they see you praying to one of the other ones, the ones that they control, they’ll come by and try to collect one of their tithes.”
“Tithe of what?”
“Whatever you’ve got on you. And if you fight them, they’ll take you away and you’re never seen again.”
“Oh.” I’d been a fool to think I could succeed where the Shadows had not. The Santa Muerte legend was just an excuse to shake people down.
He side-eyed me. “You’re disappointed?”
“I sort of assumed she’d be a person.”
Olympio laughed. “She’s better than a person—she’s a saint. She can see everything. She protects us. Life is hard down here. She understands that.” He went up and put his hand on her dress. I could tell from the other stains on the paint that numerous other people had done that too.
“So—” I looked at all her imagery. “She’s death?”
“She protects people who know they’re going to die. Which is pretty much all of us. It happens faster down here than it does wherever you live. Faster to us than all the rich people on TV.” He pointed at a particular scrawl. “That’s my name. From the last time I prayed here. Not to be healed, of course. My grandfather can heal anything,” he explained with pride. “But she can grant wishes, when she wants to.”
“Huh,” I grunted noncommittally.
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at me. “Why’re you looking for her, if you don’t know who she is?”
“The old lady in the waiting room yesterday morning prayed to her when she saw the guns. I was just wondering,” I said, and he made a face like he was disappointed in me. “She is beautiful, though,” I added, because as artwork, she was.
He nodded in agreement, and I could tell I was slightly redeemed. “Well, now you know who she is. We should get back now. We’re still at the edge of safe territory.”
* * *
Olympio took us back down another street while I tried to think. I wondered what Reina de la Noche meant. I reached back in my mind for comparable Latin words. Reign, nocturnal—ruler of the night? An apt name for Santa Muerte, I guessed.
“How’s your grandfather heal people?”
Olympio squinted at me. “Trade secrets.”
“What—really?”
“Yeah. You don’t have the don. You couldn’t even do it if you tried.”
“So why not explain it to me?”
He sighed exaggeratedly. “It would take up too much time.”
“Can you do what he does—what he claims to do?” I corrected myself.
“Some of it.” He picked up a rock in our path and chucked it across the street. “But I’ll be the best in the world, eventually.”
I looked around at our surroundings, all cement and hot sun. This was an unlikely place for anything to grow, much less a peerless folk healer. Olympio must have guessed what I was thinking. He puffed out his chest like a pigeon and glowered at me.
We were back at the clinic shortly. “So how far could we walk in this direction?” I asked, trying to rescue myself in his eyes.
He resumed his station outside the clinic door, like a dark cloud against its wall. It must be no fun working all day during the summer, all summer long.
“Only place you should be walking is back and forth from the train.” He’d changed from a sensitive kid who liked attention to a proto-adult carrying world-weary exhaustion and heavy pride. I remembered being his age, sitting on the fence of puberty, not sure which way to jump, torn between desperately wanting people to like me and being angry all the time.
“Hey, don’t shut me out like that,” I complained.
“Why not? I hardly know you.”
He had a point. I didn’t know him either. But I knew his type. I shrugged one shoulder. “I just get the feeling, if we were someplace else we might be friends.”
His eyes narrowed at me, the shy kid still coming through. “Yeah, well, I don’t know how to get to that place from here.”
Catrina leaned out of the clinic, interrupting us, and waved at him.
“Tithe of what?”
“Whatever you’ve got on you. And if you fight them, they’ll take you away and you’re never seen again.”
“Oh.” I’d been a fool to think I could succeed where the Shadows had not. The Santa Muerte legend was just an excuse to shake people down.
He side-eyed me. “You’re disappointed?”
“I sort of assumed she’d be a person.”
Olympio laughed. “She’s better than a person—she’s a saint. She can see everything. She protects us. Life is hard down here. She understands that.” He went up and put his hand on her dress. I could tell from the other stains on the paint that numerous other people had done that too.
“So—” I looked at all her imagery. “She’s death?”
“She protects people who know they’re going to die. Which is pretty much all of us. It happens faster down here than it does wherever you live. Faster to us than all the rich people on TV.” He pointed at a particular scrawl. “That’s my name. From the last time I prayed here. Not to be healed, of course. My grandfather can heal anything,” he explained with pride. “But she can grant wishes, when she wants to.”
“Huh,” I grunted noncommittally.
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at me. “Why’re you looking for her, if you don’t know who she is?”
“The old lady in the waiting room yesterday morning prayed to her when she saw the guns. I was just wondering,” I said, and he made a face like he was disappointed in me. “She is beautiful, though,” I added, because as artwork, she was.
He nodded in agreement, and I could tell I was slightly redeemed. “Well, now you know who she is. We should get back now. We’re still at the edge of safe territory.”
* * *
Olympio took us back down another street while I tried to think. I wondered what Reina de la Noche meant. I reached back in my mind for comparable Latin words. Reign, nocturnal—ruler of the night? An apt name for Santa Muerte, I guessed.
“How’s your grandfather heal people?”
Olympio squinted at me. “Trade secrets.”
“What—really?”
“Yeah. You don’t have the don. You couldn’t even do it if you tried.”
“So why not explain it to me?”
He sighed exaggeratedly. “It would take up too much time.”
“Can you do what he does—what he claims to do?” I corrected myself.
“Some of it.” He picked up a rock in our path and chucked it across the street. “But I’ll be the best in the world, eventually.”
I looked around at our surroundings, all cement and hot sun. This was an unlikely place for anything to grow, much less a peerless folk healer. Olympio must have guessed what I was thinking. He puffed out his chest like a pigeon and glowered at me.
We were back at the clinic shortly. “So how far could we walk in this direction?” I asked, trying to rescue myself in his eyes.
He resumed his station outside the clinic door, like a dark cloud against its wall. It must be no fun working all day during the summer, all summer long.
“Only place you should be walking is back and forth from the train.” He’d changed from a sensitive kid who liked attention to a proto-adult carrying world-weary exhaustion and heavy pride. I remembered being his age, sitting on the fence of puberty, not sure which way to jump, torn between desperately wanting people to like me and being angry all the time.
“Hey, don’t shut me out like that,” I complained.
“Why not? I hardly know you.”
He had a point. I didn’t know him either. But I knew his type. I shrugged one shoulder. “I just get the feeling, if we were someplace else we might be friends.”
His eyes narrowed at me, the shy kid still coming through. “Yeah, well, I don’t know how to get to that place from here.”
Catrina leaned out of the clinic, interrupting us, and waved at him.
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