Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 (47 page)

“So cool,” Kevin said. “I wish I’d spotted it first.”

“You probably won’t be able to take it home,” Mrs. Whitehouse said. “No weapons through customs.”

“Oh, I’m going to take it home,” Jameson said with certainty. He held up his bag. “I’m taking it all home.” And he and Kevin Adams wandered off to do more shopping.

Our parents were going to be told that we got these souvenirs in a gift shop in Miami. Mr. Specter assured us they’d go for this without question. “People believe what you tell them,” he said.

Out of everyone in the group, I seemed to have the most trouble finding things to buy. I had a pocket full of Peruvian money—a sol was what they called the unit of currency here. Each of us had gotten a stack of bills on the plane in our information packet. Part of it was that I didn’t want to use up all my cash on our first day, and yet, I wasn’t sure if I’d have the chance to shop again. I browsed, looking at coffee mugs imprinted with llamas and stacks of soft blankets woven from alpaca wool. When Mallory bought a purse-sized backpack and I realized it was only about seven U.S. dollars, I grabbed one for myself in a different color, but after that I was stuck. I wanted to get gifts for my parents, especially my mother, to soften the blow of me leaving without her permission, but everything seemed too bulky or breakable. Finally, I let Mallory talk me into getting a silver bracelet. “Trust me, she’ll love it,” Mallory said as the old woman wrapped the bracelet in white paper and tucked it into a bag.

“Gracias.” I reached to take the change, but the stall owner’s outstretched hand froze in place as she noticed my face. She stared unabashedly, but there was compassion in her eyes. She set the bag down and reached out to touch my scars, running her fingers over my ruined skin. I resisted the inclination to pull away. She said something in Spanish and I looked to Mallory for a translation.

“She wants to know if it hurts,” Mallory said.

“No. Not anymore.”

The woman nodded in understanding. She spoke to Mallory, a long string of words. Somewhere in the rush I heard the phrase ‘Ángel quemada.’ Inwardly I groaned. I knew where this was going.

When the old woman stopped talking, Mallory said, “She said there is a legend—,”

“About a burned angel,” I said.

“You know it?” Mallory was surprised.

I was pleased to have caught her unawares. I couldn’t speak the language but I knew about the Ángel quemada. Score one for Nadia. “Sure, doesn’t everyone know that legend? The angel appears as a human girl with half her face burned. She travels with a man who makes the lame walk and heals sick people. She can fly, and when she does, she becomes invisible.” I tried to remember the rest. “And then something about a fire storm.”

Mallory and the woman exchanged a flurry of words in Spanish and when they paused, Mallory said, “Just what you said. She’s telling me the same story.”

“I heard it at the airport,” I said. “The guys who detained me thought they were really on to something.”

Mallory spoke to the woman again, and they both laughed. The woman patted my face in a grandmotherly fashion. “I explained to her that since the legend is hundreds of years old and you’re only sixteen that there can’t be any connection.”

The woman spoke again, this time to me. She held up one finger, the universal sign to wait, and then rummaged through a box in the corner.

“She has something for you,” Mallory said.

The woman returned with a pottery figure, about four inches high. It was a mustached man in a knit Peruvian hat, his arms full of various items. He looked a lot like the dad, Gomez, from
The Addams Family
. She jabbered excitedly and held it out to me. Taking it, I made a point to exclaim over it as if I was really pleased to see it. “What am I looking at here?” I asked Mallory out of the side of my mouth.

“She says it’s a Lucky Man,” Mallory said. “See how he’s carrying all that stuff? It’s symbolic: the money, the heart, the bottle of medicine. It stands for wealth, health, and love. If someone gives you a Lucky Man, you’ll have good luck.”

I fingered the small terracotta heart, attached by a string. I wouldn’t turn down any money or good health, but the love was the one that intrigued me the most. “Quantos?” I asked, repeating what I’d heard Mallory say.

“No, no,” said the woman shaking her head adamantly. “No dinero. For you.” Her hand went again to my cheek and her fingertips brushed my scars. She said something to Mallory, who translated, “She said she can tell you are an angel. Keep the Lucky Man close. It will help you in your time of need.”

“Gracias,” I said, a lump in my throat as I tucked the Lucky Man into my new backpack. This was such an odd country. I’d been questioned at the airport, included in a death threat, and now given a gift. In the last thirty-six hours, I’d experienced a greater range of emotions than I would have in a month at home. I could see why people acquired wanderlust. It was a big world, and I’d missed out on so much of it. “Muchas gracias.”

As we left the stall, Mrs. Whitehouse fell into step beside us. I’d lost track of her, but it was clear she’d been just one aisle over, within earshot of our exchange with the old woman. I wondered if she was going to ask what we’d been talking about, but she remained silent.

When we met up with the others, Mr. Specter made an announcement. “We’ll be spending several hours at the park,” he said. “We’ll stop at the hotel first to drop off our purchases. While we’re there, it’s a good idea to take care of your needs. I’m not sure if they have bathrooms in the park, or if there will be a place to buy snacks or water so plan ahead.”

This was starting to feel less like a spy mission and more like a school field trip, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t have been happier.

Nadia

To get to Parque Kennedy we walked twenty minutes from our hotel, passing through a neighborhood of businesses—gas stations and travel agencies and banks. We walked by a casino and several restaurants, including a Chili’s, just like back at home. As gringos, we stood out, especially Jameson who was so tall and pale by Peruvian standards. Still, people were friendly, smiling as they walked past us on the sidewalk. One woman who was sweeping the steps of her café tried to wave us in, but Jameson explained that we’d already eaten, so she implored us to come back, “mañana.” I was discovering I knew far more Spanish than I’d realized. Maybe I would add the language to my studies when I got home.

Back home it was June, sunny and warm—at least in the mid-seventies. On this side of the equator, it was cool and overcast, more like fall in Wisconsin. I found that I liked the weather here a lot better. All of us wore jackets, so having the hood of my sweatshirt up didn’t attract attention. And even if someone spotted my face within the shadows of my hood, there was no expression of pity like I’d encountered at home. People’s attitudes seemed to be—
things happen, not everyone is perfect
.

I felt like I could walk forever. I noticed Russ doing a mental check of my whereabouts, especially when we crossed the atrociously busy streets. The passing cars drove assertively, honking far more than they did at home. They honked, not just as warnings for close calls, but all the time, and seemingly for fun.

I had a feeling we’d get some space and time to ourselves at the park, and while that was true, I still had to wait to have a private conversation with my friends because when we first arrived, the novelty of the park was a huge distraction. The Parque Kennedy was an enormous triangle, an oasis of green in the middle of the city. Each of the three sides was a busy street, but once you were in the park, it was peaceful. On one of the adjacent streets stood a gorgeous church, and on a connecting street was a row of restaurants with outdoor seating. There was a playground for small children and park benches filled with lovers. Leafy trees provided a canopy for the pathway, and well-tended flowerbeds were abundant. In the middle of the whole thing was a large raised circular platform, where a few artists sketched on large pads of paper. Mr. Specter said it was a Rotunda, although it looked more like the foundation of a Rotunda, since it lacked a dome.

And everywhere else in the park, there were cats. Dozens and dozens of cats. A calico lounging under a bench. Cats walking nonchalantly along the path. I spotted a black cat stretched out full length on a tree limb, and several others sleeping in the grass. Others lounged by the fence that surrounded the playground. Cats everywhere. All different colors, shapes, and sizes. All of them seemingly healthy and meandering around like they owned the place. It was as if a tribe of house cats randomly decided go to the park that day. I’d never seen so many cats in one outdoor spot.

We all stared, mouths agape. Jameson was the first to say it: “What’s with all the cats?”

Mallory knelt down to pet a gray striped tabby, an especially fat one. “Oh, aren’t you the cutest thing? Yes, you are.”

“Seriously,” Jameson said, looking to Mr. Specter. “What’s the story with the cats?”

“I don’t know,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I haven’t a clue.” The other adults admitted ignorance as well. Mallory’s fussing over the one cat drew the attention of two others. They came running and soon enough Russ and I had crouched down to pet them. As much as I had a contentious relationship with my mother’s cat, Barry, it was hard to resist these kitties.

“I wouldn’t touch them,” Mrs. Whitehouse said. “Who knows what diseases they carry?”

“They look healthy enough,” Mallory said. “They’re not feral.”

Jameson said, “I’m going to ask one of the artists to give me the lowdown on the cats.” He took off, hands in his jacket pockets, walking jauntily, completely unlike someone who’d been drinking numerous Pisco Sours the night before.

Mrs. Whitehouse pulled frantically at Mr. Specter’s sleeve. “Are you going to let him go off on his own like that?”

Mr. Specter’s eyes never left Jameson. “It’s okay. I’ve got him covered.”

I stood up to watch Jameson approach one of the guys sketching over on the concrete Rotunda; he talked in a spirited way, gesturing toward the church across the street and giving the park a broad sweep of his hand. When Jameson came back, he was bursting with the news. “The cats belong in the park,” he said. “They live here 24/7. The church takes care of their food and medical care. One funny thing—the guy didn’t know the word for neutering so he said they whack off their sex parts.” Jameson grinned.

“Ouch!” said Kevin Adams.

“But why?” Mallory said, standing up. “Why do they feed them and take care of them?’

Jameson shrugged. “He didn’t know how it got started. But now it’s a thing they do.”

Mr. Specter motioned for all of us to gather around him, like we were in a football huddle. “I don’t want to be a wet blanket, but we do have a reason for being here today and we should get down to business. We need to break into pairs and just meander around the park. Act like tourists. Take pictures. If you see anyone who looks suspicious, pretend to take pictures of each other and get that person in the background. We’ll send the photo to the Praetorian Guard headquarters when we get home.”

I felt like I should be taking notes.

He continued, “If someone approaches you and makes friendly conversation, be hyper vigilant. There’s a reason Gordon Hofstetter thought this park was connected to his grandson and The Associates. The three of us will always be within range, so if you encounter a problem, just give a shout.”

“I’ve been wondering something,” Jameson said. “Our cell phones don’t work, except as cameras. And we haven’t been given any electronic devices to record or contact each other. I find this mission really lacking. Giving a shout seems like a nineteenth century way of calling for help. Couldn’t the Guard have come up with anything else for us?”

Kevin Adams said, “Good question, young sir! I have to say I wouldn’t mind having a gadget or two myself.”

“That is a good question,” Mr. Specter said. “And the answer is simple. Electronic devices can be traced. Giving a shout out cannot. We’re trying to keep a low profile here. This is a fact finding mission, as I’ve said before. No using your powers under any circumstances.” He wiped his forehead with his hand. “Except for you, Nadia. I’d like you to use yours continuously.”

I nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “Time to pair up.”

“I call Nadia,” Russ said. I knew he was just keeping his promise to my dad, but it still warmed my heart.

Russ

I picked Nadia because I wanted to be able to stay close to her. I’d promised her dad I’d take care of her, and I wanted to stay true to my word. But there was more to it than that. I missed having her around.

Jameson and Mallory, by default, wound up paired together, something that made him very happy. And the adults, well, I have no idea what arrangement they made. By then Nadia and I were already walking toward the other end of the park.

“Finally!” she said when we were out of earshot. “I’ve been dying to talk to you alone.”

I couldn’t help but grin. She always made me feel special, like no one else in the world besides me even came close to being the right one.

“Yeah,” I said. “A lot has happened. I wanted to talk to you too.”

“About what?” she asked.

“The death threat. What did you guys decide?”

Nadia exhaled. “Oh that. I left it up to Mallory. She tossed the rock in front of Mrs. Whitehouse’s door last night after we left your room. I haven’t heard anymore about it.”

“Mrs. Whitehouse didn’t say anything?” I asked, puzzled.

“Not that I heard, and I know she got it. When Mallory chucked it, it hit the door with a thunk. After Mallory came back into the room, I heard Whitehouse open the door and lean over to pick it up.”

“You heard her
lean over
?”

Nadia laughed, giddy. “Not exactly. What I heard was the door opening and then this noise.” She bent at the waist, pretending to pick up something from off the ground and then groaned as if it took a big effort. A white cat with a pink nose came out of a nearby bush to brush against her hand. “Hey there, kitty.” She looked up at me. “My Mrs. Whitehouse impression attracts animals.”