Paige points out another location—our apartment. Whoever was here was looking for Carmen and for us. Evidently, they found both. I wonder who all the other addresses belong to. I pull out my cell phone and take a photo of the map.
Looking around, I find nothing else here to inspect. Paige points upstairs. I head up the stairs, and Paige follows, gun pointed. On either side of each step is a cluster of unlit and half-melted candles. The wax runs down the entire staircase, like a waterfall frozen in time. As we climb, each step creaks under our weight. At the top of the stairs, we reach a small landing with a closed door on either side. The blood trails to our left.
I look at Paige and mouth, “Ready?”
She nods and lowers the gun. Gun at your side until you’re ready to aim. Finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot.
Using my fingers, I count down. One… two…
Ring!
Something rattles against me, and I jump to the side. My shoulder bumps into Paige, and she fires.
Bam! A bullet pierces the floor right by my boot.
I bounce away. “Jesus Christ!” My ears ring from the gunshot in such a small space.
“What the hell?” Paige screams.
Ring!
It’s my cell phone. I pull it out and look at the display. Paige breathes a sigh of relief but keeps her gun pointed at the door.
Ring!
Nothing happens. No one seems to be around.
“I need to take this,” I say.
“Now?” she asks like I’m crazy.
I click Answer and put it on speakerphone. “Carmen?”
Paige shoots me a surprised look.
Carmen’s familiar voice speaks on the other end. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Where are you?”
“I’m with Father Ramon. Darcy, it was Santa Muerte! The Holy Angel of Death! It came to my house. I saw it. It killed Leona.”
It. I don’t think she knows it is her daughter.
“You must believe me,” she pleads.
“I do.” I exchange a look with Paige. “I was there last night too. I saw it. Wait.” I think about last night’s timeline. “When were you there? When did Santa Muerte come?”
“I don’t know. It was very late. I barely escaped.”
She must have escaped shortly before Paige and I arrived. If I hadn’t been shot, if we hadn’t stayed so long at the retirement home, maybe Leona would still be alive.
“She must have my Elizabeth,” Carmen says. “Oh, mija! Do you think she’s okay?”
“I’m still looking for her,” I assure her. My eyes zero in on the blood trail that disappears under the closed door.
“What if she’s…” Carmen trails off.
“Don’t think that.” I’m afraid to open the door… afraid of what might be inside. “Not for one second. I’m going to find her. Where are you?”
“Father Ramon has given me sanctuary at the Cathedral.”
“Downtown?”
“It’s the only place safe for me anymore. Can you come?”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I say.
“Thank you.”
I hang up.
“What do you think?” Paige asks, her eyes fixed on the door.
“There’s only one way to find out.” I reach out and turn the handle.
The moment the door opens, a putrid stench punches us like a fist. Paige gags then bolts downstairs to vomit. I cover my nose and mouth with my sleeve and examine the space. The windows are boarded, so I use the flashlight app on my phone to see. In the center of the room is a stained mattress on an iron bedframe. Empty handcuffs dangle from the four posts at each corner of the bed. Piled on the floor is a red sweater. I lift it and find the gold letters USC embroidered on the chest. I’ve seen this sweater before. It’s the one Elizabeth wore in the photos in her room.
In the corner of the room is a plastic bucket. It’s the source of the smell and tells me all I need to know about the horrible conditions this poor girl was kept in. She never stood a chance.
I hurry out, closing the door behind me and taking a deep breath of fresh air. I run downstairs to find Paige outside, leaning against the wall of the house. A garden hose is in her hand, but no water comes out.
“Are you okay?”
“What the hell was that?” she asks, still choking back her revulsion.
“They kept her in that room to weaken her. She was trapped, given only enough food and water to keep her from dying.” I remember what she looked like at Carmen’s house. Weakened. Pale. Eyes darkened. The poor girl is just a host. “When she couldn’t fight anymore, they offered her body to Santa Muerte.”
“Jesus.” While Paige dry heaves, I hold her hair. “What about the blood?” she asks when she’s able to talk.
My eyes follow the trail of blood. It wasn’t going to the house—it was coming from the house and heading to the gazebo with its floral garlands—to the stone fire pit marked with Aztec symbols. The candle wax, flower petals, and feathers all make sense now. I’ve seen those before at the temple on Whittier.
“That’s an altar,” I say. “That was where they did it. That was where Elizabeth’s body was offered as a host to Santa Muerte.”
Chapter 29
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WHEN CARMEN SAID SHE was at the Cathedral, I knew exactly what she meant. The Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels is the home of the Archdiocese of Los Angeles. It’s a massive complex of postmodern buildings, completely rejecting the decades—or centuries—of classical architecture one usually sees in churches. The Cathedral is a concrete geometric structure with hundred-foot walls the color of sunbaked adobe. Despite its blocklike construction, it possesses no right angles.
I call Carmen and ask her to meet across the street at the park on Temple Avenue—a safe distance from the Cathedral’s hallowed grounds. She’s reluctant and pleads with me to meet her at the clergy residence where Father Ramon has secured her a room. I
