Shady Lady

shallow tray on the ground, full of water. Kel stood beside me, quietly taking everything in. I wondered what he made of this place, which owed so little to his god. Or maybe I didn’t know as much as I thought I did. After all, I’d never heard him refer to any particular religion. So maybe the deity he served didn’t care about such things. I’d always secretly suspected that would be the case in any powerful, selfrespecting divinity.

The boy bowed to statuettes at what I took to be cardinal directions. I glanced askance at Kel, but he lifted his shoulders in a nearly imperceptible shrug. Then the kid went through the curtain, and I heard a rapid-fire exchange in Spanish, too soft and low for me to make out. By his intent expression, the guardian could understand it.

He interpreted my look correctly. “He’s telling her she has clients, and she’s saying she has a bad feeling about helping us.”

Well, that answered any lingering questions about her legitimacy.

The quiet argument continued for a couple more minutes before the kid came back. “Just you,” he said, pointing at me.

Nodding, I held out my hand to Kel, who dug into his pocket for the white case. In exchange, I gave him Butch, who was still cowering at the bottom of my bag. I sympathized with him. The boat trip had not been as scenic or safe as one might hope.

Kel caught my gaze with his. “I’ll be right out here. If you feel frightened or threatened at any time, say my name.”

Why did that sound so suggestive? He was the last male who’d drop a double entendre into a conversation. Maybe I’d just read too many books that used the line with sexual context. Shaking my head, I followed the boy into the hut.

I’m not sure what I expected, but the woman inside, presumably Nalleli, was neither old nor cronelike. She was perhaps ten years older than I. Her hair shone black in the candlelight, and the sun had browned her skin even darker, dark enough that I thought she probably had some Huastec blood. The witch wore a brown-patterned skirt and a simple white blouse, further confounding my expectations. She didn’t look like any bruja I had ever seen.

Her hands were graceful as she gestured for me to take a seat on the second rough-hewn stool. The hut was surprisingly snug, gaps packed with clay. In her shrine, she’d mixed Christian saints and the Virgin Mary, along with ancient gods like Quetzalcoatl, bearing out my guess about her heritage. Herbs burned in censers along the walls, giving the small space a smoky air.

“Bienvenida,” she said. “We will tend to your business, but first . . .”

It was a shock to hear her speak English—accented, but better than most. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised the witch would be bilingual, though. It was in her best interest to talk with as many clients as possible, and English was a common second language.

She went on, oblivious to my speculation. “You must have a cleansing. All manner of ill luck clings to you. I have never seen anything like it.”

Chance. It had to be: something else for which to thank him. My ex had uncanny luck, but the person closest to him received bad fortune to establish cosmic balance. He wins the lottery, and I fall two stories through the floor in a burning building. To make matters worse, he hadn’t told me about the jinx or that his lover before me died of it. But I’d thought once I got away from him, it would ease off; I felt sure even he hadn’t known the effects could be permanent.

I nodded my assent. If anyone needed a break from bad karma, I did.

While I watched, she prepared a mixture of herbs, oil, and water. She lit a white candle and placed it on the table before me. “Cup your hands over the flame, not close enough to harm, but where you can feel the warmth.”

That was easy. I complied as she painted my pulse points. I recognized mint, lemon verbena, and a hint of vetiver, all woody and green. Once applied, the solution burned like camphor on my skin, though I could detect no trace of it in the actual composition. I took that as a manifestation of her power.

“Rise,” she instructed, “but do not remove your hands from the flame.”

Doing that proved a little trickier than anticipated but I managed, levering myself off the stool while keeping my palms cupped. Nalleli produced an egg, and I remembered Eva telling me how her grandmother had done this on nude people. Aw, come on. This was where I drew the line.

I stood still, waiting for an instruction that never came. The witch rubbed the egg over my exposed skin and only tugged clothing aside to hit a chakra. I guessed Eva’s grandmother just liked making people get naked. Both she and Chuch came from powerful lines; their unborn child would probably carry an incredible gift.

It took a long time, and Nalleli got a fresh egg twice, muttering blessings and incantations in a polyglot of Spanish and Teenek. For a final step, she pulled out a leafy branch and lashed me with it gently, as if brushing away any lingering traces.

At last she gave the signal to sit down. Just as well—my hands were bright pink, not damaged, but tender, as if I’d scoured them with sandpaper. “Did it work?”

In answer, she cracked the first egg. To my horror, the yolk had turned a slimy, viscous black, more ghastly in contrast with the white, which was now bloodred. The shell had been completely intact; this wasn’t trickery. Silently, she showed me the other two. The second was paler, and the third showed barely any trace of corruption. I couldn’t doubt the efficacy of her work and shuddered to think of all that filth sticking to me.

“Now that you are no longer defiling my space . . .” Her smile took some of the sting from the words. “Tell me why you’ve come.”

“A friend in the city referred me to you.”

She studied me for long moments in silence. “Tia.”

My brows went up. “Yes.”

“It is good to know she thrives, even in a world of concrete and steel.”

“She sends her regards.” That wasn’t strictly true, but it might help our cause. I gave Nalleli the condensed version of events, leaving out only the bit about Ernesto and the massacre at Monkey Island. “So I need you to remove the curse from the saltshaker, and, if possible, the tracking spell as well.”

“I can do this.” Her manner remained serene. “But it carries a high price.” Well, I’d been expecting that. I reached down for my purse. She stopped me with a hand on my arm. “Not from you. There is no coin sufficient for me to take this risk.”

“What do you need, then?”

With some trepidation, I remembered that Twila, the voodoo priestess who owned Twilight and San Antonio, had wanted my dog at first, and then time alone with Chance once she realized he was the greater prize. I still didn’t know what they had been doing all that time, and it wasn’t likely my ex would ever tell me, not the way we’d parted.

“Call your companion.”

Was this a trap? My heart raced. But this woman could hardly do my guardian real harm after all I’d seen him suffer. Hoping I was doing the right thing, I spoke his name. Kel bounded into the hut; he should have looked ridiculous with one arm raised to do battle, the other cradling a Chihuahua, but he didn’t. His skull tats glowed faintly. I’d come to recognize that as a sign of him drawing power.

He assessed the scene at a glance. “You’re fine.”

“She won’t help us without payment from you.”

“Is this true, witch?” The word could’ve been a curse or condemnation, but spoken in that tone, it became an honorific.

Nalleli inclined her head. “It is.”

“I have no monetary wealth.”

Their eyes locked, questions asked and answered in a blink. My gaze ranged between them, sensing hidden currents. I hated being the only one in a room who didn’t get the joke, and this was only a hundred times more serious. Restraining a growl, I plunked the white box on the table in case they decided they could do business— whatever that business might be.

I figured they must be communicating silently, and then Nalleli said, “That’s not the payment I seek, as you well know.”

“Step outside for a moment,” Kel told me.