Esperanza (47 page)

Dominica forced Lily to walk over to the table, to say, “Hello, so nice to see you again.”

Lily sucked in her breath as soon as she uttered the words and started to scream. Dominica seized control of her, preventing her from saying anything at all. But apparently Tess didn’t need to hear what she already knew, what her burning arm had told her, that a
brujo
was right in front of her. She shot to her feet, towering over Lily, then grabbed the front of the woman’s shirt, jerking her forward. Face-to-face, eye to eye, she hissed, “You don’t scare me, you can’t take me, so it’s time you just went away, Dominica.” Then she screamed,
“She’s one of them, Kim, she’s one of them!”

Dominica jerked Lily’s body back, but too late. The old woman—Kim—vaulted over the front desk and tore toward Lily swinging a goddamn bat. It slammed down against the corner of the table, tipping it so that glasses and plates slid off, shattering against the floor. Lily wrenched away, but Dominica forced her to jerk the bat from Kim’s hands and swing it at the closest window. The glass exploded, shards of glass flying off into the sunlight and triggering an alarm that shrieked like a wounded animal.

Then Lily with her new, improved joints and her new, improved heart and lungs leaped through the broken window, with Cecilia right behind her, shouting,
“Go fast, oh God, run . . .”

As Tess and Kim swept up the shards of glass and broken dishes, Tess kept an eye on the two women across the street. Their plump hands moved through the air, gesturing at the inn, as they attempted to explain to the local police what had happened. Spectators gathered like crows along a fence.

“What’re you going to tell the cops?” Tess asked Kim.

“The truth. They know about the
brujos.
In the last ten years,
brujo
attacks have soared.”

Following Luke’s advice about starting their search in Otavalo, Tess, Lauren, and Maddie had arrived here yesterday afternoon on a bus, a two-hour
trip on a fast four-lane highway. Before that, they’d spent a week in the Dominican Republic, and another week in Quito. This was the first incident with any
brujos
. “Did you know what they were when the two women came in?” Tess asked.

“I felt something wasn’t right. I mean, they paid sixty dollars to use the restroom. How many tourists do that? But honestly, ever since you and I talked last night about the
brujos,
I’ve been uneasy.” Kim’s dark eyes filled with worry. “If your mother and niece had been in the room and they aren’t protected like you are, they would’ve been seized.” She gestured at Tess’s arm. “It alerted you. That bruise or whatever it is.”

Yeah, whatever it was. Tess plucked her bag off a nearby table, thrust her hand inside. “Could you take a look at this, Kim?” She withdrew the photo of Ian that Luke had sent her, now printed on photography paper that vastly improved the quality. “Have you ever seen this man? I believe he came through Otavalo a very long time ago.”

Kim stared at it for the longest time, then finally raised her eyes. She looked deeply shaken, but tried to disguise it with a quick smile. “George Clooney. If he visited Otavalo, he never stopped here. Too bad. I love his movies.” She passed the photo to Tess.

Stunned, Tess pressed on. “His name’s Ian Ritter. According to his son, Luke, Ian stayed here forty years ago. He called Luke from here. Luke told me to begin my search for Ian here. He gave me your name. In 1968, Luke came to the ExPat to look for his dad, but Ian had left. Can you tell me where he went? How long he was here?”

Kim emptied the dust pan into a large trash bin, then looked at Tess, her face torn with conflicting emotions. “Why? Why do you want to know?”

Tess gave it to her straight. “Because six months ago I died and fell in love with Ian when both of us ended up in Esperanza. I know how nuts that sounds, but—”

Kim made a small, startled sound, sank into the nearest chair. Her small, delicate hands clasped the armrests. “Dear God,” she whispered.

Tess brushed glass off the table, sat across from her. “Please, tell me what you know.”

“I’ve struggled for forty years to understand all this.” She threaded her fingers together, stared at her white knuckles. “Ian arrived in May 1968, after fleeing the political chaos in Quito. One of the first questions he asked was if I knew how he could get to Esperanza. Back then, the city was considered a sacred place to the Quechuans and was well hidden. They had
sent out word to the expat community that if an Ian Ritter from the cold country showed up, we should contact Wayra, one of the Quechuans’ trusted friends, who lived just outside Otavalo. I didn’t have any idea why they had put out the word on this man, but my husband and I were guests here and were always respectful of the Quechua beliefs and requests.”

Wayra, shape-shifter.

As Kim talked, a man emerged from the kitchen and came over to the table. He wore khaki pants and a black T-shirt that read,
Joaquin here. Tell Kim she’s got at least another 20 years. Or she can find her way to Esperanza and we can spend infinity together.

Uh-oh, Tess thought, and drew her attention back to Kim, who was talking about the fog that had rolled up the streets of Otavalo shortly after Wayra had arrived. She and her husband had had some experience with the fog, she said, so when Wayra instructed her to get everyone upstairs to a windowless room, she had done so. “But for a few minutes, I stood on the roof, on the balcony where I could see in every direction, and watched the fog’s approach. Watched Ian and Wayra race through the garden, out into the road. The fog came at them from every direction—low to the ground, so they were still visible. I saw Wayra grab Ian and . . . then there were two dogs racing into the fog. Or two wolves. Or a mix, I don’t know. But they
shape-shifted.
As soon as I saw that happen, I realized I . . . had to rethink everything I believed to be true about the world. So I’ve spent the last forty years doing that.”

Get a grip, it’s no weirder than any of the rest of it.
But what the hell did it mean? That Ian was now like Wayra? “Have you seen either man since?”

“No. And Esperanza has opened up to tourism and the Quechuans I know rarely speak of the city as a sacred place anymore.”

Now Joaquin stood behind Kim’s chair, waving his arms like an umpire calling time-out. The words on his T-shirt had changed.
Tell her the police chief is about to cross the street. She should draw his attention to the mark on your arm. He’s got one, too.

“Uh, was your husband’s name Joaquin?”

Kim looked startled. “Yes, but how . . .”

“He’s standing behind you.”

No quick backward glances from Kim. No freak-out. No tears. Instead, she leaned forward, eyes bright and hopeful. “He was Portuguese, mystical. He didn’t see what I did that day, but he didn’t have any problem believing it. Eight years ago, he left for Esperanza. Never came back. His body was found in the mountains. Ask him what happened.”

Tess looked at Joaquin.
Okay, my friend, you heard her. What happened?

Joaquin brought his hands to his wife’s shoulders. She flinched, as if she felt his touch. A new message appeared on his T-shirt.
Ambushed by
brujos
south of Tulcán. I escaped, got lost, killed later by Colombian druggies. When I passed, Wayra was waiting. I joined the chasers.

Tess read the message aloud. Kim’s hands were pressed together in an attitude of prayer, the tips of her fingers touched her chin, eyes bright with tears. “We need to get all of you out of here. And fast.”

Two cops came in and Kim hurried over to the front desk to speak with them. Tess went over to her mother, who was sweeping up glass in another area of the room. “Let’s get our stuff. We’re leaving.”

“How? There’s fog rolling up the street, Tess.”

“I don’t know how, but we are.” Tess tilted her head toward Maddie, also sweeping up glass, iPod buds in her ears. Music as refuge. “If you two get our stuff, I’ll settle our bill.”

“Done.”

Kim strode over with one of the two cops, an Otavaleño, an older man, his
shimba
almost completely gray. “Tess, this is Enrique Vicente, Otavalo’s chief of police. He can get you and your family safely out of town.”

“We can pay,” Tess told him. “But how can you do this?”

“The
brujos
generally do not take the people of Otavalo unless we consent to it. And we have not consented today. That is why they took two American tourists.” His smile was thin, nervous. “My son and I can drive the three of you out of town. It would be best if you wore hats that cover your faces. And perhaps shawls, like the women of Otavalo wear.”

“I appreciate any help you can provide,” Tess said.

“Understand, please, that we do not do this out of compassion. We do this because the sooner you are gone, the sooner peace and tranquility will return to Otavalo.”

Fair enough, Tess thought.

Kim said, “Enrique, if you can bring your car around to the back gate, they can leave through the garden. I’ll get hats and shawls.”

As Kim left, Enrique’s gaze fixed on Tess’s arm. “That mark on your arm, señorita. May I ask how you got it?”

Like the mark of Cain. “A, uh,
brujo
grabbed my arm.”

Enrique frowned. “But
brujos
do not leave such marks in the physical world.”

She thought of Joaquin’s message about this man’s mark. “How do you know that?”

He rolled up his left sleeve and showed her a similar, smaller mark on his upper arm. “When I was a young man, my horse threw me. I hit my head and found myself in thick fog, outside a bodega. A man grabbed my arm and told me to leave, that I was not welcome. It shocked me so deeply that I woke up on my back, in the field where my horse had thrown me. I have had the mark ever since.”

“Was it Bodega del Cielo?”

He made a hasty sign of the cross on his forehead. “
Sí, Dios mío.
You are the first I have met with such a mark.”

“Does your mark ever itch and burn?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No. But I was told that it protects me from the
brujos,
that they will not—or perhaps cannot—seize a person with this mark.”

“But they can seize the people you love.” She nearly choked on the words.

“My son and I will not let anything happen to you and your family, señorita. It is an honor to help one who carries this mark.”

Fifteen minutes later, the three of them were dressed in the traditional clothing of Otavalo’s women—white blouses, blue skirts, and shawls. Even though the women usually didn’t wear hats, Kim gave them three fedoras to put on.

“I feel like Indiana Jones.” Maddie tugged the brim of the hat low over her forehead. “All I need is a whip.”

“Even Indiana Jones might have trouble with
brujos,
” Enrique said, his smile tense. “The fog has not yet come up the street as far as the inn. It seems to be . . . waiting.”

“This is creeping me out,” Lauren murmured.

“Don’t let it, Mom. They can sense our fear.”

Her mother swallowed hard and tightened her grip on her pack. “Okay, let’s get moving so I don’t have to think about this too much.”

They fled the inn in single file, racing through the garden with Enrique in the lead, Kim bringing up the rear. Except for the whisper of their footfalls against the grass, the sweet-smelling air was eerily silent, as if the entire town held its breath. Tess’s arm itched, but didn’t burn yet. At the gate, they hugged Kim, then Enrique raised the latch and they ran out to the car, a silver Mustang with a monstrous engine that roared even as it idled. Tess,
Lauren, and Maddie piled into the back seat, Enrique scrambled into the passenger seat. Before he shut his door, the kid behind the wheel gunned the accelerator and the Mustang shot forward.

“This is my son, Camilo,” Enrique called. “He drives like Mario Andretti.
Vamonos! hijo, por allá. Rápido, más rápido.”

The Mustang tore up the road, swerved into a right turn, tires kicking up gravel and dust, and hit the four-lane highway. Through the rear window, Tess saw the fog racing along behind them, thickening, darkening. Was it possible to outrun this shit? She had no idea. But Camilo was trying. The speedometer needle swung past a hundred.

“It’s still coming.” Camilo sounded terrified. “What do you want me to do,
papá
?”

“Go faster.” Enrique gestured frantically with his hands. “In four miles, turn left. They will not go near Wayra’s old place.”

Four miles later, the Mustang took the turn on two wheels, onto a dirt road with open fields on either side and thick woods beyond.

The fog made the turn as well. But it didn’t seem to be moving as rapidly as before, Tess thought. Enrique was on his cell now, chattering in Spanish, listening, then snapped the cell shut and gestured wildly again, snapping instructions in Spanish.

Camilo veered right, the Mustang crashed through the wire mesh fence that separated the field from the road, took out several wooden posts, and raced across the field, frightening a herd of horses and half a dozen llamas grazing in the tall grass. It turned sharply behind a barn, slammed down into a ditch, sped up a steep footpath that angled into a thicket. Branches slapped the sides of the car, clawed at the windshield, then the trees ended and they reached a flat area at the top of the hill. A chopper stood in the center of it, blades turning slowly.