Buried Secrets. Evelyn Vaughn
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Not that Jo needed Zack here. But she felt more at ease in his presence, anyway. She’d already sat, but when Zack settled onto the bench beside her, she felt his size and warmth and presence like an anchor in otherwise unsteady waters.
It occurred to her that the strange feelings might in fact be magic, filling the room, surrounding them. Was that possible?
“We were wondering if you’d noticed—” Zack began, but the Bruja held up a commanding hand, then bowed her head and began to pray.
“Ave Maria, gratia plena…”
It took Jo several more lines to recognize the Latin version of the “Hail Mary.” At the end, Zack crossed himself when the witch did.
Jo tried crossing herself, but—not being Catholic—sensed that she’d done it in the wrong order. She glanced at Zack, who shook his head. Then she glanced uncertainly back at the witch—
Whose head snapped up so suddenly, Jo stiffened.
“The Virgencita shows me great evil,” announced the Bruja in a hollow voice.
Could She could be a little more specific? Since that would come out more sarcastic than she meant it, Jo kept her tongue.
Zack asked, “Can the Holy Virgin help us learn more about this evil?” Look who’d just grown some people skills!
The older woman’s words sounded hollow, distant. She rocked slightly on her bench, as if focusing on something only she could see. “You will not find your way to this malvado, this evil, through Nuestra Señora La Guadalupana, nor of her angeles or santos. This is not of their working. This hides from their light. They can only provide protection for you.”
“That’s nice,” said Zack. “Protection from what, exactly?”
The old lady startled Jo again by suddenly grabbing her hand. The Bruja’s hand felt dry, strong for her age. “You wear the disguise of a marimacho,” she murmured. “But you are not evil. You think because you were robbed, you have nothing, but Guadalupana sees the truth in your heart. She wants for you what all virtuous women want.”
“That being…?” asked Jo, wary. She didn’t know the word, marimacho. She wasn’t sure how she’d been robbed. Diego…?
But the old woman was turning to Zack, using her free hand to take his. “You too were robbed of your life,” she murmured, still rocking. “But you, you chase it. You are a good husband, but you seek too far, too deep into the darkness. You strain even the protections of Nuestra Señora in this chase.”
Jo felt torn between concern and confusion. Zack had been robbed of his life?
“Still, Guadalupana smiles on you both,” the woman continued. “For you must face this darkness together.”
Zack slanted a look down toward Jo, less than enthusiastic.
“I will make you a protection,” announced the Bruja, releasing their hands. Even her normal voice felt tinged with power. “By the grace of Nuestra Señora and her santos and her angeles, a powerful protection against the evil you seek.”
“Thanks for that,” said Zack, while she stood. “But what we could really use is some idea of who or what we’re hunting.”
Doña Maria lit a candle, murmured a prayer over it, then set to work. She took a wooden bowl from her cupboard and began to add ingredients from unlabeled jars. She measured the way Jo’s grandmother had cooked, by practice and guess. A pinch here. A dollop there. “You are facing a diablero.”
“A devil,” translated Jo uncertainly. “The devil? No, that would be a diablo, right?”
“The diablero works the magic of El Diablo,” explained the older woman, still mixing and measuring. Jo only half watched, not wanting to know if any dead hummingbird got added.
“So it’s human, anyway,” said Lorenzo, as if that had even been in question. Or maybe it had.
“Perhaps,” hedged the Bruja. “Or no. Hombres son brutos.”
“Men are beasts,” translated Jo, trying not to grin.
“Thanks a lot,” said the P.I.
The older woman finished her mixture, then measured dollops of it into two squares of red silk, tying them with red cord.
“Keep these with you,” she instructed, giving a pouch to both Jo and Zack. “Pray the Ave Maria on them every night and morning, and together you may carry enough of the Lady’s light to shine upon and destroy this evil. You understand, si?”
“Sure.” But Zack warily sniffed the pouch.
“Si,” agreed Jo politely. “We understand.” Then she mouthed at Zack, Pay her. Which he did.
As they moved to leave, the Bruja stopped Jo with a hard grip. “For you,” she whispered, pressing a second pouch into her hand. This one was made of white silk.
“What is it?” asked Jo, watching Zack go ahead.
“A charm of love,” murmured the witch. “Pray to lead him from his darkness.”
To lead…Zack Lorenzo?
“Oh no,” said Jo quickly. “I mean, that’s nice of you, but I’m not interested….” The woman’s dark eyes brooked no deception. “Not in that way,” Jo qualified weakly.
Watching the man’s body and feeling safe around him had nothing to do with loving him or leading him from darkness!
“Hombres son brutos,” repeated the Bruja. “But this strengthens them, si? Protecting us, it raises them from the animals. It is our calling to keep them holy in return.”
Jo looked more closely at all the photographs lining the kitchen, almost covering the front wall. School pictures. Family portraits. Clearly that was how Doña Maria had led her life, witch or not. But Jo had once tried for a normal life, once let a man protect her.
Never again.
“Say the prayers,” insisted the Bruja, releasing Jo’s hand.
“I’m not even Catholic.”
“Do not be afraid of life, marimacho.”
“Hello?” called Zack, partway to the car. The Ferrari chirped and flashed its headlights as he approached it. That’s when he stopped still.
Jo awkwardly thanked the woman, then hurried to catch up—until Zack said, “Stay where you are.” Even over the unending Texas wind, she heard the sharpness in his voice.
“Why…?”
But then she heard the snake.
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