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If Ruthie had sent me here, she’d have given me more info, or I’d have found some on the way. But Ruthie hadn’t sent me. My dream had.
So I tried to bring that dream to mind, but all I could see when I closed my eyes were the talons going through Jimmy’s throat.
“Cross!” Jimmy shouted.
I opened my eyes, just as the clouds parted enough to reveal a thin sickle of a moon, the light fluttering off and on as the wings of something large and deadly hovered.
Using my free hand, I yanked the stake from the chupacabra and plunged it across to the other side of his chest.
Nothing happened, except that he laughed again, this time the sound not much more than a gargle of my blood in his throat. I threw some dust in his face, and said, “Release me.”
When he did, I retrieved my stake and flew. I’d throw myself in front of Jimmy. Maybe during the time the king goatsucker was trying to kill me, Jimmy could kill him.
But as I flew, another idea of what cross might mean occurred to me. I used my thumbnail to carve one into the wood.
I reached Jimmy as the gargantuan chupacabra materialized from the night. His talons went through my chest as my stake went into his.
He burst into ashes.
I passed out.
* * *
I came to inside the cottage. I lay in a bed; a fire blazed in the fireplace. I could still smell the distant aroma of garlic. All I wore were bandages at the wrist and chest.
Somewhere, a shower ran. Even as I turned my head, the water went off, a curtain rattled. Steam and a sliver of light slithered through a crack in the door. A shadow moved beyond the light, beyond the door, then the door opened.
Naked to the waist, his hair slick and shiny, Jimmy wore only a towel that threatened to drop from his hips with every step. His eyes went to the bed, and when he saw I was awake, they widened.
“You okay?” He crossed the room and sat at my side. Reaching out, he brushed back my hair. The warmth of his fingers against my chilled skin made me want to curl into him like a cat.
I opened my mouth, but all I could do was nod and stare at the single drop of water sliding down his smooth, olive chest, glistening like oil. I wanted to touch it. I wanted to taste it. Now.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Summer?” His hand cupped my face; his thumb traced my cheek. “What can I do? How can I help?”
He shifted, and his thigh bumped my breasts. I moaned.
“Sorry.” He fell to his knees next to the bed. “Does it hurt?”
I gazed into his eyes and thought: It’s never going to stop hurting. I’m going to love you forever, and you’ll never be able to love me back.
Because of her.
I didn’t know who she was, but already I hated her.
“I’m okay,” I said.
“You saved my life.”
“Right place, right time.”
He tilted his head and his hair, nearly dry already from the heat of the fire, tumbled across his brow. “You knew that thing was coming, didn’t you?”
No point in lying.
“Sometimes I do.” I shrugged, then winced when my still-healing chest protested.
