'Not me.' Hector shook his head. 'Mrs. Salvador works with customers by appointment only. She has different peoples who help, they have specialties. Each different. She match customer to these peoples. You see? That's how it works.' He shrugged. 'Besides, most peoples come here? They know what they want.'
Was it his imagination or was this guy's English getting worse by the lie? If Christian had any hopes of getting insight from Hector on the local tribes, he quickly changed his mind. He wouldn't find an ally here. Christian forced a smile.
He'd just hit a roadblock named Hector.
Jasmine diverted the kid's attention. 'Please . . . call me. I won't be able to sleep until I know what all this means.' She pointed to the Macumba ritual gear on the counter.
'Yeah, I see.' But Hector had his eye on Christian this time.
Guess he'd made an impression.
Bianca Salvador heard every word from the shadows of the storeroom in back. With aged hands, she touched the single strand of pearls at her neck, a gift from her deceased husband. It had become a nervous habit. Her fingers trembled. Through the peephole, she watched her nephew deal with the Americans. Now, she sat at the small wooden chair at her desk in the back. Her legs weren't what they used to be, especially after what she had seen in the stranger.
The tall man with emerald green eyes held her fascination. He had sensed her presence but did nothing to confront her. That intrigued her and may have drawn her out, but something else kept her hidden.
The stranger had the strongest aura she had ever seen—a complex combination of evil and goodness at constant struggle for control. He knew death all too well. The young man had survived it more than once. And somehow, he came to battle it again. Would he be strong enough to stand alone in this remote place on the edge of the world?
Bianca did not question how she knew this. She had been taught in the old ways, rituals passed from one ancestor to another. She had witnessed the power of the spirits, the Orixas in all forms, and trusted in her faith. She would not doubt her instincts now.
Her nephew opened the storeroom door and called to her. Hector had a bag in his hand. 'I have to go out. Can you manage the store? It's getting late anyway. I can put the Closed sign out.'
Hector's English had suddenly improved. A miracle. She shook her head. Her nephew liked to play games with foreigners, to watch them try and cheat him when they thought he didn't understand. But this time his game came in handy. He'd handled himself well.
But she knew of the reward money offered by the Americans. Word of it spread like a plague. A young man like Hector would be tempted to walk the line between easy money and the betrayal of his own people. And she had no faith in his judgment to do the right thing when a small fortune was involved. Before she answered him, Bianca waved him over, not hiding the concern on her face.
'Let me see the card that man gave you . . . and show me what's in the bag,' she demanded, her voice stern. Like a stubborn child, Hector trudged closer and did as she asked.
The contents of the bag confused her. Some elements looked authentic, but most were products of someone's vivid imagination. A nonbeliever. Why would someone go to so much trouble to break into a foreigner's hotel room to plant a curse with no substance? Even worse, using a deadly snake meant whoever did this wasn't above killing to get what they wanted. Who would do such a thing . . . and why?
Since she had met the Asian woman before, she knew her story about an ex-husband wasn't true. Definitely inventive, but true? No. Bianca understood why they had come to her store for answers. She was considered a local authority on religious beliefs and rituals. Yet after seeing the contents of the bag, she feared for the safety of her people, especially the man in the photo. None of this bode well for him or his tribe. It would be far too easy to plant evidence against the local natives, especially if they had a face to blame. Her people would serve as a scapegoat yet again.
After setting the tote aside, Bianca read the name on the business card and softened her tone. 'Please don't do this, Hector.'
'Do what?' He shrugged and leaned against a corner of her desk, looking nonchalant. He forced a smile, but she knew better.
'The Asian woman deals in death. I have felt this more than once, nephew. I've met her before.' Bianca touched Hector's arm when he rolled his eyes. 'And her employer, Nicholas Charboneau, is much more dangerous. But that one with the green eyes, he scares me most. The Orixas have marked him. I hear their whispers. The evil may be too strong for him to overcome. Please don't get involved.'
'You are a superstitious old woman.' He leaned over to kiss her forehead, more eager to do what he intended. He pointed a finger at her. 'Stay out of this.'
'The spirits have spoken. Their whispers warn of evil and should not be ignored. Hector?' She cried out to her nephew, but the high-pitched tinkle of bells told her he had already left the store. He had no faith in the old ways. One day it might get him killed.
But Bianca had the power to intervene. With one hand, she clutched at her pearls. With the other, she grabbed a pen to make a list of what she would need. To summon the spirit, Ayza the Protector, she would need her most powerful magic.
The sun had dropped below the skyline, blazing liquid fire across the horizon. Neon lights competed with nature's show, a city getting its second wind. As beautiful as it was, he missed Chicago . . . and Raven. And to make matters worse, the stiffness in his body couldn't be ignored. He felt like crap. Lack of sleep and his narrow escape from the hit and run had taken their toll. Only thoughts of Raven made the pain tolerable. She had that effect on him, even across the world.
But when his thoughts drifted to Charboneau, Christian knew he was running out of options as he walked back to the hotel with Jasmine. Without the heft of the bag on his shoulder, the absence of it served to remind him how abysmal the day had gone.
Hoofing it gave him time to think, and he hoped the exercise would do him good. Since Jasmine hadn't said a word since the voodoo store, he assumed she felt the same until . . .
'You didn't let me do all the talking.' Eyes forward, she kept the anger from her voice.
'Someone in the back storeroom was looking through the peephole.'
'Yeah, I know.'
Christian did a double take. Jasmine was full of surprises.
'Don't worry, little acorn. You played it right.' She smiled, still not glancing his way.
Meandering like a shopper, she kept her eyes alert, even using the reflection in store windows to check behind them. She looked uneasy, a subtle nuance to her demeanor.
'What's up?' he asked.
'Don't know yet. I've had the feeling all day. Someone is tailing us, but they're too good to spot.'
'You want to ditch 'em?' He kept his eyes straight ahead. 'Out of principle?'
'No. We're heading back to the hotel. Let them feel in control . . . for now. When we need to shake them, we will.' She smirked. 'So what did you make of Hector?'
Christian gave her his point of view. The guy behind the register at Guia Do Espirito got a little testy after Jasmine dumped the dead snake and the Macumba gear on the counter. Who could blame him? Working retail brought out the worst in folks. And whoever kept their distance in the back stockroom certainly got his attention, but did the place warrant a return visit or a nighttime surveillance gig? He wasn't sure they had the time to spend on an operation that might not pan out. Hector didn't seem to know much.
