Carlotta and Terrence both withdrew to a corner of the small building, conversing in hushed whispers as I tried my damnedest not to curl up into the fetal position on the floor. I breathed through my teeth, concentrating on the feeling of the barely contained life force throbbing along my spine. It felt like they’d moved, the line of fire continuing up the back of my neck right into my long hair, and tracing a path all the way down the back of both thighs.
“You guys gotta quit this, you’re killing me here,” I told them, not sure if I was talking to the souls, or the spell casters. The coiling, churning pain across my back seemed to relax a bit, and I stretched, trying to loosen up something enough that I could sit up straight. “Just settle down, ease up. No one’s going to hurt you. Or me, for that matter.” Bit by bit, the pain died down, and the sensation of the iridescent tattoos retreated to their proper locations, stopping just at the top of my shoulders and the waistband of my jeans. Relieved, I took a few deep breaths, offering them silent thanks.
“I despise admitting this, but I fear that Señor Smythe may have been correct yesterday,” Carlotta finally said, including me in their little secret magic conversation.
Terrence was as surprised as I was. “I was? About which?”
Carlotta nodded toward me. “They listen to him. They react to his situations, they react to threats to themselves and to him. They are not simply spells bound to him, they are living entities, even separated from their true hosts. It may be that they will not leave him, unless it is their will to do so.”
“So…what? I just ask them nicely to go away?” I stared at them both, incredulous. If this was seriously that easy, I thought I might go and beat my head against a convenient wall.
“No…no, they must have a home, a vessel.”
Terrence nodded his agreement. “You can’t just have bits of soul floating around unattached, it doesn’t work like that.”
I think I liked it better when they were fighting. “So we’re back to square one, then. No place to put them, and even if we find somewhere, we can’t be sure that they’ll migrate willingly.”
“Possibly. Though I have to wonder, if you spent some more time fostering a relationship with them, if they might be more accepting of your request, when the time came. Terrence and I can then spend our efforts trying to devise a receptacle.”
“You want me to make friends with them? Take them out on a date, maybe? Seriously?”
She gave me that mom look. “Think of it as meditation. This is something you were teaching Estéban, yes? It is good for you.”
And just like that, I was dismissed. Like, go away kid, you bother me. I blinked at the door as it shut in my face, then turned around to find myself alone in the Perez wilderness. Or something.
“You gotta be kidding me,” I muttered, rubbing my hands over my face. “See what you guys got me into?” The sensation that rolled across my skin can only be described as bubbly, like someone had poured fizzy soda pop down my back. They were amused. “Not helping.”
Whether or not I thought relating to my inner souls was an option, Carlotta had been right about one thing. I hadn’t meditated in months. It used to be something I did every day, rain or shine. It kept me centered, it kept my mind clear, it let me truly ponder the bushido code that I held in such high esteem.
There hadn’t been time for meditation, lately. There was Estéban to teach, and my family to take care of, and my real job, and then that whole demon slaying thing that seemed less about slaying demons than it did just trying not to die on a regular basis. There were demon wars and spying angels and hitchhiking souls. Who had time to just sit and stare into space?
Well, I did, dammit. I’d make time, I decided right then and there. Time to get back to my roots, time to remember who I was and why. Maybe that would help alleviate this feeling of bleak helplessness that choked me every time I thought about all things I could not do to get myself out of this mess. And if the souls in my back wanted to get all zen with me, then maybe we could come to some kind of arrangement. I wasn’t going to hold my breath for that, but stranger things had happened.
With my new mission firmly in mind, I marched off to find myself a quiet place to get in touch with my inner samurai.
Chapter 9
You would think that finding a quiet place in a family the size of Esteban’s would be difficult, but there were actually lots of nooks and crannies where someone could lose themselves if so inclined. My nook happened to be behind one of the smaller houses, a place where I could rest my back against a tree, but still hear the children playing just out of sight. Women called to each other, there was a hammer pounding across the way, life was going on unimpeded. People were within shouting distance if I needed them, and judging by the feeling of invisible insects scampering up and down my arms, I was still well within the Perez family wards. It should be safe.
While my environment seemed fairly conducive to meditation, the rest of me really didn’t want to cooperate. I sat and let the sun trickle over my skin through the leaves, just breathing into my core and trying to find a balance point in my own brain. My mind wasn’t exactly a restful place anymore, but with a little concentration, I thought I could at least tie up the worst of the distractions and stuff them in a dark corner.
Yeah, not so much. Everything was irritating me, from the tiny bug that decided my ankle looked like a snack, to the musical but incessant bird chirping somewhere over my left shoulder. The air was too warm despite the occasional breeze, the sun felt dry and prickly on my arms, and my nose itched. A lot. I shifted my position, trying to find a better place to sit, but there were pebbles and sticks digging into my backside and obviously that one tiny bug had told all his buddies, ’cause there was suddenly a horde of flying bitey things trying to make a meal of me. After about the third slap, I gave up on trying to defend myself.
This wasn’t like me. I normally prided myself on my ability to focus, to drown out the world and get myself centered. Sure, I hadn’t actually had time to sit and try to meditate for…a while…but it wasn’t like I’d forgotten how. It just wasn’t working for me, this time.
I knew why, of course. I had two hundred and seventy-five really big distractions, and they were marching up and down my back like the world’s worst pins and needles. Two hundred and seventy-five lives, tied inextricably to my own, but with feelings and instincts all their own. Hard to get centered within myself when I was so seriously unbalanced. Top heavy. How in the world was I supposed to find some harmony with those things when it was next to impossible to be heard over their ‘shouting’?
Honestly, I could tell you about the hours that I sat there, trying to figure out what was actually communication from mystical life forces, and what was just my body saying “Hey, dummy, you have to pee!”, but nobody wants to hear that. Suffice to say that by the end of it, I was tired, hot, frustrated, hungry, and had mosquito bites in places I don’t even want to talk about. I can honestly say that I don’t think I’ve ever had a more unproductive meditation attempt.
Mentally growling at myself, and the souls, I opened my eyes to find Rosaline not three feet from me, an anxious look on her face. “Christ! You scared me to death!” There was a faint twitch from the marks on my back at my tiny adrenaline surge, but they settled again as I pushed myself up from my seat, brushing leaves and grass off my jeans.
“I am sorry, I did not mean to.” She bit her lower lip, glancing back toward the big house, then seemed to come to some decision, nodding to herself. “You must go get Estéban.”
“Wait, what?” There was no mistaking the tension in her shoulders, anxiety practically oozing out her pores. “Where’s Estéban? What’s going on?”
“I am not supposed to tell you this. Mama Carlotta says that it is family business and that we should not involve you, but Estéban will listen to you where he will not the rest of us. You must go and fetch him.”
“Rosa, you have to slow down. First, where is Estéban?”
“He left an hour ago or so. With Paulito and the others again.”
“Is this about the fight he got into? Is that why you’re worried about him? The kid will be okay, he can handle himself.” I reached to pat her arm soothingly, but she jerked out of my reach, giving me a fierce glare.
“You do not understand. It is not what you think, and it is no good for him. Please, just go down into town and bring him home.”
I sighed, running my fingers through my hair. “Rosa, he’s not going to be happy to see me if I come busting in there, trying to save his butt like he’s some little kid.”
“Please, Jesse. Please, believe me and trust me. There is a warehouse on the west side of town. That is where they will be. Estéban should not be there.” Her dark eyes begged me, and what can I say, I’m a sucker for a pretty girl.
“Okay. And I’m guessing I shouldn’t tell Carlotta where I’m going, yes?”
“Oh yes. Oh, thank you Jesse!” The worried lines vanished from her face instantly and were replaced with a beaming smile. “Thank you so much!”
“Yeah yeah, it’s what I do.” I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Don’t suppose I could borrow the keys to a truck or something, could I?”
She fished a set of keys out of her pocket and dangled them in front of me. “I came prepared.”
“I see that. All right, go on. And pack some dinner away for us, okay? If anyone asks, I went down into town to get some cell reception to call home.” Which wasn’t a bad idea, actually, while I was down there.
I had no sooner settled into the driver’s seat of the old pickup truck than something heavy landed in the bed, and there came a tap-tap-tapping at the back window. I turned to see Sveta giving me a raised brow, and I just leaned over and unlocked the passenger door with a sigh. She joined me without even asking where we were going, or why.
Cosalá seemed oddly quiet for so early in the evening. Sure, there were a few tourists around, with bags of loot over their arms and snapping photos at every vaguely photogenic spot. But that was it, just a few out-of-towners. Maybe everyone was hurrying home to their own dinners, but the days were getting longer with the advent of summer, and you would think there would be more people out in the streets. Running errands, coming home late from work, chatting with neighbors, something. The few locals we did see eyed the truck as we rumbled past quickly averted their eyes, minding their own business so hard it had to be hurting their heads. Nothing like a billboard-sized sign advertising “Something Is Not Right Here!”
“This feel weird to you, Sveta?” She only grunted in reply, but she shifted in her seat and I caught a glimpse of the gun tucked away at the small of her back. “Yeah, me too.”
“Warehouse on the west side of town” would seem like a rather vague designation especially considering that there were at least a dozen warehouse occupying a small industrial area just past the town proper. However, at this time of evening, only one of them had a parking lot full of vehicles, so I figured that was our best bet.
The two huge guys standing watch on either side of the big rollup door were also a key clue, and told me that our company might not be welcome. “Shoulder holsters,” Sveta noted, “Keep driving.” Didn’t have to tell me twice. What the hell did you get into, kid? The next lot over was empty, and out of line of sight for Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, and that’s where we parked.
“What is this place?” Sveta fixed me with that icy blue gaze of hers, and I could only shake my head.
“Guess we’re gonna find out. The kid’s in there somewhere. Try not to shoot anyone.”
There were doors on the backside of the warehouse, every single one of them padlocked shut. Inside, we could hear raised voices, shouting, chanting, cheering. Sounded like a helluva party, so it was pretty much guaranteed that they weren’t going to hear us when Sveta grabbed a piece of broken concrete and smashed the lock off the nearest door. We waited for a moment to see if there was any break in the din, but it continued on without pause, and we slipped inside.
The interior of the warehouse was mostly dark, at least where we were, and lined with crates and pallets of dry goods as far as we could see. Bags of rice, beans, cases of canned vegetables, grocery stuff. Not exactly what I’d expected, given the firepower at the front door. Sveta, pistol in hand but pointed at the floor, gave me a raised brow, and I just shrugged in return. I had no idea.
The noise, and what few lights were lit, were off to our left, and we maneuvered through the tight stacks in order to get closer. One of the very few times I was grateful for being as skinny as I was. A bigger man wouldn’t have fit through some of the close quarters.
Sveta, taking point, held up a closed fist as the narrow alley gave way to flickering fluorescent lighting and the view of many backs facing our direction, the crowd surging and chanting in Spanish. The voices rang off the metal roof high above us, doubling and quadrupling the output until my ears wanted to ring with it.
There had to be a hundred people there, at least. Mostly men, from what I could see, but there were a few women sprinkled throughout, waving their fists in the air and screaming just as loudly. A few of them stood out to my senses, glimmering with faint magical talent, and I mentally pegged them as Perez relatives, though probably distant. Not one person turned around, though, and no one noticed when Sveta and I slipped into the very rear of the crowd, trying to spot what had them all so transfixed.
They’d formed what was probably a loose circle to start, but had pressed closer and tighter as their fervor rose. It was hard to see past the sheer wall of shoulders that blocked our way, or find a line of sight through the churning, screaming throng. Somewhere under the noise, though, at a different pitch than the rest of the voices, I started to hear grunts and groans, and the unmistakable sound of fists on flesh. A particularly loud hit reached my ears, and the crowd responded with a roar that nearly deafened me. The men directly in front of us slapped each other on the backs, a few exchanged money, and one voice rose above the others, quieting the cacophony.
I didn’t understand all the words in all the shouting, but I recognized the voice, pitched to carry to every person in the warehouse. “Paulito,” I mouthed to Sveta, and she nodded her agreement. Whatever the Perez cousin was doing, he sounded like a sports announcer, his words big and broad. Putting on a show.
Now that I knew for sure he was here, I started searching the crowd for Estéban, trying to locate the tall, slender kid in all the mess. Like hunting a needle in a haystack. Nearly every person there was dark-haired, dressed in T-shirts and jeans, and identifying the kid from just the back of his head was proving to be a futile effort.
The people in front of us shifted, suddenly, the crowd loosening up as whatever event they’d been watching came to an end, and I got a clear look into the center of the circle. Paulito was there, sure enough, his arm around the shoulders of another young man that looked like he’d just gone ten rounds with a bulldozer. Blood ran freely down the strange guy’s face, and his eyes were so swollen I knew he wouldn’t even be able to find his own feet, let alone walk with any certainty. On Paulito’s other side was another man in similar condition, bent over and panting as blood and spit poured from the massive gashes in his lips.
Neither of them was Estéban, I was relieved to note, and Sveta and I edged closer as Paulito congratulated what appeared to be the winner and handed him a small stack of money. Both men staggered away to be swallowed by the crowd, and then Paulito raised his voice again, obviously calling for the next participants.
Two men stepped from the crowd, stripping off their shirts as they came, and I finally realized what was going on. “Shit. It’s Fight Club.”
“It’s what?” Sveta’s eyes never left the crowd around us, but if anyone noticed the two critically Caucasian people in their midst, they let it slide.
“First rule of Fight Club, you don’t talk about Fight Club.” I smirked, watching as the two new combatants squared off facing each other. Neither of them was Estéban eit
her, so I was content to just see how this played out.
That fight was over in seconds. The bloodthirsty crowd never even had time to work themselves into full voice. The bigger of the two men tried a jab, and the little one feinted and came in low, throwing the sweetest uppercut I think I’ve ever seen. Big dude toppled over like he’d been poleaxed, his head bouncing when it met the cement floor. The unexpected triumph was met with an equal number of cheers and boos, the underdog no doubt costing quite a few people some money.
“This is stupid,” Sveta muttered close to my ear. “If Estéban wishes to get his brains bashed in, that is his prerogative. We should go, you should not be here.”
I was actually kind of inclined to agree with her. If this was what the kid wanted to do with his free time, more power to him. Hell, I even kinda wanted to see him fight, just to see what would happen. But Rosaline’s worried face lurked at the back of my mind, and I couldn’t go back to the house without at least trying. “See if you can find him, get his attention subtly.”
I couldn’t hear her growl in all the noise, but the look she gave me was enough. She was done with this foolishness, and was about ten seconds from dragging me out by my ponytail.
Paulito, obviously taking the role of emcee to this lunacy, called out again, and the crowd fell nearly silent, stilling to the point that Sveta and I didn’t dare move or someone was surely going to notice. There was a palpable tension in the air suddenly, a hungry anticipation. They knew what was coming, it was what they’d all been waiting for.
It was clear, whatever he was introducing, this was going to be the big finale. He did a lot of talking, a lot of sweeping gestures, and with one sweep of his arm, the crowd on the far side parted willingly to reveal a bigger section of the floor, this one marked with dark lines and squiggles that I couldn’t quite read from my vantage point. From a distance, it looked like some little kid had gone nuts with finger paints on the warehouse floor.
A Snake in the Grass Page 10