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Quill stuck his hands in his pockets, raising a questioning eyebrow at me. “How do you mean?”
I shrugged. “I guess I just, I don’t know, wouldn’t want to stick my parents in a place like this. That is, if they had ever survived to grow old enough to belong.”
The smile that Quill gave me was strange. Not quite sad, but not quite sympathetic, either. “Mothers and fathers are precious things, aren’t they? I’m sorry you no longer have either of your parents around.”
I chewed my lip and shrugged again, this time with just one shoulder. “It is what it is. But thanks.”
“And you shouldn’t worry about Leonora. She’s perfectly happy living here. It’s a good place for her, plus when she’s unhappy with the service, she still has enough magic to make them, shall we say, disappear.”
“What? I don’t think I like the sound of that.”
Quilliam laughed. “Oh, I don’t mean that she kills them. Just causes enough trouble for them to get fired. Plants some jewelry in a nurse’s purse, just magics some way to get them out of there.”
“Oh my God. Quill, that sounds terrible.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to work for someone who did that, but hey, again, I needed the damn money, didn’t I? Beggars can’t be choosers. Well, they can, if they like not having beds and sleeping in cardboard boxes. Never again.
“Oh, you know,” Quill said, looking up at the facility’s signage as we approached. “It is how it is. That’s just how brujas are.”
Bruja? I knew that word. I stopped walking and squinted at Quilliam, suspicion building in my chest. “Wait. You never mentioned that before. Leonora’s a bruja?”
Quill stopped walking, too, fixing me with a blank, innocent smile. “Oh, come now, Mason. You’re not afraid of witc
hes, are you?”
10
You wouldn’t have known at all from just looking that Maria Leonora Rodriguez, as was her full name, was a bruja. That was the Spanish word for witch, or a very specific kind of witch, found in traditions as diverse as the South Americas, even the Philippines. On first glance, Leonora looked like a sweet old lady, wearing those thick cat’s eye spectacle frames that old ladies love, a woven shawl draped across her lap for warmth. Your grandmother, basically, or abuela, which was a word I learned from one of my pals at the Boneyard.
Incidentally, that was also where I learned what bruja meant. I’d only known one bruja before, but she was from the Philippines, where the magic followed a different tradition. They spelled it bruha, with an H. I realize it’s a difference of a single letter, but you change one letter on the word ‘witch’ and you’ll quickly come to understand my personal opinion of them in general. It was a witch, after all, who started the chain of events that led to me working with Belphegor and eventually leaving the Boneyard.
But Mama Rosa, the Boneyard’s resident Filipino bruha? She was cool, treated me like a son. I could only hope that Leonora was as sweet and motherly as the vibe that she gave off. You can never be too sure. Her room at the home was fluffy and pink, nearly every surface trimmed with tatted lace, the air itself smelling faintly of powder and roses. But again: you never know when it comes to witches.
Quilliam’s laughter filled the room, joined by the unbridled, almost braying guffaw that came out of Leonora’s tiny lungs. They were joking with each other in Spanish. Something about a donkey. Quill spoke fluently, drawing even more interesting parallels between himself and my old boss, who spoke probably over twenty languages. I don’t even know anymore, I lost count. Carver had a natural talent for tongues, but granted, being functionally immortal gave him a marked advantage over your average human polyglot.
“Tia Leonora,” Quill said, wiping a tear away from the corner of his eye. “It’s always such a pleasure.”
Leonora chuckled some more, patting the back of Quill’s hand. “Ay, mijo, the pleasure is all mine. I’m always so happy when you come to visit. And who is this handsome young man you’ve brought with you?”
I perked up, an invisible string tugging on my spine to straighten it, because I still remembered my manners, but also because I knew that a little investment of warmth and charm could make life go by very smoothly.
“Mason Albrecht, ma’am. I met Quilliam at the Black Market. I needed work, and he was kind enough to connect me to you.” I was aware of how my chest was sticking out a little more than usual, and I pushed a little more glimmer into my eyes. Sell it, I thought. Play the part. “How can I help you, Tia Maria Leonora?”
She covered her mouth with a lace handkerchief, tittering. “No need to use my entire name. I like this one, Quilliam. He is very eager. Very polite.” She looked to either side of her, as if her fellow residents in the other rooms could possibly hear what she’d have to say. “Then I won’t waste your time, Mason. I will make this brief. I want you to kill me.”
I stood bolt upright. “I’m out.”
Quill’s hand darted for mine, locking gently, but firmly around my wrist, like velvet shackles. “Hey, hey now. We came all the way, Mason. It isn’t like that at all. You should hear her out.” He shook his head at Leonora, then looked at me again, offering a weak smile. “She has a flair for the dramatic.”
I heaved a sigh, composing myself again as I sat back down and patiently waited for her to continue. I told Quill my limits up front, damn it. I wasn’t going to kill anyone, especially not this presumably lonely old woman.
“He is right,” Leonora said. “I do very much enjoy theatrics.” She held one hand to her chest, then lifted her chin. “I was a telenovela star once, you know.” She turned one hand up with a flourish. “I was in the small pictures.”
Quill nodded. “She’s telling the truth, you know. I’ve seen a few episodes. It was a show from back in the eighties. Pretty entertaining.”
I allowed my eyes to travel across the room as I waited for someone else to fill the air with words. That explained all the glamor shots of someone who, I finally realized, was simply a younger version of Leonora. It also explained the ancient VHS player in the corner of the room under the boxy television set, along with the little shelf of tapes.
Leonora grinned, noticing my gaze. “Some day, perhaps, you will come and watch a few of my shows with me. But not today. Tell me, Mason. How old do you think I am?”
I shook my head. “I would never try and guess a lady’s age, ma’am.”
