Kayla sat silently in the back seat as Carlos drove the car through the city. They weren't going back to Roberta's apartment—this was a different destination, somewhere further north. Ramon, still unconscious, lay close to her on the back seat. She held his hand, glancing out at the lights of the city as they drove past.
Manuel, the guy with the wounded shoulder, was in the front seat next to Carlos. Even from a few feet away, Kayla could tell that it hurt a great deal, though the bleeding had stopped beneath the shirt he'd wadded up against the wound, under his jacket. Some tiny part of her wanted to touch him and heal that pain, but she held herself back from it. Not now, she thought. And not ever again, if I can manage that. The image of the kid dying in front of her wouldn't leave her thoughts, burned into her mind. I'm never doing anything for Carlos or his homeboys again, ever.
Except maybe Ramon. Her hand brushed his curly hair back from his forehead. She thought he looked a little better now, less pale. It was hard to tell in the dim glow from the streetlights.
Carlos parked the car in front of an old house on a quiet street. "I'll be back in a minute for Ramon," he said to Kayla. He got out and walked to the passenger side of the car, helping the other guy out of the car.
Kayla thought about taking off at a run while Carlos walked the other guy to the door of the house. Then she thought about the pistol in Carlos' belt—would he hesitate to shoot her? Maybe, maybe not.
Carlos returned a minute later to sling Ramon over his shoulder and carry him out like a sack of potatoes. Kayla followed uncertainly.
Inside the house, a heavyset middle-aged woman was crying and talking angrily in Spanish as she looked under the improvised bandage on the guy's shoulder. She wailed even louder as Carlos set Ramon down on the couch. He turned back to Kayla. "You can do your magic on him now, bruja."
"No," Kayla said, hoping her voice didn't sound as scared as she was. "I won't."
He blinked, as if he thought he hadn't heard her correctly. "What?"
"I said, I'm not going to heal him."
He nodded. "You must still be tired from everything you did earlier. That's all right, you can heal him later."
"I'm not going to heal him at all."
"You'll heal him, girl!"
"No, I won't!"
Carlos raised his hand, and Kayla was certain he was going to hit her again. "Carlos," Ramon called weakly from the couch. "Carlos, how did we get here?"
Carlos let his hand fall as he smiled at Ramon, a look of caring and concern replacing the anger on his face. "You're all right, Ramie?"
"I think so, but everything still hurts," Ramon said ruefully, and glanced at Kayla. "I remember that the bruja was doing a healing, and I thought something was wrong so I went to her, and then everything went black. I'm all right, Mama," he said to the woman fussing over him in Spanish. "Manuel's the one who was hurt, not me."
Mama? This lady is Ramon's mother?
Ramon turned to Kayla. "I heard what you said, Kayla. Will you heal my brother Manuel? Please? For me?" His face was still very pale; the whiteness made the small scar stand out on his cheek even more, contrasting with his dark eyes.
She nodded. "Sure," she said.
Manuel took off his jacket and removed the wadded shirt from the wound. The wound wasn't bad, more bloody than anything else. The bullet had scraped through the upper muscle on his shoulder; Kayla didn't know the name of it, but she traced it with her magic beneath his skin, seeing how it connected to the other muscles . . . with a start, she pulled herself back to the matter at hand. This healing was easy, compared to what she had done before. Within half a minute it was done, Manuel gingerly touching the closed wound that had been open and bleeding a moment before.
"She obeys you, but not me," Carlos observed from the side. <T>
"Thank you, querida," Ramon said. Their mother was alternately staring at Kayla and Manuel's healed shoulder, then muttered something in Spanish and left the room.
"She says you must be the Devil's daughter," Carlos said with a laugh.
Kayla considered hitting Carlos, then decided it would be more trouble than it was worth. She walked past him to the bathroom that she could see down the hallway. In the bathroom, she scrubbed the blood from her hands and tried to wash the blood marks from her shirt, without much success. Everything she owned seemed to be bloodstained now, or would be soon, the way things were going.
"We'll stay here tonight," Carlos said to her, standing in the open bathroom doorway. "Mama has set up the spare bedroom for you. You'll find everything you need."
Kayla ignored him, concentrating on scrubbing her hands. There was blood under her fingernails which wouldn't come out. She reached for a washcloth to clean them.
Carlos moved closer to her; he caught her face in his hand and forced her to look at him. "What is wrong with you, bruja? First you threaten to shoot me, now you won't talk to me. You did well tonight. You should be proud of yourself. So why are you angry at me?"
Kayla pulled away from him. "Because you let that kid die, you bastard!"
"But he was one of the T-Men," Carlos said, as if that explained everything.
"He was a human being! He had a life, family and friends! I could've saved his life! He smiled at me before he died. . . ."
Carlos shook his head angrily. "He was one of those scum that are trying to kill us all! They started this, not us! And now Jose is dead because of them!"
"But you could stop it! It doesn't have to be this way. . . ."
"Is there any chance you two could stop arguing long enough for me to get some sleep, please?" Ramon asked, leaning against the doorjamb.
"We'll talk later," Carlos said, glancing at Kayla.
"No, I want to talk now!"
"Maybe we should, Carlos," Ramon said. "I think there is a lot that needs to be said between us." He walked unsteadily back to the couch and patted a place for Kayla next to him. Kayla sat down, watching Carlos warily. Manuel, sitting near the window, took one glance at the dark looks on everyone's faces and left the room quickly.
"She's angry at me because of the black boy who died," Carlos said without preamble.
"Do you think that's the only reason I'm angry at you? Just because you kidnaped me, keep me locked up inside all the time, don't let me call anyone or go anywhere, and force me to do magic, that doesn't count for anything? Not to mention the fact that you stabbed me in Elizabet's house . . . that isn't anything to get angry about, is it?"
"I can understand that you would be angry about my cutting you that night, even though you healed yourself," Carlos said slowly. "But the rest of this . . . we need you. Don't you understand that? Tonight you proved how much we need you, you and your magic. . . ."
Kayla pounded her fist against the couch. "God, I hate this! All of you treat me like a walking first aid kit instead of a human being! And the magic—I hate it, it makes me feel sick all the time. I hate it!"
"But you saved Fernando's life," Carlos protested. "And Luis, and Manny, and the others. Surely that's worth a little pain, isn't it?"
"Next time," Kayla said, glaring at Carlos, "try calling 911. 'Cause I'm never doing anything for you, ever again!" Carlos looked like he was about to say something foul, when Ramon interjected, "We owe her, brother. How many lives did she save tonight? We owe her for that."
Carlos nodded grudgingly. "So, what do you want?" he asked Kayla.
"I want to go home," she said. Home, back to Elizabet, please, that's all I want. . . .
Carlos shook his head. "No."
Kayla felt tears starting in her eyes. "Please, I just want to go home. Can't you let me do that? Please?"
"No, absolutely not." Carlos' mouth was set in a firm line.
"Why not?" Ramon asked suddenly. "Hasn't she done enough for us already?"
<T>"But what about next time?" Carlos said, standing up. He paced the room as he spoke. "Who will die because she isn't here to help them? No, she stays. We need her, now more than ever. Four of those bastardos died tonight, don't you remember? They'll be after us, even more than before."
Ramon said something terse and short in Spanish.
Carlos' eyes widened; he answered in the same language. They argued in Spanish for another few seconds, then Carlos turned to Kayla, speaking angrily. "You've done this, you've turned my own brother against me!" He glared at Ramon. "And you! All you want is to sleep with the little bruja! Do you care nothing about our people, our barrio?" He added something else in Spanish, spitting out the words, and Ramon suddenly lunged for him, hands reaching for his throat.
Kayla jumped back as the two men fell to the floor, Carlos trying to keep Ramon from strangling him. Ramon landed one solid punch on Carlos' face before Carlos shoved him away. The younger man fell back against the couch, started to get to his feet again, and fainted.
She had started toward Ramon when Carlos' voice stopped her. "Don't touch my brother, you little puta," Carlos snarled. "Stay far away from him."
Kayla backed away toward the hallway, frightened by the look in Carlos' eyes. When he turned away to lift Ramon back onto the couch, she fled down the hallway.
She found the spare bedroom, a pair of worn pajamas and a towel set out neatly upon on the bed. Kayla flung herself down on the bed, unable to keep from crying. She heard the sound of Carlos' footsteps in the hallway, another bedroom door closing. It suddenly occurred to her that no one was watching her, no one was guarding her. She could get out of here, this might be her only chance. She should run, run fast and far . . .
She closed her eyes, desperately wanting to rest for just a moment, and then she would run, then she would . . .
"Wake up, bruja, time to go." Carlos' hand shook her out of a pleasant dream, where she was walking with Elizabet along a pier, with the seagulls banking past overhead. . . . She blinked and sat up, rubbing her eyes. Carlos was already dressed, though it was still dark outside, not really morning yet. "Mama's cooking breakfast," he added, leaving the room.
Kayla got up, wishing she could've changed out of her clothes before falling asleep, or at least taken off her shoes, and followed the smell of cooking food out to the kitchen. She tiptoed through the living room, where Ramon was still asleep on the couch, and into the kitchen where Ramon's mama was busy working at the stove.
The Hispanic woman glanced at Kayla and then filled a plate for her, gesturing at several glasses of orange juice on the counter and an open drawer of cutlery. Kayla didn't know the name of whatever it was that she was eating, but she didn't care. It tasted wonderful, made with potatoes and eggs and sausages, all mixed together with salsa on flour tortillas. She finished the plate of food quickly and realized just how hungry she'd been. Not just hungry, but starving, as if she hadn't eaten in days. Maybe she could ransack the kitchen for something else . . . ?
The woman dumped another serving onto Kayla's plate and said something quietly in Spanish. Carlos, standing and eating on the other side of the kitchen, said, "She says thank you for healing Manuel last night."
"What, I'm not the daughter of the Devil anymore?" Kayla said around a mouthful of eggs and sausage. <T>
Carlos laughed, and spoke to his mother in Spanish. The older woman gave Kayla a frowning look and another comment before turning back to the sizzling pan on the stove.
"She says what you did was a miracle, and God's work. But you still shouldn't make fun of the Devil. He could hear you."
"I wouldn't be surprised, I think he's eating breakfast right next to me," Kayla said under her breath. She shoveled more of the terrific food into her mouth, then set the empty plate in the sink and headed back to the bathroom. She wanted to wash her face, maybe brush her teeth . . .
Ramon was still asleep on the couch, curled up against the faded pillows. Like Kayla, he'd slept in his clothes, though someone had removed his shoes and set them on the floor beside the couch. Asleep, Ramon looked a little less like his brother Carlos.
She stood looking down at him for a long moment before she realized that Carlos was standing next to her. "You like him, don't you?" he asked quietly.
"He treats me like a human being, which is more than you've ever done," Kayla whispered.
"I'm . . . I'm sorry," Carlos said after an awkward pause. "I don't know how to treat you at all. I want you to be happy, I want you to want to stay with us. Make your home with us, be one of us. But I don't know how to make you feel that way. And even if you're not happy, we need you too much. You saw what those bastardos did last night; it's a war between us now. . . ."
Kayla stared down at Ramon's sleeping face, not knowing what to say.
"I know you don't understand now, but maybe someday you will." Carlos knelt next to Ramon, resting his hand on his shoulder. "Wake up, Ramie, it's time to go," he said gently.
Ramon smiled sleepily at her and Carlos, and stretched. "Buenos días," he said, yawning. Then his eyes widened. "Carlos, your face!"
"What? What's wrong with my face?" Carlos asked.
Kayla looked closely at Carlos for the first time that morning and saw the darkened bruise around his left eye where Ramon had punched him. "Oh, my," she said weakly, as Ramon started to laugh. Carlos glared at them.
Manuel emerged from the bathroom, still toweling his hair dry, and looked at them curiously. Then, a moment later, asked: "Eh, Carlos, what's wrong with your face?"
Carlos gave the three of them a sour look and stomped away to the bathroom to look at his blackened eye. He muttered under his breath in Spanish for the entire drive back to Roberta's apartment, giving Kayla, Ramon, and Manuel foul looks every few minutes as he drove through the light early morning traffic.
Shari checked the address written in her notebook and considered the house in front of her. It was old, with peeling white paint and several cars parked out front. One car was a lovely white Mercedes convertible with custom leather seats, which also had a badly crunched front fender.
That's Razz's car. This must be the place. She glanced at her Rolex watch, a human affectation, to check the time. I'm an hour early, it's not even 8 A.M. yet, but no matter. I want to be finished with this quickly and back in Las Vegas by tomorrow.
She walked up to the front door, sidestepping the broken glass on the walkway, and rang the doorbell.
A young black man opened the door and glared at her. "What you want, mama?"
"I'm here to see Razz Johnson. Escort me to him, if you would be so kind." She glimpsed a handgun tucked into the waistband of his jeans, half-hidden by his blue sweatshirt. Even at this distance, the proximity of Cold Iron made her twitch. "Hurry up, boy, he's expecting me."
Another youth appeared behind the other, looking at her curiously. "Hey, it's Nate's babe. You here to get sky-ed? Like, bringin' us some more rock an' flake?" <T>
"I have a meeting with Razz," she repeated. "Would you please escort me to him?" These fools know nothing of Courtly courtesy, or even common courtesy, she thought, irritated. Where does Nataniel find these children? At least they're good for generating income, Nataniel said that this one group sells nearly a million dollars a month of various pharmaceuticals. Not bad, for street thug amateurs.
The youth opened the door for her, and she followed him past several boys playing at a green-clothed billiards table and others lounging around on the chairs, all watching her with interest.
Yes, look at me, she thought. Can any of you see what I am, beneath the glamour of magic that hides my elfin nature? No, all you see is a beautiful human woman. Fools.
They walked down a short hallway to an improvised office. Razz was sprawled out on a couch, looking through a car magazine. He looked up as she entered the room. "Shari, right? Want some fresh rock? We got some hot shit here. Word." He gestured at the table between them, which had several pipes and filled plastic bags set out upon it.
"No, thank you." She looked at the drugs with thinly concealed distaste. Most humans were annoying enough when they were sober; intoxicated, they were usually insufferable. She hoped that Razz had enough brain cells left intact for her to conduct the necessary business.
"It's the flake your man sells to us," Razz added. "He's all right, my man, righteous. Not like some scrambling dealers, chalking their shit and acting all clocked out. So, mama, what can the Razzman do for you?"
"Nate sent me to Los Angeles on a particular errand," she said, choosing her words carefully. "I'm trying to find someone. And I think that person may be linked to what happened last night at a warehouse in Van Nuys, that involved some of your boys. Do you know what happened there?"
Razz sat up suddenly, giving her a narrowed look. "Damn straight I know what happened there, lady. Those bastard homies, they killed four of my guys. Those fucking Tyrone Street homeboys, Carlos Hernandez's gang. They all live in Van Nuys, been selling shit in our territory. We went out there to teach 'em a lesson last night."
"Your territory? Isn't your territory entirely on this side of the hills?" Shari inquired.
"Used to be. We're expanding our business, y'know? Like a corporation, doing that hostile takeover shit. These guys wouldn't take a hint, so we went out there to reason with them, like. It didn't go down too well." He gave her an odd look. "You didn't know that we were moving into other areas, mama? Nate was the man who suggested it, helped us scan the plan. He wants us to expand our turf so we can sell more rock for him. I bite his style, he's hot shit."
Oh, did he? That's something that dear Nataniel neglected to mention to me at all. I wonder why he's doing that? A little dangerous, I would think—the odds are high that these boys would get themselves killed, and then we'd have to find new buyers for our supplies. Interesting that Nataniel would consider that a worthwhile effort.
But he's right, if they succeed, it means a substantially larger profit for Nataniel. And why should we care if any of these worthless humans die in the effort? "Did any of your boys see anything unusual there last night? Anything you couldn't explain?"
"Like what, mama?" Razz asked.
She thought about trying to explain magic to this human idiot and decided against it. "I need to go talk with these homeboys. I assume your people can direct me to their base of operations?"
"Lady, we took out their base last night. That warehouse was where they cut their rock and wash the shake. I can tell you where some of them live, though. We've been doing surveillance on them, y'know? Like a real military operation."
A real military operation. What an amusing thought. "Good. Let's go, then."
"What, right now?"
"Of course." She stood, tapping her foot impatiently. "You said over the phone that you owe Nate for everything he's done for you. This is a minor favor I'm asking of you, to take me into this gang's territory."
Razz shook his head. "No way, mama. Not that I'm dissin' you, but no can do till you tell me what's going down. We wiped their asses last night—you think we're just gonna walk in there and smoke shit with them? They'll ice our asses."
Shari thought about that for a moment. Razz couldn't use the information, couldn't even figure out who the mage was, probably. "All right, then. There's someone in the gang that I need to see. Someone unusual . . . someone who has the gift of magic."
"Magic?" Razz grinned, showing two gold teeth. "You been smoking too much rock, mama. You sky-ed. No such shit as magic."
"You don't need to believe me," Shari said quietly. "But you'll take me there. You do owe Nate that much."
Razz shrugged. "Yeah, I'm loyal to The Man, but we're not going in there without some serious firepower. I'll call the bros in for this." He walked into the main room. Shari followed him, listening as he explained what they were going to do to the crowd near the pool table.
"Why are you listening to this white bitch, Razz?" one of his boys asked. "Who gives a shit what she wants us to do? She's not The Man, she's just his babe."
Shari considered the problem from a tactical viewpoint. She couldn't damage Razz's control of his group, since a change of command could endanger Nataniel's investments in this gang. Of course, an insult to her was also an insult to Nataniel, her liege lord. An interesting problem.
"I work for Nate," she said, the human nickname feeling awkward on her tongue, "who has kept you supplied in drugs, guns, and bribe money for the police for the last two years. Besides—"
She had learned about human physiology on Nataniel's orders, after he'd brought her here to this human world from the Unseelie Court. She chose the exact attack and moved quickly to strike with her foot. Yes, perfect. The idiot crumpled on the spot, falling to his knees, clutching himself and gasping in pain.
"—no one calls me a bitch." She glanced at Razz, who was staring at her in shock. She smiled to herself; if she'd really wanted to impress this leader of fools, she would have used magic to incinerate him. This way, perhaps his follower had a chance to learn from his mistake.
"I assume we won't need this idiot for this trip into the Valley," she said, pushing the semi-conscious boy out of her way with her foot. "Shall we leave, Razz?"
He nodded, ordering his followers out to their cars.
"Carlos, what happened to your eye?" Roberta asked as they walked into the apartment. Carlos gave her a sullen look and stalked past her, heading for the telephone. Kayla stifled a laugh.
"The entire barrio is talking about you now, after what happened last night," Roberta said to Kayla. "I wanted to thank you for healing Fernando."
"Fernando?"
"He's my brother," Roberta said simply. "Everyone has been bringing gifts for you," she added, a little shyly.
There was a pile of stuff on the table next to the couch. Kayla sat down to look at it: some chocolate and other candy, some cassette tapes, and a tall stack of paperback books.
Kayla picked up the book on the top of the stack, a fantasy novel with a horse on the cover, looking at it with interest. "Thanks." She plunked herself down on the couch, glancing up occasionally as Carlos, Ramon, and Roberta discussed something in Spanish, and dove into the book.
The book was great fun, a story about a girl who ran away from home with the help of a magical white horse. Kayla smiled at that, wishing there had been a magical white horse to help her get away from the foster home. No, she and Billy and Liane had taken the RTD bus. A hell of a lot less romantic, and not nearly as much fun.
She didn't realize how caught up she was in the story until the next time she looked up, when she saw that she was alone in the room. No, there was someone seated by the door, one of the homeboys she didn't know or recognize. He was sitting quietly, just watching her.
She looked out the window, hearing the sound of someone banging a hammer against something metal. There was Fernando, half-invisible under the hood of his car, pounding on something inside the engine. He must be doing fine, she thought. I guess I did a better job on fixing his busted chest than I thought.
Roberta was talking with Fernando as he worked, carrying baby Juanita on her hip. Ramon was a few feet away, playing catch with some of the younger kids.
"Can I go downstairs?" she asked the man.
He said something in Spanish, smiling at her.
"Uh . . . go downstairs?" She pointed out the open window. "Can I?" She looked down again and thought her heart was going to stop: she saw the white Mercedes with the trashed front fender, followed closely by several other cars, gliding down the street toward the apartment building.
"RAMON!" she yelled at the top of her voice. He looked up, then turned in the direction she was pointing. A moment later he shouted something in Spanish and everyone, even the young children, all scattered for cover.
"Come on!" She ran for the door, not caring whether the homeboy understood or followed. Kayla vaulted down the three flights of stairs, hearing the clatter of her guard's footsteps behind her. She was out of the apartment building a moment later, looking around the street to get her bearings.
The Mercedes and the rest of the convoy had parked across the street, and a woman was getting out of the back seat of the white Mercedes. Kayla blinked once, uncertain what she was seeing, then stared.
This woman was beautiful, dressed like a model from a magazine, dark-haired and with vivid blue eyes. No . . . inhumanly beautiful, that's what she was—no real person could look like that. And she was bright with magic, Kayla realized, brighter than anyone she'd ever seen, practically glowing around the edges with power. She couldn't be a real person, not and look like that. . . .
But no real person had ears like this lady. Pointed ears, right out of Star Trek or one of her nightmares. . . .
And no real person had eyes like hers, either, blue as gemstones and slitted like a cat's.
The woman saw Kayla staring at her, and smiled.
:Do you see me for what I am, girl?: The cool feminine voice said within Kayla's mind. :That's very good, because I can see you, as well. . . . :