“The lechuza was there tonight,” I say. “She was the owl.”
Chapter 12
____◊____
BY THE TIME WE leave Canter’s, the rising sun sits low in the east. Morning commuter traffic has already started to build up as everyone on the west side heads east, and everyone on the east side heads west.
“When are you going to tell Father Ramon?” Paige asks.
“I can’t. Not yet.”
“Why not? Maybe he can help.”
I shake my head. “Last night, I encountered a witch and an evil spirit of death who tried to murder me. If Father Ramon found out what happened, he would try to stop me from investigating further.”
“But why? This could be the key. This… spirit, entity, whatever… knows your demon’s name!”
Father Ramon may be my guide in this search, but he’s also a man who’s developed a healthy fear of evil. I know him, and I know he’d only get in my way. “He’d stop me to protect me.”
Paige settles into the passenger seat and looks out the window. “What about Fiona?”
“Maybe.”
Fiona has already warned me to stay away. She most likely knew Santa Muerte was real. The other question is whether Santa Muerte would have told the lechuza what she knows. If they came to kill me last night, and now they know about Dudley, what might they try next? What could they use against me? Before getting us home, I decide to swing by the library to see how things have settled down. Fifth Street is open again—the LAPD base camp is completely gone. There are still a few black-and-whites parked on the street, along with a long line of news vans. Reporters are stationed at the entrance, providing updated coverage for the morning news.
My Mini Cooper eases into commuter traffic. It’s only seven in the morning, but gridlock has already set in. When a jackass in a BMW cuts me off in an intersection, I’m thankful I had a dose of Klonopin before leaving Canter’s. I do my best to remain calm and Zen as I maneuver my car through a red light to avoid blocking traffic.
My attention shifts to my review mirror, and I see a truck behind me speed through the intersection. It’s a Ford Super Duty that cut through the same light I did and is now stuck with its tail in the crosswalk. The vehicle looks familiar, I recall seeing it parked outside Carmen Viramontes’s driveway. A car like that stands out for two reasons. One, nobody in Los Angeles drives a pickup unless it’s for work. Two, a red vehicle stands out among the monochromatic cars in this city—most people here drive black, silver, or white cars. The windows are tinted, but the driver looks like Hugo Escalante—Carmen’s personal errand boy.
“Paige?”
“Yeah?”
“We’re being followed,” I say. Paige starts to turn around, but I grab her shoulder. “Don’t look!”
“Geez! Maybe start with ‘Don’t look’ before telling me what not to look at. Who’s behind us?”
“Bright-red truck. I think that’s Carmen’s guy.”
“How long has he been following us?”
“Not sure.” My attention was so focused on the jackass in the BMW that I didn’t notice who was behind me. My guess is that he was probably parked at the library and followed me as I drove past.
“Now what?” Paige asks.
With traffic at a standstill, there isn’t much either of us can do. As the cars slowly begin to move, I decide there’s only one course of action at my disposal. “Hold on,” I tell Paige.
The next chance I get, I merge into the right-turn lane. On cue, he follows suit. I start heading east, deeper into downtown. Everywhere we turn, there’s construction, adding to the congestion. Then I make an ill-advised left turn across two lanes of traffic and cut into an alley. I floor it, zipping past delivery trucks and dumpsters on this bumpy and dirty road.
In my rearview mirror, I can see the red pickup cut off several cars and follow us. Paige’s head is turned around, and she’s watching. “Shit,” she says, “he’s still following.”
“I got it.”
She turns to face forward again. At the end of the alley is the next major street and another traffic jam. “Darcy!” she yells, her voice panicked. “What are you doing?”
“Hold on.”
Paige braces herself as I finally hit the brake and make a sharp right turn. Instead of merging into the street, I pull into the dedicated bicycle lane. Taking advantage of my car’s compact dimensions, I zip along the narrow divide between parked cars and traffic. I nearly clip a few mirrors along the way.
Paige squeals as I continue to accelerate along the tiny path. With the intersection in reach, I push down on the gas and speed past all the other stuck motorists. I glance in my rearview mirror and see Hugo trying to follow, but he can’t. There’s not enough room for him to merge into traffic.
So long, sucker. The bike lane is my friend, and I keep traveling as far it will let me.
Paige is visibly excited. “That was amazing! You were aiming for that bike the lane the whole time?”
Yeah. Sure. Let’s go with that. I keep driving east and then start to head north.
“Wait,” Paige says, finally noticing we’re not headed toward home. “Where are you going?”
“We’re going to visit Carmen Viramontes.”
* * *
The traffic is murder heading north, and there aren’t enough bike lanes in the city to make this commute to Pasadena any easier. When Paige and I arrive at the quiet residential street, we see no sign of Hugo’s truck. My guess is we have about twenty minutes before he gets here.
I don’t usually arrive unannounced on any occasion—some of the lessons my mother taught me did stick. But I need to get some answers if I’m going to find Elizabeth, Santa Muerte, and my demon’s name. And I don’t want to give Carmen and Leona time to prepare like they did last time.
Paige looks around at the neighborhood, with
