"Are you hungry?" a voice asked from beside her.
She turned to see the young man, the driver who had brought her to this awful place. She looked down at her sneakers and nodded.
"I'll get you some dinner." He elbowed his way past a couple of the others and quickly filled a plate with a large burrito and several tamales. Some of the people were looking at her strangely; the young man said something fast in Spanish. Kayla caught the word "brooha" mixed in with other words too fast and foreign to understand.
"Here." He handed the plate to her. "Do you want a soda? Maybe a beer?" He tilted his head to look at her, and a grin flashed across his face, like a burst of sunlight from behind a cloud. "You can talk, can't you?"
"I can talk," she said, not looking up at him.
"How old are you, querida?"
"Fifteen," she said, surprised by the question.
"I'm seventeen," he said. "I didn't think Carlos' bruja would be so young."
"What—what's a brooha?" she asked.
He smiled. "A witch, a magician. Someone who can do what you did tonight." He shook his head, as though he still couldn't believe what he'd seen. "I never dreamed that could be possible, until I saw the magic in your hands. Carlos was right, we need you here." He gestured at her with the glass in his hand. "So, what do you want to drink?"
"Soda's fine, thanks," Kayla whispered, glancing at the door. Everyone seemed to be ignoring her except this kid and the guy at the door; maybe she could take a seat by the door and just slip out when the door guard was getting his dinner or something. It would take her a while to steal some money for bus fare, but eventually she'd be back at Elizabet's. . . .
"Who's this, Ramon, your new girlfriend?" a short boy with greased black hair asked.
To Kayla's surprise, the young man blushed. "No, Carlos found her—she's the bruja he was talking about. Her name is . . ." He stopped and looked at her, smiling a little. "I'm afraid I don't know your name, querida."
"Kayla," she said. "Kayla Smith."
"Ah. A pretty name, Kayla. I'm Ramon Hernandez. That's Carlos over there, my brother. Roberta's his girlfriend, she and her sister Luisa live here, and two of their cousins . . ." He continued on a mind-numbing list of names, rattling off information about everyone in the apartment. She bit into one of the tamales and pretended to listen, keeping an eye on the front door. Maybe later she'd have a chance. . . .
The tamale was hot, spicy, and very oily. Kayla took one bite and decided she wasn't that hungry after all and set the plate down on the closest table. The young man watched her with an odd expression in his eyes. He seemed about to say something, then turned away to talk in rapid-fire Spanish with one of the other men.
"Roberta, please, I don't want to argue this anymore. . . ."
Don't those two ever stop? Kayla wondered, as Carlos and Roberta's argument increased in volume to the point where she could hear it over the other conversation in the room. The two of them were walking toward her. Kayla looked around quickly for a place to hide.
"Just let her stay here a few days, and I promise I'll do anything you want, buy you some new clothes, jewelry, whatever." They stopped in front of Kayla, who felt all the eyes in the room moving to her.
Roberta gave Kayla a long, hate-filled look, then suddenly smiled. Kayla decided instantly that she didn't like that smile at all.
"I want her earrings," Roberta said.
Kayla stared at her in shock. She had to be kidding—the earrings were hers, Elizabet had bought them for her just a few hours ago. It wasn't like they were expensive, or even unusual. And they were hers. "'Berta, you have lots of jewelry; I buy you more all the time. . . ." Carlos said.
"I want her earrings, Carlos," the woman insisted.
Carlos glanced at Kayla. "Take off your earrings, girl," he said.
Anger overrode the terror that had haunted her since these people had forced their way into Elizabet's house, stabbed her, and then carried her off like a piece of meat. "Like hell, you bastard!"
The man's hand clamped down painfully on her arm. "Take off the earrings. Now."
Kayla started to protest and then saw the look in his eyes. It reminded her of the look he'd had at Elizabet's house, the same tiny smile that had been on his face . . . just before he tried to kill her. It was a smile that said that he was enjoying this, and whatever was going to happen next.
Her hands shaking, Kayla removed the silver earrings. She held them in her hand for a moment, then tossed them onto the floor. They rattled on the worn linoleum. "Here, take 'em, they're yours," she said tightly.