Spirits of Ash and Foam (38 page)

Rain felt exhausted but tested her patience by counting to three hundred to make sure Callahan wouldn't spot them leaving with the true
zemi.
She took Charlie and Miranda's hands in her own—sharing her healing glow with them, as they shared their steadfastness with her.

Two hundred and ninety-eight, two hundred and ninety-nine, three hundred …
and the three itchy, wet teens—with their spear-carrying ghostly companion—beat a hasty retreat toward the Old Manor through the still-pouring rain.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

ELLIPSIS

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 19

First period.

Miranda could tell Rain was a little nervous delivering her report in front of the entire class. Rain knew her material cold, however, and as she spoke about the Taíno, their
caciques
,
bohiques
,
cacicazgos
and
bohios
, Miranda could see her friend gain confidence with every word.

As Rain held up the bat-spear and said, “This is a Taíno artifact called a
zemi,
” Miranda's mind wandered back to the night before …

After their frightening encounter with the big gun and the bigger man carrying it, Rain had taken Miranda and Charlie's hands and led them toward home. Miranda had felt the warmth from Rain's grip extend up her own arm, flowing through her, as it had before, soothing Miranda's fears and pain and even some of the itchiness of her many, many mosquito bites. She looked down at her arms and watched some of those bites literally heal and disappear before her eyes.

But glancing back over her shoulder, she was still disconcerted to see the spear/flute
zemi
bobbing along behind them in midair. Finally, she grew exasperated enough to ask, “Are you guys ever going to tell me what's really going on?”

The Searcher looked at her with some confusion, as if finding it quite miraculous that Miranda didn't already know. By then, though, they'd reached the French doors to Pablo Guerrero's study—which wasn't empty.

Miranda's father was there with Ariel Jones, Constable Thibideaux, Jimmy Kwan and Tess Mvua, the woman from Vector Control. The place, of course, was a mess, with hundreds of dead, squished mosquitoes littering the floor—not to mention the occasional minute drop of teenaged blood. Pablo Guerrero had looked nearly frantic when he had turned around to see the three teens enter. Instantly, he rushed to Miranda and wrapped his arms around her, asking breathlessly, “
Mija,
are you all right?”

“I'm fine, Daddy,” she responded, “I'm fine.” She patted him on the back reassuringly.

Then came the lying-with-the-truth, which seemed to spring up naturally, even effortlessly, between the three kids.

They kept it simple. The mosquito swarm had flown in through the open doors and attacked them. (Fortunately, Rain had healed them all just enough to make this seem only a mildly scary bedtime story—not a horror movie.) They had run out into the rain to escape the bugs, but the swarm had followed. Then the bats came, and that was that.

Ms. Mvua was shaking her head—until the part about the bats. That was the only piece of the whole thing that
did
make sense to her. “I was told there had been an earlier attempt to exterminate the indigenous bats?” she asked.

Miranda's father confirmed this. “One of the archaeologists was afraid of rabies.”

“Well, that might be what caused the problem. The bats had probably been keeping the mosquitoes in check until the former were driven off.”

Jimmy nodded. “Balance of nature.”

“More or less.”

Pablo Guerrero said, “So we leave the bats alone and this swarming problem goes away?”

“Well, I want to complete our study,” Ms. Mvua said, “but I wouldn't be surprised.”

“Then that's what we'll do.” The boss had spoken.

Within a few minutes, the other adults had left, Ariel to ready the boat to take Rain and Charlie back to San Próspero. That's when Pablo turned to his daughter with thin eyes and said, “There are two
zemis
missing off my wall.”

Miranda glanced over toward the French doors. Whatever it was that had been carrying the spear had been smart enough to remain outside with it. She said, “They're up in my room.” Her father's eyes got even thinner, and she said, “Rain has an oral report tomorrow on the Taíno, and I said it would be all right if she used them for, like, show-and-tell.”

“Oh,
you
said it would be all right? And aren't the three of you a little old for show-and-tell?”

“You know what I mean. Visual aids. And
isn't
it all right?”

“Well, I suppose. If you're all
very
careful. These aren't souvenirs. They're priceless artifacts.”

“We get that. We've been studying the Taíno; we're learning about the
zemis.
It's actually pretty fascinating.”

“I've been telling you that for years.”

“I know. I know.” She hesitated and then decided to go for it. “I was wondering—after Rain's report—if I could hang the spear and flute up on the wall in my room?”

Looking dubious, Pablo started to answer, but his phone chirped. He pulled it from his pocket to glance at a text and was distracted enough by what he read that when Miranda said, “Daddy, I'm finally taking an interest,” he nodded, though what exactly he was acknowledging was unclear.

But Miranda knew her father well enough—or rather, knew
how to play
her father well enough—to take that particular yes for an answer. She kissed his cheek and waved for her friends to follow her back through the French doors, saying, “I'll just take them to meet Ariel.”

Outside, Miranda saw the spear, apparently leaning against a wall. She walked over to get it—but when she picked it up, she met resistance.

Rain said, “Papa, the storm's clearing. There are people around. We can't let them see the spear float down to the dock.”

And just like that, Rain's “Papa” let go, and Miranda nearly tumbled backward with the spear. Charlie steadied her—almost as if he had been ready for it—and Miranda held the
zemi
out to Rain.

To Miranda's surprise, Rain hesitated. She said, “I don't need this for school…”

“You might as well bring it in, though,” Miranda said, “since you're taking it back to San Próspero anyway.”

“Won't your dad expect to find it in your room?”

“He never comes into my room. Never. If he thinks about it at all, he'll just assume it's there. Besides…” She put it in Rain's hands. “I think this belongs with the Searcher. Whatever that means.”

Rain exchanged a glance with Charlie to one side and with empty air to the other. There were a number of nods exchanged—some, Miranda figured, that she couldn't even see. As they walked to the boat, it was all agreed. They wouldn't just tell Miranda everything; they would
show
her everything. Tomorrow, after school.

Which meant today. Rain had finished her report by playing a brief section of the
areyto
on Miranda's phone, which she had also borrowed.

All eyes turned to Mrs. Beachum, who was frankly stunned. She had thought Rain would look up the definition of her last name and issue a ten-word bare minimum report. That was the Rain she knew from the previous school year. Instead, the girl had done an entire presentation on the Taíno,
complete with visual aids
and
music
! Claire Beachum had never seen Rain so engaged in the material. In
any
material. So the teacher tried, with little success, to keep the surprise out of her voice. “Rain, I'm truly impressed. That was great work.”

Rain said, “Charlie and Miranda helped with the research. And this
zemi
belongs to Miranda's dad. Oh, and Renée helped too.”

An entire classroom of stunned students turned toward Renée, who couldn't decide if Rain was trying to be nice, trying to get on her good side or trying to embarrass her.

Rain was already returning to her seat. Mrs. B said, “You still learned it. You
memorized
it. Rain, this could be a good year for you. Educational. Informative.”

Claire Beachum saw Rain, Charlie and Miranda smile. Smiles to suppress laughter. Mrs. B definitely didn't get the joke.

 

 

Fourth period.

Renée moved slowly forward in the lunch line, glancing back over her shoulder. She saw Jay Ibara enter the cafeteria with Hank Dauphin and Ramon Hernandez. She'd have to time this perfectly.

Rain, Charlie and Miranda were already through the line with their trays and food, but it hadn't escaped Rain's attention that Renée had allowed multiple people to pass in front of her, so she could hover before the now barren dessert section. Something was up, so she stopped to watch, nudging Charlie with her elbow.

Charlie, in turn, nudged Miranda, who said, “What? What's wrong?”

“Shhh,” Rain said. “Watch and learn.”

As was their custom, Jay and his friends headed straight for the front of the line, cutting in front of twenty or thirty junior high kids. Jay grabbed a tray and silverware and chose the Caribbean Meatloaf and Smashed Potatoes. That's when Renée said, “Is this the last chocolate pudding?” Her voice carried.

Behind the counter, Mrs. Fajro turned toward Renée, surprised there was any pudding—chocolate or otherwise—left at all. But she said, “Do you see any more?”

Renée said she didn't, which was Jay's cue. He nudged her aside with his hip—not violently but firmly—and took the pudding cup.

“Senior prerogative,” he said without even bothering to look at his victim.

Renée said, “Of course, it is …
Sugar
.”

Jay's meal ticket was punched, and he left the line, taking a seat among the other seniors at the center table. Renée left her empty tray in line and went to stand beside Miranda.

Miranda said, “Aren't you eating?”

Renée didn't answer, and Charlie said, “She gets sustenance from other sources.”

“Well,” said a confused Miranda, still standing there with her own tray, “aren't
we
eating?”

The others said nothing, their eyes on Jay Ibara. Of course, it didn't occur to either Rain or Charlie to warn him. Charlie did ask himself whether he would have warned Hank, had his older brother been the victim of this confection, but he didn't dwell on it.

Jay went straight for the chocolate pudding, scooping big spoonfuls into his mouth, consuming it all in about four bites. Then he started in on his meatloaf and spuds. And then, slowly, his expression began to change. He looked uncomfortable. Then, perhaps, a little pained. His stomach growled loudly enough for the entire cafeteria to hear—no mean feat in the noisy hall. His best friends laughed at him, and he tried not to look embarrassed, but soon the only emotion he displayed was panic.

Hank stood up from the table, waving his hand in front of his nose.

Then Ramon practically shouted, “Dude, did you just squirt?”

Then Jay was running—if one could call it running with thighs pressed tightly together—to the little boys' room. Laughter followed.

Renée Jackson smiled with satisfaction and left the building.

Rain turned to Miranda and said, “And all Jay did was
not
let her cut in line.”

 

 

Eighth period.

Charlie and Miranda had orchestra—and of course 'Bastian wouldn't be available until the sun went down—so Rain had time to kill.

She had carried the spear all the way downtown. It attracted some attention, which made her smile. Nobody stopped her, though—not even Deputy Constable Viento, whom Rain waved to as they passed on the sidewalk. It was hard for Rain not to giggle, but she largely maintained a straight face.

Her first stop was La Catedral de la Magdalena, the oldest church on the Ghosts. Her quarry wasn't there, but Father Lopez—who eyed the spear in Rain's hand with more amusement than confusion—said she had just missed her prey, though he might be across the street. “Our friend likes to cover all his bases,” Father Lopez said.

So Rain left the
catedral
and crossed El Camino de Dios to the Old Synagogue, the second-oldest Jewish house of worship in the Caribbean.

Obeying the sign at the door, Rain slipped off her shoes, placing them neatly beside a battered pair of men's sandals. The sign said nothing about spears or flutes, so she carried her pagan
zemi
into the synagogue, feeling the clean, warm white sand of its floor under her toes.

She spotted him immediately, kneeling on a straw mat before the mahogany bimah—and the sight of him gave her momentary chills. But she soon realized he wasn't covered with blood but with
bija,
a local remedy that dyed the skin red and was supposed to protect against mosquitoes. She wondered just how far back the tradition went and felt sure it originated with the Taíno.

“Cousin Isaac,” she said.

He turned to her, and his caked red face broke into a smile. Still holding the spear in her right hand, she helped him to his feet with the left. (She had switched hands on purpose, so that the Healer snake could work a bit of its magic upon either his body or spirit or both.) Isaac Naborías sighed contentedly, brushed a bit of sand from his knees and said, “Cousin Rain.” He glanced at the spear.

“I did it,” she said. “I found the
zemi,
and Mosquito Boy—the
Hupia
 … he's gone. For good this time. You can get your job back at Sycorax. It's safe.”

He beamed at her, quite relieved, but he said, “No, I think I'll stay retired. I've earned that. And I can afford it the way I live. Plus, I'm old. I'm not long for this world.”