Ann Aguirre - Shady Lady

I cleared my throat, more freaked than I wanted to admit. “Moving on. We still need to talk to the island witch. The sooner we get this saltshaker situation handled, the better off we’ll be.”

“Agreed,” he said. “We covered a lot of territory.” The old woman had given us directions from the shore, not from Monkey Island. “How do you propose we locate her from here?”

“I was thinking I’d handle the wheel. If Ernesto has been running tours a long time, he may have left impressions. He seemed to like his job, and strong happiness soaks in as well as the bad stuff.”

Kel nodded. “Good idea.”

Anyone else would’ve attempted to talk me out of it, like, say, Jesse or Chance. They’d seen me read a whole house in Kilmer and knew how much this would hurt. I rather doubted Kel cared, as long as I lived through it. We needed the information; this was the way to get it.

“Could you move Ernesto?”

I just wasn’t cold enough to hop behind the wheel on top of his body. Christ, I didn’t know what we were going to tell the Mexican police. I didn’t look forward to all the questions. Everywhere I went, it seemed I wound up on the wrong side of the law. Except Mexico City. The place was clearly charmed, and the only spot where I could consistently stay out of trouble.

In answer, he bent and scooped the man into his arms. He whispered a few words—probably a blessing of some kind—and then tossed the body over the side of the boat. There was a splash, and Ernesto sank from sight. I’d forgotten how fucking heartless God’s Hand could be.

“Doesn’t he deserve a service?” I demanded.

His customarily blank face showed a shimmer of emotion. “I have the blood of angels in my veins, Corine Solomon. I defy you to find anyone more worthy to send a soul to his rest.”

Blood of angels? What does that even mean? I hoped it didn’t mean he’d been drinking it. Because . . . gross.

I tried once more to explain why I found this course objectionable. “But what about his family? They’re going to wonder.”

“Explaining the circumstances behind his death would prove impossible. The Mexican police would discover that I have a record and they would attempt to extradite me. Such events, while not catastrophic, would interfere with my ability to protect you.”

“Yes, I understand that, but—ah, never mind.” It wasn’t like I could change anything now. Ernesto had sunk as if he had a pocketful of stones—and for all I knew, maybe that was what Kel had been murmuring, a magickal rock-whispering spell.

I might as well handle and get it over with. But as I sat down, he touched my arm lightly, his fingers patterned gruesomely with blood in the bright sunlight. “His mother is devout, so I can touch her dreams. She will not wonder.”

Small comfort, maybe, but it did help. I acknowledged that concession with a nod, took a deep breath, and curled my hand around the wheel. Pain surged through me, laced with heat, but it wasn’t the I wish I were dead kind. This contained joy at its core, as if I’d held a sparkler too long.

Because Ernesto had gripped this wheel for so many days, it had absorbed a great deal of his memories. They flickered before me in quick succession. I saw that he’d taken us on a standard tour, but he sometimes took people to see the island witch too. With great determination, I fixed the course in my mind and marked which island before the images melted away.

My hand was red and sore, but it wasn’t marked; I thanked my mother’s power for that and called this a good reading because I could stand the burn. Sometimes handling left me crippled with pain for days after, if the charge left behind was traumatic enough. When I opened my eyes, I found Kel’s attention split between the remaining monkeys and me. I couldn’t blame him for that. Talk about culling the local primate population.

He brushed his fingertips lightly across my palm. The resultant tingle banished any residual pain, leaving me pleasantly light-headed. “Wow. How come you never did that before?”

“I wasn’t sure you were worthy.” Ouch . “We are taught not to waste our gifts. But you hold heaven in you as well as hell, and you have yet to choose your course.”

Sometimes he sounded utterly crazycakes—and sometimes I feared the world he lived in because it was real , simply layered above and below my own. At a loss, I muttered, “Thanks.”

“How much does your arm hurt, by the way?”

“It’s a constant throb, low like a toothache. Don’t worry; I’m keeping it clean, and I won’t let it slow me down.”

He nodded. “If it becomes too painful, tell me.”

“So, do you know how to drive a boat?”

“I can get us there, if you remember the way.”

As the boat engine fired up, the monkeys shrieked and beat the trees, showering us in falling leaves. They hadn’t gotten anything to eat, but from their size, they would last until more tourists arrived, no problem. I had never been so happy to put a place behind us.

“I do.” I glanced back and was sorry I did when I saw the new alpha male posturing on the shore. “Man, that’s not a happy sound.”

“They’re trapped,” he said, “and like any creature, they protest it.”

No doubt.

“What are we going to do with the boat?”

He considered for a moment, his big hands strong and sure on the wheel. “We’ll leave it where Ernesto paused to buy fruit. Someone will claim it. And we should be able to get a taxi back to the hotel from the zócalo .”

I had to admit—that was very clever.

Kel guided the launch skillfully through the water. With the sun out, Lake Catemaco was beautiful again, pure majesty and shining blue water, but I remembered all too well how easily it could turn dark. Geographically, the island wasn’t far, but there were a number of wooded isles in the lake. Without Ernesto’s specific knowledge added to the old woman’s directions, we would never have found it.

On arrival, there was no dock, just a makeshift pier constructed out of scrap wood and fallen trees. We cut the engine and drifted in. When we reached a safe distance, Kel jumped first, rope in hand, and then he lifted me down by my waist. I was happy not to make the leap.

A young boy melted silently from the shadows and took the line, mooring our boat to a curved mangrove tree. Its roots bowed upward, creating a lagoon within the lagoon. I chose my footing carefully until I could scramble out of the water onto the mossy ground. The trees were heavy and marched up the hillside like resigned soldiers; the air itself carried the scent of decomposition, a soft green scent that somehow did not smell of death, but more like renewal.

“ Buenas tardes ,” the child said. He was reed-thin and sunbrowned, not more than ten years old. “ ¿Estás aquí para ver a mi mamá? Nalleli? ” he clarified, as if there might be ten other island witches.

“Sí, por favor. Es muy importante . ”

White teeth flashed in his thin face. “¿Como siempre, no?”

I felt a flush starting. Doubtless everyone who showed up begging her aid claimed it was a matter of life and death. In our case, it was true.

“ Claro ,” I muttered.

The boy beckoned for us to follow. Deeper in the undergrowth lay a primitive staircase, no more than planks cut into the soil to help with traction in the climb. I didn’t like how deep into the jungle this path appeared to go, but we needed answers and Nalleli could provide them. Moreover, I needed a curse and a tracking spell removed. I had no other leads in Mexico; nor did I dare let wretched Eros out of my sight. Rock and a hard place, once again.