The Four Kings (18 page)

“You may need that vital information someday if these wizards refuse to go away or become violent against us all. Amanda, you don’t really know them.”

She grit her teeth and seethed at them. “Yes, I do.”

Maggie held up her hand and expressed, with her face, her desire for patience on Amanda’s part. “All I’m saying is, be prepared. You’re our link to these super beings. We may need you someday.”

“If all hell breaks loose,” Adam said, shaking his head.

“Keep looking for clues. Ask the wizards as often as you can about their magic,” Trevor advised her. “Right now, they look invincible. If they go away after three years, okay. But if they don’t…”

“Right, Dad.”

“Everyone and everything has at least one weakness,” Trevor said. “Find theirs.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

It was now one in the afternoon, Amanda sullenly waited in the lobby in the Liberators’ Headquarters. She fretted.
What if Justica shows me a depressing and heart-rending scene from her past?

Stop it
, Amanda prompted herself.
Don’t drive yourself crazy
.

As if on cue, Justica materialized beside her. She didn’t smile.

“Are you ready for your internship?” Justica asked.

“Yes. What part of your past do you wish to show me?”

Justica regarded her coolly. “I don’t remember discussing the idea of going back to any point in my past.”

“Sorry.”
What will she show me, then? The fortress Emerana? Or some other secret?

Justica nodded her head. “I think I understand. Both Demus and Indie showed you a sample of their history with the Mortals. I don’t approve. That is too personal for a Mortal like you.”

“You’re right.” Amanda sighed with relief.

“Perhaps Demus and Indie wanted to deal with some ongoing issues they’ve had with Mortals from their past,” Justica said. “Rest assured it doesn’t affect in any way their ability to make decisions on behalf of Mortals.”

Amanda stood in admiration. “You’re very thoughtful.”

Justica didn’t show any emotion. “Well,” she said, “shall we begin?”

Amanda suddenly remembered her promise to her family. “Justica, I am so honored to be working with you. I’ve heard from many of my staff, and they feel you’re an exceptional wizard.”

Justica peered at her, not sure how to handle the compliment. “Thank you.”

“I wanted to inform you of the increase in infrastructure since our last weekly report. There were an additional 5.6 million cubic feet added …”

Justica held up her hand to cut her off. “It’s not necessary to discuss this now. Today we’re going to focus on your immersion.”

“Yes, yes,” Amanda clasped her hand, pretending to be animated. “My immersion. I’ve thought about it carefully, Justica, and I do have a lot of questions about wizards.”

“Yes?” Justica eyed her warily.

“You were speaking of how Indie and Demus grew up in Mortal households. How did they become wizards in the first place?”

Justica turned her head away, so it was difficult for Amanda to see her reaction. Amanda’s heart sank. “I can’t answer that,” Justica said firmly.

“Aww.” Amanda pretended to take the news light-heartedly. “How about you, then? You surely can speak for yourself.”

“Amanda, you know very well I cannot answer questions like that.”

“Yes.” A disappointed, yet resigned Amanda braced herself.

Instantly, she felt the hot, humid, sticky air. She blinked. She was in the strong thrall of the early afternoon sun, even before she opened her eyes. Surrounding her were colonial style adobe houses with red terracotta tile roofs. The exteriors stood out in colors such as pale pink, blue, and green. Amanda knew right away that she was in Mexico.
Of course
. Justica’s home country.

Justica was now wearing a more traditional woman’s Mexican outfit, consisting of a red loose-fitting tunic called a
huipil
, with many ornament floral designs stitched into the fabric. Draped around her shoulders was an off-green shawl called a
rebozo
.

Amanda gazed at her clothing. “You look beautiful.”

Justica pulled back on her shawl to loosen it more. “Thank you. It’s important to respect the local customs.” She walked ahead on the sidewalk, prompting Amanda to step up beside her. “This is the neighborhood where I grew up.” She placed sunglasses on her face. “I must protect my identity,” she declared, “There are too many people who can easily recognize me as a Liberator.” She partially covered her lower face with the shawl.

Very true
, Amanda thought.

Justica then stepped back from Amanda, and looking around to make sure no one was watching, she zapped up a purple
rebozo
around Amanda’s head, covering her nose and jaw. “Very authentic,” Justica said approvingly. “Since you’re also famous, we need to protect you, as well.” She handed Amanda another pair of sunglasses from her purse, doubtlessly zapped up out of nowhere.

Amanda slipped them into place and her eyes adjusted to the dramatic dimming of sunlight. “Where are we?”

“Oaxaca.”

Amanda thought some more. “Is this the past, or are we –”

“No. This is now. This is present-day Mexico.”

Amanda nodded, and tried to slow down her pace, since she was much taller than Justica.

The streets were decorated with banners and lights in the colors of red, green and white adorning the utility poles, traffic lights, and fences. There were posters everywhere in Spanish, replete with icons of the country’s flag. She saw numerous booths in the public square, which itself was a cobblestone piazza, all exhibiting a variety of items: flags and fireworks, toys and ornaments, and assorted Mexican food.

Amanda gestured to the displays of celebration. “What’s all this?”

Justica didn’t turn to Amanda, but peered straight ahead. Changing direction, she headed toward the public square. “This is
mes patrio
, the month of independence from Spain. This is a huge event everywhere in Mexico, and everyone celebrates it.”

“Amazing,” Amanda gazed at the sights, enthralled. They stepped onto the piazza, past the throngs of citizens, young and old. This time, Amanda knew this was a present-day scene, as she and Justica carefully walked around the large crowd. Amanda felt electrified. There were the smells and eye-watering appeal of a wide variety of Mexican food and drink – pulque, tequila, mezcal, agua frescas, tepache, pozole, chilaquiles, enchiladas, tacos, pambazos, gorditas, and quesadillas.

Amanda observed a change in Justica’s usual demeanor. In contrast to the stern expression she usually exhibited, her eyes sparkled, her mouth smiling and relaxed. Justica swayed – perhaps without intending to – her hips slightly to the Mexican music blaring out of speakers everywhere. Justica made a beeline for a stand that displayed huge glass jugs of colored liquid – coconut white, orange, yellow, pink, and so on. Justica pulled out pesos from her purse and spoke in Spanish to the vendor, pointing to the white jug. The ungrinning vendor pressed the tap for that jug, prompting rice-white liquid to flow into a large clear plastic cup, and handed it to Justica.

“Aguas frescas,” Justica said. “A delicious drink. Like your fruit juice back home, but using water and ice and then adding flavours. Mine’s coconut.”

Amanda eyed the various liquids, all vivid, but nothing that suggested artificial food coloring. “I’ll have the lemonade then.”

Justica said, “Limón,” and obtained the yellow-colored drink for her, paying in the process.

Amanda sipped it and grinned. Sweet, yet it tasted diluted and ice cold. She took a second sip, and nodded. “Not bad,” she said, when she had gotten used to it.
This must be how Mexicans cooled down in the summers.

Justica smiled at Amanda’s initial reaction. More spirited, she pulled at Amanda’s hand and said, “Look! There are
chilaquiles
, want to try some?” Amanda gazed at several trays of hot, steaming food in front of her: tortillas all stacked up in a pile, a small vat of bubbling oil, and heated trays of red sauce, green sauce, shredded cooked chicken, marinated minced beef, baked beans, and brown rice.

“What are chila –” asked Amanda, not being able to remember the word.

“They’re like tacos, except they’re deep fried, and they’re covered with gooey sauce,” Justica replied proudly.

Without waiting for Amanda to respond, Justica walked up to the vendor and handed him some pesos. She took a steaming
chilaquile
from his assistant, and handed it to Amanda on a piece of wax paper. Amanda accepted the concoction carefully, fearing that the over-abundant sauce would drip down onto her blouse. Bending over forward to avoid a culinary accident, she took a bite of the steaming dish.
Mmm
. “Delicious,” she said.

It was the first time Amanda heard Justica laugh. She smiled at Amanda.

Amanda gazed at her, but she already had walked ahead. This was to be totally different from the “expositions” with Indie and Demus. She relaxed perceptibly. Perhaps not all wizards had bad pasts.

Soon, they had left behind the market square and now were heading into a neighborhood. The houses were tiny and squeezed together with decent-sized front lots all covered with cement tiles. They passed by a group of young children chanting and dancing in a ring, holdings hands in a human chain.

“What game’s this?” asked Amanda, feeling joy within herself at seeing young children play.

“Doña Blanca,” Justica answered, delighted as well. “One child will stay in the middle, protected by the ring. Someone outside the ring will try to tag him, and then it starts all over again.”

The two women walked up to the entrance of an adobe home, with shrubs on its front lawn. The façade was simple; a flat cement wall in front, painted in pink, with a simple platform made of wood constituting the front porch. There were no steps.

Justica turned to Amanda. “This is my childhood home.”

Amanda couldn’t believe such a powerful, famous wizard could’ve grown up in such a simple residence. It affirmed her understanding that wizards lived among humans first, but wouldn’t know of their powers once they were born.

Justica took off her sunglasses and removed the shawl from her face. “I must change. Don’t be startled.” Instantly, she changed her appearance, so that Amanda felt she was looking into the eyes of another young Mexican woman – a total stranger. She held her head back, wondering if that was the real Justica.

“It’s me,” the impersonator said, “I am now Graciana, who’s my cousin.”

Amanda peered at her. “Are you really Graciana, with her mind, or are you still Justica?”

Justica looked annoyed. “It is still me. I’m only appearing as Graciana.” She took Amanda’s hand. “Come. We’ll visit my parents.”

Amanda resisted, panicking. “Justica, no! What if –”

“Call me Graciana!” Justica replied firmly. “You must be more careful. Besides, they don’t know me by the name of Justica. That’s my wizard name. They know I’m a wizard and am part of the council, but I don’t want them to know that I’m here.”

“Sorry…”

“Be very careful, Amanda. Everyone knows me as Justica. I have ninety-two percent name recognition within North America. Not as high as Demus and Indie, but still that name’s virtually guaranteed to be recognized. And keep your disguise on, no matter what.” She zapped away Amanda’s glasses. “Sunglasses would be strange inside the house. Keep your scarf on, and you should be okay. Mexicans are very conservative, and they appreciate it when a foreigner pays her respects. And don’t use your name. We’ll call you Susan for now.”

Amanda exhaled. “Okay, I get it. But why would Graciana be visiting your parents here? And why’d she bring me?”

Justica sighed. “In Mexico, family visits are very common, so they won’t be surprised to see her drop in. As for you, I’ll explain that you’re a friend from California who’s just visiting.” Amanda started to protest, but Justica held up her hand. “Don’t worry, Mexicans love company.”

Justica, masquerading as Graciana, knocked on the door. An older Latino woman, dressed in a pink top and a long ankle-length dark blue skirt, beamed as she recognized her “niece.” They kissed once on the cheek, and hugged warmly. “Hola, Graciana,” her mother replied, speaking in Spanish. She then glanced at Amanda, and smiled warmly. Holding Amanda’s hand, the mother asked Graciana, “¿Quién es tu amiga?”

Amanda knew bits and pieces of Spanish, enough to know she’d asked who Graciana’s friend was.

Speaking in Spanish, “Graciana” put one arm over Amanda’s shoulder and kept chatting while all three women walked into the living room. On the way, Amanda glanced at an altar set up near the concrete stairs. It consisted of three levels, as if ornate dark oak chests had been stacked up. There was one layer in front, two layers in the middle, and three layers in the back. Each surface was topped with dainty laces, religious ornaments and figures, and tall white candles. Amanda spotted three ballerina dolls, with lovely antique dresses all spun out, strategically placed on the altar.

A lively atmosphere pervaded the living room. Even before she entered, she could hear background music – Luis Miguel, Emmanuel, Agustin Lara, and Juan Gabriel were popular songs that the radio played from time to time. The air was thick with din from the chatter among the various family members inside the tiny room – grandparents, aunts, uncles, and a few teenagers all sitting down or standing around. One middle-aged couple danced to the music.

Taking Amanda’s hand and leading her to the most elderly woman in the room, standing using a cane – her hair was totally white – “Graciana” told Amanda, “This is my grandmother.”

“Hola abuelita, me da gusto verte,” Graciana said, turning to the elderly woman.

“Gracias niña, te vés muy bien, ¿Ya tienes marido?”

“No abuelita, aún no.”

“¿Ya fuiste a misa a darle gracias a Dios?”

“Si, si,” Graciana replied, with a pained smile.

As the two walked away, Amanda asked gently, “What did she say?’

Justica rolled her eyes, her face safely out of sight of her relatives. “She asked if I was married, and then she asked if I paid homage to our Lord recently.”