I turn, walk toward the newer structure, and emerge from a hall to the overlook that provides a bird's-eye view of the atrium. From my vantage point, I can see the six stories below. Each floor is staggered before me like a giant step, descending to four floors beneath street level. Directly across from me are a series of colorful art installations hanging from the red-orange girders that frame the atrium’s ceiling.
With the lights off, the only illumination comes through the glass ceiling from the soft glow of the skyscrapers that loom above the library. I turn away from the atrium and proceed down the hall. It’s dark, with only the light from the atrium behind me and the rotunda before me. My boots continue to echo on the marble flooring as I approach my destination.
I am horrified and heartbroken by what I see. Lupe lies in the middle of the room. Her body is splayed across the marble floor, her lifeless eyes staring in my direction. And blood is everywhere.
Despite my initial caution, I instinctively hurry to her side and slide to my knees down beside her. Tears well up in my eyes, and I brush them away with my sleeve. Lupe Navarro, whose spirit made her seem larger than life, now looks so small and cold. I restrain myself from touching her—from checking if, by some miracle, she’s alive. I have enough sense to know not to disturb a crime scene.
The gaping wound in her chest suggests how she died. At first, I think it’s a gunshot wound. Then I realize it’s far, far worse. Her sternum is broken through, and where her heart should be is an empty bloody hole.
My head whips around the room, searching for a perpetrator or someone who means me harm. When I hear the flapping of wings over my head, I look up. The owl circles above, looping around the enormous chandelier that hangs above the rotunda. A circle of forty-eight glass bulbs surround an interior ring of zodiac symbols cast in bronze. In the center is a blue glass sculpture of planet Earth that glows from within.
I stand up, keeping my eyes on the owl. It seems like it guided me here on purpose. I wonder if it’s trying to warn me or show me something—some clue on the faded mosaic of the ceiling tile. Or…
The hairs on the back of my neck rise. The sound of fabric dragging across the floor behind warns me of the incoming attack. The owl was a distraction. I jump forward, roll, and come to my feet to meet my assailant.
Before me stands a haunting specter. A woman’s pale face stares back at me. Except it’s not just a pale face. Black shadows sit where eyes should be, and it’s skeletal, as if the flesh and blood have been drained, making it look like a mask shrink-wrapped over a skull. Ornate black tattoos dot the skin in a design that is all too familiar. She wears the dark-blue-and-red robes of her spirit.
This is Santa Muerte.
Her clawlike hand reaches for my chest. Instinctively, I reach out and grab her arm. The moment we make contact, a flash of heat erupts between us. The pain forces us both to recoil. I stumble backward and inspect my hands. My palms are red from where I touched her skin.
She looks at me, confused. I am not what she was expecting. Slowly, she floats clockwise around me, the hem of her robes trailing on the ground. Sharp nails extend from her hands. Lupe’s blood drips from the same hand she used to attack me.
I back away, not sure how to handle her—or how to handle it. What is this thing? I’ve lived with demons, and I’ve seen ghosts, but I have never seen anything like this before. Never have I been faced with something so… monstrous.
She continues to circle me. The hem of her robes drags across the floor as if she has no feet. Her mere presence gives me chills, like the ghosts I’ve seen.
This thing is no ghost, though. She’s a corporeal entity, real and tactile. I made contact with her—with it. And it hurt. Why? I’ve felt this burning before, when the bare hands of a religious figure were laid on me, which means the pain exists because I have a demon inside me and she is a saint.
An evil saint. And judging by the angry expression on her face, she intends to do to me what she did to Lupe. Santa Muerte stops then floats counterclockwise. I keep my distance, thinking that if she keeps this up, I can escape down a hall. Hopefully, I can run faster than she can float.
She springs forward with impossible speed, and I realize there’s no escaping her. Again, her clawed hands shoot for my chest. I grab hold with both hands. The pain is excruciating, but I don’t let go.
I fall backward, and Santa Muerte is on top of me. My hands burn as they grip her arms, and I can tell by the anguish on her face that she feels the same agony. She pushes her weight on top of me. She’s impossibly strong. Supernaturally strong.
Then I push back with a strength that’s not my own. Dudley is coming.
The black sockets where her eyes should be widen in recognition of the power emanating from me. Her skull-like grin lunges toward me. The gravity of her weight pushes hard against me with a strength I can barely resist.
Her sharp bloody claw continues reaching forward—toward my beating heart. I cry out to push her away. Her grimacing teeth inch closer. Her eyes stare straight into mine as her face nears.
I fear she’s going to bite into my face at any moment. Her mouth opens slightly. She looks like she’s smiling. Then a hollow voice whispers four little words:
“I know your name.”
A chill sweeps through my body. Those words weren’t for me. They were
