Bedlam Boyz

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Rest for a moment, querida, until the sickness passes,” he said gently.

  “I’m okay, really!” She gave up trying to sit up; he wouldn’t let her, so she just let herself lie back against him. “Ramon, I never—” she began awkwardly, then started again. “Listen, you saved my life, back there in the alley. I just wanted to say thank you for that.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said gravely, then grinned. “Though I have to admit, I was thinking more of how Carlos was going to kill me when I came home, if anything had happened to you. I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”

  “Yeah, me too.” She shifted slightly, so she could look at him better. He was very handsome, she decided, though not as handsome as Carlos. Then again, he wasn’t a bastard like Carlos, either. There was a funny little scar on his cheek, an old cut mark. Impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed him there.

  Ramon jerked back as if he’d been burned. “Kayla!”

  She laughed at the shocked expression on his face. “Ramon, I was just saying thank you,” she said. “I mean, if I really wanted to kiss you, I’d do this …” She leaned forward again, kissing him on the mouth.

  His arms suddenly tightened around her, pulling her closer against him. Then he pushed her away abruptly. “No, it’s too soon, we can’t … Madre de Dios, this isn’t fair!” he wailed, looking upward.

  Kayla caught his hand with hers, holding it against her cheek. “Why not?” she asked.

  “Because … because …”

  The sound of running footsteps on the stairs outside the apartment made them both look up. Carlos burst back into the room, the apartment door banging loudly against the wall.

  Carlos asked something in Spanish, and Ramon looked quickly from Kayla to his brother, his eyes wild. He answered in Spanish and pulled his hand free from Kayla’s. They spoke in rapid-fire Spanish for another few seconds, then Ramon turned to her and spoke quietly. “Kayla, Carlos wants to know … are you a virgin?”

  “What?” She felt herself blushing. “What does he care?” And why does he want to know? Sudden fear tightened around her throat. My God, what’s he planning to do?

  “He says it’s important. Are you a virgin?”

  Kayla bit her lip, looking down at her bare feet, and decided that maybe truth was the best answer right now. I hope. “Well … yes.”

  Carlos said something in Spanish to Ramon, who stood up and replied angrily in the same language. For a moment, Kayla thought Ramon was about to punch Carlos. Then he sat back down again, his hands clenched into fists.

  Carlos gave Kayla a stern look. “Listen to me, girl,” he said in tones like ice. “I was talking with my grandmother. She said that in the legends, sex and magic are very closely linked. If you really are a virgin, we’re going to make sure that you stay that way. I will make sure there are always two people with you, to protect you and your …”

  Carlos looked away briefly, and Kayla thought she saw him flush slightly with embarrassment. “Jose is married, he would be good for this,” Carlos continued, picking up the telephone receiver. He dialed the phone and spoke into it in Spanish. Every few seconds, his eyes flickered to Ramon, who was now seated stiffly on the couch, as far away from Kayla as he could be.

  Damn, Kayla thought. Damn, damn, damn …

  That evening, Kayla sat at the edge of a circle of chattering women in the living room of Roberta’s apartment, feeling about as miserable as she could. No one seemed to speak anything but Spanish, and while she was learning to pick out a few words here and there, she didn’t understand most of what was being said. She knew they were talking about one of the women’s little baby, though, just by the way everyone kept pointing and gesturing at the kid. The baby was cute, a little round-faced kid with tufts of black hair who made all these funny cooing and giggling noises. She would’ve enjoyed playing with the kid, but the women had given her cold looks when she tried to get closer to the baby.

  Ramon had left the apartment, a few minutes after that awful scene with Carlos. Carlos had waited until Jose and another equally silent young man had shown up, then left as well. Jose and the other guy had sat around reading the newspaper and talking between themselves in Spanish, while Kayla sat in the bedroom, slowly going stir-crazy. Then Roberta and all of these women had shown up, filling the apartment with loud conversation and the smell of spicy hot chocolate. At least that had been good … thinking about it, Kayla went to the kitchen to refill her mug with the rich chocolate drink. And Jose had left after a few minutes, probably figuring that Kayla would be safe, surrounded by all of those older women and one sullen-faced young man sitting near the front door.

  In the kitchen, Roberta and another girl were talking in Spanish. Kayla slipped past them to ladle more chocolate into her mug. As she left the kitchen, she saw Roberta say something to the other girl, who laughed.

  The hell with you, Kayla thought. She sat down in her chair and leaned against the window, looking out. She could see the mountains in the distance, dusted with a light cap of snow. In the street below, some kids were playing with a football, tossing it back and forth.

  “Kayla?”

  She looked up as Roberta sat down next to her. “What do you want?” she asked.

  “I wanted to give these back to you.” Her hand closed over Kayla’s, dropping something into her palm. Kayla looked down to see her silver earrings lying in her hand. “I’m sorry I was so angry. I thought you were Carlos’ new girl, and I was very jealous. He explained everything to me, and I wanted to say something to you, but then you were so sick …”

  “Th-thanks.” Kayla’s fingers reached up to unfasten the safety pins in her ears and replaced them with the silver rings. “Thanks a lot.”

  “Why are you sitting here by yourself<|>?” Roberta asked. “Don’t you want to talk with anyone?”

  Kayla shrugged. “I can’t speak Spanish.”

  A quick smile brightened Roberta’s face, and for the first time, Kayla understood why Carlos might find this girl attractive. “And they don’t speak any English. Well, there’s someone here that doesn’t speak any language yet at all… .” She gestured for one of the women to give her the baby, which she placed in Kayla’s arms. “Do you like babies? I saw you looking at her earlier. Her name is Juanita, and she’s two months old.”

  Kayla gingerly held the baby in her arms. Juanita giggled and drooled on Kayla’s shirt. “She’s really cute,” Kayla said, looking into the baby’s large brown eyes. Those eyes looked back at her very solemnly, then her mouth curved into a big, toothless grin.

  “She likes you,” Roberta said, smiling.

  A shrill voice shouted in angry Spanish from across the room. Kayla looked up as the baby’s mother hurried towards her. Roberta intercepted her, talking quickly in Spanish, with occasional glances and gestures at Kayla and the baby.

  “What is she saying?” Kayla asked.

  “She doesn’t know who you are, so she doesn’t want you holding the baby. I’m telling her that you’re a bruja, and that you healed Jose’s gunshot wound. She doesn’t believe me.”

  More of the women joined into the argument, voices clamoring loudly in Spanish. Kayla shrank back in her chair, holding the baby close against her, as the argument became more and more heated. Roberta was able to yell louder than any of them, Kayla noticed.

  As the argument continued, Kayla decided to play with the baby and pretend to ignore it all. Juanita had a good grip, she discovered, as the baby clutched at her fingers. Though she was best at drooling … probably because she doesn’t have any teeth yet, Kayla thought.

  “I’ll take the baby now,” Roberta said, and Kayla realized that all the arguing had stopped, and that everyone was looking at her now, some with curiosity, others with distrust.

  “Okay,” she said, lifting the baby into Roberta’s arms. “She’s a great kid.”

  “She’s my cousin,” Roberta said fondly, rubbing her finger against the baby’s cheek. “You need to do some magic
now,” she added.

  “What?”

  “I said that you’d show them some magic, show them how you healed Jose, so they’d see that I wasn’t lying. You have to do magic now.”

  “Roberta, I don’t know if I can—”

  “Just try, okay?”

  It was getting easier, she realized, as she called the fire to her hands. There was no dizziness or headaches, only the sheer joy of it, feeling the tendrils of power weave around her fingertips. The blue light was very bright in the small living room. She let it die away a couple of seconds later.

  There was a stunned silence in the room, then all of the women began talking at once. One of them, a quiet girl with long dark hair, hesitantly touched Kayla’s hands, as if expecting them to burn her. Another woman placed her hand on Kayla’s chin and tilted her face upward, studying her eyes … for something? Kayla didn’t know. Juanita’s mother took her baby from Roberta and gave her back to Kayla to hold. Then she gestured for Kayla to sit next to her, in the circle of folding chairs. Kayla smiled and joined her there, listening to the musical flow of Spanish around her as Juanita did her best to eat Kayla’s shirt.

  One of the women addressed her directly in Spanish; Kayla smiled and shook her head. The woman called to Roberta, who sat down next to them. “She wants to know if you can help her husband, the way you helped Jose,” Roberta translated for Kayla.

  “What’s wrong with her husband?” Kayla asked.

  “Cancer. He came home from the hospital three days ago, after another surgery. They don’t think he’s going to live much longer.”

  “I don’t know,” Kayla said. “I mean, this is as new to me as all of you guys. A few days ago, I couldn’t do any of this at all. Maybe I can do it, maybe I can’t. I still have to learn how to do this. I just don’t know.”

  Roberta spoke with the woman in Spanish, then in English to Kayla. “She says that any help would be good. She says that you’re still young, maybe you can learn quickly.”

  “Maybe.” The naked hope in the woman’s face frightened Kayla, hurting her as much as someone’s physical pain. She looked down at the baby in her arms, not knowing what to say.

  The telephone rang, a shrill sound from the kitchen. Roberta rose to answer it. A few seconds later, Roberta spoke quickly in Spanish to the young man at the door, who nodded and ran out of the apartment a moment later. Roberta spoke to Kayla in English. “Quickly, put your shoes on, we must go.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Some of the boys have been hurt. Hurry, hurry!”

  Kayla gave Juanita back to her mother and ran to the bedroom, pulling on her tennis shoes and grabbing her leather jacket. Roberta ran with her down to the street, where the young homeboy was already waiting with the car, engine running. “Come on, come on!” he urged them as they piled into the car.

  “Who was hurt?” Kayla asked Roberta.

  “I don’t know!” Roberta’s hands twisted in her lap. “Carlos didn’t say who, just that some of them had been hurt. I don’t know, I don’t know… .”

  Chapter Seven

  The car pulled up in front of a row of warehouses, in an older, industrial area of Van Nuys. The street was deserted, dimly lit by distant streetlights, the shadows hiding everything but the outline of large buildings. The driver motioned at them to stay in the car and moved carefully toward one of the warehouse doors, drawing an automatic pistol from beneath his jacket. He glanced inside, then waved to them to join him.

  Roberta was out of the car a split-second later, running to the door. Kayla followed her and stopped short at the entrance to the warehouse.

  It was like a vision of hell. There was blood everywhere, unmoving bodies lying on the floor and across the wooden boxes, some wearing the bright blue of the black city boys, others in the plaid and bandannas of the homeboys. Several homeboys moved among the dead and wounded. Carlos was on the other side of the warehouse, holding Roberta in his arms and speaking quietly to her. She didn’t see Ramon among the wounded or dying, and a wave of relief went through her.

  She stared at the carnage, and suddenly the smell of it hit her as hard as physical pain; she clutched at the doorpost for support, mentally trying to shove all that terror and agony away from her. It flooded down on her mind, threatening to crush her beneath the pain.

  She held it back, fought to overcome it. As the pain receded enough for her to move, she went without thinking to the closest wounded young man. She recognized Fernando, lying sprawled across a wooden crate, blood trickling down from his mouth and chest. She placed her hands on his face, his blood wet and warm against her fingers, and called the magic to her.

  She felt a fierce joy, feeling the power coursing through her, sliding down into Fernando’s pain. She found the source of it, the bullet lodged in his lung, and drew it out with her thoughts, sealing up the wound behind it. She could feel the life returning to him, as the pain faded away from within her mind, to be replaced by dizziness and exhaustion.

  Kayla paused long enough to catch her breath and forced herself to move to the next man, who was curled on the floor, clutching his leg and whimpering in pain. A bullet had shattered his leg, leaving white fragments of bone sticking out through the shredded denim of his blood-soaked jeans. He nodded weakly at her as she touched him, forcing the pain away from his mind. She coaxed the bone back into place, forcing the broken pieces to knit back together again.

  Exhaustion burned through her mind and body when she was done, dragging her down into the shadows. She knelt by another man, lying facedown on the floor, and carefully turned him over. It was Jose, a look of shocked horror on his face.

  She stared at him, trying to touch him with her magic and finding … nothing. Only a dark emptiness, a nothingness where he had been. She bit her lip, unable to keep the tears from her eyes.

  “Why aren’t you helping him?” She turned to see Carlos standing close behind her. He was pale and shaking, a crying Roberta clinging to his arm. “Help him, bruja!”

  “I can’t. He’s dead.”

  “Heal him!” His face was streaked with tears as he shouted at her. “You little bitch, help him!”

  “There’s nothing there, he’s gone, there’s nothing left to help!”

  Roberta tugged Carlos away from Jose’s body, whispering something in Spanish to him. Kayla quickly turned to another wounded guy, a kid that looked younger than herself, one of the black boys. His eyes were wild with pain, but he smiled. “Hey, pretty lady,” he whispered.

  “You’ll be all right,” she whispered back. She saw where he’d been shot, one gaping wound in his chest, another in his shoulder. It was bad, but she knew she could heal him, it wasn’t any worse than Fernando with the bullet in his lung. She set her hands, shaking with exhaustion, on his chest, and began to concentrate …

  Someone grabbed her arm and yanked her up, just as she felt the first stirrings of the magic beginning within her. “No, not that one!” Carlos said roughly. His eyes burned with anger. “He’s not one of ours.”

  “I don’t give a shit! He’s hurt, I can help him!”

  “You’ll heal Miguel next, bruja!”

  Kayla pulled her arm free of his grasp. “Like hell, you bastard!”

  The force of his hand slapping her across the face knocked her to the floor. Stunned, she landed close to the hurt black kid, nearly on top of him.

  The boy looked at her with pain-filled eyes as she wiped the blood from her mouth. “S’alright, pretty lady …” he whispered. The glow of his body, the sensation that he was alive and close to her, faded away a moment later. His eyes were still staring at her, but they were empty, no longer seeing her or anything else.

  Kayla stared at the boy’s lifeless body; she sobbed and turned on Carlos. “Damn you!” she screamed. “I could’ve saved him!” Her hand brushed against something cold, metallic: a semi-automatic pistol lying next to the boy’s body. She grabbed it and brought it up, aiming it at Carlos.

  He stood very st
ill, watching her.

  She blinked back tears, trying to hold the pistol steady. Carlos didn’t move. Kayla could see Roberta’s horrified face beyond Carlos; one of the homeboys drawing a pistol, but hesitating, not certain whether to shoot her or not.

  “So, are you going to kill me?” Carlos asked calmly, as if he was asking the time of day.

  Her hands were shaking; she couldn’t stop it. She thought about pulling the trigger, sending a bullet ripping through Carlos’ chest, through his lungs or heart, shattering everything in its path. She saw him lying on the floor with the blood trickling from his mouth as he died. Another dead body, no life singing in it, nothing that she could touch. And it would be because of her, because she had done it to him.

  Her finger tightened on the trigger.

  And stopped.

  She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t kill him.

  She stood there, shaking, as Carlos moved toward her. With a muttered curse, he took the gun out of her hand. He shoved it under his belt and hauled her to her feet. She was barely able to walk; he manhandled her across the floor and dropped her next to another wounded homeboy. Blinded with tears, she felt the magic reaching out to the guy, drawn to his pain. When she was finished healing him, Carlos shoved her to another fallen body, to heal another wounded kid.

  And another. And another.

  It turned into an endless blur of pain. She was caught up in the magic, unable to stop or break free. Agony and exhaustion and terror pulled her down, and she felt as though her own life was draining out with each healing, leaving her unable to move or think. Through the haze of pain, she felt Carlos lifting her again, setting her down next to another hurt homeboy. Then the magic took her again, sending her into another wave of pain as she healed again and again.

  She lay on the floor, not aware of anything but the sensation of the cold concrete against her face, trying to keep breathing. It was more and more difficult, just breathing in and out. She could still feel the magic in her hands, but it was sputtering and dying, fading away. She felt her heart falter once, skipping a beat, and then another. Everything hurt, more pain than she had ever dreamed could exist, and all she wanted to do was let go of it all, slide down beneath the shadows lurking around her. But there was someone else lying on the floor next to her, a young man. She couldn’t remember his name, but he’d been one of her guards at Roberta’s apartment. He’d been shot in the shoulder and was moaning quietly with the pain.