“No,” he replied. “We need to find Gabriel and the Sánchezes and leave. Where would he have taken Camila?”
She didn’t even need to guess. “To her sister.”
Her eyes landed on Sophia the Juggler and her rascal of a monkey Rosco. He sat perched on her shoulder, his greedy little hands—or paws or whatever the hell devils like him had—were rubbing together as he watched the wealthy crowds.
“I have an idea.” She dragged Ignacio into a tight cove and tugged off her donkey head. He released her hips and stood, stretching the kinks out of his back.
Right as Sophia the Juggler passed by to entertain the growing throng, Esmeralda shoved the donkey head over Rosco’s hairy body. The small demon screeched in anger, but Sophia paid him no mind—she was too busy singing a tune about swindlers and their prizes. A tune Esmeralda knew well.
As the crowd filled in around Sophia and the monkey hidden beneath the donkey head, all that could be seen was Sophia and what appeared to be a donkey walking beside her.
Two ratas ran past, shouting for the onlookers to part.
Esmeralda took Ignacio’s hand and tugged him in the opposite direction. They wove through booths and tents and games.
When they made it to the healer’s boxcar, stationed beyond the third ring with the carnival staff’s bunks, they waited in the shadows until they were certain no one had followed them.
“The coast is clear,” she whispered, finally being the one to let go.
She took a step, but Ignacio caught her by the wrist.
“Before we go in there, I feel like I should tell you…It’s about Camila…she’s…”
“Spit it out, Pigeon.”
A whisper of a smile flitted over his face. “I love it when you call me that.” He shook his head and flattened the grin away. “She went to the ringmaster earlier to tell him she was leaving. He said he would offer her severance pay for her pain and suffering. He sent her to the Fun House. But there wasn’t anyone inside. Not anyone human, at least.”
“The monster in the mirror?”
He nodded. “The god. His name is Tezcán.”
Esmeralda’s brows pinched. “Where have I heard that name before?”
“Perhaps from me. I might have told it to you when we were younger because my mother told it to me first. The fable was given to her by a peddler…” He blinked. “A peddler with a curled mustache.”
“What does your mother have to do with this?”
“Tezcán said he devoured her soul. Obviously, this has to do with my father. And the ringmaster too. I think…I believe they feed the god in exchange for enchantments. And now…Camila…”
Her fingers clenched his shirt. “What has happened to her?”
“She’s…changed. Just…prepare yourself.”
Esmeralda bolted toward the boxcar. When she slid the door open, she found Gabriel holding up a crowbar like a baseball bat. He sighed heavily when he realized who it was and slumped.
“Thank the gods,” he breathed. “Or maybe not. Maybe I should be saying curse the gods instead.”
Esmeralda stepped through the threshold and Ignacio eased the doors shut in her wake. He took the crowbar from Gabriel and slipped it through the handles.
She ran to Pilar, who was sitting in a motorized chair on wheels.
“You’re awake? Are you well?” she asked, tears in her eyes.
“It isn’t me you should be worried about,” Pilar said in a husky, tired voice.
“It’s me.”
Esmeralda whirled around. An old woman sat on a small cot. She was tiny and feeble. Her tan skin lay wrinkled across her frail bones. But those eyes. Those caring, beautiful, big brown eyes.
