Darkest Fear

  For a few minutes we were all quiet, weighing our thoughts. Like Matéo, I didn’t know what to do, or what we should do. I decided to ask a question they could actually answer.

  “So what was that drug Dana gave me?”

  “Cuva rojo,” said Aly. “That’s one name for it. It’s from a plant usually found in the Amazon rain forest.”

  I vaguely remembered Dana saying that.

  “How does it work?”

  Matéo shook his head. “No one knows. For obvious reasons, it hasn’t been tested in science labs. But our people using it is depicted in the earliest Olmec records. Pretty much everyone in our culture knows the plant, knows how to make the serum. It’s considered a bit of a crutch, so we do want you to learn to change by yourself without it.”

  I started to say that I didn’t want to learn, and then realized that even if I didn’t plan on changing on purpose—and I didn’t—it had been scary last night when I hadn’t been able to control changing, and then didn’t know how to become human again. “I’ll think about it. In the meantime, do you think we should look through your families’ books? See if there’s any clue to what’s going on?”

  “Yeah,” said Matéo. “Good idea. Right now I have to make a delivery—I’ll be back around five.”

  “I’ll be heading to work then,” I said.

  “I’ll ask my brother to bring ours, the next time he comes,” said Aly. “And we can compare notes later. What’s neat is that when Téo and I get married, it will show up in both of our families’ books, in the family tree section.”

  It was almost shocking to hear her speak about marriage so easily—she was only three years older than me.

  “When do you think you’ll get married?”

  “We haven’t set a date—we’re not even officially engaged yet!” She laughed. “But we’ve talked about having kids sooner rather than later, like when we’re twenty-five or so. So I guess we’ll get married sometime before then.”

  It was hard to wrap my mind around—I still felt like such a kid in some ways. But my parents’ deaths had aged me a lot too.

  Later, heading off to my normal job at a normal coffee shop was a bizarre juxtaposition: Last night we’d been attacked by a strange haguari and I’d ended up in my jaguar form, unable to change back. I’d gotten some ancient rain-forest drug shot up my nose, which had somehow managed to transform my entire physical being. It was the stuff of a science-fiction movie. Now I was a barista. I remembered Tink saying it had been like finding out he was a superhero, and I gave a wry smile.

  “Hey,” said Hayley, when I came in the front door of Ro’s. Today she had on a short black skirt, black-and-purple-striped stockings, and a shredded white T-shirt that said MY OTHER CAR IS A BROOM. Her hair was spiked all over her head in purple and black, and her eyes were outlined in heavy black Egyptian lines.

  “Hi,” I said. I was wearing my own clothes and felt boring and frumpy next to her. “How’s your day been going?”

  “Busy this morning, bit of a lull, then busy, now lulling. Weekend mornings are always crowded, but weekend afternoons and evenings are usually lighter. How did your night go? Exciting?”

  I almost startled, wondering how in the world she knew what I’d gone through, then realized that of course she was talking about my first night at work. That had been yesterday. I let out a breath and tied on an apron.

  “It was fine. Talia’s great. Both of you have been great at explaining things and being patient with me.”

  “No prob,” said Hayley. “You want to catch up on the dishes first?”

  “Sure,” I said. I grabbed the full busing bin and carried it through to the kitchen to the professional dishwasher, hoping I remembered how it worked. The kitchen had the big fridge and storage shelves, boxes of supplies, and this great dishwasher that could do a load every two minutes. I studied the controls again, started the first load, and looked around.

  There was a really cool Wolf range and a set of professional double ovens. They were both dusty. I wished I could have them for Matéo’s house. I could be a baking fool.

  Aly had been right about the job. It had only been one day, but it was fun to have something to look forward to, a place I needed to go. Structure. Now, seeing these great ovens, I thought maybe it was time to start baking more. It always cheered me up. My tons of baking supplies were back at home, but I could use what Matéo’s mom had had. My aunt. It was still an odd thought—my mystery aunt.

  Ten minutes later I brought a heavy bin full of washed and dried china out front and started filling up the shelves beneath the counter. Glancing out into the room I saw that there were maybe eight customers, and again it seemed peaceful and wonderfully ordinary after the awful scare of last night. I’d just straightened up to get more milk from the back when I saw the side wall.

  “Whoa.” The front of the coffee shop and the right-hand wall were large glass windows. The left-hand wall was solid and plain, separating this shop from the antique store next door. Hayley had told me that in addition to whatever Rafael was working on, they often showcased local artists’ work. Yesterday there had been a row of moody black-and-white photographs of flowers. Today the wall was covered with large sketches from the floor to the twelve-foot ceiling. I’d walked right by them without noticing. They were just rough images lightly done in charcoal, but I could make out tropical flowers two feet across, twining vines, a bird of paradise, several tiny animals peeping out from leaves near the floor.

  “Awesome, right?” Hayley said, untying her apron.

  “Did Rafael do this?” I asked, walking out from behind the counter so I could look at the sketches more closely.

  Hayley nodded. “Yep. Fabulous, huh?”

  “Yeah, it’s awesome,” I said, trying to imagine the details.

  “It’ll be better once it’s all painted in,” Rafael said from behind me, and I almost jumped. I’d only seen him sitting down yesterday; now I saw that he was taller than I’d expected, maybe three whole inches taller than me, and more heavily built than I’d thought. Stubble the color of coal made a precise mask over the bottom of his face, and he looked even more dangerous, even more fallen, even more attractive than he had yesterday.

  “It’s going to be amazing,” I told him, trying not to fall into his arms. He nodded almost absently, not smiling. He was not a smiley guy. “How long do you think it will take you?”

  “I don’t know. I have to do it in my spare time.” Again I noticed his straight-arrow nose and large, icy-green eyes. He was tough-looking, really guy-looking—not at all feminine, despite the almost sculptural fineness of his features.

  “I guess you don’t have much of that,” I said. I was unusually aware of him, even aware of his scent, which reminded me of sandalwood and cypress. If only I could follow him around, inhaling deeply. Yes, that wouldn’t be at all weird.

  Feeling fidgety, I went back behind the counter and began fixing a refill iced latte for a customer. Hayley was getting ready to leave, putting on more black lipstick, pursing her lips at the mirrored wall behind the shelves. Trying to ignore Rafael, I busied myself with straightening the counter, wiping things down, cleaning the glass case fronts. Hayley took off and then I was busier, and soon I noticed that Rafael was gone. I relaxed a tiny bit.

  During work last night, whenever I’d had a spare minute, I’d examined the drawings Rafael had made of people who worked here. Of course I only recognized Talia and Hayley out of the eight drawings, but they were all incredible, vividly alive though not photographic. In Talia’s drawing he had caught her fire, her spirit, shining out of her brown eyes. She looked proud and strong, and I imagined she’d be like that if she weren’t a personal assistant to some old lawyer.

  When Talia herself came in ten minutes after five, she exclaimed, “So sorry I’m late, honey! My car stalled out and—oh my gawd in heaven!”

  I grinned at her as I washed the milk frother thingy. The steam wand, it was called. “Rafael did that. It’s g
oing to be cool, huh?”

  “That boy is wasted here, and I’m not lying.”  Talia bustled down the hallway and went into the ladies’ room, coming out a few minutes later in turquoise leggings stretched to their limit and a colorful African-print tunic. Her short hair was cornrowed in a complicated pattern that swirled around her skull, and I was reminded of a Zen garden with the pebbles raked into perfect lines.

  My second day was less of a breeze than my first. We had fewer customers, but I had my first run-in with a crazy person, a woman swathed in several layers of clothes and carrying several big shopping bags. She kept trying to order things we didn’t have, and I was starting to get seriously rattled when Talia muttered, “Just say yes and make her a café au lait with four sugars.”

  I did just that. The customer sipped it suspiciously; then her face split into a smile and she became very gracious.

  “Thanks,” I told Talia, when the customer was gone.

  “She always wants that. You’ll get used to ’em,” Talia said.

  By eight o’clock the only people in the place were four students, each sitting at a different table, each with a laptop. I tried to imagine last night’s attacker bursting into Ro’s, startling everyone, and I couldn’t really see it. Right now Ro’s was my safe haven.

  To my fevered delight, Rafael had been in the main room most of the evening, working on his mural. He was using a metal ladder to get the high parts, and I have to say I enjoyed watching him climb up and down. At one point a student close to him dropped a sheaf of papers and they went everywhere; Rafael stopped what he was doing and helped the guy pick them all up. Such a nice guy, for a fallen angel.

  During a quiet moment I bought myself a mini ham and cheese quiche and an iced coffee and leaned against the counter, watching Rafael sketch in some more details. At twenty-one, he was three years older than me, and the same age as Matéo and Aly. Somehow he seemed older, less lighthearted. I remembered what Talia had said about his parents, how they lived in Mexico, and wondered what his story was.

  The guy who’d dropped his papers came up and got a refill on his coffee, counting out a few singles and the exact change. I put down my quiche and fixed it for him, smiling as he took it and shuffled back to his table. The students made me think of Jennifer, and I hoped she’d liked her weird bio lab yesterday. I would try calling her tonight after I got off, but of course I wouldn’t tell her about last night’s freak show.

  Just two months ago I had planned to be a college student—had made lists of what to bring, researched plane fares. Of course, my parents had been disappointed that I wanted to go so far away—they’d been pushing for something much closer to home, like Eckerd, or U of Miami. In the end I’d applied to exactly one college, had been accepted, and they had caved.

  Now I would give anything to go to a Florida school, be able to go home on weekends, see my parents. My quiche turned to sludge in my mouth and I threw the rest of it away.

  Around nine o’clock I was on the floor cleaning out the ice machine, and Talia asked out of the blue, “You got a boyfriend?”

  “Oh. No,” I said, pouring a mild bleach solution through the machine as Talia had shown me. You wouldn’t think an ice machine could grow mold, but it could. So incredibly gross.

  “Oh, a girlfriend?” Talia grinned.

  “No, I’m not gay. I just don’t have a boyfriend,” I said.

  “Well, you are one pretty girl,” said Talia. “You might meet someone nice in here. You never know.”

  It wouldn’t matter if I met someone nice or not.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  TALIA HAD UNKNOWINGLY HIT ON one of my sore spots: my lack of dating experience. I smiled, knowing she was trying to be friendly, but inside I felt the familiar cringes of embarrassment. I’d been on exactly three dates in my whole life, and none of them had been a success. The first one, when I was fifteen, had been with the son of one of my parents’ friends. He’d been good-looking and pompous, and tried to act like he was much older than we were. His dad had driven us to the movie in their fancy car, and Gerry had held my hand and stroked my arm and my thigh. With his dad in the front seat. By the time we got to the theater I was hissing at him to cut it out.

  It had ended badly with him asking me out again even though I was frigid, and me turning him down because he was a schmuck. His parents had been offended I didn’t want to jump all over their little prince. The whole thing had been a disaster.

  My second foray into dating was for the junior-senior prom at school. Ian Banks had asked me to go, and I’d said yes. I barely knew him—he was in my physics I class and we’d never spoken. My mom had been thrilled and bought me a much too expensive dress and insisted I wear flats so I wouldn’t tower over Ian too much. I’d been furious. It wasn’t my fault I was gigantic. Ian had been nice enough, but not very interesting. Mostly he seemed to want all of his friends to see us together—whenever one of them came near, Ian put his arm around my shoulder or leaned in as if we were talking. Once he kissed my hand. By eleven o’clock I was more than fed up.

  My mom had been disappointed I was home so early.

  Then there had been Carlos. He was a new student at our school and I’d been assigned to be his buddy for the first few days, until he knew his way around. Even Jennifer had noticed how hot he was, and we’d shared a bunch of suggestive eyebrow-raising. When Carlos asked me out that weekend, I was glad to go—he’d been super nice all week. I even told my mom that it was an actual date.

  He arrived at seven as promised: a plus. My mom peeked at him through the front curtains and gave me a thumbs-up, mouthing He’s so cute! at me before thoughtfully disappearing into the kitchen.

  I answered the door with a big smile, but when he saw me, his smile faded.

  “I’m not too early, am I?” he asked.

  “No, you’re right on time.”

  “Oh. Well, I can wait while you get ready.”

  “Uh . . . I am ready.” I was wearing jeans and a tank top with a Guero’s Taco Bar logo. There were no rips or stains anywhere. I had brushed my hair.

  “Oh.”

  “Is there a problem?” I asked a bit tartly.

  “Oh, no,” he said, but his enthusiasm was MIA.

  “What’s the matter?” I crossed my arms over my chest.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Just—I know you don’t dress up for school, and that’s okay, I guess, but I thought you’d take more trouble to go out. Like, makeup. A nice dress.”

  I’d been so, so, so, so disappointed.

  “I don’t wear makeup,” I said. “I don’t wear dresses. This is me.”

  “But you’re so pretty,” Carlos said, continuing to wade into the La Brea Tar Pits of my dismay. “You’d be a knockout if you fixed up a little. You’d look like a model. Except not skinny.”

  “Good night, Carlos,” I said, and shut the door. He’d waited there for a minute, I guess to see if I’d change my mind, but by then I was already in the kitchen wolfing down Oreos.

  So actually I don’t think that even counts as a date.

  Now here I was at work, wanting to inhale the intoxicating scent of the devil man, as if I was ready to take off the training wheels of amour and leap right into the major leagues.

  “Honey?”

  My head snapped up as I saw Talia standing over me, smiling. She untied her apron and straightened out her tunic. “Tonight’s my early night,” she said. “I gotta pick my mama up from bingo.” She leaned down and took my face between firm, warm hands that smelled like apricots. “Vivi. The Lord has blessed you with beauty. And you’re a sweet girl, too. But you are throwing the Lord’s gift away, with the hair and the ratty shirt and the sloppy shorts. Yesterday you looked so cute.”

  After my depressing Carlos memory, this was awful, and not even my mother had ever spoken to me so bluntly. I was shocked.

  Talia gave my cheek a little pat, then got her purse and headed out.

  My face was burning. Had Rafael heard her say tha
t? Had anyone heard her? Seething, I bent over and worked on the ice machine. At first I was really mad—how dare she! It was none of her business! Then I admitted that she wasn’t a mean person and probably thought she was being helpful and motherly. And I had already come to terms with the fact that I needed some new clothes.

  It had just been galling for her to say it so plainly when she hardly knew me. Was I actually still pretty? Did I even care about that nonsense?

  When the ice machine was churning out perfectly clean ice, I scanned the room to make sure no one needed anything. Two students were left, typing away on their computers, empty coffee cups on their table. I went to clear the empties, passing close to Rafael on his ladder, his comfortably worn-looking green T-shirt stretching across his broad shoulders as he worked.

  I was not ready for the major leagues. Clearly. I wasn’t even ready for T-ball. How depressing.

  Over the next two hours, only a few people came in. Most of them were easy, but a gorgeous blond woman wearing skintight yoga clothes came in and asked for some weird complicated thing.

  “Yes, no problem,” I said, and quickly consulted the guide, which I had tried to memorize earlier, and thought I had. I didn’t find what she wanted.

  “I’m sorry—I’m new here,” I told her. “What’s the name of your drink again?”

  Large blue eyes blinked at me. “I don’t know the name,” she said with a touch of impatience. “I don’t work here, do I? I just want the—” and the rest of her words sounded like “blah blah almond blah caramel blah blah fat-free something something.”

  I looked at her helplessly.

  “Look, if you don’t know how to make it, find someone who can,” she said, annoyed.

  Swallowing, I went over to Rafael, who had already started to climb down the ladder.

  “I don’t know how to make her drink,” I said, flustered. “I’m sorry. I can’t find it in the guide.”

  “It’s not in the guide,” he said, and followed me behind the counter.