by Lindsay Mead
Viola ignored Amy's scathing judgments since the woman's favorite pastime was guilting her kids and, really, it wasn't Vi's fault. She had a bad track record with cell phones. After losing a few dozen and destroying a few dozen more, Viola quit pretending she gave a shit about being socially connected. In fact, where was the last place she'd seen her current phone? India?
"Sorry, we kept you up, Mrs. Danvers." Ian squirmed under her glare.
"It's all right, dear. Now, you're in Aaron's room. Lana and Vi, you're in your old room." Her gaze fell on Ailbeart and she waved a hand. "I don't know who you are, but you'll have to sleep on the couch."
"Ailbeart Wilson, ma'am, valet to Mr. Grave." He bowed. "I appreciate the hospitality, but I'll stay in a hotel."
Leaning on her heels, Amy crossed her arms. "Mr. Wilson, I'm sure you don't mean to imply that my house isn't as nice as some hotel?"
He sputtered, "No, of course not! I—"
"Good. Now, come on." Taking Ailbeart's arm, Amy led him into the living room. "Trust me, you'll love this couch. When Ronald takes his afternoon nap, he sleeps like the dead."
Ailbeart glanced back at his boss with horror in his eyes. Ian shrugged and followed Aaron upstairs. Viola and Lana turned at the top landing into what had become their shared bedroom. The room was a strange collection of Viola's childhood things and Lana's eclectic additions, along with dual twin beds.
Dragging off her coat, pain cut through her shoulder and reminded Viola of what she'd forgotten after her fight with Ian. "Hey, Lana?"
"Yeah, boss?" She dropped the duffel with a thump at the end of her bed.
"Would you bandage my back for me?" Unbuttoning the mechanic's shirt, Vi let it slide from her shoulders.
Lana paused and tilted her head. "Aaron told me Ian had that covered?"
Wincing, Viola groaned. "Yeah, um, things got a little sidetracked."
"Sure, I can help. Have a seat." Lana grabbed the first-aid kit she kept under her bed and sat next to Vi. "You wanna talk about it?"
Viola gave Lana her back and smiled at her through the mirror. "Yeah, I think I could use a little girl talk."
Mexico City was alive with Day of the Dead celebrations. From the moment they left the airport, they'd been forced to weave through thick crowds of tourists, party-goers, and worshipers. Many wore costumes with faces painted into ornate sugar skulls. Whole streets were blocked as floats and dancers wandered from block to block. It was an exhilarating atmosphere, but Viola was on a mission.
"Man, can't we do this after the parade?" Lana whined as they walked down an empty alley.
"No, this can't wait." Viola had hoped arriving in Mexico—where the blood money had originated from—would induce that familiar tug that told her what to do, but God didn't seem to be in a helping mood. "It's just up here."
Above an ebony door was a painted silver moon glyph; a symbol that was only revealed by moonlight. This glyph resembled an eye with two irises. More importantly, it meant death.
Guarding the door was a gray-haired blind woman with thick black glasses and a cane. She sat on a crate, nestled among the debris littering the alley. Motionless, the woman was probably overlooked by most.
"This is the corner bar you said we were going to?" Ian walked at Viola's side and sneered at the obscure door ahead. "It's not even on a corner."
"Not corner, coroner," she clarified, trying not to smile.
"Coroners have their own bar?" He stopped in his tracks, though Viola kept walking.
Aaron stepped around him. "They need them, considering what they see sometimes."
"Oooo." Lana walked by and wiggled her fingers teasingly at Ian. "Possessed dead bodies."
"Secret bars like this are in most major cities in the world," Viola said over her shoulder, encouraging Ian to finally catch up. "If you need information about local paranormal activity, this is the place to go."
As they approached the entrance, the blind woman smacked her cane on the cement. It was loud and sharp, bouncing off the stone. Viola halted in front of her and waited for approval to enter. The woman twisted her head in thought. Aside from the thousands of wrinkles carved into her droopy skin, Viola caught the edge of a strange brand burned behind her ear.
After a moment, the old woman spoke. "The exorcist and the priest may enter."
"I need my whole group with me. They're important to what I do," Vi said evenly, not surprised this guard could see more than most.
The woman took another moment to consider, then agreed with a warning, "Keep them close."
Not waiting for the guard to change her mind, Viola entered the coroner's bar. The sound of a Spanish guitar and a man's velvety voice swept around her, along with the smell of cigars and alcohol. Most of the candlelit tables were full, despite the midday hour. Though, with dim lighting, it was nearly impossible to make out any one person's face. A man and woman duo, dressed in Day of the Dead regalia, serenaded the somber patrons from a small stage.
Several gazes followed her group as they headed toward the bar, but no one stared for long. Most here had professions that unfortunately exposed them to the weirdness that bumped beneath the ground. So, not even Viola and her eclectic friends could raise an eyebrow here.
"What can I get you?" The bartender asked with a thick accent as she restocked her shelves.
Viola answered in Spanish—yeah, she spoke a lot of languages thanks to the church's schooling—hoping to coerce the bartender into helping. "Mind if I use your bar for a second?"
The woman's eyes examined Vi's many tattoos and lingered on the depiction of the Virgin Mary on her left bicep. "Go ahead."
"What are you going to do?" Lana whispered from next to Ian. Aaron hung back, his attention focused on the singers.
"I'm gonna speed things along." As the song ended, Vi climbed onto the bar and let her voice carry throughout the establishment. "Excuse me, I'm in need of an expert. Someone who might have knowledge of the darker histories of Mexico City."
Surprisingly, it was the male singer who responded. "I could probably help you."
He passed his guitar to someone off stage and his duet partner took over the entertainment easily. Viola hopped off the counter while the man approached. His long black hair was tied in a ponytail and a few dozen gold studs lined his ears and an eyebrow. He had rings to match on every finger. Black scruff accented the hard lines of his jaw and neon paint decorated his eyes like a sugar skull. He was already handsome enough to beat the lovers away with a stick, but the paint and jewelry made him enchanting.
Not surprising to Viola at all—given the establishment they were in—this man wasn't your average Joe. He gave off an unusual vibe. Not an exorcist, but certainly someone with a hand on the otherside.
"Hola, my name is Miguel. Please, come this way." He led them to a cushy, roped off section in the corner. A small sign read Owner's Table. Miguel slid in without pause, even though he couldn't have been much more than eighteen. "What sort of information are you looking for?"
Trying not to show her surprise, Vi sat opposite him as the others filed around. "I need to know about any local mass executions that were carried out in exchange for money."
"Mass executions? No, murders around here tend to be more low-key." He reclined as the bartender slid a drink in front of him.
"What about a long time ago?" Blood money could be passed from person to person for centuries, collecting and corrupting souls as it went.
Miguel scratched his jaw as the bartender left without taking their orders. Maybe they weren't expected to stay long. His gaze moved through her strange group, his lips pursing with whatever thoughts occupied his mind. Finally, he leaned forward.
"There is a shrine…I always thought the story was more folklore than truth…" Miguel sipped his drink, the amber liquid sloshing against the glass. "It began with a pile of bones discovered in Mixquic long ago."
As he said the town's name, a vibration swept along Viola's skin and the tug returned.
21
They leaned in, desperate to hear how so many souls had become tied to Ian's cash. Blood money was rare for a reason. Whatever circumstances led to its creation had to be extraordinary, and truly awful.
"The shrine claims that a great man with a vast wealth came to the small village. He fell in love with the people and their rich culture. He decided to stay. The town welcomed him." Miguel twisted one of his rings thoughtfully and shrugged. "That is until he expressed a desire to take several young and beautiful wives."
Lana's face scrunched in disgust. "Ew."
"Sí, but the people of this small village were good and devoted Catholics. So, they rejected the man." He angrily sliced his hand through the air. "He tried to shower them with riches, but still they insisted he leave."
"I'm guessing he didn't take it well." Reclining in her chair, Viola crossed her arms.
Miguel watched her closely. "He did not. In fact, he hired Diablo himself."
Ian raised an eyebrow and glanced skeptically at Vi. "Diablo? As in the Devil?"
Full-time ruler of Hell, part-time assassin for hire? Probably not. Most likely, it was only a demon or a human with a terrifying reputation.
"Sí," Miguel shifted his measuring eyes to Ian. "He gave Diablo all of his money and no one was left spared."
"Wait. I call bullshit." Lana tossed up her hand, pursing her lips with arrogance. "If everyone died, then how does anyone know what happened?"
"Because Diablo whispers. He doesn't want to go unseen," Miguel said quickly, causing Lana's confidence to falter under his intensity. "How do you think your blood money went into circulation? Diablo always wants more than his dues."
"Blood money?" Viola eyed Miguel with suspicion. "How do you know that's why I'm here?"
"I'm a brujo, such things are my specialty and"—Miguel's gaze swiveled darkly toward Ian—"I can sense the sin rolling off the Scotsman. His soul is darker than the ink on one of Lucifer's contracts."
Ah, that explained a lot about their mystery informant. The Brujería were some of the world's oldest practitioners of the darker crafts. When generations upon generations lived with one hand on the otherside, their rituals and traditions literally became ingrained into their blood.
"I have to wonder, though…" Miguel leaned an elbow on the table and shifted his attention back to Viola. "Why is an exorcist helping the kind of man who would acquire blood money?"
She matched his posture, bringing her stare within inches of his and warned, "Careful, brujo."
The last thing she wanted was some black-magick-wielding vigilante thinking it was his duty to send Ian to his grave. Miguel watched Viola for a long minute, not recoiling from her closeness. When she didn't waver, Miguel forced a smile as he sat back. "Don't worry, I'm not fool enough to interfere with exorcist business."
"That's good." It was fortunate for him that he wasn't going to underestimate her. Ready to get to work, Viola pushed to her feet. "I appreciate your help, Miguel."
"Let me go with you and be your guide." Surprised at her sudden departure, all of the bravado dropped from his features. "With me at your side, you'll draw less attention and I'll save you time searching for the shrine."
Viola considered him. She didn't know this man from Adam. Just because he had a hand on the otherside, didn't mean that he was trustworthy. Still, he made a good point. With him leading, they might avoid a few hiccups along the way.
Coming to Viola's side, Ian whispered into her ear, "I don't trust this guy. I think you should say no."
"He could speed things up for us." She angled toward him and caught a strong whiff of that yummy scent of his. It made her chest ache, flooding her with a sudden fear that something terrible might happen to him. "Do you really want to tempt fate?"
"I don't like the way he leers at you." Glowering, he glanced at the watching brujo and buttoned his suit jacket. "It's greedy—in a very wrong sort of way."
"I can handle myself." Vi smirked. He was jealous, and she kinda loved that. Instead of pushing the issue, she turned to Miguel. "All right, lead the way."
With a triumphant grin, that no doubt irritated Ian, Miguel finished his drink and headed for the door. Turned out, even with a guide, navigating the outdoor festivities was slow. Once they made it beyond most of the chaos, Ian texted Ailbeart and a car arrived for them in remarkable time.
When they reached Mixquic, Miguel became the eager tour guide as promised. He pointed out the local establishments and shared more of the town's history. The guy was clearly in love with the community. She really couldn't blame him.
Eventually, Miguel led them through a cemetery that had become part of the city-wide celebrations. Sweet Latin music traveled into the graveyard from the busy streets. While tourists explored, dozens of locals tidied and decorated the graves with complex floral designs and flickering candles. Strong incense hung in the air and tickled Viola's nose.
"The people build altars and leave gifts for the dead in hopes that their lost loved ones may come for a visit," Miguel explained as they walked. He somehow produced a bushy marigold from his jacket pocket and handed it to Lana. "Do you have any lost loved ones?"
"I wouldn't know." She smelled the flower, then carefully placed it on one of the graves. "My mother left me at an Indian reservation when I was a baby."
"I'm sorry to hear that." He studied her closely. "Without roots, it's hard for the soul to be grounded."
Ian groaned and rubbed his face. "This guy is a real piece of work."
"Stop it," Viola mumbled, giving him a light elbow to the side.
"I thought he said that with him leading, we'd save time." Stepping behind her, Ian noticed a woman wafting incense around a gravestone. "This sightseeing could take us all day."
He wasn't wrong. This hadn't been part of the deal. Most importantly, Viola was becoming anxious. They were on the right path but the longer they delayed, the more danger Ian was in. They already had one demon likely on their tail, and how long would it take for the strigoi she'd killed to climb out of Hell?
"What of you, Señorita?" Miguel asked Vi as Lana crouched next to Ian and snapped some photos of the woman. Aaron was in the distance, wandering quietly by himself. Miguel came to stand at Viola's side. "Any loved ones who you hope will visit during these sacred days?"
"Miguel, this is all truly beautiful," she responded instead. "If you don't mind, I'd really like to see that shrine now."
"Look around, tourists come from all over to observe what we do here." He held out his arms with pride. "Are you not interested as well?"
"We're not tourists. I'm here to save a life"—As Miguel scowled at Ian, Viola quickly added—"and free a lot of souls."
That seemed to do the trick. Miguel nodded solemnly and, without a word, headed for the exit. Viola snapped her fingers at Lana and Ian, then waved at Aaron. Time to get to work.
Much to her surprise, the shrine was within viewing distance of the cemetery. It was a fenced off small plot of barren land between two buildings. Passersby gave it a wide berth, despite how crowded the street was for the festival. A dead tree occupied the center, its dried branches spreading in all directions—but that wasn't what made people wary of the shrine.
Lana gasped and lifted her camera. "Are those real bones?"
There were hundreds of them at the base of the tree; skulls, long and small bones. They'd been laid out and piled on top of one another to form a macabre display of the dead. Viola's breath hitched at the sight. So many people… A hum started inside her, building uncomfortably behind her ears.
Aaron made the sign of cross over his chest and immediately knelt to pray.
"Sí, they are real." Miguel pointed to the plaque on the fence, which told the same story he'd shared earlier. "When the mass grave was discovered, they blocked it off and made a marker out of the bones. Some believe there are more remains still beneath the ground."
"In Scotland, we have our own sad histories." Ian shoved his hands in his pockets, the li
nes of his face curving downward. "It's a hard legacy for people to carry with them for generations."
"That is very true, Señor." Miguel studied him this time with more curiosity than anger.
Anything else they might have said Viola didn't hear. The humming under her skin was becoming unbearable. She stepped forward and crouched in front of the iron fence. The tugging at her soul heaved impatiently, forcing her to steady herself by gripping one of the bars. Holding her breath, Vi shoved her free hand into the lifeless dirt and pushed the granules over her fingers.
The vision hit her hard, slamming her mind with archaic and occult symbols. Some Viola recognized, others she didn't. A few stood out, calling to her. Somehow, they would aid her, whether it be through protection or with freeing the souls. Viola didn't really know or understand why, but she couldn't continue until she marked herself with the images. They belonged on her skin.
A loud, angry voice broke through her subconscious. Viola jerked her hand away, breaking the connection to the cursed land. The images disappeared, and she blinked to get her bearings. The humming had abated, but the tug had been replaced with an itch—an itch to be inked.
"He says that no one should touch the unholy ground," Miguel nearly shouted, drawing her attention.
Behind the brujo, an old man yelled at her in Spanish. His black hair was mostly gray, his dark eyes weathered far beyond his years…and he was in an angry panic. The man shouted that the land should never be disturbed and the buried had grown evil over the decades.
As people began to gawk, Vi stood and held her hands up in submission. "It's all right. I won't touch it again."
Noticing the crosses on her palms, the old man blanched. He stumbled away and formed the sign of the cross. His gaze fell on Aaron who'd come to Viola's side. Hand shaking, he pointed at her. "Keep the priest close. You may need him now."
Miguel tried to calm the man, but he wouldn't have it. Instead, he crossed himself again and hurried into the crowd. Miguel followed after.
