For added privacy, I went into the other room, decorated in plaid furniture and protective charms. First I needed to get my phone working, though. With reasonable deftness, I popped it open and switched the SIM card.
My cell doesn’t have roaming on it, you see. That’s for people who want to register for an account and put it on a credit card, leaving an electronic trail a mile wide. I go prepaid all the way, so I slotted the U.S. SIM into my phone and watched it search until it found a signal.
Bingo.
Backtracking to the front door, I located my purse and dug out Saldana’s card. Ridiculous the way my heart thumped as I dialed. You’d think I believed the bullshit I’d spun for Chance about the guy wanting to take me out for personal reasons.
On the fourth ring, he barked, “Saldana!” at me, almost making me disconnect.
I had to clear my throat before I could speak. “Uhm. Yeah. This is Corine Solomon. You said something about getting dinner tomorrow night.”
Relief colored his buttery drawl, which I liked quite a lot. “Glad you called, sugar. Just a minute.” I heard hoots in the background, so I guessed I’d caught him at a bad time. Movement, and then a rough whisper: “I don’t suppose you know anything ’bout the mess down at this warehouse? You all right?”
I made unconvincing static noises, though he sounded genuinely concerned. “Huh? You’re cutting out.”
Luckily he possessed a sense of humor. “Uh-huh. Logan’s Roadhouse, seven tomorrow night. It’s on San Dario, near the mall. Can you make it?”
“I’ll be there.” Whether Chance liked it or not.
“Oh, that you heard.” But I could sense his smile.
When I returned to the kitchen, the guys were eating a second plate of tamales, looking like they’d said everything important. Chuch glanced up and then indicated the seat opposite him. As I sat, I saw he’d laid out colored pencils and paper.
“I need you to sketch the symbols,” he said without preamble. “That’ll gimme a clue who might have some info. Most of the players in town work in Santería or straight hudu, but I know people online who can help with more exotic traditions.”
I blinked. Chuch is a regular Lone Gunman. Who knew? Chance did, I decided, watching him eat. That’s why he kept his card.
“That’s a remarkably logical idea. I’ve never done this before, though, and I’m not much of an artist. But I’ll try.”
As they ate, I tried to remember. In the end, I found it easier to re-create the whole thing, starting with the circles. I couldn’t draw the people so I represented them with Xs and then took my best shot at the symbols Yi Min-chin had drawn.
When I handed him the page, Chuch studied it for a minute and then shrugged. “Looks like a summoning circle.” Which I’d already guessed. “I’ll send it to a homie who’s into the hermetic stuff. Maybe he can hook us up.”
I studied him for a moment, unable to figure him out. “Why are you helping us? You know it’s dangerous.”
Chuch flashed a slightly gap-toothed grin. “My old lady took off and I don’t have anything better to do.” I held his look, and eventually he sighed, looking sheepish. “Plus I owe him money.” He jerked his head toward Chance. “I expanded my garage but business has been slow. Lot of people leaving Laredo. It’s a scary place to be lately.”
That made as much sense as anything. Muttering something about scanning my drawing, Chuch headed toward his home office. I didn’t like how quiet Chance was. He hadn’t said a single word since I came back into the room, not even when I took his plate to the sink for him.
If the silence held, I was going to say something stupid like Are you okay? when I knew he wasn’t. Finally I settled on “What’s on your mind?” Like I didn’t know.
“I keep turning it over,” he said, staring at his hands. “I wanted to think they must have some hold over her. But I keep coming back to the fact that she knew the spell, and there’s a lot I don’t know about her. You ever have that feeling? Like you’ve known someone your whole life but you don’t know them at all.”
I reached for his hand. No matter the ugly history between us, I was still his friend. I didn’t think I had it in me for it to be otherwise. Our fingers intertwined, his long and elegant, mine short and scarred. That was one good thing about the gift, I supposed. My fingerprints never seemed to come out right.
“No,” I said finally. “I never have that feeling. Because I don’t have anyone I’ve known my whole life.” The words came out starker than I intended, maybe because his sorrow cut through me like a knife.
If he’d been thinking, he would have remembered. Chance knew my history, at least the bare bones of it. He knew I’d spent my adolescence in foster homes. They deteriorated as the years went on because nobody wanted to take me. The first time it happened, I was handling a jeweled hair clip. It singed my fingers and I said without thinking, “This belonged to your great-aunt Cecilia. She was wearing it when she died.”
The gentle Methodist lady almost had a heart attack. She’d gazed at me, face pinched and gray, before snatching the hair clip away and fussing over burns she couldn’t figure out how I’d gotten. A retired school-teacher, Miss Minnie was actually the nicest about my weirdness, but she didn’t want me around after that.
That night, she called the social workers and said she wasn’t equipped to deal with “a child like me.” It got worse. I’ll just say, I can’t play at bondage during sex or watch the Exorcist, though it isn’t demons that drive my powers. There’s no enjoying such things when you’ve been tied to a bed for real.