He snorted and for a moment he looked like he was going to smile. “What if I told you that whatever you do to the tree, you do to the spirit?"
"You look fine,” she said, edging back to the bridge. He did. She was the one who was bleeding.
"You're either brave or stupid.” He turned the blade in his hand and held it out to her, hilt first. She would have to step closer to him, into the shadows, to take it.
"Well, I'd pick stupid,” she said. “But not that stupid.” She walked quickly over the bridge, leaving him still holding the machete.
Her heart beat like a drum in her chest as she made her way home.
That night, lying in bed, Tomasa heard distant music. When she turned toward the window, a full moon looked down on her. Quickly, she dressed in the dark, careful to clasp her gold chain around her neck. Holding her shoes in one hand, she crept down the stairs, bare feet making only a soft slap on the wood.
She would find a mananambal to remove the enkanto's curse. She would go to the night market herself.
The graveyard was at the edge of town, where the electrical lines stopped running. The moonlight illuminated the distant rice fields where kerosene lamps flickered in Nipa huts. Cicadas called from the trees and beneath her feet, thorny touch-me-nots curled up with each step.
Close to the cemetery, the Japanese synth-pop was loud enough to recognize and she saw lights. Two men with machine guns slung over their shoulders stood near marble steps. A generator chugged away near the trees, long black cords connecting it to floodlights mounted on tombs. All across the graves a market had been set up, collapsible tables covered with cloth and wares, and people squatting among the stones.
From this distance, they didn't look like elves or witches or anything supernatural at all. Still, she didn't want to be rude. Unclasping the Santa Maria pendant from her neck, she put it in her mouth. She tasted the salt of her sweat and tried to find a place for it between her cheek and her tongue.
She wondered if the men with guns would stop her, but they let her pass without so much as a glance. A man on the edge of the tables played a little tune on a nose flute. He smiled at her and she tried to grin back, even though his teeth were unusually long and his smile seemed a touch too wide.
A few vendors squatting in front of baskets called to Tomasa as she passed. Piles of golden mangos and papaya paled in the moonlight. Foul-smelling durians hung from a line. The eggplant and purple yams looked black and strange, while a heap of ginger root resembled misshapen dolls.
At another table, split carcasses of goats were spread out like blankets. Inside a loose cage of bamboo, frogs hopped frantically. Nearby was a collection of eggs, some of which seemed too slender and leathery for chickens.
"What is that?” Tomasa asked.
” Snake balut,” said the old woman behind the table. She spit red into the dirt and Tomasa told herself that the woman was only chewing betel nut. Lots of people chewed betel nut. There was nothing strange about it.
"Snake's tasty,” the vendor went on. “Better than crow, but I have that, too."
Tomasa took two steps back from the table and then braced herself. She needed help and this woman was already speaking with her.
” I'm looking for a mananambal that can take an enkanto's spell off my sister,” she said.
The old woman grinned, showing crimson-stained teeth and pointed past the largest building. “Look for the man selling potions."
Tomasa set off in that direction. Outside an open tomb, men argued over prices in front of tables spread with guns. A woman with teeth as white as coconut meat smiled at Tomasa, one arm draped around a man, and her upper body hovering in the air. She had no lower body. Wet innards flashed from beneath a beaded shirt as she moved.
Tomasa rolled the golden pendant on her tongue, her hands shaking. No one else seemed to notice.
A line of women dressed in tight clothing leaned against the outside wall of the tomb. One had skin that was far too pale, while another had feet that were turned backwards. Some of them looked like girls Tomasa knew from town, but they stared blankly at her as she passed. Tomasa shuddered and kept moving.
She passed vendors selling horns and powders, narcotics and charms. There were candles rubbed with thick salves and small clay figurines wound with bits of hair. One man sat behind a table with several iron pots smoking over a small grill.
Steam rose from them, making the hot night hotter. Bunches of herbs and flowers littered the table, along with several empty Johnny Walker and Jim Beam bottles and a chipped, ceramic funnel.
The man looked up from ladling a solution into one of the empties. His longish hair was streaked with gray and when he smiled at her, she saw that one of his teeth had been replaced with gold.
” This one has a hundred herbs boiled in coconut oil,” he said, pointing to one of the pots. “Haplas, will cure anything.” He pointed to another. “And here, gayuma, for luck or love."
"Lolo,” she said with a slight bob of her head. “I need something for my sister. An enkanto has fallen in love with her and she's sick."
” To break curses. Sumpa, an antidote.” He indicated a third pot.
"How much?” Tomasa asked, reaching for her pockets.
His grin widened. “Wouldn't you like to assure yourself that I'm the real thing?"
Tomasa stopped, unsure of herself. What was the right answer?
"What's that in your mouth?” he asked.
"Just a pit. I bought a plum,” she lied.
"You shouldn't eat the fruit here,” he said, extending his hand. “Here. Spit it out. Let me see."
Tomasa shook her head.
"Come on.” He smiled. “If you don't trust me a little, how can you trust me to cure your sister?"
Tomasa hesitated, but she thought of Eva, flushed and pale. She spat the golden pendant into his palm.
He cackled, the sound dry in his throat. “You're more clever than I thought."
She didn't know if she should be pleased or not.
One of the mananambal's fingers darted out to dot her forehead with oil. She felt wobbly.
"What did you do?” she managed to ask. Her voice sounded thick and slow as smoke.
"You're a fine piece of flesh, even with that face. I'll get more than I could use in a thousand brews."
It sounded like nonsense to Tomasa. Her head had started to spin and all she wanted to do was sit down in the dirt and rest. But the gold-toothed man had her by the arm and was dragging her away from his table.
She stumbled along, knocking into a man in a wide straw hat who was running down the aisle of vendors. When he caught hold of her, she saw that his eyes were green as grass.
"You,” she said, her voice syrup-slow. She stumbled and fell on her hands and knees. People were shouting at each other, but that wasn't so bad because at least no one was making her get up. Her necklace had fallen in the dirt beside her. She forced herself to close her hand over it.
The elf pushed the mananambal, saying something that she couldn't quite understand because all the words seemed to slur together. The old man shoved back and then, grabbing the enkanto's arm at the wrist, bit down with his golden tooth.
The elf gasped in pain and brought down his fist on the old man's head, knocking him backwards. The bitten arm hung limply from the elf's side.
Tomasa struggled to her feet, fighting off the thickness that threatened to overwhelm her. Something was wrong. The potion vender had done this to her. She narrowed her eyes at him.
The mananambal grinned, his tooth glinting in the floodlights.
"Come on,” he said, reaching for her.
” Leave me alone,” she managed to say, stumbling back. The enkanto caught her before she fell, supporting her with his good arm.
” Let her alone,” said the enkanto, “or I will curse you blind, lame, and worse."
The old man laughed. “I'm a curse breaker, fool."
The elf grabbed one of the Jim Beam bottles from the table and slammed it down, so that he was holding a jagged glass neck. The elf smiled a very thin smile. “Then I won't bother with magic."
The old man went silent. Together, Tomasa and the elf stumbled out of the night market. Once the music had faded into the distance, they sank down beneath a balete tree.
"Why?” she asked, still a little light-headed.
He looked down and hesitated before he answered. “You're brave to go to the night market alone.” He made a little laugh. “If something had happened to you, it would have been my fault."
"I thought I was just stupid,” she said. She felt stupid. “Please, end this, let my sister get better."
"No,” he said suddenly, standing up.
"If you really loved her, you would let her get better,” said Tomasa.
” But I don't love her,” the enkanto said.
Tomasa didn't know what to make of his words. “Then why do you torment her?"
"At first I wanted to punish her, but I don't care about that now. You visit me because she's sick,” he said with a shy smile. “I want you to keep visiting me."
Tomasa felt those words like a blow. Shock mingled with anger and a horrible, dangerous pleasure that rendered her almost incapable of speech. “I won't come again,” she shouted.
” You will,” said the enkanto. He pulled himself up onto a branch of the tree, then hooked his foot in the back and climbed higher, to where the thick green leaves hid him from view.
"I will never forgive you.” Tomasa meant to shout it, but it came out of her mouth in a whisper. There was no reply but the gentle night breeze and distant radio.
Her hands were shaking. She looked down at them and saw the loop of gold chain still dangling from her fingers.
And suddenly—just like that—she had a plan. An impossible, absurd plan. She made a fist around the gold pendant, feeling its edges dig into her palm. Her feet found their way over brush and vine as she darted through the town to the tamarind tree.
The elf was sitting on one of the boughs when she got there. His eyebrows rose slightly, but he smiled. She smiled back.