After ten minutes of walking, the two of them reached their destination: the home of a woman whom the RUNA’s intelligence had scouted as potentially being involved with supernatural forces. Mama Orane’s barebones house was guarded by two hulking, armed men who looked Mae and Justin over with hard eyes. The small metal implant in her arm already had her on edge, and the sight of this new threat spun her up even more, triggering a greater flood of adrenaline and other neurotransmitters of battle. One wrong look from these guys, and she’d be on them instantly.
But once they saw the snake-engraved wooden charm Justin had bought that morning as a ticket to today’s show, the guards waved them through, barely acknowledging the guns. Inside the house, a young woman collected the rest of the admission fee, which Justin paid in local currency. Mae didn’t know the exact exchange rate but winced as what she saw as her tax dollars being handed over.
They were ushered through a beaded curtain, into a spacious living room filled with old velvet furniture and lit only by candles. At first, she thought that was simply for effect, until she realized there were no electric lights anywhere. For the price this place was charging, it seemed like they could’ve gotten on the island’s grid, fledgling though it was. Everything in the room was cast in flickering shadows, and incense smoked in the air. Considering the lack of flies here, maybe the incense was as much repellant as ceremonial. Mae put a hand on Justin’s arm to stop him from going further as she scanned for hiding spots and points of entry. He leaned toward her and spoke softly.
“Look over there,” he said. “We’re not the only visitors from the RUNA.”
He was right. Across the room, occupying two couches were five loud, laughing individuals, two women and three men. They were passing two bottles of wine between them. Their clothing and mostly healthy features marked them as fellow Gemmans, the term their country’s citizens went by. This group’s red hair and pale skin in particular identified them as patricians: Gemmans whose ancestors hadn’t been part of the RUNA’s early forced genetic mixing program. That program had resulted in a diverse ethnic population that had better resisted Mephistopheles until a vaccine was developed and had allowed the RUNA to become the dominant country it was today. Most Gemmans born of this mixed heritage—nicknamed “plebeians”—had tanned skin, with dark hair and eyes like Justin. Patricians, in not being part of that breeding, had kept their recessive traits but faced greater health issues. Many had either died out or passed on Cain. Mae herself was of Finnish ancestry and a rare patrician to be born in perfect health.
Her safety assessment complete, Mae waved Justin toward a loveseat in the corner that afforded a full view of the room and its two doors. She sat down beside him, and they were immediately noticed by one of the Gemman men. He had shocking red hair and too-smooth skin that suggested cosmetic surgery to clear up Cain acne.
“Hey,” he called, holding up his glass in a toast. “Gemma mundi!” Justin nodded back, instantly putting on that charm that never
seemed to dim. “Hope you brought your own,” he called. “That stuff they sell here’s one step away from vinegar.”
The redheads whooped. “We got it from a guy over on Augusta,” said one of the women. “It’s EA rice wine. Not bad. You can have some.” She glanced around, apparently searching for a glass. Seeing none, she simply took the bottle in its entirety from the other woman and offered it toward him. “Come on, Roisin. We can share with our countrymen.”
“Got my own.” Justin pulled out a flask from his coat and held it up. “Rum—which they don’t mess up.”
After a little more friendly banter, the other Gemmans returned to their revelry. More guests began to trickle in, many of which were from neighboring areas in Central and South America. A couple of businessmen entered together, greeting the Gemmans with Eastern Alliance accents.
Justin was smiling like he was at a high-class party as he watched everything, but as Mae studied the way the candlelight made shadows play over his face, with its chiseled profile and dark, thoughtful eyes, she knew there was more going on beneath the surface. His sharp and cunning mind was always in motion, something others rarely realized beneath that friendly smile. Mae’s upbringing in the Nordic patriarchy had taught her to conceal her feelings. Justin had simply picked the habit up along the way and used it to full advantage.
His words were quiet when he spoke to her. “About what I’d expect for tourists around here—except for those other Gemmans. Nassau’s bargain beach resorts wouldn’t be enough for them to leave the comforts of home, not when they could find safer escapes in Mazatlan.”
“Dubiously safer,” Mae corrected, recalling a trip they’d made there that had resulted in abduction and her fighting for her life. “Maybe they’re here for the novelty. Maybe they want the risk.”
“Maybe,” agreed Justin. “Bored rich kids have certainly done stupider things. They’ll be lucky if they make it back to their inn, though.” His sharp eyes soon focused back on their surroundings, and she could see him taking in all the expressions and fragments of conversation that drifted their way. And more than that. Clothing, hair, posture, mannerisms . . . all of it was fodder for him. It was why, despite his many flaws, he excelled at a job that required him to use tiny clues to find dangerous influences.
“These latecomers are locals,” he continued, as a group of mixed ages and gender began filtering in. Most of the chairs and couches were gone now, but the newcomers happily took spots on the floor, laughing and chatting amongst themselves. “Friends or family. I’m guessing this is regular entertainment for them. And that must be the local beauty queen.”
A young woman entered, maybe eighteen at most. Although her braided hair had the brittle quality often seen with Cain, her dark brown skin was lovely and smooth, free of any flaws. She raised her hands, and the room fell silent.
“Welcome, friends,” she said. Although she spoke with an accent to Mae’s ears, the girl’s English was clear, her voice high and sweet. “Welcome to Mama Orane’s house. She is honored to have such guests grace her home.”
“Well-paying guests,” muttered Mae.
“Mama Orane is special,” the girl continued. As she spoke, two young boys brought in a small, low table. “Mama Orane has been chosen by the spirits and powerful ones who move unseen in the world to be their vessel, so that we may hear their wisdom.”
A chill ran down Mae’s back at those words. A sidelong look at Justin’s face showed he’d had a similar reaction. Although the world of gods and the supernatural was still largely mysterious to her, one thing Mae had learned was that gods rarely spoke directly to humans. Usually they used dreams or intermediaries. Was Mama Orane possibly one of the latter? Life as they knew it would certainly be a lot easier if they had a direct line to the divine.
The girl tilted her head back. “Prepare yourselves. Prepare yourselves for wondrous, powerful things. Even Mama Orane never knows what to expect. She places herself in those forces beyond.” The girl swept a flourish-filled bow toward one of the doorways, and a short, curvaceous middle-aged woman entered. Her skin was as dark as the girl’s who’d introduced her but showed many of the acne scars typical of Cain. Mae couldn’t make out the woman’s hair because it was concealed under a bright red head scarf embroidered with gold.
The locals on the floor showed their approval by rhythmically patting their legs and murmuring, “Ma-ma, ma-ma . . .”
Justin leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on clasped hands as he scrutinized her. The earlier banter was gone. This was serious, the reason they’d traveled out to the provinces.