didn’t look at blood splatters or cadavers. I didn’t parry with ME’s or my boss. For eight hours a day I basically ripped coldwater flats, motel rooms and septic project apartments apart, looking for evidence of possession. I got shot at by pimps, pushers, hookers, and kids so high they couldn’t aim straight and so young it was enough to make you cry.
I didn’t bother to move the mattress. I cut it open using the athame in my boot. By the by, you don’t use athames in such manners, but it was sharp and it was what I had at hand. Finding nothing of interest, I went through the bureau and then the hope chest at the foot of the bed where Mrs. Berger kept her daughter’s diapers and other care products, looking for false bottoms. I checked the closet, then got down on my knees and started examining the carpet, looking for places where tacks were missing, or were newer than the rest. And that was how Zanita found me, on my knees, folding back a piece of beige carpeting in the closet.
I knew the exact moment when she entered the bedroom. I could feel her like a fluttery touch between my shoulder blades. I let the carpet flap down and climbed to my feet, turning. It was pretty appropriate, I thought, me stepping out of the closet. That’s where the monsters always come from, right?
“En el nombre del Padre, y del Hijo, y del Espíritu Santo. Amén.” Zanita crossed herself, then raised her hand and made the sign of the Evil Eye, extending her index and little finger while holding her middle and ringer finger down with her thumb. She said, quite clearly, “ Diablo. ”
I held very still, not wanting to spook the woman. “You are a bruja?”
It took the woman a long moment to answer. “No—but my abuela —my grandmother—she was powerful.” She said this like a talisman, no doubt in an effort to summon her grandmother to her side and protect her from the big, bad demon-man.
“I won’t hurt you, Zanita,” I told her in Spanish. “Your grandmother was powerful. She has given you a great gift.”
Zanita looked unimpressed. “You will leave this place. You are not welcomed here, devil. You will not hurt the girl.”
“You say that like you know the girl is alive.”
She watched me carefully, frightened half out of her wits, though I sensed nothing like malice or deception from the woman. Brujos—witches—are generally very easy for me to read. The closer they are to the occult, the closer they are to me, and that makes it very difficult for them to lie to me. Zanita thought me evil, but I could sense great love and concern for little Cassandra. She seemed to weigh her options, ultimately deciding the life of a child was worth speaking to a devil. “My grandmother came to me and told me the girl is alive. That is all I know.”
I took the angel poppet out of my pocket. “Do you know what this is, Zanita?”
Her eyes widened and she made the sign of the cross. “You would curse me, devil?”
“I am not interested in cursing you, Zanita, or this house. I just want to find out what happened to Cassandra.” Unfortunately, by the time I had finished speaking, Zanita had turned and fled the room. She said something frantically in Spanish as she made her way down the stairs, nearly tripping over her own feet, and I had a funny feeling she was going to give notice before the day was through.
Great going, Nick, I thought. Scary much?
There was a good chance Zanita was going to be talking crazy-like and upsetting the household, so I thought it would help if I hurried up. Before going back downstairs, I ducked into the most well-used bedroom I could find, what I thought was Thom and Rebecca’s. I might as well have a glance around before they threw my ass out.
Unlike Cassie’s room, Rebecca had outfitted this one with a more localized theme. I saw a Chippendale four-poster bed without a canopy and old time prints of vintage cars on the walls. The bed was covered in what was likely a real Amish quilt
I didn’t bother to move the mattress. I cut it open using the athame in my boot. By the by, you don’t use athames in such manners, but it was sharp and it was what I had at hand. Finding nothing of interest, I went through the bureau and then the hope chest at the foot of the bed where Mrs. Berger kept her daughter’s diapers and other care products, looking for false bottoms. I checked the closet, then got down on my knees and started examining the carpet, looking for places where tacks were missing, or were newer than the rest. And that was how Zanita found me, on my knees, folding back a piece of beige carpeting in the closet.
I knew the exact moment when she entered the bedroom. I could feel her like a fluttery touch between my shoulder blades. I let the carpet flap down and climbed to my feet, turning. It was pretty appropriate, I thought, me stepping out of the closet. That’s where the monsters always come from, right?
“En el nombre del Padre, y del Hijo, y del Espíritu Santo. Amén.” Zanita crossed herself, then raised her hand and made the sign of the Evil Eye, extending her index and little finger while holding her middle and ringer finger down with her thumb. She said, quite clearly, “ Diablo. ”
I held very still, not wanting to spook the woman. “You are a bruja?”
It took the woman a long moment to answer. “No—but my abuela —my grandmother—she was powerful.” She said this like a talisman, no doubt in an effort to summon her grandmother to her side and protect her from the big, bad demon-man.
“I won’t hurt you, Zanita,” I told her in Spanish. “Your grandmother was powerful. She has given you a great gift.”
Zanita looked unimpressed. “You will leave this place. You are not welcomed here, devil. You will not hurt the girl.”
“You say that like you know the girl is alive.”
She watched me carefully, frightened half out of her wits, though I sensed nothing like malice or deception from the woman. Brujos—witches—are generally very easy for me to read. The closer they are to the occult, the closer they are to me, and that makes it very difficult for them to lie to me. Zanita thought me evil, but I could sense great love and concern for little Cassandra. She seemed to weigh her options, ultimately deciding the life of a child was worth speaking to a devil. “My grandmother came to me and told me the girl is alive. That is all I know.”
I took the angel poppet out of my pocket. “Do you know what this is, Zanita?”
Her eyes widened and she made the sign of the cross. “You would curse me, devil?”
“I am not interested in cursing you, Zanita, or this house. I just want to find out what happened to Cassandra.” Unfortunately, by the time I had finished speaking, Zanita had turned and fled the room. She said something frantically in Spanish as she made her way down the stairs, nearly tripping over her own feet, and I had a funny feeling she was going to give notice before the day was through.
Great going, Nick, I thought. Scary much?
There was a good chance Zanita was going to be talking crazy-like and upsetting the household, so I thought it would help if I hurried up. Before going back downstairs, I ducked into the most well-used bedroom I could find, what I thought was Thom and Rebecca’s. I might as well have a glance around before they threw my ass out.
Unlike Cassie’s room, Rebecca had outfitted this one with a more localized theme. I saw a Chippendale four-poster bed without a canopy and old time prints of vintage cars on the walls. The bed was covered in what was likely a real Amish quilt
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