Good As Dead

Chapter Twenty

The food is delicious. Chorizo and chopped liver, flavored with garlic, lime juice, and chili pepper. I have two helpings. Nohemi doesn't offer Gideon any, and he seems more interested in the vampire book, anyway. But when I insist on helping Nohemi clean up the kitchen afterward, he pitches in to help, drying the dishes I hand over to him. None of us talk much while we work, but Nohemi gives Gideon a curious glance now and then, like she tries to figure him out.

Once we're done, she shoos me toward the porch. "Don't overtire yourself; go on and relax outside. Fresh air and hot sunshine helps a bitch as much as Grandma Roja's recipe. Kingsman, got a moment? I want to show you where we put things like that book for safekeeping."

The food leaves me feeling good enough that curiosity wins out over everything else, and I move around the side of the house, wanting to see what's in the back. I trail fingertips along the wall, only now realizing how big of a building it is. It's a three-story with balconies supported by pillars, chimney stacks higher in the sky than many of the surrounding trees. It makes me wonder how large the Red Devil pack used to be.

Every window I pass gleams with magical wards; they weren't kidding about setting up protective spells to keep anything—anyone—from getting in. An image flashes through my mind of Valentine crawling into the room while I sleep, mouth already bristling with teeth. I shake my head, trying to clear it, but he's still there, eyes gleaming. He'd taunt me about getting in, let me struggle before going for unscarred skin.

My feet stop moving, but my lungs drag in breaths like I just finished running. Sweat rolls down my neck, and the bite mark there burns as if still fresh and raw. My hand jumps up to it, expecting to find mangled flesh, and then I'm afraid to pull my fingers away, so sure they'll be covered in blood.

"Phoenix."

I jerk around to see Gideon a step or two away, hand stretched out like he's ready to shake me if I don't respond.

My own hand drops to my side, unbloodied. The scab on my neck is still there, still proof the bite mark is healing. A trickle of sweat runs down my face, and I swipe at it. "I'm okay."

Then I start walking, wanting something else to fill up my mind, even if it's only the sound of footsteps on the ground.

Gideon catches up, looking apprehensive. "The land in this direction is all uphill, and you're moving as if still in pain."

I make a face. "Don't baby me. I'm fine."

For a while after that, we walk in silence, navigating between the prickly leaves of sagebrush and chamise. Behind the house, scattered manzanita offers an obstacle course, gnarled, red-barked shrubs that lean out over the ground so far I'm surprised they don't fall over. A few are big enough to cast dappled shade over us like trees, and cicadas sing from their branches, loud and droning. Here and there, I see rusted metal settled into the ground, too corroded to even guess what might've been there.

The area seems endless. I have to catch my breath before asking, "Did they say how much of this area is pack land?"

Gideon nods. "Your Aunt Maya said the last hour of yesterday's drive covered a small piece of their territory; the rest includes the taller of the mountain's two peaks."

"The horns on the devil's head," I mutter, remembering the detail from one of the few times Gran let something slip about my mom.

Soon, my muscles ache enough to make me think about slowing down, even stopping. But after a few more minutes, I catch sight of a cottage half-shielded by a huge manzanita, its wooden walls painted yellow and the steps to the door cleared of weeds. There are two more like it even further ahead.