything. “That’d be me.”

There’s an uncomfortable pause. I’m tussling with the truth of how much a target Mama Esther is, and I’m pissed that it’s taken this long to figure that out. “Wish you’d showed me this earlier,” I say.

Then I feel like an asshole.

“Well, I didn’t, Carlos. I already told you that’s not how I do things. First of all, I had no idea that what that halfie had his nose in was gonna come back to bite me so.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“And second of all, I know neutrality is a myth, but I’m going to come as close as I can, even if it means pissing off certain foul elements upstairs at the Council.”

“Botus.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“He mentioned you at the hearing today.”

“I’m sure he did. They were none too happy when they came to get Riley. Apparently, the fact that I saved his life is of no consequence to them.” Mama Esther rubs her face and then directs an angry gaze out the window.

“He’s going to live?” I ask.

“If he does, it’ll be because you got him here quickly and I did what I had to do.”

“Thank you.” It sounds lame, given everything that’s going on, and she shrugs it off with a sigh.

“He knew about you, Carlos.”

“Who, Trevor?”

“He thought maybe you could be some kind of . . . alternative? He was fascinated, entranced by Sarco, but terrified too. Especially right before he vanished. He wanted me to help him find you.”

I rub my eyes. It’s what I feared. The knowledge just sinks like a stone into my tired mind. “You didn’t.” I can’t change what I’ve done. The only path is forward. And I don’t know that means.

“Of course not, but I knew your paths would cross soon enough. Who else would the Ignoble Seven send against a halfie?”

* * *

Someone’s in my apartment. The atmosphere is all off, tainted with whatever vague vibrations the intruder let linger. I unsheathe my blade and creep forward, letting each foot settle gently on the floor, edging ahead inches at a time. The bathroom is clear. No one’s in the living room. I put my cane ever so silently against the bedroom door and push.

Sasha stands there, looking about as distraught as I must’ve yesterday. There’s no tear traces, just an overwhelming solemnness about her: slumped shoulders, face tightened, body tense like at any given moment she’ll either pounce or shatter. We regard each other silently. My face tells her face I can see something’s horribly wrong; she nods.

“Make yourself at home,” I say quietly, opening the door for her to come out into the living room.

She semi-smiles. “I didn’t touch anything. Didn’t look at anything. I just needed to be somewhere. Besides my place.” She walks past me, and I’m briefly put out of service by the rush of her scent and all the memories of last night that it carries.

“Nice place.” She’s looking around, and I’m suddenly self-conscious. It’s not a mess, just oddly put together. There’s a lot of exposed pipes and random furniture, the product of living in a somewhat renovated warehouse and shopping on a whim. Mostly though, there are books. It’s like a mini version of Mama Esther’s; bookcases line almost every wall, and the books themselves seem to topple out of them and gather in unruly clusters around the apartment. A wan smile passes briefly across her face as she takes in the view, and then it’s gone.

“You want to talk about it?”

“Yes. No.” She sighs. “Yes, I do actually.”

“I don’t have any tea. But I do have beer.”

She smiles again, the sadness momentarily retreating from her eyes before crowding back in. “Such a dude. A beer would hit the spot, actually.”

I pop the tops of two bottles and put one in front of her. “It’s my brother,” Sasha says, straining for evenness. “I’m pretty sure he’s dead.” She sighs. “All the way dead, that is.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Trevor was working with . . . Maybe that’s not the right word. He was working for this guy named Sarco. An old-time sorcerer.” She looks at me intently for a second, reading how her first breach into supernatural territory is sitting. I nod at her to keep going. “Real shady character, if you ask me, but brilliant, unfortunately, and there’s a certain”—she hesitates, searching for the word— “truth to him. To what he says. It’s hard to