She had gone only a block when the solid beat of gangster rap boomed into the night. She clung closer to the shadows, eyes more watchful. A garage door was open and kids were dancing inside, knees locked together as they caught the beat and became one with the music. In front of the garage, silhouetted figures leaned against a wire fence, drinking forties and blowing cigarette smoke into the night air.
As she got closer she could see the vatos with their stubble-short hair and serious, alert eyes. The tattoos declared their allegiance to Wilshire 5. Some held 9-millimeter pistols. She wondered briefly how many times children had been caught in their crossfire. Had any of the kids she played with at Children’s Hospital been shot by their stray bullets? She shook her head to erase the thought and glanced at the girls.
The girls had the same serious eyes as the guys, but most of them looked sad at the same time. They dressed in tight, low-slung jeans or too-short skirts and revealing Ts, advertising their sex, their maquillaje perfect and almost payasa. It made Jimena ill, the way some of the girls let the guys own them.
Only a few of the girls were warriors like Jimena. She recognized the hungry look in their eyes and the way they dressed differently from the other girls; in loose clothes so they could run fast, hit hard, and hide guns in their waistbands or taped to their legs. Those girls knew what a bullet could do to flesh and their eyes were as tense and watchful as the guys’.
Jimena hurried across the next street and let the shadows swallow her.
She passed a chain-link fence with razor wire curled around the top. A guy and girl leaned against the mesh, sharing secrets and kisses. She slipped around them and cut across an alley. She had only gone a short distance when she heard someone walking. The steps seemed furtive. She listened. The steps didn’t continue. Maybe the night was playing tricks with her, but her gangster instinct told her she was being followed. Cautiously she slipped into the velvet blackness between a house and a garage and waited.
Finally she started again, eyes wary, looking around her.
She passed a long line of houses with boarded-up windows. Boxlike letters spray-painted on the walls warned the passerby to beware; they walked on Wilshire 5 territory. She slipped into the side yard, trampled through weeds, and hurried to the back of the old boarded-up house, then silently crossed the back porch.
She paused. Nerves tingled in her back. Long experience told her that someone was behind her. She held her breath and waited for a sound to give the person away.
At last, she decided it must be a dog or homeless person, and she brushed the wispy spiderwebs away from the door, turned the knob slowly, and walked inside. Wilshire 5 never kept the house locked. No one in their neighborhood would dare steal a gun from them. They never considered the possibility that someone from el Nueve would try such a dangerous thing.
A dank, moldy smell wafted up to her as she entered the deserted house. She listened intently for any sound. Wilshire 5 could come storming into the house at any moment. Some old grudge might suddenly be remembered after too many forties and send them for their guns, so they could go on a mission of revenge.
She stepped quickly, her footsteps pounding heavily on the wood floor. She reached the first closet. It was too dark inside to see, but already she could smell the bore cleaner and knew guns were hidden there and clean. She felt along the walls above the doorjamb until her fingers came across cold, chrome-plated steel. Her fingers worked quickly to take a gun off the nails. It was small and felt like a toy, probably some foreign special stolen from an old woman in a throw-down. She slipped the gun into her jeans pocket and felt in the dark for a heavier model.
A sound made her stop. Alert, she held her breath and listened.
Furtive footsteps stepped quietly across the floor. Whoever it was, he or she was trying hard to hide their approach. Had one of the kids at the party seen her? Or could it be Cassandra? Cassandra had stolen her power. Did that also mean that she now had some intuitive connection with Jimena and knew her whereabouts?
Jimena quickly removed the second gun. It felt heavy, hard, and cold in her hands. She liked the feel and was proud of the way she knew how to hold a gun. She was never going to kill a baby like some of these vatos locos who got a gun but never learned how to fire it. Working from memory, her fingers pulled the magazine from the gun. She held it in her hand, then, satisfied it was loaded, she slipped the full clip back inside. The metallic click-clack would alert the person on the other side of the door to her whereabouts, but she was ready.
Let them come, she thought, the jaguar in her smile. Her gun was loaded. She leaned back against the wall and waited.
The prowling footsteps stopped near the closet door.
Jimena made her wrists stiff and aimed the gun, even though she knew she was violating her probation and going against everything Maggie had taught her. Those rules no longer applied. She was the jaguar again and she was taking down the Atrox tonight.
She heard a hand brush against the door, then squeeze the doorknob. It turned slowly. She couldn’t see it move in the dark but she could hear the soft ticking of metal as it turned.
She tensed and pulled back the trigger.
When the closet door opened, she fired.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
WHITE FIRE LICKED the ends of the barrel and a deafening explosion filled the closet. At the last second she had turned her wrist, and the recoil made the gun buck and hit her face.
“Collin?” His name wheezed from her lungs. She had expected Cassandra and Karyl, even some enemy gangster, but not Collin.
“Are you crazy?!” Collin shouted at her.
Pieces of plaster were still falling as Collin dropped to the floor beside her.
“Lucky for you I was able to twist the gun at the last second.” Her head was throbbing from the recoil and her wrist felt like it was on fire.
“Lucky for me,” he repeated in a thin voice.
Jimena took a deep breath. She was disgusted with herself. Maggie was right. Guns made violence too easy. How could she almost have gone back to la vida? Her hands worked automatically in the dark, taking the gun apart. The parts fell to the floor with dull, heavy thuds.
She shook her head. “You don’t belong here, Collin. So why are you here?”
“No fear,” he whispered.
“Yeah, right, no fear. Don’t tell me you weren’t afraid when I fired the gun, because I hate liars.”
“Sure, I was terrified. But that’s not the kind of fear I’m talking about.”
“What is, then?” She tried to catch her breath.
His words seemed to resonate in the closet. “When you busted my act back in front of Maggie’s apartment, I felt stupid for lying to you, saying I was there waiting for Serena. The truth is I had been hoping to see you, then when I lied to you and you rushed off, I realized I had lied because of fear.”
“Fear?” she asked.
“Yeah, fear you’d tell me you liked me like a brother but didn’t want to date me . . . you know the lines. I knew I had to find you and explain things to you.”
“Explain what?” She was getting anxious to leave. The gunshot would have alerted Wilshire 5, and maybe even the cops. A police helicopter could be heading for them right now.
Collin continued. “I’ve liked you for a long time and that’s why I’ve been following you around, going wherever I thought I could see you. Because I was afraid to just tell you the truth.” He paused. “So?”
She didn’t have time to consider her emotions right now. “So we got to get out of here before those vatos from Wilshire 5 come running to check out the gunfire.” She stood.
Footsteps echoed hollowly across the floor.
“Too late,” she whispered and cautioned Collin to stay down.
Karyl walked into the room, the bobbing beam of a flashlight in front of him. He shone the light in Jimena’s eyes, then his light found Collin. Tymmie and Morgan came in after him, each holding a flashlight. They concentrated their
beams on Jimena and Collin.
“Come with us,” Karyl said flatly.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Collin answered.
“Do what he says and don’t look in his eyes.” Jimena grabbed Collin’s hand and pulled him up. She didn’t know what she was going to do. She had to protect Collin. There was no way she was going to let them turn him into a Follower.
Morgan stared contemptuously at Collin. She had had a huge crush on him once.
“Morgan, is this some kind of stupid high-school initiation?” Collin asked.
“This is dead serious.” Jimena nudged him. “Just follow them.”
“What kind of trouble are you in?” he muttered to Jimena.
“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
KARYL AND TYMMIE walked them out to a battered Ford and pushed them into the back. The inside smelled of onions and old French fries. They stepped over McDonald’s wrappers, and the remains of a Taco Bell burrito.
“What’s going on?” Collin asked as Karyl slid into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. The tailpipes rumbled.
“No time to explain,” Jimena whispered. “We’ve got to think of an escape.”
Morgan crawled into the front next to Karyl. Tymmie pushed into the passenger’s seat beside her.
Tymmie was tall, with white-blond hair and black roots. Three hoops pierced his nose and one pierced his lip. The hoops briefly caught a light from outside as he turned his head back to the front.
The car screeched away from the curb, and the sudden motion tumbled Jimena into Collin.
Morgan looked over her shoulder at Collin. The skin around the new piercing in her eyebrow no longer looked red. “I am so over you, Collin. I can’t imagine why I ever liked you.”
“Morgan,” Collin answered. “Next time just send me a note, okay?”
Morgan’s eyes narrowed to slits in anger. She didn’t seem to like his answer, but she recovered quickly and smiled slyly. “No next time, Collin.”
That made Karyl and Tymmie laugh.
Morgan turned back and Collin leaned closer to Jimena. “This is serious, isn’t it?”
She nodded.
“We have to do something, then,” Collin whispered. “If you’re a victim of a crime and the criminal takes you to another location, you’re probably not going to live.”
“It might be worse than that,” Jimena answered.
“Worse?” Collin looked totally confused.
Jimena sighed. “I guess there’s a lot that Serena and I should have told you.”
“Like what?” Collin asked.
Jimena looked into the rearview mirror and caught Karyl’s smile, his eyes filled with desire. Then she remembered the second gun, the small one she had stuffed into her jeans pocket. Should she use it? Before she had time to consider what she should do, Collin nudged her. She looked at him.
“No fear,” Collin whispered and glanced at the door handle.
Jimena understood immediately. Karyl was driving the car recklessly fast. He had already gone through one red light, blowing the car horn, and swerving around cross traffic, but he had to slow down sometime.
Jimena waited impatiently. Finally, the car started to slow at they approached a crowded intersection.
Jimena reached for Collin and held his hand, then opened the car door. Before Tymmie could grab them, they bailed.
They hit the pavement and skidded, scraping skin and jarring teeth. Cars swerved to avoid hitting them. Jimena could feel the heat of the car engines as they raced around her. She sat up, dazed, and looked at Collin.
Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He wiped at it with his tongue.
“No fear,” he mouthed, and his eyes seemed lit with fire. “Now you know what a wipeout feels like.”
She looked back at him with a wicked smile. “Now you know what living the life feels like.”
“You’re crazy,” Collin told her, but she knew he meant it as a compliment.
“I know,” she answered. “So are you.”
“Yeah,” he said with pride.
The Ford screeched to a stop and started backing up. Burning rubber smoked from the tires. The passenger-side door opened, and Tymmie had one leg out, ready to jump after them.
“Come on,” Collin yelled and took Jimena’s hand. They dove into a yard, climbed over a fence, and ran across a backyard.
She could hear Karyl barking orders to Morgan and Tymmie. “Cassandra wants her now!” he yelled. His words echoed into the night and then slowly faded.
Finally, Jimena felt safe enough to slow their pace. They walked the rest of the way to Collin’s van. Collin kept pinching his nose and checking for blood.
She looked at Collin with new admiration. Was she falling for him?
“So what were the things you should have been telling me?” he asked finally.
She bit the side of her cheek. Should she tell him? Would he even believe her?
“You remember that night Serena and I came home and told you we were goddesses and you thought we were teasing?”
His head jerked around and he studied her.
“Are you trying to tell me you weren’t teasing?”
“Well, that’s kinda true.”
He started to smile and stopped. His eyes widened only slightly, and she knew he was ready to hear the truth.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
BY THE TIME THEY reached his van, the street was deserted and a calm had settled over the night. Collin opened the passenger-side door and waited for her to climb in.
Jimena hesitated. “I’ve got some things I have to do still.”
He nodded and slammed the car door. She walked with him to the driver’s side.
“One more thing.” Jimena touched his hand lightly. “Let me talk to Serena before you tell her you know.”
He opened the car door and climbed behind the steering wheel. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and help?” She shook her head and was grateful when he didn’t try to convince her to let him stay. He turned the ignition and she watched him drive away.
She wasn’t concerned that she had told Collin about the Daughters of the Moon. It didn’t really matter now that he knew her true identity, because she didn’t think she would survive the night. And if Serena didn’t want Collin to know, she simply had to enter his mind and hide Jimena’s confession behind old memories so he wouldn’t be able to remember what Jimena had told him.
Jimena walked down the street to MacArthur Park. The hour was so late that even drug dealers had deserted the park. Jimena circled the lake, listening for the land thunder and searching for a possible entrance to Tartarus. Then she slipped silently into the shadows and waited.
She leaned against a tree trunk. The wind blew, scattering the leaves overhead and revealing the cold face of the moon. Jimena looked up and a simple prayer spilled from her lips, “O Mater Luna, Regina nocis, adiuvo me nunc.” Normally the prayer was only said in times of grave danger, but this felt worse to her. She would gladly face any danger, but she couldn’t allow Veto to spend eternity in the tortures of Tartarus because of her stupidity.
“Please,” she whispered.
She heard something behind her and turned without making a sound. A glow filled the darker shadows. A woman stepped toward her, walking three large slender dogs. The beam from her key-chain flashlight ran swiftly over the grass and then across Jimena’s leg.
The woman stopped in front of Jimena. Her dogs balanced on their hind legs, straining against their leashes as if ready to pounce.
The woman flicked off the light. Her hair was as black as midnight and flowed down her back. Her face seemed lit with the moon’s radiance. A semicircular piece of white cloth was draped softly around her body and she wore sandals. She had a conspiratory grin. “Out rather late, aren’t we?”
Jimena shrugged and stared at the lake. She didn’t need conversation with a lonely woman tonight.
“Wh
y are you in the park so late tonight?” The woman was trying to be friendly.
“I’m waiting for the earth to open,” Jimena said matter-of-factly. Maybe if the woman thought she was crazy or high on drugs she’d go away and leave her alone.
But the woman looked her straight in the eye. “You want to go to the house of death.”
A chill passed through Jimena. She had a strange feeling that the woman wasn’t who she seemed to be. She was either Maggie in one of her many disguises or maybe even the goddess who had helped her grandmother the night she was born. “Is your name Diana?” Jimena whispered at last.
“Have we met?” the woman asked, and leaned against the tree next to Jimena.
“You helped my mother the night I was born,” Jimena said breathlessly.
“Do I look that old to you?” The woman restrained her dogs. They whimpered impatiently, finally circled and lay beside her.
Jimena shook her head slowly. She had never seen a woman look so lovely.
“And how do you plan on appeasing the spirits of the dead if you do go to the land of the dead?”
Jimena looked at her strangely. Was she serious? “What do you mean?”
“You’re going to their house. What do you have to offer them so they will let you leave?”
Jimena thought a long moment. What could the dead possibly want from her? And then she remembered her grandmother’s oraciones for her grandfather. “My prayers.”
“Prayers?” Jimena could sense the woman’s disappointment. “I remember a time when blood sacrifice was made. People slaughtered the pride of their herds.”
“I don’t have any cattle or sheep,” Jimena offered. “I live in the city.”
The woman snorted. “No one really believes in the mythical world anymore. Once people poured libations for the dead.”
“Libations?”
“Milk and honey, mellow wine, and water sprinkled with glistening barley. Prayers? Well, I guess that is a modern equivalent. I suppose prayers will have to do.”
“I could say them in church every day for a year,” Jimena promised.