Spirits of Ash and Foam

by Greg Weisman

  Juno Lynn, a Sycorax Honey beekeeper, started the ball rolling by bringing up the Pale Tourist, asking if the Ghost Patrol had told Isaac the cause of death. Naborías shook his head, and Suzanne Vanetti (Wilma’s great-aunt) stated definitively that the cause was “death by vampire bat.”

  Again Naborías shook his head. “It was no bat,” he said. “It was the Hupia.”

  Nestor Gonzales, head of Payroll, remembered that word from his childhood. “Hupia? Isn’t that the Taíno word for vampire?”

  Now, Rain had not been eavesdropping, but the mention of the dead man had caught her attention and piqued her interest. And once she heard the words “Taíno” and “vampire,” the conversation commanded her full consideration. She nudged Charlie and motioned with her head. Fortunately, there was no need to move any closer, as Isaac’s semi-inebriation made him louder than usual.

  “A ghost-vampire. A demon.” Isaac pointed an unsteady finger at Gonzales, whose hair, what remained of it, was still black only by artificial means. “Nestor, didn’t tus abuelos ever teach you the story of the Hupia?”

  Nestor studied the question, trying sincerely to remember. Suzanne crossed herself, saying, “No one likes those old stories, Isaac.”

  But Juno, the only person in that small clique under the age of fifty, encouraged Naborías. “I like old stories. What’s a ‘hoopya’?”

  That was all the encouragement old Isaac needed.

  “In the First Days,” he said, beginning the way his old tío always had, “the Taíno people found the First Murdered Man. He had been an old man and wise. But now there was a hole in his neck through which all his blood had been stolen. The next morning another body was found: the First Murdered Woman. She had also been old and wise. And now she had a hole in her neck too.”

  Rain and Charlie were no longer the only ones from outside Isaac’s circle of friends listening. Miranda, Renée and nearly everyone else within earshot was also. Then the sun finished setting, and ’Bastian materialized from Rain’s zemi. “Hello, kiddo,” he said, smiling.

  “Shhh,” she whispered and motioned once more with her head. So even the dead turned toward Naborías and paid heed.

  “The third morning there was another victim. This was the First Murdered Child. Bloodless now too, like the others. Panic swept through the tribe. Every man was accused of being First Murderer. Every woman of being First Witch. And every morning, there was another corpse.”

  Suzanne crossed herself again. She wasn’t the only one.

  Rain heard a mosquito sing in her ear and waved it away.

  “The First Chief of the Taíno consulted with First Shaman, who consulted with First God, who sent First Bat to watch at night for the culprit. And just before the break of day, First Bat reported back to First God, who sent a dream to First Shaman, who woke with a start and told the truth of it all to First Chief.

  “The murderer was a child, little more than a babe. First Chief found this astonishing. This child had not yet learned to walk. He had yet but one tooth. He could not be First Murderer. So one more night was spent watching, and sure enough, the child crawled on hands and knees from his mother’s bohio into a bohio some distance away. And First Chief and First Shaman peeked inside the bohio and watched the child crawl toward one of his little playmates and open his mouth to puncture her throat with his one tooth.

  “First Chief grabbed up the boy, preventing the attack. And in the morning, First Shaman denounced the child to the entire tribe as a demon. The boy’s mother protested. She did not want to believe. But an old crone confirmed that the young woman was known to be wicked. And it was now believed she had lain with First Demon and given birth to its child. First Chief testified to the boy’s crime. And all but his mother agreed that the sentence must be death.

  “But the small boy only laughed…”

  During this telling, all eyes were focused on old Naborías, so no one noticed the cloud of mosquitoes gathering above him. Or no one noticed until the swarm descended en masse. The mosquitoes sang and laughed and danced around Naborías, but mostly they feasted. And feasted. And feasted.

  Naborías screamed. And screamed. And screamed. The mosquitoes flew into his open mouth and bit his tongue and his gums, the inside of his cheeks and his throat. They were draining his blood, one tiny sip at a time. Juno and Nestor both tried coming to his aid, swatting at the bugs—and killing many—but there were always more, and they weren’t shy about biting every man, woman and thirteen-year-old on the dock.

  Only ’Bastian Bohique was completely immune, but he was also completely impotent. He couldn’t pull Naborías to safety; he couldn’t swat a single mosquito.

  So it was Rain Cacique who took a running start and slammed into Naborías with enough force to propel both of them over the railing and into the water below. He struggled to return to the surface, but he was weak from lack of blood, so she was able to hold him still beneath the water until he was calm and understood what she had done and why. Then they both surfaced just long enough to take a deep breath before allowing themselves to sink back down where they were safe from the bugs.

  The mosquitoes hovered, waiting for another chance. But the old man Naborías and the young girl Cacique stayed beneath the surface, and eventually the swarm dispersed.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  SMITTEN

  FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 12

  Constable Thibideaux arrived on Sycorax just as the E.M.T. launch was shoving off from the dock to transport Isaac Naborías across the bay to San Próspero Island Hospital. Assuming the old man pulled through—paramedic Joey Fajro said Naborías was in desperate need of a blood transfusion—Thibideaux would have to question the former security guard later.

  Instead, he began with the witnesses, methodically talking to each, one by one, pausing only when the Sycorax helicopter passed overhead to land just beyond the trees on the corporate helipad. All eyes watched its progress. The boss was back.

  “My father’s back,” Miranda said. She was still shaken. So was Renée. So was Charlie. Rain wasn’t shaken, but she was shivering a little. The temperature had dropped considerably, and though someone had brought her a blanket, she was still soaking wet and far from hot-tub warm at the moment.

  “I’m proud of you, Raindrop,”’Bastian said.

  Rain nodded. I think it comes with the job, she thought. Her mind was racing. I heard laughing. It sounded crazy even to Rain. It was just buzzing, wasn’t it? No, she decided firmly, when we went over the side—just before we hit the water—I heard the mosquitoes laugh. The music of the areyto, the mayohuacan and the baijo, was once again loud in her head. This is all about the Taíno. The zemis are all connected to them. And the story about First Murderer is connected too.

  Trying not to turn her head or be too obvious, she whispered to ’Bastian, “How come you never told me the old Taíno stories?”

  ‘Bastian shrugged. “I don’t know them.”

  “But your abuela was Taíno. Didn’t she…”

  “Oh, she tried. But I had no patience. You have to understand, kiddo. In those days, the schools here didn’t teach our culture. Heck, they discouraged it. Told us we should be Americans. And the mythology of America was George Washington and the cherry tree. But I understand it’s different now and they celebrate this stuff.” He tilted his head toward her. “So what’s your excuse?”

  She rolled her eyes at him, which was a relief. It meant she was okay. When everyone else had been paralyzed (either out of fear, confusion or just plain old being an insubstantial ghost), Rain had devised and executed a simple solution to save Isaac’s life. Still, it didn’t seem right. This was his granddaughter, and she was only thirteen. She shouldn’t have to face these dangers. He should be able to protect her.

  Charlie moved closer. Rain made her icky-face and urgently whispered, “You’re standing in ’Bastian!” Neither of them had noticed, but both now jumped in opposite directions. Miranda and Renée stared at Charlie.

  “I, u
h, thought I saw a mosquito,” Charlie said. The girls nodded and looked around, fairly freaked.

  Rain whispered to the boys, “I’d love to sneak away to the cave. See if we could talk to the ghost.”

  All three looked around at the multiple deputy constables, security guards and civilians inhabiting the well-lit dock. Charlie said, “Yeah, I don’t see that happening right now.”

  Rain brightened. “‘Bastian, why don’t you go? See if you can talk to him—or bring him back here!”

  “I’m not leaving you alone with a killer cloud of mosquitoes on the loose.” Even as he spoke, the words rang hollow in his ears. “Anyway, I don’t see how you could hand me the zemi or how I could walk away with it and not have somebody notice.”

  Constable Thibideaux approached to question Rain. He nodded to Charlie and guided Rain a bit farther down the gangway. ’Bastian followed.

  “Why don’t you just tell me in your own words what happened?”

  Rain considered this question long enough to make Thibideaux wonder at her delay. Once again, Rain was fighting the impulse to spill it all. Eventually, she said, “We were just standing here, waiting for the ferry. And then this cloud of mosquitoes sort of attacked Mr. Naborías. So I pushed him into the water to get him away from them.”

  Of course, this confirmed for the constable what Nestor and Juno and everyone else had told him. This young girl, Alonso Cacique’s daughter, had been the hero of the moment. And though the entire incident was beyond bizarre, it also might fit and even explain what happened to the Pale Tourist, Milo Long. Some weird natural phenomenon …

  Yet the cop in Jean-Marc knew the girl was hiding something. Trouble was, he couldn’t immediately think of the questions to ask to find out what. By the time he had settled on a simple Is there something you’re not telling me? it was too late.

  Pablo Guerrero had arrived on the scene, and all attention immediately shifted to him. He seemed to have already been briefed. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise Thibideaux if the C.E.O. had been informed of the incident before the P.K.C. had even been called. Guerrero approached his daughter first, to confirm she was all right, but he didn’t linger there. He simply took her hand firmly in his and walked her forward to join the constable and Rain.

  Guerrero nodded to Thibideaux but was already focused on the Cacique girl. Though they had been introduced earlier that day, it seemed to Rain like this was the first time he had really seen her. He thanked her by name for her quick thinking and for saving Isaac’s life. A trifle dumbstruck, Rain simply nodded and then thanked him for thanking her.

  Then Pablo Guerrero said softly, “I knew your grandfather. He was a good man. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  Rain glanced at ’Bastian, who shrugged. “Every once in a while, he’d stop by the Lethe & Styx. If Joe Charone and I were there, we’d all have a few beers.”

  “Uh, thank you,” Rain said. Thibideaux noticed the girl was still hesitant, distracted. Maybe she’s just in shock, he told himself.

  Pablo Guerrero cleared his throat and said, “If there’s ever anything I can do for you…”

  “Well, I guess we could use a lift back to San Próspero. The ferry sort of came and went while we were waiting to talk to the Ghost Pa—to Constable Thibideaux.”

  She turned toward Charlie and reached out her hand; he gladly stepped forward to take it. Miranda reached back to Renée, who—plan or no plan—was also ready to go.

  Rain said, “Or we can wait for the next ferry…”

  Guerrero waved off the idea. “No, Ariel will take you home.” He turned to Thibideaux. “You’re done talking with these children.” It wasn’t a question.

  Thibideaux wasn’t in the mood to bristle. It was getting late. These kids were clearly tired, and he could always catch up with them later. “Of course,” he said. “But maybe you and I could speak.”

  “Certainly. Let me just see them off, and I’ll be right with you.”

  Renée and Miranda ran back up to the manor to get Renée’s things. It took them less than five minutes, but by the time they returned, Ariel Jones, Pablo Guerrero’s personal pilot and chauffer, was already bringing her boss’ sleek thirty-foot twin-engine speedboat around to the dock. How she had known to do this was a bit of a mystery, but even mysteries are merely relative. Given what Rain had just gone through, this one didn’t seem worth pursuing.

  Pablo helped Rain, Charlie and Renée onto the boat. (’Bastian was on his own.) Miranda said, “Thanks for coming. I know it kind of sucked, but—”

  “Sugar, don’t you worry about that,” Renée said.

  “And anyway, it was Rain’s fault mostly,” Charlie said quickly.

  “Well, me and the bugs,” Rain said. “You still coming tomorrow?”

  “Sure,” Miranda said. Then she turned to her father. “I promised I’d help Rain and Charlie work her dad’s charter.”

  She was way too excited given the realities of the gig, and her father looked at her as if to say, And you actually want to do that? But he declined to express the thought out loud.

  So Rain said, “Eight A.M. sharp at Harbor Slip Nine. And, seriously, don’t be late, because my dad will not wait if the clients are ready.”

  “I’ll be there!”

  “Great.”

  They said quick good-byes, at which point Pablo Guerrero nodded to Ariel, who eased the throttle forward.

  Rain sat down and turned her face toward the wind. She pulled the blanket tight around her shoulders and cuddled up against Charlie for warmth. Charlie chewed on the inside of his mouth to distract himself.

  “Who’s that?”’Bastian whispered.

  Rain turned and saw that he was focused on the moonlit form of Ariel. She was in her late twenties with short blonde hair. Though the speedboat careened across Próspero Bay, she maintained a preternatural stillness. Even her hand on the wheel hardly seemed to move. Rain glanced over at Renée, who was also staring at Ariel. One of the things that bugged Rain most about Renée was the way she’d strike a pose to accentuate her looks, but that’s not what Ariel was doing. No, Ariel was what Renée aspired to be. The blonde woman wasn’t striking or accentuating anything. Her stillness was harnessed from deep within. To Rain, Ariel was like a single still frame glowing in a movie projector. At any moment, either the film would proceed—or the image would combust.

  Rain whispered to ’Bastian, “That’s Ariel. She works for the Guerreros.”

  “She’s stunning.”

  Rain made her icky-face again. “Ewww, Papa, she’s way too young for you.” She glanced up at the Dark Man, who appeared to be about twenty. “Or too old or something.”

  ’Bastian looked askance at his granddaughter and decided to have a little fun. “I don’t know,” he said. “Ariel and Sebastian. It sounds like destiny.”

  “Ewwwww. She can’t even see or hear you.”

  “All great loves have obstacles to overcome, kiddo.”

  She covered her ears. “Stop! Just stop!” He laughed. Charlie and Renée stared at Rain, and Ariel turned her head five degrees. Then she adjusted course slightly as the speedboat swept around the recently returned dolphin pod.

  Rain scratched at her mosquito bites.

  Back on the Sycorax dock, Thibideaux was telling everyone they could go home. He had spoken briefly with both Guerreros, but the man had been on La Géante during the excitement, and the girl simply confirmed what every other witness had reported: Isaac had been telling a story when the mosquito swarm attacked and Rain pushed him into the water.

  Miranda and her father walked silently up to the Old Manor, hand in hand. At the door, he said, “So, you’re making friends, mija?”

  “I think so.”

  “And you’re glad I brought you back from Madrid?”

  She hugged him. “I was already glad about that.”

  “Good,” he said, hugging her back. They went inside, and he shut the door. Then, without another word to each other, she went upstairs, and he cross
ed the great room to enter his study.

  Hura-hupia wasn’t far away. Once again, she approached the Hupia, who was back at his post, guarding the second zemi.

  The Pale Tourist—more pale now than ever—was also in the neighborhood, wandering, at a loss. Nights ago, he had reached the reasonable conclusion he was dead, a ghost. But he had no idea what came next. He’d been looking for a light to walk into or some such, but so far, no luck. He spotted Hura-hupia and immediately sensed she was a threat. And, of course, it was the Hupia who’d killed him in the first place. Never big on confrontation, the Pale Tourist stepped inside the trunk of a guava tree to hide.

  The Hupia expected to be reprimanded for attacking Naborías but was pleasantly surprised when Hura-hupia encouraged his appetites. But next time, if you get the chance, she told him with a smile, feast on the girl Cacique. This was welcome advice to the Hupia. He had a taste for Rain now. He was smitten.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SIGHTSEERS

  SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 13

  Not wanting to be late, Miranda was at Slip Nine at 7:30 A.M. Neither Rain nor Charlie was there yet, but Rain’s father was working on the boat. She recognized him from the day he had told Rain her grandfather had passed, but they had never actually been introduced, and Miranda didn’t know if she should approach him until Rain got there. Alonso saw her, smiled, and went back about his business. Clearly, he didn’t remember her. Miranda decided to wait for Rain under the “WELCOME TO PUEBLO DE SAN PRÓSPERO sign.