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Brooks turned to me and Hondo. “The Sacred Oath was meant to keep the peace.”
“Like a treaty?” I said. “Did they sign it?”
“Blood is thicker than ink,” Jazz said.
Brooks shuffled her feet uneasily, then said to Jazz, “We need one more thing….”
Jazz straightened his eye patch. “What’s that?”
“Encantamiento.”
I wondered what Brooks meant by enchantment.
Jazz nodded. “Harder to come by these days. But for you? Anything.” Then he started humming the same song the tarot-card reader had been singing.
“That song…”
Jazz leaned his beefy arms on the counter and glared at me. “What about it?”
“It’s the same…”
“Kid, you’ve never heard that song.”
I don’t know why I didn’t just walk away, or agree with the giant who was likely to send me spinning into the Milky Way. But the words forced themselves out. “The tarot reader. That’s his song. The prophesied days are a-comin’.”
The giant’s forehead started to sweat. He wiped it with the back of his hand and rose slowly, swaying.
“Jazz?” That was Brooks. “Hurry! Zane, Hondo—find some sugar.”
Jazz kept rising, or maybe his legs were growing. And before I knew it, his head had reached the ceiling, which was about fifteen feet high. One of his vest buttons popped off, and his jeans ripped along the seams. It was like watching the Hulk transform before my eyes. Except thankfully, Jazz wasn’t turning green.
“It’s his diabetes,” Brooks spat. She stepped between me and the giant and held her arms out in front of her. “Jazz, it’s okay. I’ll get you some more Red Bull. Or some chocolate.” She glanced around quickly. “Any candy around here?”
Hondo hurried across the store but came back empty-handed.
“So you met Santiago.” Jazz spoke slowly, but his voice had raised a few decibels, shaking the walls and hammering my eardrums. “That’s very interesting.”
Brooks found a small chocolate and handed it to her giant friend. “Come on, you know what happens when your sugar level drops. Eat this.”
Jazz’s eye grew bloodshot and his face became ashen. Reluctantly, he took the chocolate and didn’t even bother to unwrap it before he popped it in his mouth. I quickly slipped behind the counter before he could stomp me like a bug, and there I found a stash of Red Bulls. Up close, his huge toes were nasty and very hairy. He seriously needed to clip those nails.
I tossed a six-pack to Brooks, who opened each can and handed them over before the giant’s head rammed through the roof.
Jazz guzzled two cans, then staggered. His eye ballooned, he hiccupped, and then came a burp with the force of an arctic blast, except this was warm and wet and blew my hair back. And the stench? If you can imagine Coke mixed with beans and rotting cabbage, you’ve got a good idea of the smell.
Hondo fell back, covering his nose and mouth. “Dude, gross!”
Slowly, Jazz began to shrink back to his normal eight-foot status. “Ohhhh…” He mopped his brow with a towel. “That was a relief.”
Brooks tapped her foot impatiently. “You know you need to keep your sugar level up. Your diabetes is serious. How many times have I told you?”
Jazz threw his hands in the air. “I’m trying, okay?” Then his gray eye met mine and held my gaze for a long three-count. “You’re sure you met Santiago?”
“Uh…” Was that a trick question?
“You couldn’t have seen him,” he said, like he was answering his own question.
“Why not?” I asked, insulted. I know what I saw.
