Ann Aguirre - Shady Lady

In answer, she cracked the first egg. To my horror, the yolk had turned a slimy, viscous black, more ghastly in contrast with the white, which was now bloodred. The shell had been completely intact; this wasn’t trickery. Silently, she showed me the other two. The second was paler, and the third showed barely any trace of corruption. I couldn’t doubt the efficacy of her work and shuddered to think of all that filth sticking to me.

“Now that you are no longer defiling my space . . .” Her smile took some of the sting from the words. “Tell me why you’ve come.”

“A friend in the city referred me to you.”

She studied me for long moments in silence. “Tia.”

My brows went up. “Yes.”

“It is good to know she thrives, even in a world of concrete and steel.”

“She sends her regards.” That wasn’t strictly true, but it might help our cause. I gave Nalleli the condensed version of events, leaving out only the bit about Ernesto and the massacre at Monkey Island. “So I need you to remove the curse from the saltshaker, and, if possible, the tracking spell as well.”

“I can do this.” Her manner remained serene. “But it carries a high price.” Well, I’d been expecting that. I reached down for my purse. She stopped me with a hand on my arm. “Not from you. There is no coin sufficient for me to take this risk.”

“What do you need, then?”

With some trepidation, I remembered that Twila, the voodoo priestess who owned Twilight and San Antonio, had wanted my dog at first, and then time alone with Chance once she realized he was the greater prize. I still didn’t know what they had been doing all that time, and it wasn’t likely my ex would ever tell me, not the way we’d parted.

“Call your companion.”

Was this a trap? My heart raced. But this woman could hardly do my guardian real harm after all I’d seen him suffer. Hoping I was doing the right thing, I spoke his name. Kel bounded into the hut; he should have looked ridiculous with one arm raised to do battle, the other cradling a Chihuahua, but he didn’t. His skull tats glowed faintly. I’d come to recognize that as a sign of him drawing power.

He assessed the scene at a glance. “You’re fine.”

“She won’t help us without payment from you.”

“Is this true, witch?” The word could’ve been a curse or condemnation, but spoken in that tone, it became an honorific.

Nalleli inclined her head. “It is.”

“I have no monetary wealth.”

Their eyes locked, questions asked and answered in a blink. My gaze ranged between them, sensing hidden currents. I hated being the only one in a room who didn’t get the joke, and this was only a hundred times more serious. Restraining a growl, I plunked the white box on the table in case they decided they could do business—whatever that business might be.

I figured they must be communicating silently, and then Nalleli said, “That’s not the payment I seek, as you well know.”

“Step outside for a moment,” Kel told me.

Dammit, not this again. Chance had done the exact same thing to me in San Antonio and I’d wound up attacked by a shade in a cemetery. If anything bad went down while Kel was otherwise occupied, I’d be a sitting duck. God knew, the kid couldn’t protect me.

“No.”

He didn’t push the matter. “Your choice.” The free-will thing again. I could get used to this. “Very well, I accept your terms,” he told the witch.

Nalleli rose, a silver dagger in hand. It had runes etched into the blade, not that I could read them. She cut a thin slice in his arm and caught the ruby red blood in a bowl. If she drank it, I was so out of here. But no, that wasn’t the master plan. Instead, she painted her fingertips and brow with a minuscule amount. The rest she poured into a glass vial and then capped it with a wax plug. Okay, I didn’t want to know what she planned to do with it; I was a little worried on Kel’s behalf.

“That’s all,” she said to him. “Go now.”

The whole process leaned toward the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am side of blood donation, but he didn’t seem to mind. Butch whined as they left, and the curtain billowed inward as if warning of a coming storm.

“Why did you want his blood?”

Her brows lofted. “You truly do not know?”

Man, I hated this. I’d never been good at puzzles or guessing games. “Because he’s God’s Hand?”

“If he has not confided in you, then I must respect his privacy. But with such a potent source, I can work miracles.” Her eyes shone with ambition.

Frustration surged. It didn’t seem fair that she knew his origins, but she was right in that Kel should choose what he told me—and when. Accepting that, I muttered, “So we’re square. You’ll remove the curse and the tracking spell.”

“I will,” she said. “I’m protected so long as I wear his blood. They will not be able to scry for me, and by the time it fades, my magickal tell will long since have vanished in the ether.”

Pretty slick, I had to admit. Plus, she got to use his leftover blood—whatever was so special about it—for her extracurricular spells later. I dug into my bag for the sketch Kel had drawn. “I’m not sure if this will help, but Tia gave us an idea what the practitioner looks like.”

Nalleli nodded. “Thank you. Now I need for you to sit quietly. It’s important you don’t touch or attempt to communicate with me from this point.”

“Would you prefer if I left?”

“No,” she said. “Unless you spook easily.”

I didn’t think I did. So I settled on the stool opposite and watched her preparations. First she laid a white cloth across the makeshift table and then she set it with terra-cotta clay dishes. On each plate, she put a different item: corn tortillas, grilled fish, green plantains. Once she’d finished, Nalleli bent, rummaged through the crates stacked against the wall, and straightened with a carafe of red oil. Palm oil , I thought. I knew of no other that carried that precise hue. She drizzled the fluid over the top of the other offerings and then set out red candles in a circle. To some degree, it reminded me of the séance we’d conducted in Laredo, but this was altogether more elaborate.

“Everything is red,” I said as she lit the candles.

I’d forgotten I wasn’t supposed to interfere. She cut me a look, but answered, “Yes, it is the color of sacrifice.”

I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that. “I thought there were two types of magick, white and black.”

“There are three,” she corrected. “White for purity, black for destruction—”

“And red for sacrifice.”

She nodded, fixing me with a steely look. “I need you to be silent now, or you must leave.”

Chastened, I fell quiet, promising myself that no matter what happened, I wouldn’t react. Given the atmosphere rising in the hut, that might prove a bigger challenge than I anticipated. Though it was a warm day, since she started her ritual the air had cooled until I could see my breath. Goose bumps rose on my bare arms, but I didn’t dare rub them.

Once she arranged the table to her satisfaction, Nalleli lit the candles and called, “Pedro, los tambores !”

“¡Sí, mamá!”

Outside the hut, I heard the sound of something being dragged over dry palm leaves and then a simple rhythm commenced. The sound was hypnotic; I could imagine the boy playing with his small, quick hands: three drums, one cadence. Before me, Nalleli swayed, listening to otherworldly whispers. Her eyelids grew heavy, but not, I thought, through any lack of concentration.

She sang out, “ YaYa, yayita, büey suelto / Oya viene alumbrando / como es / YaYa, yayita, büey suelto / Oya viene alumbrando / como es. ”