Vanessa smiled triumphantly. “By tomorrow everyone will think it was an illusion caused by the fire and helicopter spotlights. No one would believe I actually became invisible.”
“Not unless they’re kissing you and see you go,” Catty reminded her with a laugh.
“Vanessa’s right,” Jimena added. “Everyone will think it was some trick of the camera.”
After a moment, Serena spoke slowly. “What was it like?”
“You mean when I was gone?” Jimena asked.
“Yeah, where did you go?” Catty was awestruck. “And how did you get back?”
“Hekate,” Jimena mused. “She led me back. I had Serena’s key, but she guided me to the right door.”
Serena looked out the window. She was still feeling guilty.
Jimena glanced at her when she stopped at a red light. “You would have done the same for me,” she said softly.
At home Collin was watching Eyewitness News on the television when Serena and Jimena walked in.
“What were you doing so near the methane gas explosion?” Collin asked.
“I’ve got to tell you the truth.” Serena looked at Collin seriously. “I’m a goddess, and tonight I almost became the goddess of witches.”
Collin stared at her oddly, then he broke into one of his great laughs and hugged her. “You’ve got the most bizarre imagination of anyone I’ve ever known, but that’s part of what I love about you.”
He let her go and turned to Jimena. “Are you a goddess, too?”
“Did you ever have any doubt?” Jimena bent her head to the side and gave him a sweet smile.
Serena loved the easy way Jimena could flirt.
“I guess I always knew.” Collin shook his head. “So you two wanna make some popcorn and watch TV? There’s a sci-fi marathon on tonight.”
“Sure,” Jimena said.
“Yeah, why not?” Serena looked from Jimena to Collin. She was happy they were finally getting along.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ON MONDAY, Serena saw Zahi in the hallway after school. He looked confused and embarrassed. He started to apologize.
“For what?” She touched his arm and looked into his eyes.
“Thank you,” he finally said.
“You’re welcome.”
Zahi smiled tentatively and walked away.
Then Morgan strutted toward her, wearing tight black capris and a shiny snakeskin halter-top, the he-goat amulet proudly displayed on a thick gold chain. Serena had seen her running away with the other Followers the night of the cold fire and knew she was one of them now.
“I know what you did to him,” Morgan accused in a nasty whisper. “But I’ll get him back.” She pinched the charm and dangled it in front of Serena in challenge.
“I won’t let you,” Serena warned.
Morgan gave her an arrogant smile. “It’s official now, isn’t it, Serena? Our clash is finally real.”
“I never wanted to fight you, Morgan. You always started it with your attitude. I would have been your friend—”
“Right,” Morgan sneered. “Try and stop me now.” She turned with a snap of her heels and hurried down the hallway to Zahi.
“Morgan’s one of them now,” Jimena said flatly.
Serena turned, surprised that Jimena and Catty had been standing behind her. They looked at each other sadly.
“You think she’ll bring Zahi back?” Catty looked anxious.
“Not with us around,” Jimena said.
Serena shook her head. “I went into his mind. I can’t read his thoughts because it’s all French and Arabic, but I wanted to see if I could feel anything. The Atrox is gone.”
Morgan turned and gave Serena a wicked glare, then she walked backward, grinning at Serena in challenge. Later, her mind whispered before she turned and sauntered slowly away.
“What’s up with Morgan now?” Vanessa asked as she joined them.
“She’s a Follower,” Jimena stated, her body tense with new anger.
Vanessa’s face fell.
Serena clasped her shoulder. “We tried to protect her,” Serena said.
“Yeah,” Vanessa agreed and bit her lip.
“And you got Zahi back,” Catty said to Serena “That was more important.”
“We all got him back,” Serena corrected.
Michael ran up to them, smiling. The air filled with his nice spice-soap smell.
“Hey.” He slipped his arm around Vanessa and gave her a quick kiss. “What’s up?”
“I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” Vanessa smiled and walked off with Michael.
“I’m late.” Catty looked at her watch. “I’m working for my mom this afternoon.”
They waved good-bye and Jimena and Serena started walking down the hallway in the opposite direction.
“You wanna hang out?” Jimena asked.
“No, I got something I have to take care of,” Serena said. “Will you feed Wally for me?”
“Sure. You need a ride where you’re going?”
“No thanks. Got one.”
Serena walked off campus and when she was sure no one was watching, she headed down a side street, then ran over to La Brea.
Stanton’s car was parked in front of Pink’s hot dog stand. Its sleek black metal reflected the late afternoon sun. He glanced up and smiled in recognition. He walked up to her and wrapped his arms tenderly around her. She pressed against him, enjoying his gentle touch. Then he kissed the top of her head and she looked up at him, her eyes now unguarded.
“Ready?”
PROLOGUE
Diana was the goddess of the hunt and of all newborn creatures. Women prayed to her for happiness in marriage and childbirth, but her strength was so great that even the warlike Amazons worshipped her. No man was worthy of her love, until powerful Orion won her affection. She was about to marry him, but her twin brother, Apollo, was angered that she had fallen in love. One day, Apollo saw Orion in the sea with only his head above the water. Apollo tricked Diana by challenging her to hit the mark bobbing in the distant sea. Diana shot her arrow with deadly aim. Later, the waves rolled dead Orion to shore.
Lamenting her fatal blunder, Diana placed Orion in the starry sky. Every night, she would lift her torch in the dark to see her beloved. Her light gave comfort to all, and soon she became known as a goddess of the moon.
It was whispered that if a girl-child was born in the wilderness, delivered by the great goddess Diana, she would be known for her fierce protection of the innocent.
CHAPTER ONE
JIMENA CASTILLO WALKED down the rain-drenched street as if she owned the night. And she did. This was her neighborhood, the Pico-Union District of Los Angeles. She passed Langer’s Deli, held her face up to the cool rain, and crossed Alvarado Street against a red light.
A Ford Torino jerked to a stop, inches from her knees. Before the driver could honk, Jimena tapped the hood of the car. The man glanced up and her eyes warned him, You’re out of your neighborhood.
He understood and settled back patiently as if it were normal to stop at a green light in Los Angeles. Once Jimena had crossed the street, the car screeched away.
Jimena headed toward MacArthur Park. She was tired and coming down fast. The tecatos peeking from their makeshift tents might think she was on drugs. If they only knew what she had really done that night, what would they think? She wondered if her true identity would frighten them or make them ask her for help. She laughed, her voice as light as raindrops.
Jimena saw a movement from under one of the benches. Pieces of cardboard slipped off a sleeping body. She felt a sudden need to stop and confess. To sit on the bench above the poor homeless person and tell him everything. She didn’t give in to the urge but hurried to the path around the lake. Rain made the wet asphalt look as slick as sealskin. The giant water fountain in the middle of the lake continued to spew water into the air as if it were working hard to send back the rain.
When she approached Wilshire Boulevard, her e
yes automatically scoped out the street.
Traffic was light but the dangers were big. Wilshire was the boundary of her neighborhood. She had to cross enemy land to get to her grandmother’s apartment.
At the corner near the bus stop, a klika of enemy homegirls waited impatiently in the shadows. They looked as if they had plans to throw down some old lady when she got off the bus. Maybe someone who cleaned the floors at Cedars-Sinai Hospital or worked the tables in a West Los Angeles restaurant.
Jimena didn’t slow her pace. She walked steadily toward them, head high.
The girls glanced once, twice, then with slow casual steps they ambled away from the bus bench as if they hadn’t seen her.
Jimena sensed their fear. That brought a smile to her face. Her reputation was still so big that even tough enemigas wouldn’t face her down.
She strutted past them, her heels snapping loudly on the sidewalk. She enjoyed the feel of their admiring eyes, their sideways glances and the wonder she saw on their faces. Jimena wasn’t choloed out in khakis, a tight T, and long, boyfriend-borrowed Pendletons. She wore a slinky dress and ankle-breaking high heels. The rain made the dress cling to her body, so they knew she wasn’t strapping. No gun. Still, they were afraid to confront her.
This time she stopped for the red light, pausing to let the chicas know she didn’t fear them. It felt good to be the toughest chola en el condado de Los Angeles. She was still down for Ninth Street, her old gang, but at age fifteen, already a veterana. A leyenda, her homegirls told her with pride. Jimena had been a real badass before she understood her destiny. She glanced at the scars and tattoos on her hand. What would the klika-girls do if they knew her true identity?
She turned back to toss them a grin, but they were already hurrying away down the boulevard.
The light turned green. Jimena started across the street as slow, lazy thunder rolled across the night and vibrated through the ground. She eagerly looked at the midnight sky. Thunderstorms were rare in Los Angeles, and she wanted to see a jagged flash of lightning. Another thunderclap rocked the air but again without a heralding bolt of light. The rain was heavier now and cold. Jimena walked faster.
A car splashed by, its tires humming on the wet street.
“Jaguar.” The word came over the rain as soft as a secret.
She stopped and looked behind her. Only Veto had called her “Jaguar,” and he had been dead a year now, killed in enemy land. Could it have been those homegirls? Had they somehow gathered their courage and decided to face her? She studied the rain-drenched shadows. The glossy shimmer of wet leaves reflected the pink-and-blue neon lights. But her mind wasn’t on finding enemy homegirls. She thought about Veto. The ache of missing him surprised her. How could she miss him so much after a year? She yearned for the sweet kind of love she had known with him.
She had transferred to La Brea High School less than six months ago, and the guys there never did more than smile or ask her to dance. She could feel them looking at her when she walked down the hallways, but when she caught their glances, they looked away. Perhaps they saw the gangster in her eyes or in the curl of her lips. Veto had said she was like a jaguar; her show of teeth was a warning, not a smile. She was probably scaring the guys away without even knowing it.
She walked slower now, ears sensitive to the slightest sound. Raindrops hit leaves, grass, and car roofs, but it was one voice she longed to hear. Memories of Veto echoed cruelly through her mind. She never understood why he had gone off to enemy territory the night he was killed. She felt bitter about his death. He’d been acting crazy, but going over to enemy land without his homeboys was even too loco for him. What had made him go?
“Jaguar.”
She heard the word clearly this time, and turned. A lean muscular young man stood silhouetted in front of a security light. He started walking slowly toward her. A gust of wind blew his raincoat open and it flapped behind him like giant black wings.
When he stepped into the amber light of the street lamp, she gasped. “Veto?”
Veto stood in front of her, his face as bold and beautiful as his Mayan ancestors’, with dark flashing eyes and high cheekbones. His blue-black hair was dripping rain as if he had been following her unseen for a long time.
Her heart pounded wildly. “Veto.” She spoke his name slowly this time, enjoying the luxurious feel of it on her tongue and wondered if she were dreaming. She had dreamed about him so many times since his death, and sometimes even awoke thinking he had called her name.
He stepped closer to her. There was something different about the way he looked. Veto, but not Veto. His hair was longer than he had worn it before, his skin was paler, and he had lost weight. She studied his black eyes. They blinked as if the dim streetlights were too bright.
Even as part of her recoiled, her hand reached out to touch the tiny scar on his right cheek. His skin felt warm under the raindrops. Veto, alive? Her mind rushed to find an explanation. His casket had been closed at the funeral. She had never actually seen him dead. Could the police department and the coroner’s office have made a mistake? Maybe some other homeboy had been buried in his place. She weighed the possibilities. Perhaps Veto had been put in the witness protection program. That would explain his crazy behavior, if he was intending to turn rata. And after his funeral his mother and three younger brothers had moved back to Mexico.
“What are you doing here? Were you in the witness protection program?” she asked, hating the air that separated them.
“No, Jaguar, I’m no rat-head.” He tried to smile the way he had always smiled at her, but his lips seemed stiff and unused to it. Sudden sadness burdened her heart. Had Veto been someplace where smiles were dangerous signs of weakness?
“Then what?” She couldn’t say more. Her bottom lip started quivering and the tears she had been unable to cry at his funeral a year ago rolled down her cheeks.
“Estás llorando?” Veto clasped his arms around her. His warmth seeped into her cold skin. “I never saw you cry before.”
“It’s rain,” she lied, even now having to be the tougher one.
He kissed the tears.
She pulled back. “Where have you been?” The words came out with hoarse anger from missing him so much.
“Lost.”
“Lost? What kind of answer is that?”
“I got back to you. That’s all that matters. I always told you nothing was ever going to separate us.”
“So you did make a deal with the cops? Who’d you rat out?”
He turned away, and then she knew. He had too much cora to rat out any of his homeboys. It had to be the guy who had been selling drugs to Veto’s homeboys. Only Veto was strong enough to do that. That meant he’d gone up against someone big and needed to hide.
She nodded, understanding. “You’re here now. Where are you staying?”
He didn’t answer her.
“Are you hanging out with your homeboys?” He was probably living from one couch to the next. That troubled her. Why hadn’t anyone told her Veto was back?
He started to say something, but thunder shattered the night and Veto jerked around. When he looked back at her, stark terror covered his face.
“I gotta go.” His words came out with a nervousness she had never heard in his voice before.
“Don’t,” she said. “Come home with me.”
But already he was pulling away from her. “No, I can’t. I gotta be somewhere.”
“Where?” She hated the look she saw on his face. Veto has never been afraid of anything. What could be so bad that it could scare him?
Another clash of thunder shook through the ground. The alarm in Veto’s face made her heart race. “What is it? What do you see?” she asked.
“Nothing.” His eyes betrayed the lie.
“Tell me,” she whispered. “I got your back.”
Veto started to run.
“Wait,” she demanded.
He turned and ran backward, smiling at her. “I’ll see you so
on,” he shouted through the rain. “When it’s safe.”
“Safe from what?” she yelled.
Then her legs acted on their own and she ran after him.
New thunder shuddered through the ground. Veto turned and sprinted down the sidewalk toward the park.
“What is it?” She splashed through puddles, calling after him, “What’s wrong?”
He dodged the traffic on Wilshire. She had just started after him when a truck blew its horn. She jumped back on the curb. The giant tires sprayed her with water. After the truck had passed, she could no longer see Veto.
She crossed the street and circled the park, then stood alone in the storm until her body shivered with cold and her hair was pasted against her head.
Finally she turned and walked slowly back to her grandmother’s apartment building.
There was so much she wanted to tell Veto. She glanced down at the triangle of three dots tattooed on the fleshy web between her index finger and thumb. The day she got jumped into Ninth Street, Veto had tattooed the dots into her skin using ink and a pin. Later, he had tattooed the teardrop under her right eye when she got out of Youth Authority Camp. The second teardrop was for her second stay in Youth Authority. She would have gone back a third time for firing a gun, if a lenient judge hadn’t sentenced her to do community service work instead. She had fired the gun in frustration when she couldn’t stop her homegirls from doing a throw-down. The cops had caught her, but she wouldn’t turn rata. She was willing to go back to camp to protect her homegirls. That was the code. But the judge had seen something different in her eyes this time and let her off with community service.
Jimena had known about her destiny by then, and she had changed. It amazed her even now, if she thought about it. Who would have thought she was meant for something so important?
She looked back at the rain-soaked shadows. What would Veto do if he did know the truth about her? He was the one who had always said there was magic inside her. Bruja, he had teased. He had called her a witch because she could see the future.