Witch Lights Page 12

  Mantu started the engine. “You’re a strong motherfucker, Ray. Stay strong for me a little bit longer, okay? Stay strong for Ellen and William. They’re gonna need you.”

  Ray nodded as the van lurched forward up the dark mountain road.

  —

  Ellen answered the door. She was barely awake, groggy from having been up so late, and William still lay sleeping.

  El Varón stood outside the threshold, dressed in his impeccable white linen suit. He was energized, almost glowing. “I need to speak to you,” he said. He seemed to be holding in some enormous bit of news. His eyes were wide open and wild.

  “Go ahead,” Ellen said.

  He shook his head. “We need to speak in private. Please. Only for a moment.” His smile was as kind as ever, but after having seen him mocking the bloodied man begging for his life, she could never unsee his cruel malice.

  She looked back at William, who was still asleep. “Okay, but I need to clean myself up.”

  “No, it’s fine. You are beautiful first thing in the morning,” he said. “Just a few moments.”

  She smiled. “All right.”

  He gestured down the hall. She stepped into the hallway, cinching her robe tighter. Her bare feet felt suddenly lewd, painted toenails and all. She stifled a shiver of revulsion. If playing up to him was a way to bide their time until they could escape, so be it. But it wasn’t going to be easy.

  He led her down the hall. Took a key ring out of his pocket. Motioned for the two guards to leave them alone.

  Her eyes locked on the keys.

  When the door opened she almost laughed. This was the inner sanctum, El Varón’s bedroom, even more hideous and garish than she could have imagined. The floor was covered in thick red carpet and the walls were painted with murals—jungle scenes, with a jaguar perched atop an ecstatic naked woman, a vibrant quetzal, and an Aztec pyramid towering above the trees. Another of the ubiquitous closed-circuit TVs sat atop a cabinet, showing rotating images of the compound’s exterior. And the bed was a monstrosity of gold and mahogany, with golden jaguar heads on the bedposts and a bedspread that seemed to be—and most likely was—made of exotic animal pelts. An elevated bathtub made of gold and marble and surrounded by plants took up the far corner.

  And a handgun—gold plated—sat on his dresser amid bottles of cologne.

  “You like it, yes?” he asked.

  It took every bit of acting ability for Ellen to keep her composure. She had sold a few pieces of her grandmother’s gold to buy Christmas presents one difficult year when Steve had been in Iraq. And she’d thought her little kept-woman, birdcage room had been gaudy with its faucets and bedposts. But the gold in this room alone was probably worth more than Blackwater’s entire yearly budget. “It’s very nice,” she said, praying she wouldn’t break into laughter.

  He seemed ready to burst. “Tonight is a very special night, Ellen. And I want to share it with you. I am having some very good friends and business associates over for a small fiesta and I want them to meet you. To introduce them to you so they can see how beautiful you are.”

  “That sounds nice,” she said. “I like parties.”

  “There are certain times when the stars are in the right places in the sky—when they come together in the proper patterns to make magic.”

  His eyes were so wide, his awful smile so big, she wondered if he’d been snorting his product. And what the hell was he talking about with making magic? It sounded like Lily and Crawford’s brand of voodoo. And the Brotherhood’s. She wanted nothing to do with any of it.

  “Some of this magic can only be done by a man and a woman. There is magic between the sexes that is much more powerful than a man or woman can achieve alone.” He took off his jacket and hung it on a hook by the door. Ellen heard the metallic ching of his key ring.

  Noted.

  He held out his hand, indicating that she should sit on the bed. She pulled her robe tightly around her and sat. She didn’t know what she would do if he tried to seduce her. Fight him off? Scream?

  He stood in front of her, looking down, his eyes softening. “You are very special to me, Ellen. Foolish people doubt the Old Gods of my people, but I prayed to them to bring a woman of power to me. To be a companion for me, but also to share with me in my work. And they accepted my sacrifices, and brought you here.”

  You brought me here, you fucker.

  And then he bent down.

  Oh, no, please, Jesus, don’t let him—

  He knelt. And took her hand into both of his soft, long-fingered, delicate hands. “Ellen, I have the whole world to offer to you. Not just here, but all the places we can travel together. Paris, Rio, Havana. Egypt, even. You will be my queen, my Isis.” He brought her hand up to his lips. They were hot as they settled wetly on the back of her hand.

  She laughed, a choking cough, and caught it. Then the laugh came out through her nose, and she had to bring her hands to cover her face.

  El Varón dropped her hand and drew back.

  She took a deep breath. Keep it together. Then wiped at her eyes. Faked a sob. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I wasn’t expecting this.” Fake it until you make it, girl. You might not have gotten a lead role in the high school play, but you need to work it like a pro.

  It worked. His smile was tinged with pathos, and she wanted to smack it off his face. “You are the only woman in the world I would ever offer this to. And together”—he closed his eyes—“we will do things that will make the gods jealous.”

  She wiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry, but I need to use the restroom for a moment.”

  “Of course, Ellen.” He motioned across the room. “Then we will have breakfast together. I think champagne will make a good start to our special day.”

  —

  She closed the door and went immediately for the medicine cabinet, turning on the water to cover any noise. As expected, the inside was full of pill bottles. She examined them, but of course they were in Spanish. She found two bottles that had stickers on them with drawings of a half-closed eye and a car smacking into a wall. Universal code for May cause sleepiness/Do not operate heavy machinery. She poured a few pills from each bottle into her hand and dropped them into her robe pocket. She put the bottles back and quietly closed the cabinet door.

  She looked around. More gold, from the faucets to the mirror, the curtain hooks, and even the sink drain. The fancy gold straight razor on the sink caught her eye. It would make a good weapon, but stealing that would be too obvious. Next to it was a bottle of hand cream and a collection of nail files and a cuticle pusher. She opened the shower and saw a clod of hair stuck to the gold drain and almost gagged.

  Hurry.

  She flushed the toilet and washed her face. When she stepped back into the room El Varón had put on his jacket and was standing by the door. Ellen faked a smile, tilted her head demurely, and said, “That champagne sounds wonderful.”

  —

  The party preparations got under way in the afternoon. The maids and cooks were rushing around madly, chopping vegetables and stirring enormous pots. Men she didn’t recognize showed up in trucks with boxes of liquor, crates of squawking chickens, and enormous sides of beef. A half dozen younger men in black sweat suits set up a PA system and a large stage near the pool.

  “This is crazy,” William said. He had just gotten out of the pool and was dripping next to her. She saw the far-off look in his eyes and whispered to him. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  William glanced around to make sure no one was listening and put on his glasses. “It looks like there’s going to be a lot of people here. That means he won’t be able to follow us around all night.”

  Ellen nodded. “He’ll be distracted. Hopefully drunk.” And ready for whatever special things he had planned for her, unfortunately. But there was no need to burden William with that now. “So let’s you and me wait for the right opportunity. If we can get ahold of someone’s keys, we can get the hell away from
this crazy freak show.”

  William grinned, but it quickly faded. “Mom, I think there’s something wrong with Ray. Like he’s really sick.”

  Ray. She’d been trying not to think about him. With El Varón basically proposing to her and probably getting sexed up about his magical evening ahead, it made her sick to think about Ray. And how sorry she was going to be for what might happen in the hours ahead when a drunk El Varón dragged her back to that horrible bedroom. She ruffled William’s wet hair. “He’s strong, William. You know that. He’ll be okay. And when we get out of here, we’re going to find him. And we’ll be together again. Just the three of us.”

  William nodded, but he didn’t seem to believe her.

  —

  “Oh, God,” William whispered. He walked in the bedroom and shut the door. “I had to stop playing Xbox. There’s a band outside, practicing.”

  Ellen rolled her eyes. “Let me guess. More of those songs about stupid drug dealers and lopping off people’s heads. And drinking tequila with their dozen girlfriends. Am I right?”

  William pretended to stick his finger down his throat. “The songs are about El Varón. Can you believe it?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. I can.”

  “Mom, can we please go somewhere we can never hear an accordion again? For the rest of our lives?”

  Ellen laughed. “Amen to that, little man.”

  Someone knocked on the door. William stepped behind the bed. “Come in,” Ellen said.

  It was Costanza, carrying a bundle of clothes. “For you, Señora,” she said quietly. She wouldn’t make eye contact. “He wants you to wear this tonight.”

  Ellen took the clothing and placed it on the bed. “Thank you, Costanza.”

  The tiny woman caught her eye and raised her bony finger to her lips. Then she pointed at the clothes, turned, and left the room. When the door closed, Ellen picked up the folded garment. It unrolled. A gown. A thin, plain white gown made out of a rough fabric.

  Something fluttered to the floor.

  “Mom—” William said, pointing, but Ellen shushed him with a quick glare.

  She picked up the piece of paper.

  He listens everywhere. Please put this down toilet when you are finished. He wants you to be his bride tonight. If you are going away you need to go tonight or he will hurt you because he is a nagual and not a man. I will pray for you and your son.

  “Let me see it,” William whispered.

  Ellen led him into the bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the shower and the sink faucet full blast. She gave William the note. There was no sense in hiding anything from him anymore. The kid was handling all of this much better than she was. He blanched, then leaned close and whispered in her ear.

  “I know what that is now,” he said. His voice was quavering. “There’s a book on the shelf downstairs. It’s in Spanish but I can read most of it. It’s about monsters and mythology and stuff. Mayan mythology.”

  She nodded.

  “Naguales are like witches. But they can change shape. Like into animals. Or ghosts. Or balls of light.”

  Ellen pulled her ear away and looked at him. The boy was terrified. She wanted to tell him that was crazy. Silly superstitious stories. But Ray had told her about what had happened that night in Blackwater, and she knew that those silly superstitious stories could be real. William had seen too much already in his short years—things that would drive many adults to madness. Things that were supposed to be impossible—that should be impossible. Like balls of light that hid terrible things within them.

  She leaned in and whispered, “He’s not laying a finger on me. Or you.” She held his head in her hands. He was such a kid still, with his crazy hair and dirty eyeglasses. Just a kid, and burdened with such ugly, horrifying memories. How did he manage it? How long could he manage it? She looked at him and mouthed the words I love you.

  His eyes welled up, and he fell into her, sobbing. His body shook against hers, and the tears soaked into her shirt. Her tears followed, dropping on his head, as she let go of all the pent-up fear. They both sobbed beneath the sound of running water until there was nothing left.

  When it was all over, she tore up the note into tiny pieces and flushed them away.

  Chapter Eight

  When the van pulled into a tiny town made up of dilapidated wood shacks and corrugated steel, Ray stepped out the door and vomited in the dirt. It was getting late, and the bumpy ride had been too much for his stomach. Up it came, bitter and propulsive, from what felt like the deepest part of his guts.

  Mantu grimaced. “That doesn’t look so good.”

  Ray swayed. He looked between his feet. Whatever had come out of him was dark black, like oil. He tried to speak, but wobbled, and Mantu held him steady.

  “You sit back in the van, okay? I need to find where she lives.”

  Ray climbed back into the seat and collapsed. Mantu shut the door and the interior light went off and he was enveloped in the comforting blackness. He fought to keep his eyes open, but failed. As soon as they closed, Lily was there waiting for him. Back in the Hand, the ugly circle of standing stones in Blackwater. A fire blazed in the center, and Lily sat on the altar slab in a red dress, legs crossed, hands holding something up to him. He looked down. A bat. Brownish-black, with obsidian beads for eyes and tiny white fangs. It unfurled its wings, thin and leathery and veined, before folding them back into itself. It seemed to be smiling at him.

  “Don’t be afraid, Ray,” she said. Her eyes had gone black, just like the bat’s. Entirely black, no irises or whites, just pupils. Her clothes were gone, and two more bats were suckling her breasts. Rivulets of milk and blood mingled and dripped onto her belly as they dug in their claws and drank from her.

  “Go away,” he said.

  She laughed. God, he hated that shrill laugh. “I’m not going anywhere. You, though—you’re going far, far away. To the abyss. You’re almost there now. If only you’d stop fighting it.”

  He turned and the bats were gone. She was wearing the red dress and William sat in her lap, his face slack and eyes blank.

  Ray tried to reach out, but his hands were locked next to his sides. “Leave him alone!”

  Lily brushed her fingers through William’s hair. “He’s like you, you know. He can sense things. He has more power than you—it’s rather remarkable. And he’ll make such a wonderful pet.”

  “Stay away from him.”

  She feigned a look of sympathy and hugged William to her chest. “But that would be so sad. With his mother betrothed to a nagual—a rather possessive one, at that—a boy needs a good home. With someone who can appreciate and encourage his abilities.”

  “He’ll never be with you. I’ll fucking kill you if you touch him.”

  She laughed again, like a hideous screeching bird. “Oh, Ray, you are still the funniest man I ever met.” She kissed the top of William’s head. “Where you’re going, you can’t kill anything. You can’t even kill yourself, though you may want to.” The fire in front of her grew taller, the flames dancing wickedly. “I’ll be seeing you soon,” she said, as the flames soared into the night air. Ray’s skin stung, and the harsh light of the flames burned away everything.

  “Ray? Hey, come on. Come on! Wake up!”

  Mantu shook him and he was back, with the horrible, nauseating explosion of vertigo as the light from the flames faded. He leaned over and vomited again as Mantu jumped to the side.

  “Shit, man. You’re burning up. We need to go now.” He helped Ray back into the passenger seat and loaded the van with a small cardboard box. “She’s about ten minutes from here. You just need to hold on a little bit longer.”

  Ray’s eyes closed.

  Mantu yanked his hair and his eyes popped open. “We made it this far, so you have to hang on. I’m going to keep talking and you keep listening and keep your fucking eyes open. Capisce? She lives in a place near a swamp. We’re gonna have to walk a little bit. You can do it. I’ll help you.”
<
br />   Mantu startled. Above them, against the starless sky, an orb of green light zipped over their heads and vanished into the trees. And then another. The lights appeared and were gone in a matter of seconds, but they left bright afterimage trails on Ray’s eyes.

  “Witch lights,” Mantu said. He was breathing fast. “Goddamn. She’s for real.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. I’ll explain later.” He jumped in the driver’s seat and started the van. “You want to hear something fucked up? She lives on a little patch of land called Q’eq ja’. It’s K’iche’ Mayan, so I asked what it meant in Spanish. I just about shit my pants when the woman told me. It means Agua Negra in español. You following?”

  Ray shook his head, then said, “No. No way.”

  “Black Water, Ray. We’re going to Blackwater.”

  All that came out of him was dark, ugly laughter.

  —

  The party preparations continued into the early evening, and the volume of activity and music grew as the hours passed. Ellen didn’t want to change into the gown. It was weird—nothing like the designer clothes El Varón had been delivering for her—and coupled with his scary comments about magic and Costanza’s note, the last thing she wanted to do was play into his bizarre bridal fantasies. She couldn’t believe it was some kind of wedding gown. It didn’t seem like his style. He liked the garish and expensive, and this seemed downright primitive. It would hang on her like from a clothes hanger, straight down almost to her ankles. There was definitely nothing sexy about it—it was more like a hospital gown, just without the ass-baring slit in the back.

  She and William spent the day whispering and plotting. William had memorized every detail of the compound, but the more they talked the more she realized she had no idea how they were going to escape. They just had to be ready to take advantage of any opening.

  In the early evening El Varón appeared at the door. He was wearing another of his white linen suits, a bright red tie and pocket handkerchief, and shiny alligator boots. For a man who was always dressed up, this was a fancy outfit for a big night. Bigger than usual. With the door open Ellen could hear the raucous laughter and music from the party guests.