A Snake in the Grass (7 page)

“Chill out, kid. We just got here, and we
don’t even have our stuff yet. Maybe there was traffic.”

He made some kind of noise indicating that he
heard me, but he never stopped scanning the crowd, tension growing
in his lanky shoulders. I finally gave up on trying to talk sense
into him and snatched his bags off the conveyor belt when they came
trundling by, setting them next to mine.

Sveta finally left her post when our crates
were wheeled up on a flat cart, and she and Terrence went about
checking them over, making sure nothing had been tampered with. I
saw the locking sigils flare into view as the old man’s hands
passed over them, the magic answering its maker, but none of them
looked altered to me. Both he and Sveta made approving noises over
the boxes, so I guess that meant our gear had made the journey
unscathed.

“
Oye
!
Primo
!”

Estéban’s head jerked around at the shout,
and a huge smile split his face. “Paulito!” Before I could even
spot the source of the call, the kid had bolted across the terminal
and was engaged in a very rough back-slapping hug with a strange
man. What followed was an exchange in Spanish so rapid that I with
my very rudimentary language skills couldn’t hope to keep up. I
mean Mira and the kid had done a bang up job pounding the language
in to my head, but my major accomplishment was knowing “
Dos
cervezas, por favor
.” The kid looked happy, though, real
happy.

Whoever Paulito was, the Perez family
resemblance was stamped indelibly on his features. An inch taller
than my protégé, maybe a couple of years older, but I could see
hints of both Miguel and Estéban in the shape of his jaw, the angle
of his eyes. They moved the same too, I realized, as I watched them
walk toward us. Something about the set of their shoulders, or
maybe the same slight bounce in their stride.

And like Estéban, Paulito gleamed to my
newfound magical senses. There was magical talent there, and given
that he was undoubtedly a Perez, he was probably well trained in
its use.

“Paulito, this is Jesse Dawson, and Señor
Smythe. And this is Sveta. Everyone, this is
mi primo
– my
cousin – Paulito.”

Terrence shook the young man’s hand when
offered, as did I. Briefly, the almost invisible symbols across my
back crawled, no doubt in reaction to the touch of the unfamiliar
magic. They settled though, the moment I broke contact.

Paulito tried to offer his hand to Sveta, but
he made the mistake of giving her an appraising once-over first. By
the time his gaze got up to her face, he found only ice-cold blue
eyes waiting for him, and he dropped his hand after a few moments.
His apologetic shrug was ruined by the almost leering grin on his
face. Yup. Sveta was gonna throw him through a wall before the week
was out. I could tell that already.

“I brought the truck, for the crates, but
someone will have to ride in the back with them. There are only so
many seats.” His English was accented, but easily understandable.
In fact, most of the Perez clan probably spoke English better than
a lot of American high schoolers I knew.

“Not a problem, bugs are pure protein.”
Estéban smirked at my joke, but it was clear by the puzzled look on
Paulito’s face that he didn’t get it.

The two young men took possession of our
luggage cart, and we followed them out to the truck, left out of
the conversation as they chattered back and forth in Spanish.

“Why can’t they just speak the King’s
English?” Terrence grumbled, loud enough that I knew he meant to be
overheard.

“Because we aren’t in Kansas anymore,
Toto.”

“What the bloody hell is that supposed to
mean?”

Chapter 5

The thing that action movies and TV shows
never show when following the intrepid hero about his adventures is
how freakin’ long they have to sit in the car to get where they’re
going. I mean, in TV-world, the drive from Alabama to North Dakota
takes like ten minutes, but in reality, there are road tunes and
pit stops, greasy gas station food, and more empty roadside
whooshing by the windows that anyone cares to remember.

While we weren’t exactly going quite that
far, there was still a two-hour drive ahead of us, uncomfortably
wedged between three weapons crates in the back of a seventies-era
pickup truck. Paulito got the unfathomable privilege of riding with
Terrence in the cab, and the rest of us got as comfy as we could in
the bed, gritting our teeth as we jounced over potholes and dodged
insects flying at warp speed.

Only Estéban seemed immune to the discomfort,
leaning over the sides of the truck to point things out to Sveta as
we barreled down the highway. Twice, we had to make a wild grab for
his belt as his antics and his cousin’s driving threatened to
jounce him right out over the battered tailgate. Nothing would dim
his enthusiasm, though, and I even saw a faint smile curve the
corners of Sveta’s lips in response, the kid’s excitement downright
infectious. Dorothy was right, I guess. There’s no place like
home.

We hung a left once we hit Cosalá, a small
city that could have been taken right out of the pages of a fairy
tale. The buildings were all the old traditional Spanish style,
painted bright colors, and the streets were all cobblestone. It
wasn’t some backwoods nowhere, though, they were a thoroughly
modern vacation destination. We were an hour and a half from
Mazatlán, and spitting distance from the Gulf of California coast
and the beaches. I knew from talking to Miguel and Estéban that
tourism was booming in the area, people drawn to the authentic food
and old world atmosphere. When we’d visited before, we’d seen one
of their local festivals, and I remembered how Mira’s green eyes
had sparkled as we danced to the music under strings of colorful
lights. She’d had this loose, patchwork skirt on, and her blouse
hung off her shoulders…

I think I must have been wearing a dopey
smile, lost in my thoughts, because Sveta kicked me in the ankle
then rolled her eyes at me when I protested. “You’re heartless, you
know that?” She only snorted at me.

The sun was slowly sinking toward the ocean,
just visible in the distance, when we pulled to a stop in front of
a storefront, painted a charming coral color. Paulito hopped out,
mumbling about picking something up for his aunt, and vanished
inside, while the rest of us nearly fell out of the bed of the
truck, rubbing feeling back into our lower extremities.

Estéban inhaled deeply, and let it out in a
contented sigh. “Now it is beginning to smell like home.”

Some locals were seated out in front of their
shops, and Sveta let her gaze roam over them without hint of
apology. They eyed her back in turn with as much – if less hostile
– curiosity. “We are not yet at your home, yes?”

The kid shook his head. “No, another half an
hour or so. Maybe less, the way Paulito drives.” He pointed west,
toward the darkness of the mountains. “Up there.” Even with
twilight barely trickling down the sides of the range, we could
already see the twinkling lights of the houses up there, tiny
outposts of homes on the mountainside. “The road will be rougher
though.” He grimaced a little.

Terrence, who had been blessedly confined to
the cab of the pickup until this point, rolled the window down to
snarl at us. “Any chance of getting a move on? Some of us aren’t as
young as we used to be, and this is hard on my old bones.”

He thought
that
was hard? I had half a
mind to make him take my place in the bed of the truck for the last
leg, but somehow I knew that Mira would know, and she’d give me
that disappointed look. I hated that look. “You could get out and
stretch, you know.”

The old curmudgeon just grumbled and rolled
the window back up.

I was about to make some smart remark to
Estéban – would have been supremely witty, I’m sure – when a hand
closed around my forearm, and I turned startled eyes on Sveta.
Despite her vice-like grip on my arm, her icy gaze wasn’t on me.
“Ten o’clock.”

I followed her gaze to the corner of the
building, and found a pair of dark eyes watching us in return.
Half-hidden in the shadows of the alley, the young woman looked
like a local girl, dressed in cut-off jean shorts and a tank top,
showing off a lot of darkly tanned skin. Her black hair hung in
loose waves around a heart-shaped face, and if she was wearing
makeup, it was the kind that was meant to look like she wasn’t. She
glanced at Sveta and I briefly, not seeming to care that she’d been
noticed, and then her eyes settled on Estéban with frank
curiosity.

I grinned a little, and elbowed the kid.
“Hey. You’ve got an admirer.”

“Hunh?” Turning, he blushed faintly to find
the very attractive girl staring at him. “Oh. Um…
hola
.” She
smiled a little at his clumsy greeting, but didn’t answer him, only
tilting her head so that her hair draped artfully across her bare
shoulders. Estéban swallowed hard and seemed to have lost all words
in every language he knew. Me, I settled back to see how long the
two were going to stare at each other without talking, ‘cause this
was damn funny.

Unfortunately, Paulito chose that moment to
return, and the spell was broken. Settling a few grocery bags into
the back of the truck, he followed his cousin’s entranced gaze to
the alley, and broke into a broad grin himself. “Reina!”

The mystery girl dragged her gaze away from
the kid, and she gave Paulito a teasing smile as he went to greet
her. Despite my newness with the language, it was very clear that
they knew each other. Very,
very
well, if you get my
meaning. They murmured between themselves in Spanish for a bit,
while Estéban shuffled his feet and did his best to look anywhere
but. Finally, Paulito remembered his audience, and turned to make
introductions.

“
Primo
,
señor
and
señorita
, this is
mi novia
, my girlfriend,
Reina.”

We all made noises of hello, though Estéban’s
mumbled “
Encantado
” was lost in the shuffling of his feet.
For her part, the newly named Reina just inclined her head a
little, that same small smile crossing her lips as her eyes swept
over the kid, but she never said a word.

“I could die in here and no one would care!”
Terrence had rolled the window down again, and we all jumped at his
grumpy shout. He fixed us with a glare from under his bushy
eyebrows, like he could kill us all with his brain.

“C’mon kid, let’s go.” I thumped Estéban in
the shoulder, and we reluctantly piled back into the bed of the
truck as Paulito made his farewells with his girlfriend. They
disappeared into the alley for a moment, where I’m sure there was
much kissy face going on, and then he returned alone, hopping
behind the wheel again. The truck started up with a jolt that
smacked my head against the back window, and I sighed, rubbing it
ruefully.
Almost there. Almost there.

The drive up into the hills was rough, but
the promise of the journey’s end made up for the kidneys we were
surely damaging with all the bouncing. The trees closed around us
as we climbed our way through the foothills, bringing dusk on
early, and the lights from the small homesteads that we passed
gleamed through the leaves like fireflies.

The Perez family home was actually more of a
small compound, almost a village in and of itself. Many houses and
outbuildings, several small barns for the variety of livestock,
even their own small chapel. It was bigger than the last time I was
here, I realized, marking a few structures that were missing from
my memory. No doubt each building had been crafted by loving hands,
probably a weekend event for the family as the need arose.

As we pulled up into the big circular drive,
Paulito beeped the horn a few times, and the place exploded as
people flooded out of every doorway in sight. I felt Sveta tense up
beside me, unprepared for the sheer human tsunami that was
Estéban’s family. Her hand slipped behind her back, where I knew
she had a knife or a gun or something.

I wasn’t stupid enough to touch her when she
was like that, but I leaned close to quietly remind her, “Easy.
There are children here.” She blinked at me a few times, and I saw
her forcibly relax the tension in her shoulders. After a moment,
she nodded, and I felt safe getting out of the truck.

Dear God, there were so
many
of them,
and all of them were trying to get close to Estéban, mussing his
hair, giving him rough hugs, clinging to his knees when they were
too small to reach higher. So many voices in both English and
Spanish, shouting and calling greetings full of joy and welcome. I
lost sight of the kid, but I could hear his laughter, somewhere in
the middle of the throng.

I helped Terrence out of the truck and the
three of us started unloading our things, staying safely out of the
melee. We stacked the crates and piled our luggage up against it,
and then there was nothing to do but lean against the truck and
wait for someone to remember that we existed. It was likely going
to be a while.

I let my gaze wander over the clearing again,
noting how different things looked now since my…circumstances had
changed. Even through the soles of my sneakers, I could feel the
land almost pulsing under my feet, magic flowing through the dirt
like an enormous heartbeat. Every wall, every window, every door
was decorated with sigils and marks, some so new that they were
almost painful to look at, others so faint and worn that you just
knew their creators had long since forgotten them. Some of them
were precisely etched by an experienced hand, some of them looked
like the equivalent of a child’s crayon drawing. Even the youngest
Perez children were schooled in the use of magic, marking down
their first protection symbols alongside their ABCs. Seeing layers
upon layers of magic, each spell worked immediately atop the one
before it, was almost like looking at a family tree, dating back
more generations than I could imagine.