by Maria Lima
My brother's chuckle turned into a full-out guffaw. “I can see that—full blown family-style lecture in front of Adam.” He ruffled my hair. “Yes, dear sister, we can call later. Let's plan to meet around eleven or so."
I glowered at him. The idea of having to listen to my aunt Jane's “you ought to have babies” diatribe in Adam's presence was absolutely not my idea of a good time.
"Eleven. Adam's office,” I said. “We'll call Isabel. If she's still incommunicado, then I vote for calling Dad. He'll at least know who to ask, even if his idea of magick is having dinner ready at a decent hour."
"Sounds like a plan,” Tucker said and motioned to me. “To the car, then?"
I nodded and fell into step beside him.
As I got into the car, my hand brushed against the side of my leg and touched part of my jeans soiled with the candle wax. Instinctively, I rubbed my hand on my thigh, trying to get it off, then raised it to see if I'd gotten it all. The aroma of sage and sandalwood hit me and I collapsed into the car seat.
"Shh,” the girl's anxious shushing sounds loud in the dark. “Be careful.” The small circle of the flashlight illuminates four pairs of feet, two clad in matching hiking boots standing side by side, the boots nearly pristine and fresh out of their boxes with $200-plus price tags. Another set of feet, small and in battered Doc Marten ripoffs stands to their left, facing the same direction. The last pair, clad in well worn cowboy boots, stands to the right, inches from the larger pair of the hiking boots. A pair of hands clasp together, between Larger Hiking Boots and Scuffed Brown Tony Lamas.
"Where's the candles?” demands the high clear voice of the second girl. “We've got to do the candles right or this won't work."
"Here.” A male voice answers her. “I've got the lighter, hang on.” The clasped hands squeeze, release and the boy digs into a pocket of his nearly pristine jeans.
A metallic sound and the smell of butane fills the air as the Zippo wavers, then catches. Four pairs of eyes watch the boy's hands as he lights a candle, drips some wax onto the stone and sets it down, holding it steady until the puddle of wax hardens enough.
"Flashlight, B,” the boy says quietly as candle by candle, he lights, drips, sets and holds, face grim in the flickering light, blond hair white, ethereal. His somber expression is mirrored by the other three faces, another blond, so alike to him as mirror image but female, dressed as he is in Polo shirt, khaki shorts and matching hikers. The difference is that her shirt is pink. His is a pale green. Both have a little man on a horse embroidered on them.
A dark-haired girl, the one with the flashlight, the one he'd called “B,” her clothes a discount imitation of vintage Goth chic via Wal-Mart, right down to the footwear. The second boy wears Texas ranch standard: plain one-pocket tee, faded jeans and shitkickers. His light brown hair is cut in a shaggy mop. He stands tense, hands now jammed in his pockets. The Goth girl's small hand moves and the flashlight goes out.
"Is this going to work?” The second girl's whisper barely breaks through the quiet sounds of the night.
"It has to,” replies the fourth person in a well-modulated tenor. “It has to."
As the first boy starts to light the final candle, a scream rips through the air. Startled, he whips around, the edge of his elbow catching the standing candles, knocking all of them from the gravestone onto the ground, plunging them into utter darkness.
Ten seconds later, when the small flashlight stutters back on, they all begin screaming.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"Keira. Keira.” Tucker's voice seemed loud to my ears. Why was he bothering me when I was asleep? Didn't he know I was tired? “Damn it, Keira, are you all right?"
I batted at his hand on my face. “'M fine, leave me alone,” I said. I rubbed my eyes and sat up in the car. The car. What the hell was I doing in my car? With a rush and a chill, the vision came back to me.
"Tucker, you were right,” I said. “They were here."
"You okay?” He peered at me with concern. Crap, how long was I out?
"I'm okay,” I reassured him. “The smell of the wax. It was on my hands. Triggered a vision. I saw them ... at least, I figure it was them. Four teens, at La Angel, doing some sort of ritual with candles.” I quickly described the rest of the vision. “They were screaming, Tucker."
"Damn, that's intense,” Tucker said. “Sounds like it was them, though. Look, let me drive. I think we should go to Carlton and tell him what we saw after all. Maybe they did see something."
"Before we go home?” I couldn't help sounding a little whiny. I'd gone from tired to exhausted.
Tucker smiled at me and tucked a strand of loose hair behind my ear. “I know, you're tired. Visions will do that to you. What say we go over to Bea's for some serious caffeine and something to eat. We can check to see if Carlton's still at his office or call him from there and tell him. Then we'll go home."
"Yeah, okay. You drive.” I switched seats with him.
Twenty minutes later I regretted agreeing with my brother. Twenty or more teens crowded the small café, a couple of sets of parents cowering in the furthest corner booth on the right, merrily ignoring the utter chaos.
"Keira, Tucker!” Bea's happy voice cut through the din. “Good to see y'all. There's a free booth over there.” She whirled through the teens, a loaded pizza tray in either hand. “Sorry for the craziness. It's pizza and pasta spring break special.” Bea dropped the pizza trays on a table seating three gangly boys. A fourth joined them as he scented his prey. “There you go, guys, two extra large with the works. Feel free to fill up the Cokes at the fountain.” With that, she vanished through the kitchen doors, no doubt in search of more food to satisfy the ravenous horde.
A gaggle of girls sat behind the boys, heads bent toward each other, whispering and gesturing. I grabbed Tucker's hand in self-defense as we maneuvered our way past the mob to the one lone empty booth in the far corner of the café. It was next to the door to the restrooms, so rarely got occupied.
"Stay here, Keira,” Tucker said. “I'll get us something.” I nodded in mute awe at the hubbub. Was I ever this young? This insanely loud? I buried my head in my hands and tried to mute the sounds as best I could. The overwhelming din was a bit too much after my recent vision. All my senses were on overload. I concentrated. Breathe in, breathe out. Calm, even rhythm. Imagine the shield walls thickening, holding, muting the cacophony.
"You okay, m'hija?” Bea's welcome voice cut into my focus.
"Yeah, I'm fine,” I said, smiling. “It's a little much in here."
She gave me a rueful smile as she plopped down across from me, two mugs of coffee in her hand. Passing one to me, she took a sip. “So, what brings you here on the busiest night of the year?"
"You do this every year?” I asked.
She laughed. “Every year, first Monday evening of spring break, five to eight. Except usually...” she shrugged and took another sip. “It's not normally this hot and we set up picnic tables in the parking lot and serve everyone outside."
"Now that makes more sense,” I said, laughing. “Did you see where my brother went?"
"He's in the kitchen. Trying to wheedle some tortillas out of Tia Petra."
"Figures. He was supposed to be getting us both food."
As if on cue, Tucker emerged through the kitchen door, bearing a tray laden with two steaming plates of pasta, a tortilla warmer and a plate of shredded cheese. Behind him, Ignacio Robles carried a full pitcher of ice water and two large glasses, both filled with crushed ice. I could have kissed them both.
Less than twenty minutes later, I was hydrated, satiated and ready to sit for at least an hour. Bea and Ignacio had gone back to work, both of them hustling to make sure the voracious teens’ appetites were satisfied.
"He's working the floor now,” I observed.
Tucker nodded and wiped the last of the spaghetti sauce from his bowl with the remaining tortilla. “So Tia told me. His lack of English is a factor, but he knows enough to
help serve, refill water and Cokes and such. He's also helping with nightly clean up."
"So did you say anything to him about what we heard about Alex?” I asked.
"I did. I told Tia and she explained it to him. He didn't say anything, just stood there, quiet. Then he nodded his head and went back to work. I guess he needs time to think about it."
"Either that, or he's better at accepting the inevitable,” I said.
"True. We're not that good at death, are we?"
"Not the involuntary kind.” I stretched in my seat, feeling a thousand times better. “We should go over and see if Carlton's there. Fill him in.” Then, we could go home and sleep. Even if it was night. My body clock was so fucked up now, I'd probably sleep the clock around and wake up tomorrow night. Of course, we still also had to call the clan about the wards.
"He's not,” Tucker said. “I mentioned it to Tia when I was in there and Tio Richard told me Carlton's gone over to talk to Mrs. Wentz again."
"Damn, I guess I'll call him.” If I could hear over the racket. Although, now that I'd eaten, the noise wasn't quite so nerve-wracking.
I got Carlton's voice mail, so I gave him the quick and dirty overview of what we'd found, leaving out anything remotely supernatural, including the screams.
"Time for more coffee,” I said as I put the phone away.
As I neared the urn, one of the girls in the gaggle group broke off from the gang and approached me.
"Hey, Ms. Kelly, right?"
I nodded and topped off my mug. “You are?"
"Crystal,” she said. “Crystal Rodriguez.” She looked like any of the other kids, about sixteen, seventeen, medium height. A little rounder than some, less round than others. Her dark brown hair was cut in an imitation seventies shag, complementing her imitation seventies wide-leg jeans and granny top. Doc Martens completed the bizarre ensemble. I supposed if you live long enough, all the fashions make a comeback, even the ones that were ugly to begin with.
"What can I help you with, Crystal?"
"I heard what you said on the phone, about Brittany and the others?” Like many teens, the statement got turned into a question as her voice lifted at the end.
Suddenly, I was interested. I'd been polite up to now, not sure of what the girl wanted. “You know something?” I asked.
She looked over her shoulder at the others, who by now were ignoring her in favor of something on someone's iPod screen.
"Can I come sit over with you? I don't want..."
"Sure,” I said. “Come on."
I slid in across from Tucker. Crystal, after a shy glance at my brother, followed suit, settling in beside me. I turned so I could see her better. “Crystal, this is my brother, Tucker. Tucker, this is Crystal Rodriguez. She wants to tell us something about Brittany."
"Hello, Crystal,” Tucker said, giving the girl the big-brother smile.
Crystal smiled back, still a little shy. “She's a friend of mine, you know. Sort of, anyway,” she began, breathlessly, words rushing out. “Anyhow, I heard what you said to the Sheriff about the Angel and she went there."
"She did? You know this for sure.” I studied Crystal's face, trying to determine if she was serious.
Crystal nodded emphatically. “Yes, I know. Look, we weren't uber close or anything, not really BFFs, but in fourth grade, we were. So the other day, I ran into her in the locker room after fifth period gym. Friday, I think, yeah, because we had volleyball.” Crystal's fingers rubbed a random pattern on the tabletop. “We were alone in there. She came over to me and told me that she had a secret but she had to tell someone and that I wasn't totally stupid.” The girl looked up at me and Tucker. “It wasn't an insult, really, I knew what she meant. Everyone thinks she's weird on account'a how she dresses and all, but she's really super smart. Like scholarship smart. She got a full ride to Tech and to someplace East. She's just gotta pick.” Crystal stopped a moment. “Can I get a Coke?” she asked.
Tucker nodded. “Sure, what can I get you?"
"Dr Pepper,” she said. “Thanks.” Tucker slid out of the booth.
"Was that the secret?” I asked Crystal after Tucker left. “Her scholarships?"
"No, no, not that,” she replied, a hint of scorn in her voice. “Everyone knew that. This was different. She told me they were going to ask the Angel to show them a way to make it all work."
"It?"
"Yeah, that's what she said. I don't what she meant. She wasn't religious or anything.” Crystal looked around and then moved a little closer to me, dropping her voice. “I think, it's that a bunch of kids at school are always teasing her and calling her a dyke, ‘cause she hangs out with that rich bitch Missy Wentz. People think that she's got a crush on Missy. Maybe she wanted them to stop?"
"Why would they think that?” I asked. “Because she's friends with Missy?"
Crystal shakes her head. “Not that. Missy's not friends with anyone really. So the kids think they're dykes."
"Are they?"
"No, I know for sure."
At this point, Tucker returned with a frosty ice-filled glass of Dr Pepper for Crystal. She took it with a grateful look and took a couple of deep swallows before continuing. “I don't know about Missy, but Brittany likes guys. She's been half in love with a guy she knows from Austin. She met him at the basketball tournament a couple of years ago. They're always texting."
"What do you think Brittany was going to ask the Angel?” I asked.
"My guess, it's for a way for her to go away to college.” Crystal chomped on a piece of ice.
"I thought you said she got a full ride to a couple of places."
"She did,” Crystal said in that oh-my-God-how-stupid-can-adults-be tone of voice. “It's her mother. Brittany's mom is always sick, always telling her that she needs her to stay and take care of her. There's no other relatives, so Brittany feels like she can't leave her mom alone."
Oh, for the love of all that's eternal, that one took the cake and the icing, too. Nothing like a little maternal—or any type of familial—guilt to really fuck up a kid's chances.
"Crystal, we heard something about the four of them going three-wheeling. You know anything about that?” Tucker asked.
Crystal snorted. “Yeah, right. Like Missy Ice Princess Wentz would ever do something outdoors."
"I take it that's a ‘no', then?” Tucker remarked.
"That one's more at home on a shopping spree at Neiman's than on some crappy three-wheeler,” Crystal replied. “I have no idea what idiot came up with that story."
"I did,” broke in a male voice. A tall teenager walked out of the restroom doorway.
"Hey, Andy,” Crystal barely managed, as her face flushed red.
Andy approached the table, but waved away my gesture to sit down. “Thanks, but I need to get back,” he said. “It's ‘cause I heard y'all. I know that it sounds weird as shit, but I swear I saw them all at the gas station. I work there after school and weekends,” he explained. “The four of them were there in Jimmy Stahl's truck, you know that old brown thing that used to be his grandpa's? The three-wheelers were in the bed. I saw Jimmy first, at the pump, then when I came around the counter to pick up a piece of paper I dropped, I saw Matt, Missy and Brittany all crammed in the front. Pretty fucking wild.” He ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair, the other one was crammed in his jeans pocket. “Matt came inside then, picked up a coupl'a six packs of Coke and some water. I said something to Matt about having to straddle the gear shift and to be careful of his boys."
Tucker snorted a laugh and I rolled my eyes at him. Didn't matter the age of the boy, nor his origins, certain stupidities were endemic to the gender.
Andy kept talking, either ignoring us or oblivious to our exchange. “Jimmy walked in right then and paid for the gas. He didn't say anything. He looked at Matt and then they both got in the truck. I don't know where they were headed, but I heard Missy say something to Brittany about angels. They were driving away, so I wasn't positive that's what she s
aid, though. Anyway, that's where all of that came from.” Andy shrugged. “Hope they find them. Gotta go.” He ambled back over to a table and sat down.
"Crystal, have you ever heard of La Angel?” I asked her.
"La Angel?” She scrunched her brow in concentration. “I think so. Isn't that the statue up at that old cemetery somewhere out on one of the ranch roads?"
"Yes. Is that somewhere you all go to hang out?"
"Nah, it's too far. It's better out at the lake. I know about it because Brittany was talking about angel statues last—” Her eyes got really big as she clued in. “Oh, wow. That's right. All last week, she kept asking Mr. Marks about angel statues and cemeteries in the area. She said she'd found something online and it reminded her of something from Texas history class in seventh grade."
Bingo! There's the connection we'd been looking for.
"Crystal, thanks so much,” I said. “You've been a great help."
"You think they'll find them?” she asked, her voice suddenly childlike. “Are they going to be okay?"
"I'm sure they are,” Tucker said. “Sheriff Larson has the best people looking."
"Thanks,” she said. “I'll go now if that's okay?"
"Sure."
She scooted out and rejoined her friends, none of whom had paid one iota of attention to what was going on outside their immediate circle. Teenagers. I thanked my lucky stars I wasn't one any more.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Bea came out of the kitchen, and joined us, sliding in next to me. Her face was rigid, unsmiling. Her hands trembled.
"Bea, what is it?"
"I'm okay, really,” she said. I wasn't convinced. She sounded tired and shaken. The first wasn't exactly out of the ordinary. I never knew how she managed to run the café practically by herself. Even with help from her elderly aunt and uncle and sporadic help from a nephew, she did the bulk of the work. Hiring staff never panned out because soon they'd be off for greener restaurant pastures as new eateries opened in nearby towns. I admired her for it. I'd never had that kind of stubborn tenacity to succeed. I'd never needed it.
