Shit.
“What’s my name?” I yell out again.
The spirit flashes and disappears, and Elizabeth’s frightened face reappears. “Don’t let me go!” she screams.
My strength is weakening. I need Dudley. I strain against the force and pull Elizabeth up.
Pockets of rock and debris explode out of the wall inside the well. Hundreds of blackened arms emerge from the inner wall and flail about, blindly searching for Elizabeth. Those that find her start to pull her down.
“No!” I cry out.
Flames appear at the bottom of the void. The heat is so intense it burns my face. Elizabeth looks down and screams.
Another flash. Elizabeth turns up to me, her face transformed back into Santa Muerte. She opens her mouth. Jagged teeth snap at my hand.
The disembodied limbs that once reached for her now start grabbing at me. I recoil and let go… another flash. Elizabeth returns in time to watch her fingers slip through mine. She disappears into the black maelstrom, falling toward the fire.
As I stand straight up, the concrete reforms, sealing off the portal. The black void disappears beneath me. “No!” I shout, slamming my hands on the flat surface. It’s solid, as if it were always there.
Elizabeth is gone. Another life has slipped through my fingers.
I collapse in defeat and lean back against the altar. In my peripheral vision, I see flames and black smoke rising from the SWAT vehicle. The veil flutters in the wind and falls next to me in the gazebo. My hand rests on it.
A shadow washes over me. Hugo looks down on me, a gun pointed at my face. An expression of absolute hatred covers his face. He offers me one word before he pulls the trigger. “Puta.”
Bam!
I flinch, knowing this is the end.
But it’s not. His chest blossoms into splattering red as a bullet explodes out of his shirt. Blood sprays from the exit wound and onto my face as Hugo collapses into a heap on the floor beside me.
I look up and see David running toward me, two hands holding his still-smoking handgun. He keeps it trained on Hugo until he reaches me. Then he pulls me up.
Instinctively, I lean into his chest and press my face against his ballistic vest. My legs can barely keep me up, but with one arm wrapped around my waist, he keeps me from falling.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I don’t answer. I look around the cul-de-sac. Bodies lie everywhere, dead. Both vehicles are burning.
Paige emerges from one of the houses. Her right arm is extended, and from it dangles a dull gray object. It’s not until she’s near that I can see what it is—a large owl, its wings spread out wide. Blood seeps from its eyes, which have been gouged out.
This is all that’s left of Melchora. When Paige is sure I’ve seen the remains, she casts the bird aside and helps David to keep me standing. From down the street, a convoy of police vehicles approaches. Their red and blue lights and flash across the faces of the houses, cutting into warm hues from the sunset.
I’m not focused on them. I look at the shambles of what remains of the shrine. I stare at the sealed-off altar. With Melchora’s death, Santa Muerte has been pulled back into whatever netherworld she came—and with her, Elizabeth. And with Elizabeth, my name.
Chapter 35
____◊____
ONLY FOUR OF US survived tonight. Paramedics load the injured body of the technician into the back of the ambulance. The cargo doors shut, and the vehicle rolls away into the night.
My eyes sweep across the neighborhood of Sterling Terrace. Giant spotlights sit atop cranes and illuminate every inch of the area. What feels like a hundred cops and detectives mill about, examining the aftermath.
Paige and I sit on the hood of a squad car, wrapped in police blankets. It must be three in the morning, and it’s an uncommonly chilly night in Los Angeles. With each breath, clouds of vapor escape my lips.
David comes walking up with a heavy white plastic bag and a cardboard tray with two drinks. “Hungry?”
The only response he gets from Paige and me is our tearing into the bag and pulling out two burgers. I bite into the lukewarm sandwich, grateful for anything to eat at this point.
“You’re welcome,” he says as he joins us on the hood of the car.
He watches in silence as the scene wraps up. Plainclothes detectives are returning to their cars and pulling away. A forensics team transitions from evidence gathering to cleanup.
Finally, David asks, “Do you know whatever happened to Elizabeth?”
I stop eating and tell him the truth. “I don’t know.”
He nods. Paige casts me a sideways glance.
“So who has her?” David asks.
No one does. The witch who had the power to keep Santa Muerte in this plane of existence is dead. Elizabeth is gone.
“Maybe she’ll turn up.” David sighs. “Whoever has her, there’s no point anymore. Maybe they’ll let her go.”
“Maybe,” I lie.
David slides off the hood. He turns to look at me. We’ve been through a lot in the past twenty-four hours. I can tell he wants to say something reassuring—or something wise and profound. Or maybe he wants to proclaim his love for me.
Instead, he walks off without a word. Typical. I should be accustomed to this kind of disappointment by now. I’m not.
* * *
The sun still hasn’t risen when David drives Paige and me to the Cathedral. I wait with David across the street, leaning against his parked blue Charger, while Paige goes onto the grounds to get Carmen. As we stand there in silence, I notice a couple of black-and-white cruisers parked down the street. Then I see an unmarked sedan few yards from us and a
