His bearing softened. “I wish I could, but I can’t.” And then he stood straighter, picking up all the burdens he’d momentarily left behind. “Go home and get better. Doctor’s orders. Especially since I don’t think I can talk Olympio’s grandfather into taking you back.”
I was tired. I needed a shower. I still smelled like smoke and I was pretty sure my shirt had a stain from that disgusting poultice. “But what’re you going to do? You have to be as tired as I am.”
He smiled softly at me. “I am. But I’ve got to go to work.”
* * *
I took the next train. I got off at my stop and went home. My front door was closed, but Hector had left it unlocked.
Minnie was exorbitantly glad to see me and meowed aloud as she followed me around my house. “I know, I know.” I knuckled her head, and then stripped for my shower.
When that was through, I plugged in my phone. Three worried calls from my mother, and a private one from Peter to tell me I was being awful. I’d caught as much in his tone last night, and deleted it without listening all the way through. I called her back, tried to sound the right combination of sick and safe on the phone, and rescheduled an early dinner with her tonight.
* * *
Five hours of sleep and twelve snoozes later, I got up again. It was only three. I tied my hair up, bent at odd angles since I’d slept on it wet, and headed for the train. I got off at the stop before my mother’s to get her a small bouquet of flowers from an upscale liquor store. Then I hopped back on and off and walked up to her door.
Three knocks, and I waited. Nothing. I was reaching up to knock again when the door opened. Peter.
“Hey—”
“Your mother’s sleeping.” He stepped outside and closed the door behind him.
“I can wait—”
“She was up all night, worried sick about you. I’m not waking her up, after the stunt you pulled.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to reach for the door handle. He didn’t slap my hand away, but I could see him thinking it. “I really was sick!”
He looked me up and down. I looked tired, maybe, but not ill. He knew what ill looked like. Ill was sleeping inside, right now.
“I’m not lying!” I protested.
“Keep your voice down,” he snapped at me.
“Peter—she’s my own mother. You can’t stop me from seeing her,” I said in clipped tones.
“She needs her rest right now. More than she needs to see you.” He inhaled and exhaled deeply. “Look, Edie, you and I have always gotten along. So you get another chance. But not today, not right now. I’ll tell her you came by.”
I could not believe I was being stopped. I wanted to yell at him, but what would that do? Wake my mother, so she’d stumble to the door and see us fighting? That wouldn’t do. “Here.” I shoved the bouquet forward. “They’re for her.”
He looked down at the flowers, but didn’t take them. “She’s neutropenic. You should know better.” And with that, he went back inside and closed the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Neutropenic people couldn’t get flowers or fresh fruit, or anything else that might have germs on it. I knew that—flowers weren’t allowed on ICU floors. And of course my mom was neutropenic, after all her rounds of chemo. She’d be lucky to have four intact white blood cells left to rub together, like the last few floating Cheerios in a cereal bowl.
I couldn’t believe it had happened, all the way home. That I’d forgotten, and that Peter’d rebuffed me. I went back to my apartment on the train, stunned and angry, and barely remembered to get off at my stop. It was drizzling as I walked in. I was halfway up the stairs to my apartment when I realized I’d left the flowers behind on my seat.
I forced myself to eat a dinner of whatever was left in my fridge. Just before nightfall, I heard a knock. Catrina was standing outside my front door. I held it open for her. “Welcome to casa de la crazy.”
Snorting, she walked in to sit down on my couch. “What now?”
“We’re on Jorgen’s time line. I’m sure he’ll show up.” He still wanted me to go with him—and now I needed something in return. I sat down on the opposite end of my couch. I’d already gotten ready. I was wearing mostly black. I’d taken the cross I’d had Olympio buy and strung it on a long string hung around my neck; my old badge from work was in my back pocket. I was super prepared to make bad decisions.
Catrina had Adriana’s sweater out, across her lap. She’d worn sensible boots, and I thought I could see the outline of a knife hilt at their top. Of course.
“How’d your sister meet Luz anyway?”
“You even know her real name.”
“Yeah. We go back awhile.”
Catrina’s eyes narrowed in thought as she looked at me. “I underestimated you.”
“I’m … sorry?” I guessed. I didn’t know what to say.
She hugged the sweater to herself and leaned back into the couch. “My sister used to have some problems. She hung out with the wrong crowd. One night, things weren’t going well for her. Luz rescued her from a bad situation. And Luz wasn’t doing so well herself, on her own. They … started hanging out. Together.” I tried to fill in the gaps in Catrina’s story with my imagination. Leaping from saving someone’s life to being on a pink-heart basis. Catrina watched me closely out of the corner of her eye. “They are in love.”
I already knew as much. It wasn’t the pink heart that gave it away, but the look on Luz’s face when she spoke of Adriana, and the warning bruise she’d left on my ankle. “When’d you know she was a vampire?”
“When she tried to kill my cat.” Catrina snorted. “I didn’t want to believe, but the stories Adriana told me, and how she’d saved her—I have the don—I didn’t want to believe, but I could see. After that, it was easy for me to help them by supplying Luz with blood. And after that, things started getting better for our block.”
Well, I’d had no idea Luz would become the world’s first socially conscious vampire when I’d met her. I wondered if Anna had had a hand in that. “What’ll happen if your sister doesn’t … come back?”
“I honestly don’t know.” Catrina was interrupted by a thump. She jumped, and Minnie bolted from the kitchen to the bedroom.
“Sorry. That’s our ride.”
* * *
We went to the door and Jorgen was there. “Hey. You’re here because you need me to help Dren, right?” I didn’t want to think of what was wrong with Dren that he couldn’t help himself, or that Jorgen couldn’t waltz in and fix. Jorgen nodded, his black eyes fixed on me.
“Okay—well, we need to make a deal.” I really hoped that my neighbors weren’t looking out right now, seeing me talk to empty space. “I need you to find someone else for me first. Then—and only then—can we go help Dren.”
Jorgen went back to all fours and leaned forward, his face very near to mine. His breath stank, and he tilted so that I could see into his nearest black eye. In that one eye was all the hatred Jorgen felt for me, for the situation he was in—where I had put him. He’d kill me if he could—but he needed me right now. We’d get along until then, was what that eye told me, but afterward? Who knew.
I looked back into my apartment and waved to Catrina. “Okay. Let’s go.”
* * *
She let Jorgen smell her precious sweater. I’d never seen a Hound do what one does before. He was still for a moment, waiting. And then I’d have sworn he seemed pleased. He bounded to the bottom of the stairs, rippling like a weasel or ferret or some other creature with an extra half a spine, then looked back, waiting for us.
* * *
I figured we were walking toward the station halfway there. Catrina was quiet, just watching Jorgen pace along. The Hound could be faster than we were, but there was no point in jogging after him when we didn’t know how far we’d have to go.
“How long have you known him?” Catrina asked me.
“I first met him in December.” I didn’t want t
o go into the details of my past with Jorgen. “How long have you known Hector?” I deflected instead.
“Since December.”
I was a little stunned. “Really? He seems so entrenched here.”
“Oh, he is. He’s done a world of good. He was a friend of the original doctor, who was getting quite old.”
“Hmm.” That didn’t fit the picture of Hector’s life that I’d created in my head.
When we reached the station, I wondered how Jorgen would get through. I fed in my card for myself and Catrina, and the turnstile clicked as we passed through. I looked back at Jorgen, trapped on the other side. Leaning back, I passed my card through again, and he reared back onto two legs, waddling through the turnstile in a creepy half-human fashion, jerking spastically forward like a monster chasing me in a bad dream. When he was through he fell to all fours again, his ill-furred loose skin swinging down after him.
There was no way not to see him in the station’s brighter light. His human skin was pale and blue-veined where it was visible in patches through his fur. He looked so wrong it made it hard to talk to him. “Where to now?” I asked aloud.
He got his bearings, and we waited quietly for the southbound train.
* * *
Why wasn’t I surprised when we got off at the clinic’s stop? The homeless people were sleeping in their makeshift shelter. I hoped that neither of them had the don like Catrina—I didn’t want to have to explain Jorgen to anyone. At the same time, I felt safer traveling at night with a nightmarish creature beside me. I hoped that just because normal people couldn’t see him didn’t mean he couldn’t affect them. I’d hate to get into trouble and not be able to count on my horrific imaginary friend.
“Here?” Catrina asked, plainly disappointed when we reached the bottom step.
“You wanted somewhere more exotic?”
“I just figured she wouldn’t be so close.”
Because close … was probably bad. The best answer for why Luz hadn’t been able to find Adriana was that she was dead after all. I could see Catrina steeling herself to find out the truth, any truth, just to finally know. I didn’t respond.
We walked in a direction I hadn’t gone yet on my short tours with Olympio and last night with Hector. At night, this side of town seemed much grimmer. The colors were washed out, and all that showed up was dirt and darkness. A few dogs ran up to us as we passed an alley—half feral and growling. Jorgen leered at them, and the shy ones ran away. The braver ones trailed us with a litany of barks, until yells of frustration from the closed windows we passed shook them off.
“Can he tell us what we’re in for?” Catrina asked.
“I don’t think so.” At County Hospital, for patients who couldn’t talk or write, we had boards with likely complaints. They could point to a picture of a toilet, and we’d know to bring a bedpan. What kind of board of horrors would Jorgen need to tell me what we were going into? A knife, in the alley, with Colonel Mustard. Heh.
There were some people sleeping in the street—on a hot night, you didn’t need a shelter. And if you were too drunk or crazy to get into one, odds were that no one would mess with you.
Other people were lurking in corners. I could feel them watching us. I didn’t know if it was Jorgen’s presence that kept them at bay, or if we possessed some frightening luck.
We turned onto a new block, and there was a bright light at the end of it. My first thought was of a train. I couldn’t help but stare.
“Here?” Catrina whispered in disgust. “All this time—here?”
An effigy of Santa Muerte was standing in the window, draped in a purple robe, trimmed in gold, with embroidered gold-thread stars. The street was strewn with flowers and petals. I had a suspicion where we were.
“Maldonado’s current church?” I guessed. She nodded. The altar’s light illuminated the grimace on her face. We walked toward the church, Jorgen bold, us more slowly behind.
A person raced out in front of us, crossing the street, and started sweeping up the flowers with both arms.
“Oy!” A man I hadn’t noticed stepped out from beside the altar, hidden by the shadows of the building behind. “Stop that!” He shoved the other person down, and pulled back his leg like he was going to kick whoever he’d shoved. I saw a bony arm rise up in supplication.
“Hey!” I said, without thinking about it first. Catrina yanked me back. The man stopped, mid-kick, distracted by me, and the person I’d saved scrambled over. In the altar’s light, the bony flower thief had stringy hair and was wearing two hospital gowns, one in each direction, only three buttons snapped between them. “Oh, God. Not you.” It was the woman I’d saved, who’d infected me.
“¿Quién eres?” the man said, coming over.
“You’re kicking someone’s grandmother!” I said, emboldened by Jorgen’s presence beside me.
“She’s stealing flowers to resell. It’s against the law. Those flowers are Santa Muerte’s.” I could see the three cross tattoos on either side of his neck.
“The flowers are in the street. Technically they’re trash,” Catrina said, stepping forward, into the altar’s light.
“Cállate, no sabes lo que estás hablando,” he said, and stepped forward. I really hoped Jorgen was looming somewhere behind. “Wait—I know you—” He looked Catrina up and down, then put a hand to something at his waist.
Jorgen bowled him down. The man fell with a grunt, and Jorgen’s mouth stretched comically wide. His jaw unhinged, like a python’s, and he barely had the man’s head in his mouth before the man began to scream. Three bizarre gulping bites and the man was gone; only Jorgen remained.
What had that man been reaching for? A gun? A knife? A phone? Too late now, we’d never know.
“Where did he go?” Catrina whispered, horrified.
“Do you really care?” I said, my voice rising higher. Jorgen’s formerly slack-skinned stomach was stretched taut like a drum. I thought I could see a foot pressing out from the inside, like a perverted kicking baby.
The elderly woman started babbling between us, holding her hands up in a placating fashion. I gladly concentrated on her instead.
“Grandmother—Abuela—” I said, trying to calm her down. She must have made it to County; I recognized the pattern of her hospital gowns. I reached out and touched her forehead, and she didn’t jerk away. She didn’t have a fever, that was good—hopefully she wasn’t contagious anymore. “What happened to you?”
She began speaking in fast Spanish that I couldn’t understand. Catrina translated quickly. “She doesn’t like it here, everyone is mean to her, there is no respect left in this world. And she’s scared of that dog.”
Well. She had every right to be. She bent over and started scrabbling on the ground, rooting through the discarded flowers like she’d lost a contact lens. I didn’t want to leave her behind here for the next Three Crosses guard to kick. “Catrina—is there somewhere you can take her?”
“Why?”
“We can’t just leave her here is why.”
“Doesn’t she have a home?”
“Look, Jorgen will only listen to me. And we’re near where your sister is. Maybe you can just trust me to find things out.” I didn’t want to state the obvious: that we both knew what the answer would be—that Jorgen would most likely lead me up the street so he could dig away at a shallow trash pit in a narrow backyard. I gestured to the elderly woman. “She needs your help. Can you take her back to the Reina’s? Get her some food?”
Catrina looked from the old woman to me, and then past us to Jorgen, whom we’d both just seen swallow a man alive. Even though she had the don, the weirdness tonight was mounting in a way I could tell made Catrina uncomfortable. Maybe that, and being too close to the final truth. She frowned but agreed. “Okay. But you better come to work tomorrow and you tell me what you find out.”
“I will. I swear it.”
Catrina reached out and gently herded the old woman away.
CHAPTER TWE
NTY-SEVEN
“This whole night is hard to swallow. But you know all about that, huh?” I asked Jorgen in an attempt to be lighthearted. He had just eaten a person. It was weird. Should I offer him some Tums, or should I go off and violently puke out my disgust in a corner? I didn’t know, so I decided to press on. “Where to?”
Jorgen took off toward the far end of the street, and I followed him. We reached an alley, and Jorgen dove in. I chased after him. “Hey! No eating people!” I whispered as loudly as I dared.
We snaked to the back of the building we’d just been in front of. There were dogs in cages out back. They started whining as soon as they felt, or maybe saw, Jorgen. Trapped in cages, all of them were cowed.
A man came out of the back of the Three Crosses building and kicked the nearest cage. “Stop it! ¡Cállate!”
I waited against the wall, hidden by an overflowing Dumpster, and Jorgen stood in the middle of the alley, huge and invisible.
Jorgen looked to me, then looked to the man and leapt forward, catching him in the back. I knew the landing knocked all the air out of the man—I heard it leave him in a rush once Jorgen pinned him. I raced up as the dogs whined even louder, clawing at the backs of their cages.
“Don’t kill him!” I hissed. “Just keep him from following me.”
Jorgen reached out with a massive back leg and stepped on the Three Crosses man’s leg, breaking it with a crunching sound.
“Jesus!” I yelped. The gangster’s eyes widened, and now, able to breathe he inhaled deeply to howl in pain. “No no no.” I lunged down and planted my hand over his mouth. “Can you understand me?”
His eyes were wide. He could see only me in the alley; he had no idea how I’d managed to knock him down and break his leg.
“Don’t yell.” His eyes were watering with pain. “If you yell—I’ll have my ghost here kill you.” Jorgen crouched in and exhaled on the man, breath rancid as rotten death.
He nodded, and I released his mouth.
“If you move even one inch, my ghost will eat you.”
“Like upstairs,” he whispered.
Shapeshifted (An Edie Spence Novel) Page 15
