Spirits of Ash and Foam

by Greg Weisman

  “I have to tell you something,” she said.

  ’Bastian perked up, wondering just how much his granddaughter was about to spill.

  Alonso stopped, turned and waited.

  She took a deep breath and said, “I lost your camera. I borrowed it without asking, and I lost it.”

  “I … When was this?”

  “When we were out with the Kims, and you let us go diving. I wanted to get some pictures of the manatee. But, well, I … got startled … by a dolphin. And I dropped it. And I couldn’t find it.”

  “And why didn’t you say something?”

  “Um, you may not like this answer.”

  “Probably not.”

  “I was going to replace it without telling you.”

  “Hope I didn’t notice.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “Well, for starters, I don’t have enough money. Yet!”

  “That’s why you were babysitting.”

  “Yeah. But I couldn’t take their money, not after—”

  “No, I understand that. I was proud of you for that. Not so proud of you right now, maybe. But I’m glad you finally spoke up.”

  “I will replace it, Dad. I swear.”

  “No, I’ll replace the camera. You’ll pay me back.”

  “Okay. I just don’t have—”

  “I’ll take it out of your allowance, which means no allowance for the foreseeable future.”

  She sighed. “Right.”

  “Okay.” He bent down and kissed the top of her head. “Let’s go get in the way in the kitchen.”

  “I’ll be right there.” She knew she had gotten off easy.

  He smiled and entered the dining room, leaving Rain alone with her ghosts.

  Cash sauntered up. “We ready to deal with my thing now?”

  Since her dad was still in earshot, Rain merely nodded.

  ’Bastian said, “We’ll meet on Sycorax tomorrow at sunset. Rain’ll bring me over in the zemi. But you’ll want to hop the ferry tonight or before dawn tomorrow morning.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Cash said, “I don’t wanna go back there. And neither does she. They want to kill her.”

  “I have to go back,” Rain whispered. “Can’t let anyone else get hurt because I’m not doing my job.”

  ’Bastian said to Cash, “And if your job is to protect her, you need to be there too.”

  “We don’t know if that’s my job.”

  “Why else are you still here?”

  “I don’t know!” Cash shouted. Both Rain and ’Bastian flinched, but neither bothered shushing him. They just gave him dirty looks, and he lowered his head, appropriately chastened. “All right, I’ll be there,” he said. Then, out of nowhere, “So … is your mom a good cook?”

  Rain shrugged and nodded again.

  “Great,” Cash said. “Then let’s hit the kitchen. I may not be able to eat, but I can smell any food I see.”

  ’Bastian nodded too, but then shook his head. “Yeah, but it’s torture sometimes.”

  “’Course it is,” Cash said, “but in this afterlife, you take what you can get.”

  The three of them went to join the others in the crowded kitchen.

  Meantime, Maq and I were hitching back from Windward. It had been a long way to go to drop a nail on East Beach Road. But I think it was worth it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  NONFRONTATION

  THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 18

  When the bell rang at the end of English, and as everyone was racing to leave, Mrs. Beachum raised her voice above the clamor to remind Rain she had an oral report due in history tomorrow morning on the Taíno cacique. Rain nodded; she thought about saying something clever about the “research” she had already done but—fearing Mrs. B might ask follow-up questions—kept her mouth shut.

  That morning, Rain had come downstairs to find no one in the kitchen. She’d crossed through the dining room to the lobby, which was again crowded with luggage, Caciques, Kims and Timo. The Kims were checking out—three days early. But who could blame them? Certainly not Iris or Alonso, despite the loss of income the early departure represented. With a nudge from his wife, Fred Kim offered to pay for the extra days, but Rain’s parents wouldn’t hear of it.

  Rain had knelt down to say good-bye to the Kimlets. She knew that even now she wasn’t their favorite, but Wendy, John and Michael still gave her big hugs andbigger hugs for Charlie and the biggest hugs for Miranda. (Rain took some satisfaction in knowing there were no hugs for Renée.) Then Wendy did something very grown-up. She took Rain’s head in her small hands, tilted it down and kissed her gently on the forehead. Esther Kim noticed this benediction and was about to comment, until Michael said, “Aycayia taught her that.” That served to remind Esther she wanted off the Ghosts as soon as mortally possible, and she began ushering her family and Timo out the door.

  She paused long enough for Fred to shake Alonso’s hand, and for Esther to embrace Iris, and for both to offer their thanks. Rain had held the door open for them, and Esther kissed Rain on the cheek and whispered, “Thank you, Rain.”

  A few minutes later they were gone. Rain’s parents headed for the kitchen, but Rain stopped, spotting Michael’s yellow shovel on the floor of the lobby. She went to the window, sure the Kims would soon be back for it any second. But they didn’t come back. And Rain soon realized they’d probably never come back. And that was okay, because she was also fairly certain that Michael didn’t need the shovel anymore. Still, she kept it. During English, she drew a crude picture of a manatee on it. It would be Aycayia’s zemi now. It didn’t belong in the Cache, but she’d keep it on the old Spanish desk in her room.

  At the lockers, Rain confirmed with Miranda and Charlie that—after orchestra—they’d head back to Mr. Guerrero’s study to do more research. Rain would wait for them in the air-conditioned school library, getting her other homework done. (There wasn’t enough time to get to the Cache and back.) Renée, “unfortunately,” had her shift at K.C.F. and wouldn’t be able to join them.

  Rain and Renée watched Miranda and Charlie go—then turned to face each other.

  “So, really,” Rain said, “what do you want?”

  “Sugar—”

  “No. No sugar, Renée. I’ll take it unsweetened.”

  Renée smirked out loud and thought about it for a while. What did she want? “Well, we could start with the truth. You knew those kids would be on Sycorax—nowhere near Windward—and had us looking there on purpose.” She nearly said “on porpoise” but decided it wasn’t her style. “I don’t know what the dolphins had to do with it. But something was up over there, and you’ve lied about it to everyone else, including, oh, I don’t know … the kids’ parents, your parents and the Ghost Patrol.”

  “I just wanted to get them back safely.”

  “I get that. I do. I saw those kids with their mom and dad. You did a good thing. But first you did a bad thing. And that’s the piece I’m missing.”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Rain said with confidence, knowing Renée had heard the truth already from Michael the night before and hadn’t believed a word of it.

  “Well, I wouldn’t trust you if you told me. Let’s put it that way.”

  “So…”

  “So, I don’t know. Not yet, anyway. I’m not busting you. But I’m not letting this go, either. I’ll figure it out eventually. I’ll get it from Charlie or from Miranda. Or you’ll make a mistake, and I’ll get it from you.”

  “Get what? What do you think we’re even talking about?”

  Renée frowned. Then she took a step forward and said, “It doesn’t matter what. But I’m gonna mess you up over it. You and Charlie and Miranda.”

  “You know Miranda legitimately likes you. She thinks you guys are friends.”

  “No thanks to you.”

  “Exactly. We’ve tried to warn her off, but she won’t be warned off. So why not just be her friend and lea
ve her out of this?”

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  “Why? Do you even remember what she did to piss you off?”

  “Yes!”

  “And it’s petty, right?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Can’t let it go.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “No. I can’t,” Renée said. And Rain saw it. Something hard as flint in Renée that couldn’t let go of any perceived slight. Ever.

  “Okay, so…”

  “Yeah.” They turned and went their separate ways.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  SURFING FOR EPIPHANIES

  THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 18

  They took the ferry across this time (Miranda said Ariel was busy flying Mr. Guerrero to Miami), but that was all right. Huddled together, alone at the back, they watched San Próspero recede while reviewing what little they knew. Rain retold Naborías’ Mosquito Boy legend, which creeped Miranda out. (Not that it made Charlie or even Rain feel particularly warm or shiny.) But it also served to remind Miranda that the other two were keeping things from her. She had been part of the whole Aycayia thing from the beginning, because she had witnessed Aycayia’s first transformation, but this …

  “What exactly are we trying to achieve here?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?” Charlie asked back.

  “Well, I take it we’re not helping Rain prep her oral report.”

  “That’s part of it,” Rain said defensively, then more sheepishly, “A little part.”

  “A very little part.”

  Rain exhaled. She looked at Charlie, who shrugged. Then she turned to Miranda and decided—with some relief—to spill at least a few of her beans. “Okay, here’s the thing. I’m a cacique on my father’s side and a bohique on my mother’s. That means I’m the Searcher.”

  “What’s a Searcher?”

  Charlie jumped in. “We’re not a hundred percent sure yet. But we know Rain needs to search out a zemi.”

  “And we think this particular zemi will have something to do with Mosquito Boy,” Rain stated, feeling more and more sure she was correct. “Something that’ll stop his attacks.”

  Miranda swallowed hard. “So now … we’re going to fight this … this swarm thing?”

  “We did okay with Aycayia.”

  “Yeah, Aycayia turned out to be misunderstood and nonviolent. And kind of wonderful, really. Is that what you think Mosquito Boy is? Misunderstood? He murdered one guy and nearly killed another.”

  “Which is why we have to stop him. I mean, that’s why I have to stop him.” She looked at her two friends and realized she was actively putting them in danger. She didn’t want that. After what nearly happened with the Kimlets, she definitely didn’t want that. “But you guys don’t need to be there when it goes down.”

  “You trying to ditch me?” Charlie asked.

  “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

  “Oh, like last time. With Callahan and the plane and everything? You really think you can deal with this alone?”

  “I won’t be alone. You know that.”

  “Who’s Callahan? What plane?”

  Rain groaned. She looked from Charlie to Miranda and said, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I could use help with the research. Help figuring out where the zemi is and how to use it. No one’ll get hurt doing that. The rest…”

  “We’ll burn our bridges as we go,” Charlie said. He sounded slightly angry. Sometimes, Rain thought, I just don’t understand him. He never wanted to be part of this craziness in the first place! She shook her head involuntarily.

  The ferry docked. The kids disembarked. Constable Thibideaux and Sycorax security guard Jimmy Kwan were watching the Vector Control people set mosquito traps at intervals along the pier. Thibideaux, who’d been supervising this rather dull activity since daybreak, spotted Rain, Charlie and Miranda heading for the Old Manor, and the thought crossed his mind that the three of them had been on the fringe of every odd crisis he’d been called in to investigate over the last couple of weeks. Jean-Marc Thibideaux didn’t like coincidences and thought that when he had a few minutes to spare, it might pay to have another talk with those kids. Then one of the mainlanders asked him a question, and he turned to answer.

  Soon enough, the kids were back in Mr. Guerrero’s study, trying to maximize their time by working three sources at once. Rain was skimming more of Pablo’s books, Miranda was on her smartphone, and Charlie was using the laptop on the desk, as each searched among a long list of topics: the Taíno, their legends, their zemis, vampires, mosquitoes, even malaria—since Rain figured that like Dr. Strauss, other scientists might have mistaken otherworldly events for malarial symptoms.

  Not having much luck, Charlie said, “Could really use Phil’s help right about now.”

  Miranda looked up from her phone. “Phil’s your oldest brother?”

  “Youngest. He’s like the Internet whisperer. No, he’s the World Wide Web Whisperer. We call him W-4.”

  Rain rolled her eyes at him. “We do not.”

  “We should, though. I may start.”

  Rain shook her head, laughed and turned another page. She spotted something intriguing and read aloud, “‘The Taíno traced their descent through the female line back to a female ancestress.’” She looked up. “Does that help?”

  Miranda shrugged. “It’s empowering. Kinda.”

  Charlie grumbled, “I’ve got to get some guy friends.” Then he perked up. “It says here that if a vampire encounters a pile of rice, he’s compelled to count every grain. We should get some rice.”

  “I’m sure we have rice in the kitchen,” Miranda said. “But would that work on a Taíno mosquito-vamp or just the regular Transylvania Dracula kind?”

  “Don’t know,” he said, “but, hey, the Taíno aren’t the only ones with mosquito-vamps. The West African vampire’s also associated with mosquitoes … or, um, fireflies. It’s called an adze.”

  “You’re anadze,” Rain said from behind her book. She couldn’t resist.

  “Adze. A-d-z-e.”

  Miranda said, “I bet a firefly vampire’s pretty. Bet it sparkles.”

  Charlie put in, “Hey, when we get the rice, can we get some garlic, too?”

  “My dad loves garlic. I’m sure we’ve got a ton.”

  “Vamps hate garlic for some reason. If I were a vampire, I still think I’d hate anchovies more than garlic.”

  “Wait,” Miranda said. She studied her phone. Then, “The ancient Egyptians used garlic to protect themselves from malaria, and the pharaohs slept under mosquito nets.” She looked up at Rain. “I think you were right. Mosquito-vamps and malaria have walked hand in hand for like centuries.”

  Rain smiled, feeling quite self-satisfied.

  Charlie stood and stretched. It was getting close in the room, and he was getting sleepy. He crossed to the French doors and opened them to let in a late afternoon breeze. Then he sat down behind the computer again.

  They were quiet for a time. Surfing, skimming, reading. It had gotten very easy between them. Relaxed. Miranda was studious by nature. Charlie had to work at it more but could take pleasure in the process once he sank his teeth in. The surprise was Rain. She had never been one to enjoy perusing a book—for work or pleasure—but perhaps all she needed was the proper motivation. And a killer swarm of mosquitoes paired with her own destiny as Searcher and Healer seemed to be doing the trick. Silently, she read more about the Taíno, new details mixing in with old, and was fascinated by a culture that resonated for her deeply …

  The word taíno means good or noble.

  The Nitaino were the nobility of the Taíno, and the naborii were the commoners, but slavery was unknown. Caciques—who could be either male or female—were tribal chiefs. Bohiques—also known as behiques or bohutí or buhuithus—were healers and shamans.

  The Taíno lived in large multifamily homes. Sort of like the Nitaino Inn, Rain thought. There were two kinds of houses: the rectangular cane variety and t
he round or oval bohio, which had high-pitched conical roofs.

  Zemis or cemís were spirit-gods or icons of the same, infused with the spirit-god’s power and stored in the home of the cacique.

  Public plazas were used for the areyto ritual dance, for recording astronomical events and for the Taíno ball game, batey.

  There was competition, even war, between Taíno cacicazgos—or chiefdoms—prior to the arrival of the Spanish, after which everything changed …

  From the other side of the large room, Miranda, who had been wandering back and forth with her phone, perked up. “The Taíno drum was called the mayohuacan, and their flute was the baijo.”

  Charlie looked up from the laptop. “That’s what you and I play in orchestra.”

  “Kinda. Listen. There’s a lot here about baijos. They were played to declare love or to announce the return of a hunting party or to summon guests for a feast. The baijo was said to weep or talk, and the sacred flutes granted power to women or men—they could even summon the stars.”

  Rain and Miranda looked at each other. Something was tickling simultaneously at their memories. Rain put her book back in its place on the shelf. Miranda slipped her phone into the pocket of her shorts. They both approached the wall of zemis on either side of the door to the great room.

  There were two thick, carved, bleached driftwood flutes on exhibit against the wall. Once again, Rain felt her left arm tingle. Once again, the eyes of the Searcher snake briefly flared with blue light. But this time when Rain reached for the bat with folded wings, Miranda didn’t try to stop her; she was too busy picking up the owl-flute herself. Each girl turned her flute over in her hands. Miranda even tried blowing into the owl and played a few pretty notes. Rain stared at the bat and then at her snakes, hoping for some revelation: for her Searcher snake to glow again or for her mind to suddenly open to the zemi’s power. Nothing quite that obvious occurred. Rain and Miranda looked at each other—then traded flutes. Rain held the owl, and still no great epiphany came. Miranda tried blowing into the bat-flute, but this time no sound came out.

  “This is odd,” she said. “You can’t play this flute.”