A full house. Also an exceptionally lucky hand on the first deal, but not as lucky as mine. I crack a one-sided smirk, a risky show of attitude, but also a rare show of my personality. I toss my cards atop the pot, and her eyes follow, then widen. I never thought I'd get to see what surprised looks like on her, but it's a strangely gratifying feeling to do so.
Then she smiles, and it's not a snake's smile but a proud one. Damn clever bitch. She caught me in the midst of a test and I didn't even realize it.
“Bien jugado,” she says. “Buenas noches, boys.”
Chapter 20 Little Red Xs
Maria
In the city, one can wander down rows and rows of old, above-ground tombs in the historic graveyards. To most, to the locals, those rows have become little more than tourist traps. But if you really pay attention to all those aged and degraded mausoleums, you'll find the unmarked ones that are covered in little red Xs. Those scratched letters are no tourist matter. They are voodoo.
I'm standing on the outskirts of the swamp, listening to the creatures of the ancient in their song of the witching hour and staring at the crescent moon. I have no grave at which to beg. I have no brick on which to scrawl my prayer: please, brother, lend me your grace.
I carve the letter x three times on the moon's face with my heart and knock on the walls of a nonexistent grave: I offer anything I have left to give just to repay the loss that was forced upon me. Please just spare the innocent from the whims of the Devil.
An enthusiastic shuffle catches my attention from some nearby vegetation. I'm too tense not to be suspicious of the native population, and the noise steals my affection from the sky. The urge rises in me to reach for a weapon, and just when my hand moves toward the gun I don't have, the idea of innocence implodes.
Noah didn't deserve to get shot over my antics, but he gave up innocence when he willingly partook in the trade. I remember my own words to Isaiah. We won't have to be afraid. What bullshit. It never ends. He knew it when I said it, though he declined to call me out. Of course I knew it, too, or at least I thought I knew.
That thought leads to Joshua, still clinging to some noble idea of true love and chivalry. Still, he won't leave my side, and – still – I can't make myself make him go.
A mosquito finds its mark on my right shoulder. I feel the bite like an insult. My skin quickly burns, then itches, and by the time I swipe at the fucker, it's gone. Like a stupid girl, I think. I have dared to tread in the swamp's territory with naught but shorts and a tank top for protection. This is not my world. Just as I dared to bust down the established gates of the trade with no regard for the rules.
For all my experience and education, I can't lie now to the moon and say I know what I'm doing. Somehow I doubt this is what Charlie meant when he told me to go with my gut. The only times we ever fought were over his leadership decisions. He never changed his mind on account of my arguments. What the fuck have I done?
For a moment, I want to cry, just rage and throw a fit and let someone make it better, just as I have always done. But then, I know I'm alone. Salvation will not be given, only earned, and I nearly fall to my knees just to beg whatever power might listen to undo what I've created. If I could be granted just a few days to erase, I would disband my amazing and tiny army. I would tell them all to disappear, to please just find a new life because this one will only lead us to pain.
A lot of good my pleas will do now. I turn my back to the swamp and my gaze returns to the punctuated stars. My grandmother called it so easily, knew where my choices would lead me. I think maybe that's why Charlie said that I didn't get along well with my father's mother: because she has done what I am inclined to do, and because she has dealt with the consequences when I never have.
Now, just now, I must learn what I never had to take seriously. Sure, owning the moment has never been hard for me, but cleaning up my own messes is such a far-flung concept. I couldn't let myself realize that truth until I found myself waist deep in regret.
Again my tears attempt to rise. Not for me, but the souls who have blindly followed me. I choke back my emotions, just because I know I don't deserve the satisfaction of crying like a bitch when I have toyed with the lives of precious souls. I deserve to drown in my own sadness, or theirs. I know I have obstinately overstepped the extent of my privileges. And now I must own up to my actions. I know I've been playing the situation as if Charlie might rise from the dead just to save me, as if exacting revenge will bring him back.
The distant sound of a harmonica hits me in the chest, hooks to the very core of
