Apparition (The Hungry Ghosts) (16 page)

Afterward, she whispered, “Regardless of what happens to Esperanza, my choice is always to remain with you, Wayra.”

He rose up on his elbows, ran his thumb over her lower lip, then cupped the side of her face. “I can’t imagine a life without you in it.”

She poked him in the chest. “Then we’d better figure out what the hell is going on here.” She rolled away from him, scooped up her clothes.

They dressed hastily, slipped out of the greenhouse, and walked back toward the front of the cottage. “How’d you find me?” he asked.

“I hadn’t heard from you, so I texted a bunch of people and asked if they’d seen you. Juanito was the only one who responded and he asked me to meet him here. It would be helpful if you kept your cell turned on.”

He slipped out his cell, turned it on, and the text message and e-mail icons lit up. Later, he thought. At the door, Wayra rapped sharply—twice, pause, once, then twice again.

Juanito Cardenas opened the door, grinned when he saw Wayra and Illary, and hugged them both hello. “Come in, come in, we didn’t know if either of you would make it.”

He motioned them inside, moving as quickly as he spoke. Born in Esperanza seventy-odd years ago, he didn’t look a day over forty—black hair, vibrant dark eyes, and the high cheekbones of the Quechuas. Wayra had known him since he was just a boy.

“What’s with the metal shutters, Juanito?” Illary asked.

“Just playing it safe. What is said here must remain private.”

They followed him into the kitchen. Ed Granger, who owned the inn with Juanito, sat at a table filled with platters of food, and Illika Huicho, leader of the Quechuas in Ecuador, stood at the stove, scooping arepas and vegetables from a frying pan to a plate.

“Mates, good to see you both,” boomed Ed. “Glad you could make it. Is it pretty chaotic out there, what with the explosions and fire?”

“It’s nuts,” Illary replied. “Police everywhere.”

“We heard the sirens,” Illika said, bringing a plate of arepas and a bowl of salad over to the table. Then she held her arms out and hugged Illary and Wayra hello. “Wonderful to see you both.”

She felt frail and small in Wayra’s arms, and the faintest odor emanated from her, something too subtle for human senses to detect. He knew what it meant. Illika was not just gravely ill, she was dying. But if she called on the powers of Esperanza to cure her, if she immersed herself in the nearby volcanic spring and focused on healing herself, she might live another century. He doubted she would do that. He sensed her profound fatigue.

As they sat down, Illika’s eyes, set in a nest of wrinkles, met Wayra’s. “Any idea what happened? What caused the explosion?”

Wayra started to say that the Pincoya was old and rundown, that a gas leak had probably caused the explosion and the fire. But if he lied to Illika, whom he had known for nearly a century, then he was no better than Ricardo or Dominica or any other
brujo.
“Ian, Pedro Jacinto, and I set the explosives and torched the inside of the hotel to demolish a portal that
brujos
have been using to move to other parts of the world. The tribe is headed by Dominica’s brother, Ricardo.”

The stunned silence told him none of them had suspected anything like this.

“Is the portal successfully sealed?” Illika asked.

“I think so. And more than thirteen thousand
brujos
were freed and thousands of other
brujos
won’t be able to get into Esperanza if Ricardo summons them.”

“Since when do
brujos
need a portal?” asked Illika.

“Something has obviously changed,” Wayra replied.

“How do you know you took out that many, mate?” asked Ed.

“Ricardo told me,” Wayra replied. “And I figure he was lowballing that figure.”

“What the hell does this Ricardo bastard want?”

Wayrs explained what he knew. Suspected. Speculated. They listened without interrupting, then they all spoke simultaneously.

“They can’t just disappear Esperanza,” Ed burst out. “What about
us,
the people who live here?”

“They think they’re gods,” Juanito spat.

“This isn’t about us,” Illika said.

Wayra nodded. “Exactly. It’s about Esperanza. What does the city want? What does the city
expect
?”

Granger looked like he’d swallowed a handful of nails. “Not sure I understand what you’re getting at, Wayra.”

Illika started passing the various platters around the table. “Really, Ed. How long have you lived here? Thirty years? Forty? You know as well as we do that the city is conscious. Wayra’s right. No one has asked the city what
she
wants.”

“How the hell do we do that?”

“The city speaks to each of us all the time,” Illary said quietly. “We only have to listen.”

“So, this is, uh, like the Gaia theory?” Ed looked amused. “Is that it? All this time we’ve been dealing with the Gaia theory and no one let us in on the secret?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Illika replied. “Esperanza has always had the power to defend herself. But during the dark years, Dominica’s power became a kind of cancer for Esperanza. Her immune system was so compromised she couldn’t adequately defend herself anymore. The chasers knew it and realized that if the city was to survive, a revolution had to occur. So they permitted Tess and Ian to enter the city as transitional souls. The first in five hundred years. And their presence and the events that followed led to the annihilation of Dominica’s tribe and gave Esperanza a chance to heal herself.”

“And we’ve had more than four peaceful years,” Juanito said.

“Then why are the chasers meddling like this?” Ed asked.

“A few of them may have been corrupted by power,” Wayra replied, and explained what Diego had sensed when Ricardo had seized him.

Ed sat back, locking his fingers on top of his bald head. “Okay, so what’s the city saying?” He looked at each of them. “Juanito? Wayra? Illary? Illika? Please enlighten me.”

Wayra thought about his confrontation in the field with Ricardo and Naomi, about Ricardo seizing Diego, about the blackness that had swallowed half of the café’s deck and a big chunk of the field that Pedro had videotaped. He thought about the
brujo
portal, now destroyed. “I think the city is saying the choice is up to each of us. What do
we
want? The people who live here are part of the city’s consciousness.”

“Well, shit, mate, that’s easy,” Ed said. “It goes back to what I said earlier. For way too long, either the chasers or the
brujos
have called the shots. What
we
want, us, the mortals, is a voice in all this, a
goddamn choice.
” His massive fists slammed against the table. “A
choice,
that’s all.”

“Exactly,” Illika said softly.

Wayra and Illary exchanged a glance.
What do we want?
his eyes asked.

Us,
her eyes replied.
I want a chance for us.

Eight

Locusts, Crows, and Charlie

1.

Diego chewed at his lower lip and stared at the blood pressure cuff on his upper arm. Then he raised his worried eyes to Lauren’s face. “What’s the verdict?” he asked.

“Fantastic,” Lauren replied. “Your pressure is perfect.”

“Am I going to be released tonight?”

“Probably in the morning. I’ll find out.” She updated his chart on her iPad and noted his blood pressure, that his blood work had come back normal, and he was anxious to return to work.

The transfusion of Wayra’s blood had done the trick, all right, and she had already spoken to Leo about Wayra and Illary donating blood. Leo didn’t need convincing. He knew as well as she did that there should be
brujo
bacteria in Diego’s blood, but the transfusion had apparently eradicated it. Leo promised to make the arrangements so the shifters could donate anonymously.

Diego’s phone kept jingling—text messages, e-mail, voice messages—and he finally plucked the phone off the bedside table and scrolled through the text messages. “Shit, I need to get out of here right now.”

“What’s going on?”

“Trouble.” He threw off the sheet, swung his legs over the side of the bed. “A fire and an explosion at the Pincoya.”

“Let me get a doc up here who will release you, Diego. Sit tight.”

Just as Lauren went over to the phone on the wall to call for a doc, Mayor Torres stormed into the room, his plump cheeks bright red from exertion or rage or both. “You need to get your ass on duty, Diego. We’ve got a major crisis on our hands.”

“Keep your voice down,” Lauren snapped. “There are patients on this floor who are sleeping.”

Torres glared at her, as if seeing her for the first time. “Leave us alone, please.”

“Diego isn’t supposed to be having visitors. So you need to leave, Mayor Torres.”

“I’d like to speak to him privately,” Torres said.

Lauren glanced at Diego, whose expression had turned to stone. “It’s up to you, Diego.”

“It’s fine,” he said, his voice tight, cold.

Lauren left, shut the door behind her, then stood outside in the hall, listening to the mayor’s rant. “You’re head of the Guardia and that means you need to get the fuck out of here and tend to business. And I do
not
want to see Wayra and his shifter wife anywhere in the vicinity of police business. If they’re seen, they’ll be arrested. Right now, you’re needed at the Pincoya.”

“What happened there?”

To Lauren, Diego’s voice sounded shockingly calm.

“A fire and two explosions, that’s all we know,” Torres replied.

Lauren had heard enough. She hurried up the hall to the nursing station, where Elsa was on the phone, nodding frantically. She was filling in on this floor tonight. “Yes, yes, I understand.” Then she slammed down the receiver.
“Dios mío,”
she murmured, and crossed herself quickly. “You heard, Low-reen?”

“Just now. Casualties?”

“We don’t think so. But the administrator wants everyone in ER just in case.”

“We need a doc to sign off on Diego’s release.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Remembering that Elsa’s husband was a cop, she asked, “Did you hear from your husband about what’s going on out there?”

Elsa’s mouth flattened to a dash. “They already have three suspects. They were seen entering the tunnel off Parque del Cielo and had large backpacks with them. Only two men came out.” She handed Lauren her cell phone. “That’s the video from a security camera on the roof of a restaurant across the street.”

Lauren pressed Play. The three men huddled in the light of a street lamp in the park, studying something. Wayra, at six and a half feet tall, was easily recognizable. She knew the second man, a few inches shorter than the shifter, was Ian. It wasn’t until the men headed toward the tunnel that she saw the third man’s face: Pedro Jacinto, the priest. The video skipped ahead to the pandemonium in the aftermath of the explosion. Ian and Pedro emerged from the tunnel, were stopped by a couple of cops, then moved on and crossed the street. It looked as if their destination was the very restaurant where the security camera was located. Wayra didn’t appear.

The video didn’t prove anything. It certainly didn’t prove that Wayra, Ian, or the priest had blown up the Pincoya. But proof was apparently trumped by suspicion. She handed the phone back to Elsa.

Elsa frowned. “You
know
those men.” It wasn’t a question. “Of course.” She hit the heel of her hand against her forehead. “Es-tupid me. Ian, one of the transitionals. Wayra, the shifter. And the priest from Punta. All of them were my heroes from the solstice battle against the
brujos
.”

“They wouldn’t do something like this unless
brujos
were involved, Elsa.”

“Of course not. Heroes rarely act stupidly.”

Her insight surprised Lauren. “You’re a sweetie, Elsa. I’m headed for ER.”

“The administrator has called the graveyard shift in early. As soon as they arrive, you can leave.”

“After nearly ten hours here today, I’m ready to leave.”

As soon as Lauren turned away from the nurse’s station, she punched out Tess’s number. No answer. Ian’s: no answer. She hit the elevator button, then stared at the numbers overhead as it slowly made its way up from the garage level. As the elevator door finally whispered open, Mayor Torres came huffing and puffing up the hall, shouting, “Hold the elevator, hold it.”

Lauren stepped onto the elevator, but didn’t do anything to keep the doors open for him. Fortunately for Torres, the doors were slow to close and he heaved himself on, still huffing. “Sounds like emphysema to me, Mayor. You should get your lungs checked out.” She pressed the button for ER and the elevator started slowly downward.

“I know … who you are,” Torres wheezed. “The mother of that transitional. Tess. Yes, that’s her name. Tess and Ian of the
Expat News
.” He leaned into Lauren’s face. “Well, I have news for you, mother of the transitional. Ian is one of the suspects in this explosion at the Pincoya.” Then he rocked back, folded his arms across his chest and stood there with a gloating smile.

Lauren suddenly jabbed the Stop button and stepped over to Torres, invading his personal space to the point where he stepped back. “Feels uncomfortable, right? Well,
you
have invaded my personal space, you jerk. The name’s Lauren, and I’ve got news for
you,
Torres. The
brujos
are back and hundreds of people witnessed what happened last night at the Café Taquina. In fact, if you check the
Expat’
s Web site, you’ll see photos and videos. So no matter how you try to spin this, no one’s going to believe you. There goes your credibility.”

With that, she turned her back on him, punched the button for ER and the elevator continued its descent.

2.

An hour later, Lauren and Leo stepped out of the hospital and the chilly night air wrapped around them. A light wind blew from the east and carried the residue of smoke from the fire and explosion. She zipped up her jacket.