Esperanza (9 page)

“Supreme deity of Hinduism,” Manuel added, and pointed at Juanito, now talking to a bald man at the front desk. “The manager is Ed Granger. He and Juanito will take care of you from here. If I can be of help, amigos, here is my card.” One for each of them. “I can drive you around, take you to wonderful restaurants, show you marvelous sights, drive you to the volcanoes,
me entiendes?”

Ian, evidently feeling guilty for his outburst on the bus, quickly dug cash from his pocket and pressed it into Manuel’s hand. “Thank you for everything, and I apologize for getting angry.”

“It is nothing, señor. I understand. Dealing with
brujos
. . .” He shrugged. “No two people react the same.”

Manuel extended his hand to Tess, but she hugged him instead. That sense of familiarity rushed through her again. She stepped back, frowning. “I feel like we’ve met before, Manuel.”

His quick smile lit up his face. “I know what you mean. But I think not. You are not one I would forget, Señorita Tess.”

“I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

As they crossed the lobby, Tess noticed more of its details—the beautiful light that spilled through the glass domes of several skylights, the intricate designs set into the floor tiles, the magnificent craftsmanship of the woven rugs. Music played in the background, something familiar with a Latin rhythm. The faint scent of smoke from the fireplace mixed with the richness of freshly brewed coffee.

“Hey, it could be a lot worse,” Ian remarked. “We could’ve gotten stuck in that bodega for the next three days.”

No argument there.

At the desk, Juanito introduced them to Whiskers, the black and white tuxedo cat Tess had seen moments ago, now curled up on the counter near Ed Granger. Granger looked like an ex-wrestler—a slick, shiny bald head, massive shoulders, a colorful and elaborate tattoo that decorated his right
arm and the back of his right hand. “Mates,” his voice boomed. “Juanito tells me you are North American allies.”

The phrase struck Tess as strange, as though a war had been declared and Americans and Aussies were on the same side. She could tell from the expression on Ian’s face that he found it odd, too.

“Uh, yes, that’s right,” Ian said. “We’d like two rooms.”

Ed’s smile shrank. He said something in Quechua to Juanito, who looked flustered, replied in Quechua, then shrugged and hurried off. “We have just one room at the moment, actually a cottage, with two double beds. I hope that won’t be a problem, mates.”

Not for me,
Tess thought.

“We should have something else by tomorrow,” Granger continued. “Juanito went over there now to make sure the refrigerator is stocked with food. He’ll make you tea that helps counteract the effects of the altitude.”

Ian looked over at Tess, who said, “It’s fine with me. Right now, a bed in a stable would be fine.”

“A stable.” Granger exploded with laughter. “Oh, I assure you, mates, the cottage far surpasses any stable.” As he slapped a key on the counter, the tattooed figures on the back of his hand seemed to move, dance, undulate. “Go down the first hall to the right, out the first door. Cottage thirteen is on the east side of the courtyard.”

Thirteen. That number again, Tess thought. “Do you take credit cards?” She reached into her pack.

“Credit cards, cash, a check, traveler’s checks. But don’t worry about it now. We’ll settle the bill when you leave. I just need to see your passports.”

Passport. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d shown hers. But she slipped it out of her pack and turned it over to Granger, just as Ian did. Maybe it was her imagination, but it seemed he studied their passports just a tad too long.

As Granger started filling out forms, Ian said, “You know, we both seem to be having memory problems. We can’t even remember getting on buses that dropped us at Bodega del Cielo. Tess was headed to Tulcán, I was going to the Galápagos.”

Granger made a dismissive gesture. “Not unusual. The bus system in this part of Ecuador is confusing. People end up on the wrong buses all the time. As for your memory, it’s the altitude, mate. Once you cross the Río Palo, the road climbs to over thirteen thousand feet. Esperanza is at thirteen-two.
Don’t drink alcohol for at least twenty-four hours. Stay hydrated. Sleep all you want. You’ll feel a hundred percent better in another day.”

“I don’t remember seeing any river,” Tess said.

“You crossed it shortly before you reached the bodega.” Granger finished his forms and handed the passports back to them. “As the crow flies, Esperanza isn’t very far from the bodega. But the road twists upward for more than seven thousand feet. It’s like going from, oh, maybe Denver to the continental divide.”

“Where can we make travel arrangements?” Tess asked.

“And I’d like to make a call to the States,” Ian added.

“Calls can be made from the cottage. As for travel, we can arrange things for you here at the desk. Or there’re bus stations in town. But I recommend resting up for a day or two. And while you’re here, you might as well see our marvelous city. If you’re hungry, we have a great restaurant here in the inn, open twenty-four/seven. Or there are other restaurants throughout Esperanza. And your cottage will have food in the fridge. We also have shops in the immediate vicinity where you can buy whatever you may have left at home.” He slipped their passports and two maps across the counter. “City maps, so you can find your way around. The town can be confusing to newcomers.”

“What’s the population of Esperanza?” Tess asked.

“About twenty thousand. We lose young people every year, you know how it is—the bigger cities beckon, they go off to the university, find better-paying jobs.” He leaned forward, lowered his voice. “I heard about what happened on your way in. The fog. The, uh,
brujos.
They often travel in the fog, for cover, so it’s a good idea if you don’t wander outside of town.”

“What exactly are these
brujos,
Mr. Granger?” Ian asked. “Back at the bodega, one of them grabbed Tess’s arm and then later on he turned up dead outside.”

“Dead?” Granger looked as if Ian had just told him a UFO had landed on the White House lawn. His gaze flicked to Tess. “You’re sure it was the same man?”

“Yes. He looked like he had bled out.”
Tick-tock,
whispered the clock on the wall. Tess watched the hands click forward and realized a full thirty seconds passed before Granger spoke.

“What did the police do?”

“The only cop there was drunk,” she replied. “He didn’t do anything.”

Granger clicked his tongue against his teeth, shook his head. “I’m really
sorry you had to go through that.” His soft, conspiratorial voice struck Tess as phony. “These
brujos
fight among themselves all the time. They’re crazies. Outcasts.”

“Outcasts from where?” Ian asked.

“Mate, if I knew the answer to that, I’d be happy to share it. But no one really knows. My theory is they’re thieves, drug runners, undesirables from all over South America who are looking to make Esperanza their home base. They seem to have some sort of, I don’t know what you call it. Unusual abilities?” He shrugged, palms aimed at the ceiling. “Sara Wells will want to talk to you as soon as she returns. She’s the expert on these
brujos.
She’ll be eager to hear all about your encounter with them in the fog, Mr. Ritter.”

“And she’ll be back when?” Tess asked.

“In a few days.” The phone behind him rang just then and he excused himself.

“I guess we should go find cottage thirteen,” Ian said.

Nomad barked and trotted off ahead of them. The tuxedo cat leaped off the counter and followed, and the parrot swept through the air, joining the procession.

Dominica watched Juanito Cardenas hurry along the path, carrying several fabric bags probably filled with groceries. He looked around uneasily, but she doubted that he sensed her presence. Ever since she and Ben had taken his parents some years ago, paranoia had been his normal state.

It surprised her when he unlocked the door of cottage 13 and slipped inside. Thirteen was reserved primarily for guests who had been targeted by
brujos
in some way, a signal to the inn’s staff to remain vigilant. Did Ed Granger know the man and woman were transitionals? Undoubtedly. Manuel, the wild card who had mocked her there outside the bus, probably told him. And if Granger knew, then Juanito and everyone else who came in contact with the couple would find out, too.

The man and woman emerged from the main building, flanked by Nomad and a black and white cat, with an Amazonian parrot flying low overhead. Now that Dominica saw the woman awake, moving, she got a good look at her—a knockout, nearly six feet tall, slender, curves in the right places. She moved with the grace of a dancer, her long blond hair shining in the early light. The man, bearded and so stunningly handsome, intrigued her. Such a perfect profile, a seductive mouth, long, certain strides.

She still couldn’t quite bring herself to believe what had happened. The first transitionals in Esperanza in five hundred years. Even though she hoped it meant that more transitionals were on the way, she couldn’t move beyond her suspicion that it was a light-chaser strategy, perhaps concocted to divert the
brujos
from further attacks on the city.
Dangle the carrot, distract them, make them believe the city is open to transitionals again.
But surely the chasers didn’t believe the
brujos
were that stupid.

Right now, she was the only one of her kind who knew about the transitionals. It was up to her to find out as much as she could about who they were, how they’d gotten here, if they were really protected. Back there on the bus she had been at a disadvantage, unable to assume a virtual form because of the risk it would pose to her from the driver and Nomad. But the dog had sensed her anyway and when she had assumed a form outside the bus, Manuel mocked her and turned the flamethrower on her.

But once Juanito fixed them herbal tea to induce a deep, heavy sleep, she would be able to study the man and woman more closely. The herb grew in the greenhouses outside of Esperanza and while it probably did help to counteract the effects of altitude, it was primarily a sleep aid. And with these two, it was a protective measure.
Keep the targets sedated until a strategy can be implemented to keep them safe.
And ignorant of the fact that they were in comas, nearly dead.

She imagined Juanito in the cottage, putting away groceries and supplies, chatting amiably with the couple as he fixed the sleeping tea. Nomad and the cat would curl up by the fire and the parrot would find a perch, completing the silly picture of domestic bliss. Goddamn dog, cat, bird. Goddamn Juanito. Goddamn all of them.

She waited within a light fog at the edge of the posada courtyard, wishing she could think herself into an insect form, a mosquito, a fly, something small with wings so she could get into the cottage to watch and listen. But even the magic of Esperanza couldn’t make such a thing possible.

The sun rose higher, spilling light across the inn’s courtyard. The fog burned off. She finally saw Juanito slip out of cottage 13 like a guilty thief, Nomad trotting alongside him, the parrot riding on his back, the cat trailing behind them. Why hadn’t Juanito left Nomad behind to guard them?

Halfway up the path, the dog paused again and glanced out toward the back property and the trees.
He senses me
. Just as he had sensed her on the bus. But he apparently couldn’t
see
her because when Juanito called to him, Nomad trotted on and he and Juanito vanished into the main building.
There, Juanito would report to Ed Granger that the transitionals were sedated. Granger would get in touch with Sara Wells, a cultural anthropologist, another interloper, and with Illika Huicho, the leader of the Quechua, they would come up with a plan. Let them plan.

She finally left her hiding place and paused at the door of cottage 13, listening for sounds within. Electricity hummed through the wires, but she heard nothing else and slipped inside. Logs crackled in the fireplace, the air smelled of smoke, sugar, something mildly bitter. She moved on into the bedroom, paused between the beds, listened to their breathing. Definitely drugged.

Dominica moved toward the man first. He slept in the bed under the window, one hand tucked under his jaw, legs drawn up toward his chest so that his body formed a sort of lightning bolt, as it had on the bus. Now that she was alone with them and they were sedated, she felt safe enough to create a tenuous form, a simple farm woman. She leaned in close to the man and inhaled the air that he breathed, trying to trace it back through time.

She found his name, embedded in his smells. Ian. She caught a whiff of soap, the most superficial odor. He’d showered before he’d fallen into bed. She inhaled more deeply and uncovered the scents that told of his journey to Esperanza—a hospital, medicines, the smells of a particular type of sickness. Heart? This felt right. He’d had a massive heart attack. Then she smelled dust, earth, rocks, odors that had come after he slipped into a coma and his soul left his body and crossed the Río Palo. At this point, his soul apparently assumed its human form, which would explain the sharp tang of food, probably from the bodega, and a strong smell of hormones. She examined that last scent more closely and knew it was associated with his deep attraction to the woman.

She ran her hand over his hair. Like silk. What an opportunity he presented, this transitional. She could seize his soul and it would take her to his comatose body. If she could heal his body, she could live out his mortal life. Even though she preferred women, she believed in making do with what was available. But perhaps Ben could take Ian and she could take the woman and . . .
You’re getting ahead of yourself.