Forbidden Fruit (4 page)

And there are frogs everywhere. Not live ones, but little ceramic or china knickknacks. Chuch collects them, apparently. He says they’re good luck.

“You want something to drink?” Eva looks so tired.

“Just water for me. Sit down… I’ll get it. What do
you
want?”

“I want coffee, but I can’t have it. I’m breastfeeding. So water for me too.”

From my stay with them before, I’m familiar with how she organizes her cupboards, so I fill two glasses with ice and pour from the filtered pitcher Eva keeps in the fridge. Then we both sit down at the kitchen table. I feel guilty for bothering her, but I really need to know.

“So I talked to my mom,” I start.

Both her brows shoot up. “I thought she was dead.”

The weird thing is, I don’t remember telling her that…but clearly she knows. This is kind of like me knowing things about Jesse that he can’t recall sharing. Something super weird is going on here.

“She is,” I answer, my expression reminding her that for me, death’s not a barrier to conversation.

“Right. You were saying?” She jogs Camille on her knee, which makes the baby smile, all pink gums and chubby cheeks.

“I learned something interesting from her. It appears that this brain fog comes from a spell. Do you know anything about that?”

For a split second, she freezes. But I read the answer in her eyes. She
does
know. Maybe not everything, but there are definitely secrets hidden in Eva Ortiz’s dark eyes. Yet she shakes her head.

“That’s strange. But it explains a lot.”

“Would you tell me if I pissed off a witch?” I ask.

“As far as I know, you haven’t irked anyone. I mean, you haven’t been living in Laredo that long, relatively speaking.” She shrugs. “But I wouldn’t worry about it. Spells don’t last forever. I’m sure if you’re patient, your memories will return on their own.”

“Easy for you to say,” I mutter. “You’re not the one with a hole in your head. Figuratively speaking.”

“I know.” Her look becomes sympathetic. “It must be frustrating.”

Then why are you lying to me?

But before I can press the point, Chuch comes in the back door. “Shan! You missed us, huh?”

Chuch is a thick, short guy just starting to get a paunch. Considering how classically gorgeous Eva is, they make a bit of an odd couple since his face can best be described as…battered. He’s also a hugger. He demonstrates the latter by yanking me out of my chair and squashing me against his chest. Since he smells like motor oil, I guess he was working in the garage. That’s how he makes his living, restoring old cars.

“How’s it going,
prima
?” Chuch calls me “coz” like we’re related. I’m told it’s affectionate, meant to acknowledge me as family even though I’m really not.

“Not great.”

“What’s wrong?”

Eva shoots him a sharp look, but Camille interrupts with a loud noise, then the smell that permeates the kitchen is truly horrific. If I were eating, I might hurl.

“I need to take care of this,” Eva says.

“Before it eats through her skin,” I mumble.

I’m not sorry to see her go, however. Based on past experience, I know Chuch is susceptible to big eyes and feminine pleading. This means his daughter has him wrapped him around her pinkie. Maybe I can do the same. I lean forward, elbows on the table, watching him as he fixes a glass of sweet tea.

“So what’s on your mind?”

“The amnesia spell somebody dropped on me.”

He offers an assessing look, and his expression turns cagey. “You know about that?”

“Yep.” Maybe I can make him think I know more than I do, trick him into revealing something crucial. Eva will be pissed, but I can live with that.

“Then you know it was done with the best of intentions.”

I didn’t, actually. But that dovetails with my fear that I’ve done something terrible, so bad it had to be wiped from my brain for me to cope. A shiver rolls through me, and it’s not hard at all to aim an anguished look at Chuch.

“Just tell me what happened,
please
.”

“Shan, if I remind you of what the spell’s blocking too soon, the feedback could seriously hurt you.”

“So people keep telling me.”

“Then you should listen. We’re not keeping quiet to be assholes.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” But being rude will just annoy the few friends I have, so I shove to my feet. “Thanks for the drink. I should get home.”

“Did Maria drop you off?”

“Nah. For me, it’s the bus, then the pedestrian shuffle.” I should’ve lied because now he’s on his feet.

“Let me run you back. It’s two miles to the nearest bus stop.”

“I’m aware. But you don’t need to—”

“Eva!” Chuch calls. “I’ll be back in half an hour. I’m taking Shannon home.”

“Pick up toilet paper and baby wipes!”

He sighs but he’s smiling. “I swear she thinks of something for me to buy anytime I leave the house. It’s like she’s proving I’m properly trained.”

“You love it.”

“It’s true. Come on.”

Chuch owns six cars in various stages of restoration, and he chooses the sportiest, a black Charger. I climb in, listening to him ramble about marriage and fatherhood. This monologue would constitute complaining from any other guy, but Chuch loves Eva so much that he’s happy she’s there, organizing his life and telling him what to do. I’ve noticed that he doesn’t always listen, however. Sometimes he nods at whatever she says and then does something else.

He’s a fast driver, but safe, so it doesn’t take long to reach my neighborhood, much quicker than the bus. I convince Chuch to drop me off at the mom-and-pop store five blocks from my apartment, and through some miracle I persuade him to let me walk home afterward. He comes in long enough to grab Eva’s requested items, but he hurries off, officially relieved of responsibility. I’m grateful that people care what happens to me, but I need to take care of my own business.

In the market, I take my time since I’m on a budget and it’s an exercise in humiliation if I bring more to the register than I can afford. In my shopping basket, I’ve got bread, cereal, milk, turkey, lettuce, noodles, tuna, tomatoes, and good cheese. Hopefully these groceries will last until my next payday.

At first, I don’t notice my shadow. I mean, the guy’s not memorable: thin, middle-aged, wispy brown hair, and a sallow face. He’s just another shopper in the small store, browsing among the pasta. But when I turn down the next aisle, I see him move in the round, silver mirror hung at the back of the store.

A chill goes down my spine.

Without my radio, I’m as helpless as the next girl, and I don’t like the feeling. As I shop, I watch the way he keeps pace. I can’t decide if this is regular pervert stalking or if he’s observing me for some other, possibly more alarming, reason.

It’s fine. There are other people around.

I’m a little nervous about walking home, but there are no back streets. One of the reasons my half of the rent is so cheap is because the apartment’s on a main road, noisy, but there’s a bus stop nearby and shopping within walking distance. It’s not upscale, but most of Laredo has seen better days. On the positive side, it only costs three hundred a month to live here, plus my share of the utilities.

The creeper’s still following me.

There’s only one cash register, so he waits for a few more people to get in line behind me, while he pretends to study a display. Then he joins the queue. My heart beats faster as I wait my turn. After check out, I have two dollars and forty-six cents left.
Could be worse.
I already gave Maria the rent money, and the other bills aren’t due until later. I might need to take a second job in order to afford tuition, but that leaves the excellent question of when I’ll find the time to attend classes.

Whatever.
I
hurry out of the store, wondering if he’ll drop his items and follow. When he does, it feels like ice freezing at the base of my spine. Instead of leaving the parking lot, I set my bags down and get out my phone. When Mr. Nondescript pops out of the market, I snap a picture.

“I’m sending this to my boyfriend, who’s a cop.” Jesse isn’t, but this asshole doesn’t know that. “If I catch you tailing me again, I’m sure he’ll find something to charge you with.”

The man stills, scanning me head to toe at a leisurely pace, and I feel like I need a hot shower. Or maybe I need to sit in the shower to rock and weep…because I’ve never felt tainted by a
look
before. In the afternoon sunlight, his eyes glint strangely, first yellow, and then red, like blood’s flowing inside his sclera.

“Well-played, Ms. Cheney. I assure you, you won’t spot me next time. Not until it’s too late.”

“What does that even mean?” It sounded like a threat.

But he’s already striding away, crossing the busy street with a speed and agility entirely foreign to his build. Belatedly I realize,
that bastard knew my name.
At that point, my flight instinct kicks in. I grab my stuff and sprint all the way home.

Maria’s at work, so she doesn’t witness my collapse against the front door. All my natural intuition tells me that guy wasn’t normal. I feel like such a dipshit since I’ve been full of big ideas about taking care of myself, but this is weightier than dinner or the phone bill. So I type a succinct message to Jesse about my creeper and then send him the photo.

I’m surprised when he calls me five minutes later. I figured he’d be tied up in interviews today, but he might have the day off. I haven’t memorized his work schedule or anything.

“You all right, sugar?” His voice is buttery sweet, warm with concern, and my toes actually curl.

“Yeah, he just freaked me out.”

“Tell me what happened, exactly what he said.”

So I repeat the encounter, word for word. He sounds troubled when he replies. “Sounds like you’ve drawn somebody’s eye.”

“Not a normal perv, right?”

“I’d say no. Be careful, okay?”

“Do you think this has to do with the spell?”

He hesitates. I so wish I could see his face right now. “Hard to say. Maybe.”

“Chuch and Eva know something, by the way. But they’re not talking. Did you find anything out?”

“Sort of. There’s no relevant chatter on Area 51, but…today, my boss asked me if I was still dating that sweet redheaded girl.”

He’s seeing someone? What the
hell
.
Somehow I keep my voice from trembling. “Well, are you?”

“That’s the strange thing, Shan. To the best of my recollection, I’ve
never
gone out with anyone like that.”

“Just how big is this spell?” I wonder.

“No idea. But we need to get to the bottom of it.” His voice deepens, softens. “You’ll stay safe for me, right?”

“Anything for you,” I answer breezily, and I guarantee he has no idea how much I mean it.

Five

Sunday is laundry day. I use two bucks to wash my work uniforms, which is almost all I wear during the week, so I’m set when Monday rolls around.

The next morning, I take the bus to work, as usual, and I’m jumpy, watching for the spooky dude, but I don’t spot him. There’s just the usual bunch of commuters who can’t afford a car or insurance or both. They nod at me as I board; I lift my chin in response.

I sit next to an older woman who clutches her bag as if I’m likely to mug her. People often respond that way to the piercings and my general style. It’s not personal, though. I’ve watched folks with similar looks receive the same treatment.

It’s a decent day, bright enough and unlikely to rain. Most of us hop off at the mall and I traipse inside, ignoring the kid from the hamburger stand who’s puffing away near the ashtrays; he looks like he isn’t even old enough to
buy
smokes. I give him a wide berth. Despite my cold shoulder, he falls into step beside me.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” I ask.

That makes him scowl. “I graduated last year.”

“And you’ve come so far. Your mother must be so proud.”

“I don’t know why I bother trying to be nice to you.”

So maybe he’s attempting humor when he makes the paper pirate hat? Or possibly it’s a nerd courtship ritual. “It’s a mystery to us all.”

He follows me to the food court. During this interminable walk, I learn his name is Felix and he wants to be an optometrist but his grades weren’t good enough to get into the university of his choice, so he’s taking a year off to figure out his next step. I’m puzzled why he thinks I care enough to merit this vomitous outpouring of personal information.

“Now you,” he prompts as we cross through the tables. “That’s how conversation works.”

“My name’s Shannon. I was born in the Deep South in a cursed little town, one full of witches, demons, and shit. Then some horrible things happened, and I probably killed my mother, but because I have partial amnesia, I can’t be sure. Now I’m working at Pretzel Pirate, which might literally be an annex in hell. Who says there’s no such thing as karma?”

To my surprise, he cracks up. “Okay, I get it, I’m pushy. Talk to you later, Shannon…if that
is
your real name.”