“Okay. We can go tonight but you need to wash yourself.”
“Maybe Ruben can take us?”
“Why?”
She blushed. I had seen that blossom of crimson on her cheeks before when it came to Ruben. “Because we want to drink. Someone has to drive.”
A good point. I’d text Pauline and the rest of the girls to let them know about the evening’s festivities. Before she left to shower, I asked a question.
“You got a thing for Ruben? It’s okay. He’s pretty cute.”
“Maybe. Go home and get ready.” She flashed me a flirtatious smile. My friend was changing—for good or bad, I didn’t know yet.
When Mrs. Garcia saw Fernanda acting as if nothing was wrong, the anger flared up again. “Bruja, if I find out you have bewitched her . . . ”
I matched her aggressive stance. The new voice would not be tamed for anyone or anything. It felt good. “Mrs. Garcia, I haven’t done anything. You really think if I had that power I would still be living at home or working at Sonic? Back off my ass.”
She had nothing to say. With a huff she walked past me, carrying a folded stack of Fernanda’s fresh clothes.
I left feeling excited about the night ahead. What could go wrong when girls want to have fun?
Father Moreno squeezed and rubbed the flaccid rosary in his hand, allowing the sharp edges of the metal crucifix to dig into his skin. It was a pain that he felt he deserved for allowing his faith to be tainted by desire. Though there was no confession at this time, he liked to sit in the small square booth that resembled a closet, a safe quiet place. His mind and body needed sequestering to make sense of what had occurred at the Garcia house.
He’d spoken with Fernanda’s friend Lourdes who he could tell was the promiscuous type, just looking for trouble in her dirty Keds, tight denim shorts, tank top that didn’t cover her bra straps, and purple lipstick too dark for one so young. It didn’t matter how hot the weather might be; the amount of skin on show was inappropriate. Her womanly curves were displayed in such a way that you didn’t have to imagine what she would look like in the nude.
Mrs. Garcia had already warned him she was an uncooperative girl coming from a broken home and not a high achiever in school. She seemed similar to so many young women who aimlessly lived their lives through low-paying jobs and convenient relationships that never lasted, like his cousin Martha on her third child with two different fathers. If only she had given her life to God. His face still burned when he thought how he would have wanted her body and hand in marriage if they were not second cousins. There were never any other women for him. He’d hated her for ruining him like that, for coming to him to cry over men who used her or female friends that betrayed her. All he could do was listen in physical and mental frustration while offering her tissues to wipe off the mascara that blackened her face. How many times had he told her she didn’t need makeup? A smile and kind heart were all she needed to be beautiful in the eyes of God, and to him. Heat traveled to the lower parts of his body as shame scalded his cheeks.
When Mrs. Garcia first told him about the situation, he hadn’t believed these girls meant to conjure a demon, but their vulnerability made it easy; they were the perfect vessels of temptation, just like Martha had been. He had approached Fernanda’s bedroom door feeling confident he could handle the young woman, who might just be disturbed. Mental illnesses can go undetected just like demons. Maybe she needed a doctor and medication instead of a priest. That was until he entered the room.
The young woman sat before her armoire picking muck from her scalp. As he walked closer, she shifted her eyes to him in the reflection of the mirror. They were not eyes belonging to a human. She had the eyes of a prehistoric creature, those of a caiman. Glassy green and black marbled orbs with an inky vertical slit in the middle fixed upon his face. The black lipstick and heavy eyeliner only accentuated the grotesque thing that sat before him. It could barely be called female. This was beyond any doubt a spiritual matter.
“I would like us to pray together. Your mother is very worried.”
“Why is she worried? I have done nothing wrong. Maybe I should be worried about all of you making a scene.”
His brain tried to reconcile her appearance with the voice of the girl. This is what he trained for. To fight the evil we are all born with.
“Our Father, who art in Heaven,” he began.
Double eyelids blinked coquettishly at him as he spoke. “Stop, please. That isn’t going to get you anywhere. This isn’t a demonic possession. There is no devil in the biblical sense. But there is God. There are gods. We are not alone in the dark.”
Her blasphemy was as distasteful as the scent of sweat on her skin. With Godly authority and confidence, he stepped closer, “The father of lies and flies would say that. Kiss this cross.”
Animal eyes rolled. “Ugh. If it will make you feel better. We all have to make small sacrifices.”
Fernanda stood before him to take the cross from his hand. As their hands touched, she gripped the crucifix tighter, pulling him to her body and scent. Lips parted enough that he could see her wet tongue running along the edges of her teeth. Vertical pupils dilated and sparked before she hissed.
“Your sin is great. Have you confessed?”
Arousal, humiliation, and revulsion stirred beneath his clothing, which felt tight
