Out of This World (15 page)

She laughs. “Not literally. But you can see through a glamour, which most people can't. And you see the dogs, while other people's eyes just slide on by.”

“So that's my superpower.” I shake my head. “Wow, talk about getting the short end of the stick. Why couldn't it be super strength or speed? Or teleportation? I'd love to be able to teleport.”

“Me too. I'd appear right beside one of those dogs and whack it smack on the head and then—
poof!
I'd be back up here again.”

“Dude. Why not use your imagination and teleport someplace cool, where nobody could bother you? If it were me, I'd go check out all the cute surfer girls in Hawaii.”

She frowns. “Why would you want to do that when you've got me?”

“Because …”

Then I remember that she's got this thing for me.

“No harm in looking,” I say. “And there'd be all kinds of surfer dudes, too.”

“Why would I want to look at them?”

Really?
We haven't even made out. Okay, technically, we slept in the same bed last night, and she has this hot, out-ofcontrol vibe—like Elzie ratcheted up a couple of notches. But it's not like we're an
item
or anything.

Yeah?
the part of my brain that tries to keep me out of trouble offers. Maybe I should tell
her
that.

I might be better off taking my chances with the dogs.

Luckily, I spot a familiar figure coming around the corner and I don't have to put my other foot in my mouth. I point and say, “Here comes Cory.”

Though what he's going to do against the three dogs, I don't
know. He's not a whole lot bigger than Josh, and even if he shifts into his coyote shape, these dogs are still going to tower over him, even the female. And outnumber him. But he doesn't seem perturbed. He's just ambling along, hands in the pockets of his hoodie. The dogs haven't noticed him yet.

“What can Cory do that you can't?” I ask Donalita.

That puts her right back in a good mood.

“Oh, I'm much fiercer than he is,” she agrees, “but he's brought backup.”

“I don't see any backup.”

“What do you think those crows are?”

There
are
a lot of crows around all of a sudden, maybe ten or twelve on this block, all on this side of the street. One of them lands in the palm fronds just a few feet from where we're perched. He dips his head and croaks at us with what I assume is a greeting.

“Dude,” I say and nod back.

I want to ask what a bunch of crows can do, but I keep the question to myself. I probably don't want to insult them if they're here to help. But really. They're crows. Big birds, sure—but up against dogs?

Donalita's not paying attention. She's hanging precariously from a long frond to see what's going on below.

“Though this could still get messy,” she says. “It all depends on how stupid the dogs are.”

The crow croaks again—this time I think he's laughing.

Below, the three dogs stand shoulder to shoulder, waiting as Cory approaches. I don't get how nobody seems super concerned about anything.

“We should go down to get a closer look,” Donalita says.

“Maybe we should stay out of the way,” I tell her.

“Oh, pooh. Don't be a baby.”

“I'm not. But if it's so safe, why did we have to hide in a tree?”

“That was before Cory and the crow boys showed up.”

The big black bird chitters and preens his wing feathers. I could swear he's grinning.

“That was then,” she says. “It's safe to go down now.”

“Okay, seriously? I don't know how I'm going to get off this tree without a fireman's ladder.”

“Is that all?”

Before I know it, she's swung me onto her back. I start to complain, but she's already scampering down the trunk and all I can do is hang on for dear life. When we get to the ground, my legs feel too wobbly to stand up. I hold on to the palm, happy that I didn't wet my pants.

The dogs turn, snarling and growling, teeth bared. Donalita steps between them and me.

“Don't even think about it,” Cory says.

The air is suddenly thick with the beating of crow wings. As the birds land on the sidewalk around us, they turn into dark-skinned men with long black hair. One of the dogs, also a male, takes human shape.

I look around. Cars are driving by. A couple of kids are sitting on a stoop on the opposite side of the street, one of them texting, the other listening to something through his earphones. There's a woman at the end of the block having an intense conversation with some guy who's probably her boyfriend. Scratch that. Her
ex
-boyfriend, from the way she's yelling at him.

Okay, so all these people have their own lives happening, but how can
nobody
be paying attention to any of this?

“We don't answer to you,” the dog man tells Cory.

“Nobody says you do,” Cory says. “But I'm here as an emissary of Señora Mariposa, and so long as she watches over this land, you'll do as she says.”

“Or what? You'll sic your little flock of pet crows on us?”

I remember how powerful Vincenzo was—he took out three elders without even breaking a sweat—so I'm wondering about these dogs. What if they're just as strong? If that's true, then it won't matter that Cory and the crows outnumber them three to one.

But Cory seems unconcerned.

“That's an interesting symbol you're wearing,” he says, his voice mild, like they're just having a conversation.

I've noticed it too. A thunderbolt in a circle. The one in man-shape has it tattooed on his bicep. The other two dogs wear it like a brand on the shoulders of their forelegs.

The dog man shrugs, “It's just a tat.”

“I can see that,” Cory says. “I'm just wondering what it means, seeing how all three of you have the same one. Is it a pack emblem?”

“Sure,” the dog man says. “Let's go with that.”

Cory nods. “But it's interesting. Whenever I get a tat, it disappears when I shift to my other form. I just can't get them to stick.”

“Guess you need a better tattoo artist.”

“I guess I do,” Cory agrees. “But it makes me wonder. What if it's not a gang emblem, or even a tattoo? What if it's a binding mark that someone's put on you, and now they're just putting you through your moves like a puppet?”

“You need to do a little less thinking,” the dog man says,
“and a whole lot more of getting the fuck out of here. We've got business with the human and it's not your concern.”

Cory shakes his head. “I guess that binding mark's doing something to your memory. Didn't you hear me say that I'm Señora Mariposa's emissary and she doesn't want you conducting your business here?”

The dog man laughs. “Everybody knows your Señora's a tired old hag that nobody pays attention to anymore. She can't even remember the stories she's supposed to hold in care for the spirits of this land.”

“I wouldn't be so quick to—”

“Face it, pup,” the dog man says. “She's a has-been. Stick with her, and you'll go down when she does. And if she gets in our way, trust me, she's going down.”

It's been one of those cloudless days—blue sky above with the sun just beating down on us, its brilliant glare washing everything out. Let me tell you, I felt it, sitting up in that palm with Donalita, and it's not even noon yet. So when a dark shadow washes over us, it feels all the more dramatic.

“Tell her yourself,” Cory says.

He nods with his chin to something behind us. I look back there—like everyone does—and all I can do is stand with my jaw hanging slack. That was no thundercloud passing in front of the sun. Instead, there's a monstrous dark-winged moth floating above us, so vast it seems to fill the sky.

I flash back to that moment on the clifftop last night, when a huge moth came rising up from the beach, and realize that this is Auntie Min in her animal shape—amped up to an impossible size.

She floats there for a long, suspended moment in time. It feels like all the air has been sucked out of the sky, but finally the enormous moth shrinks down to her more familiar form of an old Native or Mexican woman with a ghostly impression of moth wings rising behind her like a grim echo. She fixes the dog man with her gaze, eyes dark and seriously pissed.

“Here I am,” she says to him. “Standing in your way. Now, just how do you plan to—how did you phrase it? Oh, yes. Put me down.”

The dog man looks like he's about to drop a load in his pants.

He starts to say something, but only a garbled noise comes out. He clears his throat and tries again.

“Señora,” he says. “We meant no disrespect.”

“Oh?”

The dog man stares at the pavement. His companions stand with their heads drooping, tails between their legs.

“Pay attention to me, now,” Auntie Min says. “Every person in Santa Feliz—cousin and five-fingered being—is under my protection from the likes of you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Señora.”

“And if I should need to send another emissary to speak on my behalf, next time you will heed what they have to tell you— correct?”

“Yes, Señora. Of course.”

“Good. Now go.”

The dog man shifts back to his dog shape, and just like that, the three of them trot off. Donalita claps her hands.

“Nicely done,” Cory says with a grin. “The threat's gone and no one was hurt.”

“It's too early to congratulate ourselves,” Auntie Min tells him. “There's been more serious trouble down by the highway. I'll meet with you there.”

“Meet with you where?” Cory asks.

“At Theodore's home.”

Then she just takes a step and vanishes. I know she's only moved into the otherworld, but I still can't help but be impressed.

“Dude,” I say to Cory. “That's so cool. Can we go there the same way?”

He smiles, but shakes his head. “I've never been there in this world,” he says, “so I'd have trouble finding a place to cross back over if we were on the other side.”

“Huh. But Auntie Min knows where Chaingang's crib is?”

“In Santa Feliz,” Cory says, “Auntie Min knows where everything is.”

The dark-haired crow men shift back into their bird shapes and fly off. They move fast, like they're fuel-injected. Sighing, I fall into step with Cory and Donalita as we trudge off.

“So, I'm curious about something,” I say to Cory.

He lifts a brow.

“If Auntie Min's so powerful, why didn't she take out Vincenzo back on the cliff? Why doesn't she just wave her hand right now and deal with all the crap that's going on?”

“That's not her way,” Cory says. “She's a caretaker. A healer. She couldn't take a life—it's not in her DNA.” He grins. “Of course, those dog cousins don't know that.”

“Yeah, but Tomás
died
.”

His humour leaves him. “I'm pretty sure she didn't think Vincenzo would take that road.”

It's good to feel the play of the mountain lion's muscles as I run. I go about a half mile, then circle back to the mesa top. When I get near the edge of the cliff, I leap up into the thick branches of one of the tall pines. I look out across the valley from my vantage point, my tail flicking with irritation as I think about what I've learned.

I knew
los tíos
weren't necessarily nice guys. I remember the way the bandas deferred to them. Hell, those tough Mexican gangbangers were
scared
of them—there's no other way to put it. It wasn't respect. It was fear.

And now there's this whole business of the uncles executing cousins who play host to evil spirits. Evil spirits that choose the most powerful cousins to inhabit.

If
los tíos
are capable of that, then they really have something big going on.

Question is, do I want to be a part of it? I don't mean, do I want to help them, but do I even want to associate with them?

The mountain lion's getting restless hanging around here in this tree while my brain goes around in circles. Tío Goyo's right about that. I spend way too much time in my own head.

But then I think of something else. Something Lara said: how her grandparents showed her how to move between the worlds.

Lara
moves through the worlds.

Why not track her, and when the trail takes me into a different world, I'll just put all my attention on what's going on around me as I step from one world into another? Maybe I'll be able to figure out what she sees and then reboot the map in my head.

The mountain lion likes this tracking idea and I find myself making a lazy leap to the ground, then heading in among the trees where I saw the de Padillas disappear from sight.

Their scent is easy to pick up and I follow it with a new confidence. I'm not going to need the uncles if I can figure this out for myself.