Esperanza (17 page)

He had just described a bleed-out, like that of the man outside the bodega. Even though his description was vivid, she felt it had happened to someone else, not to Manuel personally. Why would he pretend these events had happened to him? But she couldn’t bring herself to disbelieve him, either. He felt too familiar and trustworthy.

“Where is Ian?” Manuel suddenly asked, as if just remembering him.

“At the inn, waiting for the doctor.” She told him what had happened at the inn earlier, about Granger and his men holding her and Ian at gunpoint, chasing
brujos
into the fog, about Nomad and the sock with the message pinned to it.

“I am so sorry, Tess.” Misery carved deep lines into his face. “Granger and his men were supposed to protect you and Ian, not harass and antagonize you. Nomad once ran with the
brujos,
with Dominica, who commands the largest tribe of them. He knows the
brujos
better than any of us. What did the message say?”

“I don’t know. I think it was written in Quechua. Manuel, I’d like to hire you to drive us to Quito.”

“Wait, is Ian in the cottage
alone?”

The way he said it made her feel guilty that she hadn’t waited with Ian until the doctor had arrived. But Ian had been insistent that she go on without him and find a way out of the city as quickly as possible. “By now the doctor has gotten there.”

“But you don’t know for sure.”

“Ed said he called the doctor. Why would he lie about it?”

“It’s not that he would lie, but that
brujos
might use the situation to their advantage, to harm Ian.”

“Why would they harm him? Why did they attack the cottage we’re staying in? What the hell’s going on, Manuel?”

He ignored her question, brought out his cell. “I need to call the inn, but the cell doesn’t work down here. I have to get closer to the surface. I’ll be right back. Nomad will stay with you.”

Manuel hurried out and as soon as the door shut behind him, Nomad ran over to it, whining and pawing at the wood. Then he leaped up, his powerful legs slammed against the door, paws pressing down against the latch, and it swung open.

Nomad tore out of the room, Tess’s stomach churned with anxiety. Why had everyone they’d met here ignored their questions? How could a dog run with ghosts?

Tess burst through the door, into the narrow corridor. The emergency light was still on, but in her haste to reach the greenhouse, she knocked canned goods and tools off the shelves, stumbled over them, nearly lost her balance. At the end of the corridor, she felt inexplicably winded, her heart hammered, and she had to pause to catch her breath. She peered up the flight of stairs to the ramp and, beyond it, the open trapdoor to the greenhouse. It suddenly seemed an impossible distance, even though she knew it wasn’t.

Move.
As she started up the stairs, she suddenly felt on the verge of passing out. She sank to her knees on one of the steps, then doubled over, allowing the blood to rush into her head. For a moment, she thought she heard her mother calling to her—
Tess, hon, we’re here
—and the scar on her right thigh itched and throbbed terribly. Then the dizziness passed and she was able to move forward again, to the top of the stairs and then onto the ramp. She rubbed at her leg, alarmed by what had just happened. Was that a telepathic SOS? Was her mother in some sort of trouble?

Her leg muscles ached as she went up the steep ramp. The cacophony outside now sounded so loud, it was as if meteorites were crashing against the greenhouse shutters. And where was Manuel? He’d said he had to get closer to the surface, not that he needed to go into the greenhouse.

She hurried out into the echoing greenhouse, the soft glow of the emergency lights. At the end of a row of fruit trees, Manuel was arguing with a tall, thin man whose black hair brushed his shoulders.
Brujo
? Had to be. Nothing human could penetrate this fortress. But Manuel had said no
brujo
could get through it, either.

From where she was, she couldn’t tell if Manuel was scared, but he definitely looked pissed. She darted up another row, body shielded from their view by the trees and thick bushes. She couldn’t hear them over the echoing clamor, but now and then she caught sight of Manuel, then of the mystery man. He didn’t look any more ghostlike than the men in the field had. If anything, he looked Spanish, exotically handsome with a strong, square jaw, eyes set deeply into their sockets, mouth proud.

She slipped into the trees, moving quickly, and glimpsed them through the low-hanging branches. As the interloper grabbed hold of Manuel’s arm, Tess slammed her bag into the back of the man’s head. He lurched forward,
hands to his head, and was just turning when Tess tackled him. They slammed to the ground, rolled once, Manuel dancing around them, waving his arms, shouting shit she couldn’t hear. Then, between one blink and another, Tess felt the man’s bones popping and rearranging themselves, his body shrinking, arms pulling back into his chest and reemerging as something bonier, covered with thick hair. She knew that something hideous and extraordinarily strange was happening and leaped away from him.

The clamor suddenly stopped, she heard the sharp, startled explosions of her own breath as she stared in horror. Her brain refused to translate what she saw. The
thing
on the floor in front of her was neither man nor animal, but some grotesque amalgam—the ears and rear legs of a dog or a wolf, the nose, mouth, and arms of a man; human skin on the arms, fur covering the rear legs; the shape of a human spine vanishing, a tail appearing. And then the abomination became a black dog with tea-colored eyes. Nomad.

“Sweet Christ.”

“Carajo,”
Manuel spat, raking his fingers back through his hair.

Nomad’s ears twitched, his eyes bored holes through her.

“What . . . what do I call it, Manuel? What . . .”

“Wayra is a shape shifter. The last of his kind.”

Awe and revulsion rushed through her. This creature had been in the living room when she and Ian had made love, had been a part of their lives since they’d arrived four days ago, had heard everything they had whispered. They had befriended him outside of the bodega, he had ridden on the bus with them to Esperanza. She had sensed his unusual intelligence, but
this
? The stuff of legends and myths here in front of her? Friend, companion, sentry, shape-shifter.
Uh-huh, right, lock me up.

“Look, I really need to know what’s going on, what Esperanza is, how—”

“Tess, I’ll answer all your questions, but not right now. We don’t have much time. I just spoke to Ed, who said that Ian fled the inn a while ago. We must find him. He’s in danger. He—”

“I’m not moving until you answer my questions.”
She didn’t realize she shouted until she heard her voice echoing in the cavernous greenhouse. “Please,” she finished, her voice softer, controlled.

Manuel raised his hands, patting the air, trying to calm her. They both looked at Nomad, who sank to the floor, doing dog things—scratching at himself, sniffing, then moving off into the trees.
Even shape-shifters have to take a piss.
Manuel now spoke English clearly, without hesitation or accent,
as though it were his native language. That was nearly as strange as what he said.

“Myth and folklore tell us that thousands of years ago, Esperanza was a nonphysical place, a kind of virtual world for the dead, the near dead, the comatose. It was where the soul could explore the afterlife and realize that death isn’t the end, that it’s just another state of consciousness. Here, the soul could choose to pass on or to return to physical life.”

“Excuse me, but this sounds a lot like fiction, Manuel.”

“Isn’t myth a kind of archetypal fiction?”

One point for Manuel. “Go on.”

“During this time,
brujos
permeated Esperanza. Their ultimate goal was to become physical, so they
seized
souls and lived out the physical lives of the transitionals who stood at the threshold between life and death. Five centuries ago, a group of more evolved souls fought the
brujos—”

“Evolved souls. What’s that mean?”

“They were called
cazadores de luz
—light chasers. Their job was to help these
brujos
forward in their afterlife journey. A difficult task because most
brujos
were—and still are—stuck close to physical existence, held there because of emotions and beliefs they carried with them into death. Rage, hatred, racism, envy, intolerance, sadism, cruelty, revenge, terror.”

“So, we’re talking about angels and demons?”

“The terms vary from culture to culture, religion to religion. But forget labels. I’m speaking in the language of myth, archetypes, legends. And in this story, the chasers crushed the
brujos
in that battle five centuries ago. Some were so shocked and demoralized by the loss of the battle that they sought release from their lives as predators and the chasers were able to guide these
brujos
to other realms within the afterlife. But for most of them, their defeat only increased their hatred of chasers and their hunger for physical life.”

“What happened after the defeat?”

“Esperanza was brought into the physical world and closed to transitional souls, which essentially cut off the source of the
brujos’
endless feasting. After the defeat, most of the
brujos
left Ecuador and spread out across the world. They grouped into tribes, learned how to seize bodies for physical pleasure or to familiarize themselves with the world as it marched toward the twenty-first century. They
evolved.
Now the chasers are fewer in number. They can mitigate but not stop the incursion of
brujos
into Esperanza and the larger world.”

“That’s quite a mythology, Manuel. How does it fit with
brujos
now? Has the myth leaped to life?”

“The attacks have been happening here in Esperanza for the last ten years, sporadically, often on tourists, but also on locals. We can defend ourselves, but don’t know how to defeat them.”

“Why’re they after Ian and me?”

“I don’t know.”

She stabbed her thumb toward Nomad, who paced restlessly. “So where’s he fit in that mythology?”

“Other than what I told you, I have no idea. You’ll have to ask him. We need to get moving, to get out of here before the next wave of attacks.”

“And go where? I thought you said we’re safe here.”

“There’s a lull. They’re regrouping. We need to leave while we can. This place isn’t completely secure. There was a call from a café in Esperanza, where Ian is. He apparently took refuge there after the doctor was seized and threatened him. Juanito will pick him up, we’ll meet at another location.”

She felt used up, her head ached, she had more questions. But she trusted Manuel and his sense of urgency and nodded. Manuel snapped something in Quechua to Nomad and the dog bolted forward and raced up the corridor, through the immense silence. Tess and Manuel followed him, fast.

The Incan Café, deeper than it was wide, provided a welcoming fireplace to the left, a serving counter on the right, tables and chairs in the middle. Farther back stood bookcases and more tables, and beyond that lay a third area where people appeared to be sitting in front of small TV screens. Behind the counter, a young woman with beautiful skin and long black hair, who looked to be about his son’s age, had an object pressed to her ear.
“Sí,sí, claro,”
she was saying.
“Tengo que ir, mi amor.”
Then she slipped easily into English. “I’ll call you later.” She snapped the object shut and hurried over.
“Buenos días, señor.”
Her name tag read
CONSUELO DE COLOMBIA
.

“A café con leche, please.” Ian gestured at the object in her hand. “What is that, anyway?”

“This?” She seemed surprised by his question. “A cell phone.” She flipped it open, revealing a small screen and keypad with numbers.

“A
telephone?”
Without a cord? Unconnected to anything? Smaller than her palm?

“You don’t have these where you’re from?”

“No. Where can I get one?”

“We sell prepaid cells here. I’ll bring you one with your coffee.”

As Consuelo turned away, Ian glanced at a sign on the counter:
FREE WI-FI AND DSL FOR JUST A BUCK AN HOUR!
Cell phones, Wi-Fi, DSL: he felt like he’d dropped down the rabbit hole.

Consuelo returned with his coffee and a bright blue cell phone. “This one’s got a hundred prepaid minutes. It’s thirty dollars and I can activate it for you.”

“Fantastic. Thanks.” Now he could call Luke. “What do you have to do to activate it?”

“
Caramba,
you’re really new at this. I’ll show you. We have DSL now and it’s
magnífico.”
She brought her fingers to her lips, kissed them. “You blink and are on.”

He had no idea what she was talking about, but followed her into the back room with his coffee and new cell phone. A dozen people sat in front of small TV screens.

“Here you go. Number thirteen.”

Thirteen. Again.

He realized that what he’d mistaken for TV screens were something altogether new to him. Resting on a square pad to his right was an odd-looking plastic gizmo. Ian set his coffee down, pulled out a wooden chair, sat.