Paola Santiago and the River of Tears

by Tehlor Kay Mejia

  The Florida Water.

  Pao’s mind raced back to the Riverside Palace as she dug down into the bag for its last remaining item. She and Dante had smeared the smelly stuff on themselves before the green light and the mist and that horrible screaming. Had it helped them get out of the apartment unscathed?

  And if so, could it help here, too?

  About twenty yards to her left, her silver-haired savior seemed to be running out of steam. There was nothing to do but try.

  With a war cry she’d be totally embarrassed about later, Pao charged toward the fight, the shopping bag swinging wildly from her flashlight hand, the cologne bottle at the ready. Her pulse was racing, thanks to the person—girl?—who was about to become dog food in front of her.

  It was definitely a girl, Pao decided when she got there. Her hair was silver gray like the old ladies at Señora Mata’s bingo nights, but her skin, darker even than Pao’s, was youthful. The girl was on her back on the ground, scrabbling for a weapon just out of reach, while a hundred-plus pounds of slavering paranormal demon beast stood on top of her, pressing her into the grit.

  Pao took a deep breath, then clenched her teeth and pushed herself to sprint across the last few yards between them.

  “Oh no,” groaned the girl when Pao came into view. “Not now!”

  But Pao was undeterred. She uncapped the bottle, full of premature righteous triumph, and poured it with the utmost confidence on the beast’s head. “Take that!” she screamed, causing the horrifying creature to look up at her in confusion.

  A second passed, and then another, and nothing happened.

  The demon lizard-dog didn’t disintegrate, or start to smoke, or howl in pain, or do any of the dying-creature things Pao had hoped for. It just stared at her with those fathomless glowing eyes—eyes that promised the underworld full of monsters her mom had always said were real.

  “Oh no,” Pao said, steeling herself for certain death as the beast exhaled hot, putrid breath in her face. But the fight wasn’t over. The not-dog’s moment of distraction had given the silver-haired girl a much-needed advantage. She found a reserve of strength and heaved its massive body off her much smaller one, leaping to her feet and kicking out hard with a worn black combat boot.

  The beast rolled over and whimpered, and Pao joined in with the kicking enthusiastically, her sneakers making less of an impact than the girl’s boots, but the dog creature didn’t get up.

  “Here!” shouted the girl, tossing Pao a length of silvery rope. “Tie her back legs!”

  Her? Pao wondered, almost deliriously, but she did as she was told, taking advantage of the animal’s position—on its back, all four appendages waving in the air—to grasp the back legs in an awkward hug before wrapping the rope around them.

  The cord was slippery and hard to tie, like moonlight turned into rope, but once she got it secured with one of Dante’s Boy Scout knots, the legs went still.

  The girl had managed to tie up the front legs, too, and now the only movement the dog-that-was-not-a-dog seemed capable of was thrashing its head back and forth, its green eyes rolling madly, a black tongue hanging from its mouth.

  “Wow,” Pao managed weakly, embarrassed when her knees turned to Jell-O as all the adrenaline left her. “I…Wow.” She sank ungracefully to the ground, her head spinning like the washing machines at the laundromat.

  Once Silver Hair had tied up the beast’s snout, subduing the creature completely, she walked over and looked down at Pao disdainfully, like she was some stupid kid, even though this girl couldn’t have been much older than Pao.

  Without a word, she pulled a knife from her belt—not as ornate as the weapon Marisa Martínez had used to stab Pao, but reminiscent of it all the same—and with a fluid, practiced gesture, slid it between the beast’s ribs.

  Pao watched in fascination and horror as its body quivered, as the atoms it was made of seemed to let go of each other one by one until it was gone.

  “What were you thinking?” Silver Hair asked, picking up Pao’s bottle of Florida Water with two fingers, like it might bite. “You wanted her to smell worse before she tore you into little tourist shreds?”

  It turned out Pao wasn’t too freaked out to be mad, which was a good sign, she thought.

  “I was thinking that you probably saved my life, and that letting that thing, like, literally eat you in front of me wouldn’t be a very polite way to repay you. Plus, I mean, it worked, didn’t it?”

  The girl scoffed. “Your perfume didn’t do anything—she was just confused that a human snack was running up to her instead of running away in fear. You’re lucky she didn’t rip your head off.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Pao said, getting back to her feet, pleased that her irritation seemed to have steadied her knees. “Maybe you can show me that move you were doing—the one where you lie on the ground while a monster gets ready to rip out your throat.”

  “Pao!” A voice rang out from behind them, but Pao didn’t turn, afraid to lower her guard around the now-murderous-looking silver-haired girl. Just because they had teamed up against the demon not-dog didn’t mean they were on the same side.

  “I’m here!” Pao called, not breaking eye contact.

  “Are you okay? I couldn’t find—” Dante stopped short just inside Pao’s field of vision. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Oh, lovely,” said the girl. “Two tourists. Just what I need. Why don’t you both just go back to where you came from?”

  Pao thought about that suggestion as she sized up the girl. She wasn’t even an inch taller than Pao, and her scraggly clothes looked like they’d weathered more than one night in the desert without being washed or mended. Her hair caught what little light was in the sky and glowed like the rope they’d used to tie up the beast. She oozed confidence and was battle-worn and tough, but her face was still round, her cheeks soft, her eyes large and dark, like a doll’s.

  She’s a kid, too, Pao thought. Maybe an eighth grader—definitely not in high school.

  “We can’t go home,” Pao said, deciding to tell the truth. “There’s something freaky going on there. And we’re stuck in here and our friend is missing. We think she might be here somewhere, because…” She trailed off, not sure how much she should share about Marisa Martínez rising from a watery grave.

  “There’re no other tourists here besides you two,” said the girl, unconcerned with whatever facts Pao might be leaving out. “And that’s two too many. Now get lost.”

  She turned to leave, and Pao felt panic rise in her throat.

  “Wait,” said Dante, and Silver Hair stopped. “We’re tired, okay? Hungry. We’ve been out here I don’t even know how long. Can we at least trade you for something to eat?”

  The girl sized him up, and Pao did, too, trying to imagine seeing him for the first time. His cheek was cut and bleeding, his hair full of sand. He looks tough, like Silver Hair, Pao thought. He might be someone she’d listen to. Someone who wouldn’t do something foolish like dump smelly water on a demon dog.

  But the girl didn’t seem interested in Dante’s appearance, or his wound. Her eyes, Pao could see even from here, were zeroed in on the slipper still dangling from his left hand.

  Great, Pao thought. If she didn’t think we were crazy before…

  “Where did you get that?” Silver Hair asked, gesturing at it.

  “What, this?” Dante asked, lifting the chancla, which now looked even more worse for wear.

  Silver Hair flinched when he held it up, which confused Pao more than ever. Sure, chanclas were scary enough, but this girl had just taken on a monster single-handedly. Was she really afraid of a grandma’s slipper?

  “Do you know what that is?” Pao asked her, and the girl rolled her eyes.

  “Of course I do. I know an Arma del Alma when I see one.” She paused. “Oh, God. Do you not know what it is?”

  Pao wondered again how much to tell her, about Emma, about Señora Mata, about the green light and the kidnapper and the weird m
ist around the Riverside Palace. About the dreams, and Ondina, and Marisa. About Pao’s fear that this was her fault. That being the Dreamer (whatever that was) had brought this on all of them.

  In the end, she just shook her head. “It’s a slipper,” she said. “His grandma calls it the chancla. It…changed…when she gave it to us. It turned blue.”

  The girl looked sideways at Pao. “I guess you’d better come with me after all,” she said. “Carrying that thing around without knowing how to use it makes you a danger to yourselves and everyone else.”

  It wasn’t much of an invitation. Silver Hair turned and walked off, not even looking back to make sure they were following. Pao thought she was going the wrong way, but if she’d learned anything about this place today, it was that directions, and memories, and basically reality in general, could be misleading.

  Dante looked at Pao and shrugged.

  She shrugged back.

  What else was there to do but follow?

  The glint of the nameless girl’s hair led them into the strange, misty dusk, and Pao couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter which route they were taking, home—even the idea of it—was getting farther and farther away.

  With Silver Hair leading the way, they didn’t need the flashlight.

  Pao and Dante followed her until the sunset began to fade, the sky darkening toward night. Was it really only this morning that I climbed through Dante’s window? Pao wondered. But no matter how long this day seemed, if Señora Mata and Ondina were to be believed, Pao and Dante couldn’t afford to waste any time. They had to keep moving.

  As they made their way across the field in silence, Pao thought of Emma. If she were here, she’d be doing goofy things to make them laugh. Holding her arms at weird angles to mimic the cacti, or reciting ominous heading-into-battle speeches from their favorite movies in a theatrical, over-the-top voice.

  Silver Hair was a poor substitute, Pao thought, with her long, purposeful strides and her perpetual scowl.

  “A day may come when the courage of men fails,” Dante whispered, doing his best Aragorn impression, like he’d read her mind. Or maybe he was just thinking of Emma, too. “When we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship.”

  Despite the weight of the situation, Pao giggled. “But it is not this day,” she whispered back.

  When their eyes met, there was a spark. Something with potential. But the absence of Emma was still there, too, like a black hole.

  Sure, Pao and Dante had known each other for forever, but Emma was the reactant that had rearranged their molecules and turned the three of them into something special.

  They had to find her.

  “Are we getting close to wherever you’re taking us?” Pao asked Silver Hair, her restlessness back, driving her forward even though she was hungry and tired and sick of walking. What did any of that matter when Emma’s life was in danger?

  Silver Hair didn’t answer, even though she was definitely within hearing range.

  Pao felt her irritation bubbling like a science fair volcano, but this time, Dante beat her to eruption.

  “Excuse me?” he said, jogging up to Silver Hair. She stopped, and he stood in front of her with his legs apart and his hands on his hips in what Pao had come to think of as his soccer team stance. “She asked you a question. Our friend is missing, and people are in danger, and we’re following you because you said you had answers. So answer!”

  Pao joined Dante and saw in Silver Hair’s eyes that he had crossed a line. Pao wasn’t sure how much good he would be if it came to a fight. Hopefully his soccer friends had taught him more than how to overuse hair gel and strut around hallways.

  Their staring contest went on until the tension coiled in Pao’s stomach like a snake. Just when it felt like the snake was ready to strike, Silver Hair jerked her head forward.

  “We’re almost there,” she said. “Don’t say anything until I give you the go-ahead, and please try not to embarrass me.”

  Pao wanted to make a rude comment, but the snake in her stomach seemed to have relocated to her throat, so she settled for a loaded glance at Dante.

  “Where’s there?” he asked Silver Hair, turning around in a circle. “Looks like the same old cactuses to me.”

  With a truly withering glare, Silver Hair returned to her purposeful strides. All they could do was follow.

  Wherever they were, Pao thought, they were getting closer to finding Emma. She had to believe that.

  Within two minutes, the air in front of them started to shimmer like heat waves, though the temperature was cooling. Pao blinked once, hard, aware of Dante stopping beside her and also trying to make sense of what they were seeing.

  But before they could, the shimmer parted like a curtain to reveal a scene that had certainly not been there a moment before.

  “What the—” Dante began as they took it in.

  It was some kind of…campground. At its center was a massive firepit lined with a chest-high circle of white stones. They sparkled like quartz even in the waning light, and within the circle the flames easily reached ten feet into the sky, licking at the gathering dusk like fiery horses tossing their manes.

  Arranged around the firepit, spread out for about a half mile, were black canvas tents of various shapes and sizes, their sides painted with a bright yellow sun. A few tents had their flaps open to the cooling air, and Pao could see people sitting inside. Other campers were walking around—talking, laughing, and calling to each other—or hanging out near a smaller cooking fire in front of what appeared to be a kitchen tent.

  None of them looked old enough to be in high school. Some were even younger than Pao. But, judging from the state of their clothes, and their grubby skin and messy hair, it seemed they’d been here quite a while.

  Pao wanted to charge in through the scrub brush, the towering cacti, the salvaged furniture, and demand to know what this place was. How it had been here, just a few miles from her front door, without anyone knowing?

  Dante was frozen beside her, absorbing it all, as Silver Hair checked the knife at her belt. Her posture was more relaxed, like she’d finally arrived somewhere familiar and safe, but Pao didn’t feel safe at all. She felt even more exhausted, like this was just one more mystery she had to solve before she could move on to the next. When would it end?

  When would they find Emma? Was she here somewhere?

  “What is this place?” Dante finally asked, after almost a full minute had passed.

  Silver Hair sighed. “Welcome to the campamento of Los Niños de la Luz,” she said.

  Before Pao could ask what that was, Silver Hair went on.

  “Remember what I said about embarrassing me,” she said with a scowl at Pao and her shopping bag. But a glance at Dante’s shape-shifting chancla seemed to strengthen her resolve, because she steeled her shoulders and walked toward the kitchen tent without looking back.

  Kids stared as they passed, whispering among themselves, eyes bright with curiosity. Silver Hair wasn’t the only one dressed in patched-up black clothes. She also wasn’t the only one with silver hair, Pao realized, so it was probably time to find out her real name. She couldn’t very well call them all the same thing.

  Over the cooking fire in front of the kitchen tent, some kind of food was steaming in a pot hanging from a metal rod. Off to the side, two boys wrestled in the dust. One of them had hair as black as Dante’s, but the other’s was shot through with white like Mr. Sharpe’s, Pao’s language arts teacher.

  Only, Mr. Sharpe was fifty. This boy barely looked nine.

  An older strawberry-blond girl sat in front of the cooking fire in a chair made of what looked like milk cartons and cinder blocks and old couch cushions. As she stirred the pot, steam rose out of it, obscuring her face.

  One of the younger girls, maybe four or five years old, spotted Silver Hair and jumped to her feet. “Naomi!” she called. Her hair was brown, brittle, and wispy, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She threw herse
lf at Naomi, who caught her and swung her around, smiling for the first time Pao had seen.

  The girl at the cooking pot raised her head at the commotion. She tapped a wooden spoon against the side of the pot and then set it down. The steam cleared, and the fire lit her features. There was a jolt in Pao’s stomach when she realized who it was. Beside her, Pao heard Dante suck in a sharp breath.

  “I told you,” Pao muttered.

  Dante stomped on her toes.

  “Well, well,” Marisa said, getting to her feet slowly, gracefully. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”

  Pao hadn’t had a chance to examine Marisa carefully earlier (because, stabbing), but she did now as the girl picked her way around the firepit and came toward them.

  She appeared older by more than just the year that had passed since they’d last seen each other across the lunchroom. Marisa hadn’t grown much taller, if at all, but her hair—which had once downright sparkled under the school’s fluorescent lights—was now dull with dust and grit, and had been braided severely in two long plaits. Then there was her expression. It wasn’t the same pampered, condescending face of a bully who enjoyed harassing younger kids in the halls.

  Before, Marisa had been scary because she’d always had something to prove, and she usually used Pao as the lowest rung of the ladder she wanted to climb. Pao hadn’t been mature enough to recognize it at the time, but the former version of Marisa had been more insecure, desperate, and afraid than anyone had realized.

  She was none of those things now.

  But as interesting as these changes were, they didn’t answer any of Pao’s questions. They just raised more. Marisa had drowned—everyone had said so—yet here she was in a haunted cactus field, walking and talking and bossing people around. During the fight with Ondina, she’d insinuated that the other girl was some kind of ghost, so what did that make Marisa?

  And what did the answers to these questions mean for Emma? Was their friend here, in one of these tents?