Highway to Hell by Rosemary Clement-Moore
“That sounds like more than just the power of positive thinking.”
“Yeah.” He ran his free hand down his grubby khakis, pointlessly smoothing the wrinkles. “Then the village's shaman died suddenly, and Dad copied down some strange symbols he found sketched in the dirt around his house. Right after that, Mom got sick, and … that's the end of the journal.”
“You think they were cursed?”
His crooked smile was rueful. “Crazy, right? I had no reason to think so, except when I copied out the symbols from Dad's journal and stuck them on the bulletin board to study, I caught the chicken pox. Even though I'd been vaccinated for it.”
“Which can happen.”
“Right. Easily rationalized. I never told anyone but Henry what I thought, and only because I felt so guilty that he came down with the flu the very same week. I didn't even think he remembered, but he brought it up when I said I was coming down here.” Justin shrugged. “You were both so curious about each other, I figured it was time for my two worlds to merge.”
His words rang a bell in my head. “Two worlds to merge?”
“Yeah. Old life, new life.” He looked at me closely. “What is it?”
A charge ran through me—a good one, like a connection coming together to complete a circuit. “Something Lisa said about brujería rolling together New World traditions and Old World religion. You looked up those Native Americans that disappeared from here when the Spanish came, right?”
His brows drew together. “It was a common story, unfortunately. Smallpox took a lot of them out. The survivors went into the missions, or married in with the settlers. Most of the families who have been here for a long time have at least a little of the Coahuiltecan bloodline.”
Invigorated by discovery, I went to the facsimile of the Velasquez family tree in the Bible. “When Isabel said sangre, maybe it didn't refer to the blood that was fueling the demon, but about the bloodline.”
I bent to decipher the faded and ornate script. Carlos Velasquez's son, Miguel, married Angelina Ventura, whose birthplace was Texas. Their daughter, Dulcina, was the town's namesake. She married a man from Louisiana, and eventually her line would return with Doña Isabel, her cousin several times removed.
Justin read over my shoulder. “So, Velasquez came here, carved the ranch out of the desert, married with the locals, anchoring the family to this Native American blood.”
“That's why Doña Isabel is such a powerful guardian. It's her lineage.” I went back to the drum seat and sank onto it. “Oh, man. I think she's willing the ranch to the Church because she thinks that will protect it from the demon. But the Church has no link to the land.”
He pointed to the Velasquez brand. “What about this? They chose the patriarchal cross to honor the missionaries, right?”
“Let me check something.” I headed back to the library proper, and found my backpack on the floor by the desk where Lisa was working.
“I'm not done yet,” she said, without looking up from the screen. “This Internet connection must be run by carrier pigeon.”
“Ignore us.” Pulling out my smaller camera, I thumbed back to the pictures I'd taken at the snake museum, until I found the one of the bone medallion in the case.
“What does that look like to you?” I asked Justin.
“A flower?” He squinted closer at the tiny screen. “No, the leaves look more like wings.” Then he glanced at me in surprise. “A dragonfly.”
“It was right in front of me the whole time.” I'd felt the protective force of the artifact even through its case. I'd seen the dragonfly on Gran's china—twice—and when I'd been facing the demon coalition.
The bell on the front door jingled, and Henry came in, looking disappointed. Even Lisa stopped working. “No luck?” she asked, though the answer was obvious in his slumped shoulders.
“No.” He sank into a Cat in the Hat chair that was way too small for his big frame. “I thought the priest was going to call the loony bin. I'm glad I didn't tell him my real name.”
Since I hadn't expected anything different, I didn't let his arrival distract me now that I knew I was on the right track. “Justin, you said you'd never heard of the dragonfly being a good-luck symbol?”
“No. But it was associated with shamanism and supernatural powers. I remember in one of my early classes …” He grabbed a book from the stack beside Lisa—Dictionary of Native American Pictograms— and continued talking as he flipped the pages. “Survey of Ancient Symbols, I think. Here.” He read from the book. “ ‘The dragonfly was considered a messenger of change or enlightenment.’ ”
Henry levered himself out of the kid-sized chair and came over to the desk. “A messenger of enlightenment?”
“Check this out.” I grabbed a page from the pile of scrap paper by the card catalog and sketched something like the emblem on the medallion. Then I darkened the lines so that it was a sort of stylized dragonfly, with a bulb at the end of the vertical stroke and two thick horizontal lines crossing it where the wings would be. A double-armed cross.
“The Velasquez brand,” said Lisa, sounding impressed.
Without a word, Justin handed the book to me. Under D for dragonfly was almost the exact drawing I'd just made.
The text continued beneath: “ ‘Used by Indians who were Christianized to tell others that they still kept the old ways. A symbol of someone with a foot in both traditions.’”
“That's how the spell at Lady Acre works, right?” Justin directed the question to Lisa. “The combination of traditions?”
“That's what brujería is. Old World religion and New World folk magic.”
The guys and I looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to explain in more detail. When she didn't, I prompted, “Well? How do we repeat it?”
She began with a heavy sigh, and I realized how tired she was. We all were. “This is how I would do it, not necessarily how it was done. Once all the cattle are secure, so that they can't be used as food—I hope Zeke is still working on that, no matter how mad he is at me. I mean, us—then we have to put the demon back into the ground.”
Picking up the pad and pen, she made a hasty visual aid: a big blob under a solid line, with lots of little blobs above it, attached to tethers like astronauts are attached to the Shuttle when they go for a space walk. “Maggie says it's all one entity, and we can use that. We'll bind the parts to the whole, and as long as there's more spirit-type underground than there is solid-type above, the chupacabras on land will be pulled back to the mother ship.”
“Then what?” asked Henry. “Cap it with another shrine?”
Her scowl deepened. “I'm not sure. The problem is the power source.” She tapped the notepad. “I've got a list of things I need for a binding spell. But the power source to actually work with the sorcery and make it stick? I don't know.”
Justin leaned against the desk. “Faith was enough for Doña Isabel the first time. Is it enough for us?”
Lisa looked doubtful. “There was only the one manifestation back then, right?”
My thoughts had circled back to my original interpretation of Doña Isabel's word sangre. “If blood is what gives the demon power to transform to solid matter, could the same power source put it back?”
“Blood is tied up with life force and vitality,” said Justin, defaulting into academic mode. “In ancient Rome the cult of Mithras bathed in the blood of a bull to gain the animal's energy. Aztecs offered the blood of their enemies to their gods. In the temples in Jerusalem, offerings were made to Yahweh to purify sins.”
Henry cleared his throat. “Would it be too obvious of me to mention the Eucharist? The blood of Christ grants eternal life.”
The answer was a fingertip away, if I could just reach it. I wanted to pace, but the children's bookshelves were in the way. “Remember how last fall, in order to undo the Sigma's spell, we had to counter with the exact opposite? So the flip side of killing is self-sacrifice: stealing blood versus offering it.”
“You guys are b
eing too literal,” said Lisa, then checked her words, “in a weird kind of way. Think symbolically. It represents the essence of who you are. You swear oaths, sign away your soul with it. Blood pact, blood brothers, blood kin …”
“Bloodline!” I shouted, then covered my mouth, a lifetime of library habits kicking in.
Justin easily followed my realization. Quickly, he explained our discovery next door in the museum. “The Velasquez bloodline is tied to the land all the way back to prehistory. That's why the combination of old and new traditions is so important. Doña Isabel's faith, plus the native magic older than the Velasquez name.”
Henry looked doubtful. “So, you're saying the family has superpowers when it comes to protecting the land?”
“Not superpowers like webslinging or laser vision.” I sank into one of the kiddy seats. “But power. Yeah.”
After a beat of silence, Lisa stated the obvious. “Too bad we pissed Zeke off so bad.”
“We've got to find that bruja,” said Justin.
“You could look in the phone book under ‘witch’ ” was Henry's suggestion.
“No,” I said, climbing purposefully to my feet. “We go where you find everything in this town. The Duck Inn.”
As the four of us headed across the square to the bar, I was surprised how windy it had become. A plastic bag blew across the street and tangled in the low chain that circled the town green, whipping around like it was trying to get free. Overhead, the clouds were fluffy on top, but gray and heavy on the bottom, like cotton balls dipped in paint. Toward the east, over the gulf, the sky was dark as ink.
The red Escort—looking hard used with its layer of dirt and grime—was parked in the lot, and beside it was my Jeep, still sans its top.
Even topless, it was good to see my trusty steed. Since I'd met Sassy, the Jeep had gone from an “it” to a “she” in my mind. I ran—okay, limped—over and caressed her safari-brown paint.
“Would you two like to be alone?” asked Lisa.
No one pointed out the significance of the Jeep's return. Theoretically at least, we could leave. None of us—not even Henry, as new as he was to all this—seemed to consider that an option.
“Let's go get the keys,” I said, figuring Buck would be at the Duck, too. The three of them followed me inside, and we weren't disappointed. Buck sat at the Old Guy table. He, and everyone else in the bar, turned to stare as we came in.
“Hey, Buck.”
“Figured you'd be by eventually, little missy.” He dangled a set of keys from his fingers and then tossed them to me. “You're all set, except for the top.”
I considered that a pretty significant omission, especially considering the rain blowing in. But what was I going to do.
“Thanks, Buck.” I gave the rest of the Old Guys—Carl and Joe and the guy whose name I didn't know—a tired smile, and turned to the bar, where Teresa was drying mugs. Lisa, Justin, and Henry had gone to one of the booths, letting me handle her.
I didn't mess around this time. As Teresa paused in her drying to watch me approach, I imagined gunslinger shootout music playing. Which was silly. We were all on the same side. But it was definitely time to start shooting from the hip.
“Where's Hector?” I asked.
“He left a few minutes ago.” Teresa flipped her dish towel over her shoulder. “But he said for you to wait for him. He'll be back.”
That I wasn't expecting: a direct, no-nonsense answer to my question. But then, Hector had never been unhelpful, just unforthcoming with information.
“So, he is the bruja—brujo, I mean.”
Teresa gave me a pitying look. “You are slower than I thought, city girl. I thought you knew that.”
I'd suspected it, but I just didn't know how closely he was woven with Doña Isabel and the ranch.
The door opened, banging in the wind, and I turned at the ominous sound. Hector came in, wearing a rain slicker. Under one arm he carried a cardboard box, and he had a shopping bag in the other hand. He scanned the bar purposefully, and when he found me, indicated with a jerk of his head that I should follow him to the table that Lisa and the guys had staked out.
I met him there, not angry, exactly, but frustrated. “You could have just told me you were the brujo.”
Surprise registered through his distraction. “I thought you knew.” He set down the box, and nodded to Justin and Henry, who'd stood up, either out of respect or wariness.
“You knew about all this,” I accused him indignantly.
“About the past appearance and the shrine and the spell—and you didn't say anything?”
“I promised Doña Isabel that I wouldn't. I was bound by my word to her, but I did try to help you.” His expression was guarded. “After we worked on the shrine, our agreement was that I would maintain the protections on the town, and she would watch over the ranch. I don't know why her protections are failing now.”
“Doña Isabel is sick.” Anxiety made me abrupt. “She's being treated for cancer.”
Hector's stricken face made me wish I'd delivered the news a little better. But he collected himself and gestured to the paper that Lisa was holding. “Is that your shopping list?”
She quickly processed the fact that he knew what we were up to. After a lock-jawed moment, she handed over the page. “It's the part I've worked out.”
Giving it a cursory scan, Hector returned it along with the handled shopping bag. “Most of the items are in there. What isn't, you won't need.” He picked up the box. “Let's go. We don't have a lot of time.”
“Hang on,” said Justin, before Hector could turn away. I was very aware of all eyes, and ears, on us. The bar was pretty full, mostly with women, and even a couple of kids. Justin must have picked up on the significance before I did. “If you're responsible for protecting the town, can you leave?”
He nodded. “Everyone here will be fine. Come outside with me and I'll tell you the rest.”
The four of us trailed him out of the bar and over to his pickup truck, where he stowed the box on the seat. “Things aren't good at the ranch. Isabel just called and said Zeke has gone missing.”
“Missing?” I glanced at Lisa, whose face went quickly impassive. “Are they sure?”
“I haven't set foot on the main ranch in forty years. She wouldn't call me if the situation wasn't serious.” Hector climbed behind the wheel, his expression grave. “Meet us at Lady Acre after you've found Zeke.”
“Me?” I put out a hand to stop him from closing the pickup door. “Hector, I don't even know where to start.”
Soberly, he met my eye. “Start with the main corral. He left from there to run down some stray calves.”
“Then how does Doña Isabel know he's in trouble?”
“Do I really need to explain that to you?” He started up the truck. “You will know what to do, Maggie. Just find him and meet Doña Isabel and me at Lady Acre.” Looking past me to Lisa, he nodded. “Then we'll put our heads together and do what needs to be done.”
My fingers still grasped the door. “You think she'll come?”
“She'll come because of Zeke.” The creases by his mouth were etched deeply. “He's the only thing she loves more than this land.”
He put the truck in gear, and I had to relinquish the door and step back as he drove off. The others waited by the Wrangler, Justin grimly worried, Henry with a knot of confusion between his brows, as if he was still struggling to keep up. Only Lisa was busy; she'd put the shopping bag on the hood of the Jeep and was sorting through what Hector had given her.
“It's all here,” she said, sounding more numb than surprised. “I can work with this stuff.”
“Lisa.” I waited for her to look at me, but she didn't. “Are you all right?”
“I don't think any of us is going to be all right if we don't get going.”
Justin and I exchanged a worried look. Henry didn't miss it, as he glanced between us. “I know I'm clueless, but if the family is special, like if the Velasquez bloo
dline really is what keeps this thing at bay, then what will happen if the demon manages to spill Zeke's blood?”
“It won't be good,” said Lisa, climbing into the backseat. “Let's go get our stuff.”
We'd left our backpacks and duffels at the library. I drove the Jeep over and parked on the side street; Justin and Henry had simply jogged across the square, and got there before us. Besides reclaiming our gear and quickly locking up after ourselves, there were a couple other things I needed to do before we hit the road. First, I called my buddy Dave with a request. He was home from the hospital, and eager to help out against Ol' Chupy.
I also appropriated the branding irons from the museum. They clattered loudly when I threw them into the open trunk compartment of the Jeep, drawing Henry's frown of disapproval. “You know that's stealing, right?”
True, and I felt kind of bad, mostly because it was a library. “If I survive the night, I'll return them.”
He shook his head. “You say that very lightly for someone who stopped breathing once already today.”
“Battlefield humor.”
Justin set my backpack in the rear floorboard, and eyed the branding irons. “What are those for?”
“I'm not sure yet. I'm still tweaking my strategy.”
I handed him the keys and got into the backseat beside a grim and silent Lisa. Henry swung into the shotgun seat.
“There's a strategy?” he asked. “We're not just winging this?” “There's always a plan.” Justin climbed in and started the engine. “It gives us a place to start before everything goes to hell.”
28
The Jeep hit a bump in the gravel road and I grabbed the front seats to keep from going airborne. I'd been leaning between them to give Justin directions to the main corral, which we'd passed on our way to the stables the other day.
“This road goes right by the corral. You can't miss it.” I sat back and looked at Lisa, whose head was bent over the bagged herbs and potions she was sorting through on her lap. “Hey,” I said, lowering my voice so the guys wouldn't hear. “I'm sure Zeke knows you weren't really a decoy. He was just mad.”
“Yeah.” He ran his free hand down his grubby khakis, pointlessly smoothing the wrinkles. “Then the village's shaman died suddenly, and Dad copied down some strange symbols he found sketched in the dirt around his house. Right after that, Mom got sick, and … that's the end of the journal.”
“You think they were cursed?”
His crooked smile was rueful. “Crazy, right? I had no reason to think so, except when I copied out the symbols from Dad's journal and stuck them on the bulletin board to study, I caught the chicken pox. Even though I'd been vaccinated for it.”
“Which can happen.”
“Right. Easily rationalized. I never told anyone but Henry what I thought, and only because I felt so guilty that he came down with the flu the very same week. I didn't even think he remembered, but he brought it up when I said I was coming down here.” Justin shrugged. “You were both so curious about each other, I figured it was time for my two worlds to merge.”
His words rang a bell in my head. “Two worlds to merge?”
“Yeah. Old life, new life.” He looked at me closely. “What is it?”
A charge ran through me—a good one, like a connection coming together to complete a circuit. “Something Lisa said about brujería rolling together New World traditions and Old World religion. You looked up those Native Americans that disappeared from here when the Spanish came, right?”
His brows drew together. “It was a common story, unfortunately. Smallpox took a lot of them out. The survivors went into the missions, or married in with the settlers. Most of the families who have been here for a long time have at least a little of the Coahuiltecan bloodline.”
Invigorated by discovery, I went to the facsimile of the Velasquez family tree in the Bible. “When Isabel said sangre, maybe it didn't refer to the blood that was fueling the demon, but about the bloodline.”
I bent to decipher the faded and ornate script. Carlos Velasquez's son, Miguel, married Angelina Ventura, whose birthplace was Texas. Their daughter, Dulcina, was the town's namesake. She married a man from Louisiana, and eventually her line would return with Doña Isabel, her cousin several times removed.
Justin read over my shoulder. “So, Velasquez came here, carved the ranch out of the desert, married with the locals, anchoring the family to this Native American blood.”
“That's why Doña Isabel is such a powerful guardian. It's her lineage.” I went back to the drum seat and sank onto it. “Oh, man. I think she's willing the ranch to the Church because she thinks that will protect it from the demon. But the Church has no link to the land.”
He pointed to the Velasquez brand. “What about this? They chose the patriarchal cross to honor the missionaries, right?”
“Let me check something.” I headed back to the library proper, and found my backpack on the floor by the desk where Lisa was working.
“I'm not done yet,” she said, without looking up from the screen. “This Internet connection must be run by carrier pigeon.”
“Ignore us.” Pulling out my smaller camera, I thumbed back to the pictures I'd taken at the snake museum, until I found the one of the bone medallion in the case.
“What does that look like to you?” I asked Justin.
“A flower?” He squinted closer at the tiny screen. “No, the leaves look more like wings.” Then he glanced at me in surprise. “A dragonfly.”
“It was right in front of me the whole time.” I'd felt the protective force of the artifact even through its case. I'd seen the dragonfly on Gran's china—twice—and when I'd been facing the demon coalition.
The bell on the front door jingled, and Henry came in, looking disappointed. Even Lisa stopped working. “No luck?” she asked, though the answer was obvious in his slumped shoulders.
“No.” He sank into a Cat in the Hat chair that was way too small for his big frame. “I thought the priest was going to call the loony bin. I'm glad I didn't tell him my real name.”
Since I hadn't expected anything different, I didn't let his arrival distract me now that I knew I was on the right track. “Justin, you said you'd never heard of the dragonfly being a good-luck symbol?”
“No. But it was associated with shamanism and supernatural powers. I remember in one of my early classes …” He grabbed a book from the stack beside Lisa—Dictionary of Native American Pictograms— and continued talking as he flipped the pages. “Survey of Ancient Symbols, I think. Here.” He read from the book. “ ‘The dragonfly was considered a messenger of change or enlightenment.’ ”
Henry levered himself out of the kid-sized chair and came over to the desk. “A messenger of enlightenment?”
“Check this out.” I grabbed a page from the pile of scrap paper by the card catalog and sketched something like the emblem on the medallion. Then I darkened the lines so that it was a sort of stylized dragonfly, with a bulb at the end of the vertical stroke and two thick horizontal lines crossing it where the wings would be. A double-armed cross.
“The Velasquez brand,” said Lisa, sounding impressed.
Without a word, Justin handed the book to me. Under D for dragonfly was almost the exact drawing I'd just made.
The text continued beneath: “ ‘Used by Indians who were Christianized to tell others that they still kept the old ways. A symbol of someone with a foot in both traditions.’”
“That's how the spell at Lady Acre works, right?” Justin directed the question to Lisa. “The combination of traditions?”
“That's what brujería is. Old World religion and New World folk magic.”
The guys and I looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to explain in more detail. When she didn't, I prompted, “Well? How do we repeat it?”
She began with a heavy sigh, and I realized how tired she was. We all were. “This is how I would do it, not necessarily how it was done. Once all the cattle are secure, so that they can't be used as food—I hope Zeke is still working on that, no matter how mad he is at me. I mean, us—then we have to put the demon back into the ground.”
Picking up the pad and pen, she made a hasty visual aid: a big blob under a solid line, with lots of little blobs above it, attached to tethers like astronauts are attached to the Shuttle when they go for a space walk. “Maggie says it's all one entity, and we can use that. We'll bind the parts to the whole, and as long as there's more spirit-type underground than there is solid-type above, the chupacabras on land will be pulled back to the mother ship.”
“Then what?” asked Henry. “Cap it with another shrine?”
Her scowl deepened. “I'm not sure. The problem is the power source.” She tapped the notepad. “I've got a list of things I need for a binding spell. But the power source to actually work with the sorcery and make it stick? I don't know.”
Justin leaned against the desk. “Faith was enough for Doña Isabel the first time. Is it enough for us?”
Lisa looked doubtful. “There was only the one manifestation back then, right?”
My thoughts had circled back to my original interpretation of Doña Isabel's word sangre. “If blood is what gives the demon power to transform to solid matter, could the same power source put it back?”
“Blood is tied up with life force and vitality,” said Justin, defaulting into academic mode. “In ancient Rome the cult of Mithras bathed in the blood of a bull to gain the animal's energy. Aztecs offered the blood of their enemies to their gods. In the temples in Jerusalem, offerings were made to Yahweh to purify sins.”
Henry cleared his throat. “Would it be too obvious of me to mention the Eucharist? The blood of Christ grants eternal life.”
The answer was a fingertip away, if I could just reach it. I wanted to pace, but the children's bookshelves were in the way. “Remember how last fall, in order to undo the Sigma's spell, we had to counter with the exact opposite? So the flip side of killing is self-sacrifice: stealing blood versus offering it.”
“You guys are b
“Bloodline!” I shouted, then covered my mouth, a lifetime of library habits kicking in.
Justin easily followed my realization. Quickly, he explained our discovery next door in the museum. “The Velasquez bloodline is tied to the land all the way back to prehistory. That's why the combination of old and new traditions is so important. Doña Isabel's faith, plus the native magic older than the Velasquez name.”
Henry looked doubtful. “So, you're saying the family has superpowers when it comes to protecting the land?”
“Not superpowers like webslinging or laser vision.” I sank into one of the kiddy seats. “But power. Yeah.”
After a beat of silence, Lisa stated the obvious. “Too bad we pissed Zeke off so bad.”
“We've got to find that bruja,” said Justin.
“You could look in the phone book under ‘witch’ ” was Henry's suggestion.
“No,” I said, climbing purposefully to my feet. “We go where you find everything in this town. The Duck Inn.”
As the four of us headed across the square to the bar, I was surprised how windy it had become. A plastic bag blew across the street and tangled in the low chain that circled the town green, whipping around like it was trying to get free. Overhead, the clouds were fluffy on top, but gray and heavy on the bottom, like cotton balls dipped in paint. Toward the east, over the gulf, the sky was dark as ink.
The red Escort—looking hard used with its layer of dirt and grime—was parked in the lot, and beside it was my Jeep, still sans its top.
Even topless, it was good to see my trusty steed. Since I'd met Sassy, the Jeep had gone from an “it” to a “she” in my mind. I ran—okay, limped—over and caressed her safari-brown paint.
“Would you two like to be alone?” asked Lisa.
No one pointed out the significance of the Jeep's return. Theoretically at least, we could leave. None of us—not even Henry, as new as he was to all this—seemed to consider that an option.
“Let's go get the keys,” I said, figuring Buck would be at the Duck, too. The three of them followed me inside, and we weren't disappointed. Buck sat at the Old Guy table. He, and everyone else in the bar, turned to stare as we came in.
“Hey, Buck.”
“Figured you'd be by eventually, little missy.” He dangled a set of keys from his fingers and then tossed them to me. “You're all set, except for the top.”
I considered that a pretty significant omission, especially considering the rain blowing in. But what was I going to do.
“Thanks, Buck.” I gave the rest of the Old Guys—Carl and Joe and the guy whose name I didn't know—a tired smile, and turned to the bar, where Teresa was drying mugs. Lisa, Justin, and Henry had gone to one of the booths, letting me handle her.
I didn't mess around this time. As Teresa paused in her drying to watch me approach, I imagined gunslinger shootout music playing. Which was silly. We were all on the same side. But it was definitely time to start shooting from the hip.
“Where's Hector?” I asked.
“He left a few minutes ago.” Teresa flipped her dish towel over her shoulder. “But he said for you to wait for him. He'll be back.”
That I wasn't expecting: a direct, no-nonsense answer to my question. But then, Hector had never been unhelpful, just unforthcoming with information.
“So, he is the bruja—brujo, I mean.”
Teresa gave me a pitying look. “You are slower than I thought, city girl. I thought you knew that.”
I'd suspected it, but I just didn't know how closely he was woven with Doña Isabel and the ranch.
The door opened, banging in the wind, and I turned at the ominous sound. Hector came in, wearing a rain slicker. Under one arm he carried a cardboard box, and he had a shopping bag in the other hand. He scanned the bar purposefully, and when he found me, indicated with a jerk of his head that I should follow him to the table that Lisa and the guys had staked out.
I met him there, not angry, exactly, but frustrated. “You could have just told me you were the brujo.”
Surprise registered through his distraction. “I thought you knew.” He set down the box, and nodded to Justin and Henry, who'd stood up, either out of respect or wariness.
“You knew about all this,” I accused him indignantly.
“About the past appearance and the shrine and the spell—and you didn't say anything?”
“I promised Doña Isabel that I wouldn't. I was bound by my word to her, but I did try to help you.” His expression was guarded. “After we worked on the shrine, our agreement was that I would maintain the protections on the town, and she would watch over the ranch. I don't know why her protections are failing now.”
“Doña Isabel is sick.” Anxiety made me abrupt. “She's being treated for cancer.”
Hector's stricken face made me wish I'd delivered the news a little better. But he collected himself and gestured to the paper that Lisa was holding. “Is that your shopping list?”
She quickly processed the fact that he knew what we were up to. After a lock-jawed moment, she handed over the page. “It's the part I've worked out.”
Giving it a cursory scan, Hector returned it along with the handled shopping bag. “Most of the items are in there. What isn't, you won't need.” He picked up the box. “Let's go. We don't have a lot of time.”
“Hang on,” said Justin, before Hector could turn away. I was very aware of all eyes, and ears, on us. The bar was pretty full, mostly with women, and even a couple of kids. Justin must have picked up on the significance before I did. “If you're responsible for protecting the town, can you leave?”
He nodded. “Everyone here will be fine. Come outside with me and I'll tell you the rest.”
The four of us trailed him out of the bar and over to his pickup truck, where he stowed the box on the seat. “Things aren't good at the ranch. Isabel just called and said Zeke has gone missing.”
“Missing?” I glanced at Lisa, whose face went quickly impassive. “Are they sure?”
“I haven't set foot on the main ranch in forty years. She wouldn't call me if the situation wasn't serious.” Hector climbed behind the wheel, his expression grave. “Meet us at Lady Acre after you've found Zeke.”
“Me?” I put out a hand to stop him from closing the pickup door. “Hector, I don't even know where to start.”
Soberly, he met my eye. “Start with the main corral. He left from there to run down some stray calves.”
“Then how does Doña Isabel know he's in trouble?”
“Do I really need to explain that to you?” He started up the truck. “You will know what to do, Maggie. Just find him and meet Doña Isabel and me at Lady Acre.” Looking past me to Lisa, he nodded. “Then we'll put our heads together and do what needs to be done.”
My fingers still grasped the door. “You think she'll come?”
“She'll come because of Zeke.” The creases by his mouth were etched deeply. “He's the only thing she loves more than this land.”
He put the truck in gear, and I had to relinquish the door and step back as he drove off. The others waited by the Wrangler, Justin grimly worried, Henry with a knot of confusion between his brows, as if he was still struggling to keep up. Only Lisa was busy; she'd put the shopping bag on the hood of the Jeep and was sorting through what Hector had given her.
“It's all here,” she said, sounding more numb than surprised. “I can work with this stuff.”
“Lisa.” I waited for her to look at me, but she didn't. “Are you all right?”
“I don't think any of us is going to be all right if we don't get going.”
Justin and I exchanged a worried look. Henry didn't miss it, as he glanced between us. “I know I'm clueless, but if the family is special, like if the Velasquez bloo
“It won't be good,” said Lisa, climbing into the backseat. “Let's go get our stuff.”
We'd left our backpacks and duffels at the library. I drove the Jeep over and parked on the side street; Justin and Henry had simply jogged across the square, and got there before us. Besides reclaiming our gear and quickly locking up after ourselves, there were a couple other things I needed to do before we hit the road. First, I called my buddy Dave with a request. He was home from the hospital, and eager to help out against Ol' Chupy.
I also appropriated the branding irons from the museum. They clattered loudly when I threw them into the open trunk compartment of the Jeep, drawing Henry's frown of disapproval. “You know that's stealing, right?”
True, and I felt kind of bad, mostly because it was a library. “If I survive the night, I'll return them.”
He shook his head. “You say that very lightly for someone who stopped breathing once already today.”
“Battlefield humor.”
Justin set my backpack in the rear floorboard, and eyed the branding irons. “What are those for?”
“I'm not sure yet. I'm still tweaking my strategy.”
I handed him the keys and got into the backseat beside a grim and silent Lisa. Henry swung into the shotgun seat.
“There's a strategy?” he asked. “We're not just winging this?” “There's always a plan.” Justin climbed in and started the engine. “It gives us a place to start before everything goes to hell.”
28
The Jeep hit a bump in the gravel road and I grabbed the front seats to keep from going airborne. I'd been leaning between them to give Justin directions to the main corral, which we'd passed on our way to the stables the other day.
“This road goes right by the corral. You can't miss it.” I sat back and looked at Lisa, whose head was bent over the bagged herbs and potions she was sorting through on her lap. “Hey,” I said, lowering my voice so the guys wouldn't hear. “I'm sure Zeke knows you weren't really a decoy. He was just mad.”