“Really and truly?” Juanita asked him.
“I’m starving,” he said.
She got a spatula and flipped the sandwich over. “Sit at the table.”
He sat and studied the burned black handprints edging the table. A minute later she put the sandwich on a plate and brought it to him, handed him a knife and fork. “Tabasco, we need some rules.
“Yes, Mamacita.”
Her eyes widened.
—What are you …—Julio thought. He hadn’t called his mother that in years.
—I don’t know,—Tabasco thought.
“If you don’t follow the rules, people will think something’s wrong with you. If they think something’s wrong with you, they’ll watch you, waiting for the next mistake you make. Make too many mistakes, and they won’t let you be friends with them; they’ll treat you like an outsider. They might even cast you out entirely. They won’t be nice about it. Comprendes?”
“Si, Mamacita.”
“We are social creatures. We need to live in groups. Julio knows all these rules already, Tabasco. Listen to him. Learn them. You need them to survive here. You got that?”
“Si, Mamacita.”
“Start now. Use a knife and fork lo eat. Julio will show you.”
“All right.”—Julio?—
Julio felt Tabasco’s control relax, and he took back his hands. He gripped the knife and fork and just held them for a moment, despite the clamor of his stomach. He didn’t like this battle. Tabasco seemed to have no problem shoving Julio aside and doing whatever he wanted with the body. All very well to be impervious to flame, and some of that other stuff was really cool, but—
—Please,—thought Tabasco.—Please, let’s eat—
Julio cut a bite from the sandwich and put it in his mouth, conscious for the first time in a long while of each separate action involved. He chewed carefully and swallowed before he cut the next bite. He felt Tabasco watching as though his life depended on it. They ate half the sandwich in silence, savoring each bite. Julio could feel how it fed him: a flare of strength flowing into his arms and legs, ease lighting his actions. He had never felt like this before. He liked it, and he knew it came from Tabasco.
Still … “I’m not showing you manners to make it easier for you to run things,” Julio said.
“Yes, you are.”
“No. This is my life, not yours.”
“Ours.”
“Don’t fight. You’re doing very well,” Juanita said. She sliced cheese for a third sandwich. “How hungry are you?”
“It’s going away now,” Julio said, but he ate the rest of his sandwich. “Why was I so hungry?”
“Burning uses lots of energy,” answered Tabasco. “Sometimes you get it back from what you burn, like the table gave us some, but the green fire, that came out of me. Have to put something back afterward.
Julio set the knife and fork down on his empty plate.
“Do you need more?” asked Juanita.
“No. Thank you.”
“Which of you said that?”
“Me. Tabasco.”
“I wish your voices were different so I could tell who was talking.” She set the third sandwich on a plate and brought it to the table, sat down, and began to cat.
“I could do that,” Tabasco said in a deeper voice, and almost on top of his remark, Julio said. “No, that would be trouble if it happened in public. Let’s not start.”
Surprised, Juanita laughed.
A knock sounded at the door.
For a moment, Juanita and Julio stared at each other. Then Juanita said, “I bet it’s Georgia, demanding answers.”
“I’ll get it.” Julio pushed himself to his feet.
He opened the apartment door and looked up into the silver-gray eyes of his captor.
“Mom,” he said. He tried to slam the door shut, but he couldn’t let go of the doorknob. When he looked, he saw that the knob had melted into slag around his hand.
The man stepped past him into the apartment. “You will come with me.”
“I will not.”
“Who are you and what do you want with my son?” Juanita asked, from the kitchen threshold. She had a knife in her hand.
“Mom, call Edmund,” said Julio, “This is the kidnapper guy.”
Chapter Six
Yet More Past
juanita whirled and headed back toward the kitchen.
“Wait, Mamacita. Don’t call anyone,” Tabasco said. Julio felt his lips stretch into a smile.
She glanced at him and disappeared around the corner.
“Come, said the stranger.
Julio’s skin prickled. He felt the compulsions, the deep song under the voice that spoke to his muscles instead of his brain. Fire rose in his mind and burned through the music before his muscles could respond.
—The doorknob,—he thought. Tabasco thought something at it and it melted again, off of his hand and back into a vaguely circular and useful shape. He let go of it.
“I wouldn’t stay here if I were you,” Julio said. His hands felt hot, and he knew Tabasco planned big burning.
The man began to chant. Julio had to admire the rise and fall of his voice: beautifully trained and effective. Before he could appreciate it too much, though, Tabasco did something to his ears, and he went deaf.
—What?—he asked, alarmed.
—He’s saying the articles of confinement,—Tabasco thought. —If we could hear them, we would have to obey. I remembered what you did with the Deirdre girl. Look how well it works.—He smiled, and raised his hands. Hot white fire glowed around them.
Strange, living in a soundless world, even the small intricate tangled song of breath gone. Terrifying. The loss of everything Julio loved.
The man’s mouth moved. His eyes widened as Tabasco reached toward him. “Please,” Julio said, and couldn’t hear his own voice, “please go away before I touch you.” He had to trust that his voice worked: he could feel it in his throat. He fought to keep from grabbing the man with his burning hands, even though a fierce, wild part of him really wanted to see this guy burn and die. Tabasco pushed, Julio resisted.—Don’t force me. You know what that’s like,—Julio thought.
—He’ll get away. He’ll only cause more trouble. If we take care of him now, we will be safe.—Julio’s hands disappeared in a haze of white heat, but Tabasco stopped pushing them toward the man.
“Go,” Julio said again. “Get out of here.”
The gray eyes stared into his. The man nodded once, then turned and strode out of the apartment, closed the door behind him.
Julio breathed as though he had just run a race. He stared at his hands. They went from white to yellow to orange to red, and then the light died out of them and they looked normal again. He leaned his back against the door, still panting, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, then looked up.
Edmund stood with Juanita in the doorway to the kitchen. His mouth moved.
—My ears! Tabasco …—
Something clicked in his head, and his hearing returned. Relief washed through him. He wasn’t sure he could endure permanent deafness.
“You okay? Julio, you okay?” Edmund asked, as he crossed the room.
“I—I’m starving.”
“I’ll make more sandwiches,” said Juanita, and turned back to the kitchen.
“What did you do? What did that guy do to you?” Edmund glanced over his shoulder toward the kitchen. “Your mother knows about this stuff?”
“Oh yeah. Much better that way. So glad we talked it over before that guy showed up. Oh, man.” Julio’s insides cried out for something to burn. He pushed away from the wall and stumbled toward the kitchen. Edmund put his arm around Julio’s shoulders and helped him upright.
“Whoa. Redecorating,” Edmund said, staring at the handprinted table in the kitchen as he helped Julio sit down, then took a seat beside him.
Juanita set a plate of pan dulce in front of Julio. He grabbed one of the pastries and s
tuffed it into his mouth. It felt as though it burnt up inside him before it even reached his stomach. He ate two more before he could slow down.—Really bad manners,—he thought.
—I understand,—Tabasco thought.—We need this now.—
“Sorry, Mom,” Julio said.
“It’s all right.” Another grilled cheese sandwich fried in the pan, and Juanita stood at the refrigerator, studying small plastic containers. “Does it matter what you eat? There’s some rice from last night.”
“Sounds great.”
She set a container full of red rice and a spoon in front of him, and he ate, feeling strength come to him from the food. By the time he finished the rice, the sandwich was ready, and he could feel the hunger slowing inside. The sandwich tasted as great as the first two had, a complex of textures of air-chambered, fiber-woven bread and smooth melted cheese.
Juanita said, “Edmund? Anything you’d like? Do you get hungry like that when you use powers?”
Edmund glared at Julio.
“I never told her anything about you,” Julio said.
“Tonight I called you on the phone, and you appeared here a second later,” said Juanita. “One can only speculate.”
“I think my powers work differently from Julio’s, whatever his are. I just had dinner, and I’m fine, thank you.”
Julio slid the plate of pan dulce over in front of Edmund.
“Oh, okay. Thanks.” He picked up a pink one.
“You need another sandwich, mijo?” Juanita asked. She poured milk into glasses and set them in front of Julio and Edmund.
Julio consulted his stomach. “Maybe I better. Thanks, Mom.”
“We still have salad, too. Tabasco, do you eat like this all the time? If you do, Julio needs to get more jobs.” Another sandwich went into the frying pan.
“I don’t know yet, Mamacita. Everything here is new.”
“Guess we’ll have to see. We are now officially out of cheese.” She brought the bowl of salad to the table and set it in the center. She dished some onto her plate. “All right. Now tell us what happened.”
“That man can say words that control Tabasco,” Julio said.
“Who’s Tabasco?” asked Edmund.
“Tabasco is my second son,” Juanita said.
Julio felt heat spark and race through him as he stared at his mother, felt his heart melt and change. Warmth glowed under his skin. Tabasco had fallen in love.
“Second son,” repeated Edmund.
“My second son is inside my first son.”
Edmund set his half-eaten pan dulce down and stared at Julio.
Julio swallowed. Out of everything that had happened tonight, his mother’s acceptance might be the most surprising. He thought about the horrible moment when he had wondered whom he might have to fight, his mother or his new tenant. His—brother? Maybe he wouldn’t have to fight either of them. If Tabasco would listen to Juanita and follow her rules—
“So, go on,” Juanita said.
“There’s something called articles of confinement,” Julio said. “It’s some kind of magical slavery, and that guy could use these articles on Tabasco and control everything he does, and now, I guess, that guy could use them on me too.”
“But they didn’t work.” Juanita got up and flipped the sandwich.
“I went deaf instead. Tabasco fixed it.”
She stared at him.
“Temporarily. That shielded us. We couldn’t hear, we didn’t have to obey. I hope I drove him away. Did he look scared?”
“Not scared, exactly, but resigned.” She smiled at him for a second, then looked serious. “Good thing I disabled the smoke alarm already.”
“Did I burn something else?” He glanced toward the living room.
“Not seriously. The paint was blistering. You must have done something to protect your clothes, eh, mijo?”
Julio checked his black T-shirt. It looked untouched. “Sure,” said Tabasco, “when I fireproofed myself, I guess I got the clothes too.”
“We have to get this under control,” Julio said. “What if I burn things in my sleep? Can’t let that happen, Tabasco. Everything here is important. There are lots of people living here. No burning in the house unless we’re in danger.”
“I understand.”
Both voices came out of his mouth. It felt confusing from the inside, and was probably even more confusing from Edmund’s and Juanita’s perspectives. He glanced at his mother.
Juanita took his plate, put another sandwich on it and set it in front of him. She kissed his forehead, ruffled his hair. “It’s going to be hard, mijo, but you can learn it.” She sat down again and took a bite of salad.
“Mrs. Rivera,” Edmund said.
“Edmund.”
“How can you—” He paused, then began again. “Do you know who this Tabasco person is? What it is?”
She studied Julio. He sat back and met her gaze. He wondered if he would have to fight his best friend Edmund now. The thought depressed him.
“I understand your concern,” Juanita said slowly. “Will he hurt Julio? Will he hurt someone else? What does he want? What can he do?” She lowered her eyelids, then turned to look at Edmund. “I think he’s just a baby, my second son. I think he wants to be good. I think we give him that chance, if it’s all right with Julio.”
Julio had been alone in his head all his life up to now, except for one time when Nathan jumped into Julio’s body to protect himself from someone who thought it was his job to lay ghosts to rest. Did Julio know enough about Tabasco to decide whether to let him stay? It didn’t matter. He had already decided. Tabasco gave him talents and friendship and power. Julio touched a singed handprint on the kitchen table. “I want him to stay,” he said. “We have a bunch of things to work on, but I think it’s going to be okay.”
—Good,—thought Tabasco.
—You weren’t about to leave anyway, were you?—
—I would try very hard not to. Between your skills and mine, I think we could wage a formidable fight.—
—Fighting each other? Or fighting other people?—
—Fighting other people. Let’s not fight ourselves.—
Julio felt his shoulders relax.—Let’s not!—
He felt himself smile, and didn’t know which of them was doing it.
“Okay,” Edmund said. His voice was thin with doubts.
Julio touched his arm. “Hey. Thank you for coming so fast. That was great.”
“Anytime.” Edmund smiled and stood up. “See you tomorrow.” He disappeared.
“Eshue Shiaka,” said Tabasco.
“Pardon me?” Juanita asked,
“Eshue Shiaka. That’s my real name.”
“Eshue Shiaka,” Juanita said.
Julio shuddered. He felt her words all the way down to his bones. What did that mean?—All she has to do is say your name … and then what?—
—Then she may control me.—
“Thank you, mijo,” said Juanita.
“De nada, Mamacita.”
“Oh, no, it’s not nothing. I know that.” She smiled. “Finish your dinner. We have a lot to do tonight.”
they spent several hours preparing snack-food trays and baking cookies and a cake for Charity Larson’s sweet sixteen party.
Juanita’s major income came from housekeeping, with catering as a sideline. She also did mending and alterations. Occasionally she made clothes. She had taught Julio as many of her skills as he would sit still for, and when he helped her with jobs, she sometimes paid him, depending on the bills that month. He helped as much as he could.
Tabasco lay quiet inside Julio while they cooked. He pretended not to be there, except when Julio ate a broken chocolate chip cookie. Chocolate made him stop what he was doing, close his eyes, and vanish into the taste. Dark, smooth, bittersweet, it touched his tongue like nothing else had.
“You okay?” Juanita asked him after a minute.
He opened his eyes, blinked away tears. “Chocolate,” h
e said.
She leaned closer, studied him, then smiled. “Ah.”
Strangest of all, he didn’t want any more just then. It seemed too special to eat like other foods.
They finished around midnight. Julio figured it had been the longest day of his life, but when he lay in bed with the lights out, he knew it wasn’t over yet.
—Why didn’t the house know me?—Julio wondered.
Tabasco moved through his memories, found the one he was worrying about: that afternoon, when Julio went back to the house in his body after being there without it.—I made you different.—
—The house always knew me before, Tabasco. How different am I? I don’t want to be so different my friends don’t know me.—
—The ghost knows you.—
Julio scratched his nose, scratched the front of his left leg with the calluses on his right heel, and thought about this. Nathan hadn’t doubted he was himself, even though the house and the witches had worried.
—The house and the ghost are parts of each other,—Julio thought, something he hadn’t really understood until the house let him all the way into it.—Why would the ghost know something when the house doesn’t?—
—I don’t know.—
Julio sat up in the darkness and looked out his window. Across the street, a new apartment house was going up. For as long as he could remember, Julio had been able to see all the way to the ocean from his bedroom window, but soon his view would be gone. Already the skeleton of the new building laid a black barred silhouette across the distance.
—Edmund acted pretty strange to me, too.—
—What do you want to do about it?—
Julio stared into distance for a long time and thought. Edmund had changed suddenly too, a year ago. Most noticeably, his voice had changed, so that he couldn’t even speak without making people turn around to stare at him. He hadn’t liked that at all.
Had their friendship changed then? How had Edmund handled it?
Julio had never thought that Edmund had changed into someone else. He was still just Edmund, with a few added frills and some interesting new problems. The situation wasn’t parallel.
Julio had helped Edmund train himself to talk more normally, to fuzz the edges of his clarity and to tone down the music in his voice, even though it hurt to lose that glorious sound. When Edmund was trying, he could blend okay now.
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