Nomad's Baby

All Saints Part 3

Whisper and Sera followed the kids from the beach back into Tijuana.

Whisper parked his bike between two houses and they both dismounted and made their way out toward the street.

The street was full of people but no tourists.

The sight was like a parade, a mob of people were all moving down the street in a slow steady stream. It was the people of Tijuana, no tourists.

The chanting was almost overwhelming as she was absorbed into the crowd with Whisper. Around them people walked with flowers and alcohol and grim reaper statues.

"What is this?" she asked.

"First day of the month. They're worshiping Santa Muerte."

Saint Death.

Some held their hands to the sky, pained expressions on their faces as they cried out. Sera didn't have to understand the language, hurt and grief were universal.

"Your priest is here?" she questioned, shifting her thoughts.

"Yes."

"You want to let me in on what's going on?"

At the beach once the kids realized he knew who they were speaking about they began talking to him in rapid Spanish, overlapping each other so eagerly she had no prayer of deciphering anything.

Instead of explaining, her mysterious former bodyguard lead her to his bike and now they were in the middle of the latest twist in her knowing him.

"We're going to find Alonzo. He's been using these kids to make money, then not paying them."

"How was he using them?"

"Pretending to be a priest. He used the kids to tell fake stories to the locals. They hired him to perform exorcisms."

Her brows jumped. "Exorcisms?"

"Comprende." He was amused at her shock. Then leaned into her a little bit to say, "Little does he know, he conjured a demon."

There was something about his eyes that should have scared her. But instead she felt drawn to them whenever he looked at her.

It wasn't lost on her that he could have easily dropped her at the motel before coming here. Or that she could have asked.

But she didn't want to.

His heavily tattooed arm was sandwiched against hers as they moved with the procession. "So what's the plan?"

*

Whisper said they were heading toward an altar, an old white house at the very end of the street. As they got closer more details became visible of the statue on the front porch.

Santa Muerte in a white death shroud, looming over six feet, holding a long scythe whose metal curved like a witch's talon.

People a few feet in front of them dipped at her feet.

"Are we going to pray to her?"

"Why not?" he glanced at her. The thick crowd became more claustrophobic the closer they got, at some point he took her hand into his.

Awareness of the touch and where his fingertips settled against her palm forced Sera to shift her thoughts. Briefly, her mouth opened to ask if he really believed in all this, but it might have been insulting.

"Are they leaving things there? I don't have anything."

When he glanced down at her his expression was unreadable. "It's fine."