The shadow’s human had promised him a famed city of secrets and power and lies. Of monuments. Subterfuge was easy to orchestrate, people so frightened by apparitions that they clawed for twinkling trinkets. “Now is the time for your return,” the human whispered as he held the shadow’s amulet to his chest. The entity repressed the urge to use the portal and feast on its accomplice then and there. Its human had a firm and supple body. Its human had a psyche full of lust. Perfect for consumption.
But the entity held back. The human, despite his arrogance, had kept his promise, so the shadow would maintain its pledge. A wise decision. Many in the city of monuments had much to hide, their skin pockmarked by guilt and shame. Their furtive, clumsy sex suffused with violence and desperation, ready to be devoured. Yes, the shadow was grateful to its human for opportunity.
Still, the entity preferred meat like this man of God, driven by love of art, enthralled by repressed infatuation. The man’s flesh had begun to wither but the heart was ripe. This was the site of true feasts. Physicalunion accompanied by care and closeness that the ignorant overlooked. A stew of emotion that filled the shadow up. That brought it closer to manifestation. That soothed its rage.
The man of God would do, no matter how he tried to conceal what he cherished. The shadow was wispy and fluid, sneaky and lithe. It would hide and wait. It would strike and eat. It would be real again. The man was just the beginning.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LINDA
The early-morning train was eerily quiet. Linda walked back to her seat and handed Fonsi a coffee. He reclined across from her in their four-seater, bleary-eyed, legs stretched out. Asking him to leave before sunrise to catch a 5:30 a.m. departure, after he’d schlepped down to the district the previous day? Another major inconvenience. She would figure out a way to make it up to him. Linda could’ve driven to New York, but there was still the risk of heavy traffic, even early morning. Besides, she could use the ride to go over agency work and elements of the Samuelson case. Yep, that’s what it was. Couldn’t be she actually wanted Fonsi’s company.
She remembered yesterday when he declared that she’d always be a Guardián. How a slight smile overtook his face, his easygoing warmth settling on her skin. He was older than her by a few years yet in some ways still felt like a kid. Even though she’d complimented him, the man couldn’t properly scope out an investigation site to save his life, was too easily distracted. Amateurish. But she couldn’t be too hard on him since he wasn’t a professional, had to verbalize her thanks. He was a bona fide hero, how he’d stepped up during the Equinox. And he’d been doingall right running his business for years now. Linda knew the resilience required to pull that off in a crazy place like New York. The guy had grit.
There were things to mull over, as usual. She was disturbed to hear that one of her former clients, Albert Praya, had become a demon eye. She was fine chalking it up to coincidence for now—DC could be a small town in that way—but it still left her uneasy. Linda hadn’t been in contact with the Afflicted man in years, since he’d utilized her services to see if his wife might have a trove of hidden assets that she wasn’t reporting in hopes of receiving substantial alimony. She sure did, and Praya was happy with her services, but Linda felt bad for him. She could see that he was reeling from the impending divorce, was torn between wanting to get back at his wife for walking away and admitting that he’d fucked up in their relationship. Perhaps in a different life, Praya would’ve been one of her Broken Hearts. But she never invited paying Nueva Investigations clients into ritual.
On top of her discovery about Praya, was checking out Pastor Samuelson’s house worth it? The feds and DC police would know she was snooping around his property, that she was immersing herself further in the case. Which meant that they would start to keep a closer eye on her agency, the last thing she wanted. Maybe they’d even realize that one of her Broken Hearts was part of their operations. Still, seemed like the juice was worth the squeeze. She trusted Fonsi’s gift. If there were any spirits on the property that might be behind Samuelson’s condition, he would’ve detected it. One obvious possibility, eliminated.
“I appreciate your time coming out,” she said as Fonsi downed java. “Sorry we had to do a super-early departure. Only way to get a seat. Most trains leaving the district are sold out.”
“Oh, I don’t mind. I like to get up early sometimes. Estelle once told me it’s important to sit with the world when it’s quiet, that the veil between worlds is easier to discern without all the noise created when everyone’s up and about. That sometimes as mediums, it’s important to touch theveil and engage in ‘ethereal surrender.’ Her words.” Fonsi cocked his head bashfully. “Plus, it’s a good way ‘to calm my ass.’ Her words, too. Sometimes I’m all over the place.”
“Hmm.” Yep, sounded like Estelle.
Fonsi had changed from when she’d last seen him, when Linda surveilled his botanica months ago. She wanted to get a sense of what was going on with the spot where she used to hang out occasionally when she was a teen, when Estelle was still running La Playa. Fonsi had been sporting an untamed ’fro and a beard that engulfed his neck. His clothes, loose, sloppy, uncoordinated. He struck her as lost. Maybe consumed by his inner mystical world. Since then, he’d gotten himself a cut, was now sporting a linen sweater under a jean jacket with khakis. He looked pleasant, approachable, a decent brother who was okay with his softness. Refreshing, actually.
Fonsi clutched his knapsack in his lap. Something about his demeanor had switched. He seemed very eager. “I might’ve mentioned this yesterday, but I’m sorta an unofficial historian when it comes to Guardián lore. Our people’s lore.” He tapped his bag, gave off a toothy, goofy grin, and then pulled out a huge black binder which looked like it came from the desk of a college professor who’d started teaching in the 1960s. From Linda’s estimation, the thing would’ve fallen apart if not for the layers of silver duct tape holding its spine together.
Fonsi leaned forward and spoke softly. “Since we’re by ourselves in the car, thought it was okay to show this to you. This is El Gran Libro Negro, which contains all the lore connected to our people, our art, the stories that make Guardianes who we are, explanations about our powers. I’ve added quite a bit of my own notes to the material, based on my observations of the spectral world and El Intermedio, the limbo where spirits dwell. I freaked out a bit when the officer held on to my bag earlier, because this book is so important. Erm, I know…” He hesitated. “I knowempaths, among the Guardián community…ourcommunity… they’re super rare. Some say it, er, that the power of empathy specifically came from the orisha Elegua. That people like you, you’re considered children of Elegua. Empaths were his gift to the world.”
Linda trained her face to be still, trained her fingers to remain in her lap and not reach for the cuffs of her jacket. She so didn’t want to feel annoyed this early in the morning.
“What do you want to know, Fonsi?”
He leaned in even closer. “Do you still use your gift? Is that why you became a PI, so you could use your empathy to solve cases?”
“So that’s your take on what I do?” she whispered. She kept her voice low. “Give me a fuckin’ break. I’m a damn good investigator. I don’t need my gift to solve cases. I worked my ass off to get where I am.”
Fonsi jumped back. “Oh, no, no, no… Sorry, I didn’t mean to come off like that. It’s just, I’m trying to connect what you do for a living with what you are. I mean… with who you are.”
“Why does there need to be a connection?”
Fonsi glared at her like she’d asked the dumbest question in the world. “Well, let’s be real. It’s just not the first job someone would imagine someone with your… gift… choosing to do.”
Linda felt fury rise in her chest. She wanted to tell Fonsi to mind his fuckin’ business. But she breathed, and breathed, and remembered the training that came in handy when she was dealing with the Mrs. Bartletts of the world, whom Fonsi was not. He wasn’t trying to hurt her. His questions weren’t misplaced.
She exhaled and quieted the voices in her head that threatened to erupt whenever she got upset. “I don’t use my powers for my investigations,” she said. “I do everything by the book, even with some of my shady clients… especially the politicians. I’ll admit it’s almost impossible for anyone to lie to me. But beyond that, there are moments, without anyeffort… there’re times when I sense what people are feeling, especially if they’re upset. Almost like a battering ram, to be honest, so I take steps to protect myself.”
Linda clasped her hands in front of her. There was nothing to hide from Fonsi. They were technically part of the same mystical community. She’d acknowledged that. Why she’d brought him down to the district.
“I… I do still use my gift, with intention, to help others. But it’s completely separate from my work as a PI. When there are those who’re in pain, reeling from some form of hurt, I can feel their anguish, feel what they’re going through. I let them know I’m there. They come to the agency, and either that day or a few days later, we engage in ritual. I see what they see, in their mind’s eye. I show them how beautiful they are, bring their soul to the forefront of their consciousness, allow them to walk through the world with who they could be on their skin, in their eyes, on their breath.” Linda paid attention to how the words felt as they left her mouth. Even with her reluctance to share, a lightness entered her body as she described her gift. “You speak of Elegua… I suspect my empathy is how the trickster god gives folks grace when they’re at the crossroads. When they’re in ritual, the best choice becomes clear.”
Fonsi’s mouth had curled into a perfect O. His eyes, ravenous, like he possessed a magical recorder in his brain that would capture her every sentence so he could jot them down later in that black binder of his.
“I… I have so many questions,” Fonsi said. “What happens afterward, to the folks you touch with your mind?”
Linda leaned back in her chair and glanced up at the car’s dim overhead lights. “I’ve helped lots of folks over the years, or at least I’d like to think that I have. I don’t necessarily go out of my way to track them down, but those I have, they’re doing all right. I mean, better than all right, to be honest… They’re succeeding. Some have become superstars. I tell myself it’s proof that what I do is contributing to society, making a difference,even though it means knowing people’s most intimate secrets. But I’ve never used my gift on anyone who wasn’t yearning for help. A few have even returned to the agency, fully remembering what went down. Rare. Those that do, we have a special bond.”
