“At this point, we’re not sure.” I didn’t look at Chance as I filled Chuch in with as much as I knew, anyway. Which didn’t amount to a whole lot. He seemed surprised to hear I’d been living in Mexico City.
Chuch said, “I’ll tell you straight. The only players in this area who could afford a sending like that are the narcotraficantes. Could be two or three different cartels, though.” My expression must have reflected disbelief, because he added, “What, you think the cartels don’t pay for hexes? It’s not like Hollywood, prima, all automatic weapons and shady dudes with oily mustaches. You live in Mexico; why don’t you know this?”
“Sorry.” I conceded the point with a nod, glad I hadn’t offended him.
“Anyway, hard telling who your mama crossed, no? What was—” Chuch caught himself, but I didn’t want to see Chance’s reaction to the slip. “Er, what is your mom like?”
“She has nothing to do with drug dealers,” Chance said savagely. He laid down his fork as if he wanted to stab someone with it. “She owns a homeopathy store in Tampa.”
The other man’s dark eyes gleamed flat and hard under the kitchen lights. “So she knows things, uses her skill to heal the sick. A curandera: that’s what she is now, primo. But what was she before?”
To my amazement, Chance had no answer for that.
I cleared my throat. “I think we’d better find out. I’m as ready as I’m going to be. So it’s showtime.”
Both men swung their heads my way as I brought the button out of my shorts’ pocket. Since I had scabs atop old scars on my left palm, I used my right hand. Closing my fingers and my eyes, I let the pain come. It washed over me in waves, flames licking down my nerve endings.
Pain unlocked the door.
A dim and murky scene boiled up, obscured as if by smoke. Candlelight. I focused on the images. Four men in dark clothing stood around a circle drawn in colored chalk. At the center stood a woman, and my heart clenched. Yi Min-chin. I saw her lips moving as she led the ritual. Silver glinted as she raised a knife high.
Chicken blood. The cement was stained with chicken blood.
Sacrifice complete, the men knelt to her and she painted arcane symbols on each brow in turn. The spell had the look of a covenant to me, as if his mother had made a deal that night, a compact signed in blood.
I watched as she plucked a button from her blouse and flicked it toward the crates. She was definitely leaving a trail for me to follow. I just didn’t know whether I wanted to find her after what I’d just seen.
Feeling the tamales rise, I opened my eyes, letting the button clatter onto the table. It was useless now, like a dead battery. My right hand stung but plastic didn’t sear like metal. No new marks. Though I didn’t want to, I shared what I’d seen.
The mechanic shook his head, eyes wide. “You got that kind of hudu? Could tell that from a button? But you acted like you couldn’t believe the cartels use magick when they’ll do anything to control their territory? I think you were bustin’ my balls.”
I didn’t bother to say what I did wasn’t magick. Besides, Chance was already gearing up to argue, sparing me the need to explain. He gripped the edge of the table, quietly livid. “That... that’s wrong. They must’ve faked it somehow, planted it for us to find. She isn’t—she doesn’t know about—”
Very gently Chuch asked him, “You sure, primo?”
I don’t say my visions are always right. Sometimes the sound track makes all the difference; sometimes I interpret what I see incorrectly. It happens. But I don’t know what other spin I could put on this. Yi Min-chin led that ritual with expert precision. She knew the meaning of those symbols. I couldn’t blame him for fighting the idea that his mom wasn’t perfect. In this world, sometimes a mother represents the only glimpse we ever get of pure generosity, someone who puts our welfare before her own.
Mine wore attar of roses and sang “All the Pretty Horses” to me before I slept. She’d also practiced her craft openly and unwisely in Kilmer, Georgia, believing in the tolerance of her neighbors. When that mistake caught up to her, she gave her life for me.
I’ve been suffering ever since. It weighs on me because I feel like I need to live twice as worthy a life in order to make up for her sacrifice. And I’m so tired.
For a long moment Chance glared at us both, as if we were to blame for his shattered illusions. Then he dropped his head into his hands. I’d never seen him like this, broken and unsure. I ached because I no longer had the right to comfort him, no longer felt sure he’d welcome my hands in his damp black hair.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said finally. “If she’s in trouble, I have to help her.”
Blood never stops calling for blood.
Rock and a Hard Place
“I get that,” Chuch said, nodding. “I’d do the same. But you’ll get yourselves killed if you don’t start playing smart. This is out of your weight class.”
“With all due respect,” I returned. “You don’t know what I weigh.”
The mechanic sized me up with a glance. “One forty-two,” he decided. “If you’re being literal.” His accuracy left me blinking as he went on. “If not, then you need to fill me in.”
“I’m retaining water,” I mumbled. And doughnuts. Neither guy was stupid enough to say it aloud if they thought it. “I’ll let Chance do the honors. I have to make a call.”
Chance glared at me, but he already knew Saldana wasn’t our problem, so there wasn’t much he could say. He could’ve played the jealous ex, but he wouldn’t want to show that side in front of Chuch. Plus they really did have stuff to discuss.
For added privacy, I went into the other room, decorated in plaid furniture and protective charms. First I needed to get my phone working, though. With reasonable deftness, I popped it open and switched the SIM card.
My cell doesn’t have roaming on it, you see. That’s for people who want to register for an account and put it on a credit card, leaving an electronic trail a mile wide. I go prepaid all the way, so I slotted the U.S. SIM into my phone and watched it search until it found a signal.
Bingo.
Backtracking to the front door, I located my purse and dug out Saldana’s card. Ridiculous the way my heart thumped as I dialed. You’d think I believed the bullshit I’d spun for Chance about the guy wanting to take me out for personal reasons.
On the fourth ring, he barked, “Saldana!” at me, almost making me disconnect.
I had to clear my throat before I could speak. “Uhm. Yeah. This is Corine Solomon. You said something about getting dinner tomorrow night.”
Relief colored his buttery drawl, which I liked quite a lot. “Glad you called, sugar. Just a minute.” I heard hoots in the background, so I guessed I’d caught him at a bad time. Movement, and then a rough whisper: “I don’t suppose you know anything ’bout the mess down at this warehouse? You all right?”
I made unconvincing static noises, though he sounded genuinely concerned. “Huh? You’re cutting out.”
Luckily he possessed a sense of humor. “Uh-huh. Logan’s Roadhouse, seven tomorrow night. It’s on San Dario, near the mall. Can you make it?”
“I’ll be there.” Whether Chance liked it or not.
“Oh, that you heard.” But I could sense his smile.
When I returned to the kitchen, the guys were eating a second plate of tamales, looking like they’d said everything important. Chuch glanced up and then indicated the seat opposite him. As I sat, I saw he’d laid out colored pencils and paper.
“I need you to sketch the symbols,” he said without preamble. “That’ll gimme a clue who might have some info. Most of the players in town work in Santería or straight hudu, but I know people online who can help with more exotic traditions.”