A shrill voice shouted in angry Spanish from across the room. Kayla looked up as the baby's mother hurried towards her. Roberta intercepted her, talking quickly in Spanish, with occasional glances and gestures at Kayla and the baby.
"What is she saying?" Kayla asked.
"She doesn't know who you are, so she doesn't want you holding the baby. I'm telling her that you're a bruja, and that you healed Jose's gunshot wound. She doesn't believe me."
More of the women joined into the argument, voices clamoring loudly in Spanish. Kayla shrank back in her chair, holding the baby close against her, as the argument became more and more heated. Roberta was able to yell louder than any of them, Kayla noticed.
As the argument continued, Kayla decided to play with the baby and pretend to ignore it all. Juanita had a good grip, she discovered, as the baby clutched at her fingers. Though she was best at drooling . . . probably because she doesn't have any teeth yet, Kayla thought.
"I'll take the baby now," Roberta said, and Kayla realized that all the arguing had stopped, and that everyone was looking at her now, some with curiosity, others with distrust.
"Okay," she said, lifting the baby into Roberta's arms. "She's a great kid."
"She's my cousin," Roberta said fondly, rubbing her finger against the baby's cheek. "You need to do some magic now," she added.
"What?"
"I said that you'd show them some magic, show them how you healed Jose, so they'd see that I wasn't lying. You have to do magic now."
"Roberta, I don't know if I can—"
"Just try, okay?"
It was getting easier, she realized, as she called the fire to her hands. There was no dizziness or headaches, only the sheer joy of it, feeling the tendrils of power weave around her fingertips. The blue light was very bright in the small living room. She let it die away a couple of seconds later.
There was a stunned silence in the room, then all of the women began talking at once. One of them, a quiet girl with long dark hair, hesitantly touched Kayla's hands, as if expecting them to burn her. Another woman placed her hand on Kayla's chin and tilted her face upward, studying her eyes . . . for something? Kayla didn't know. Juanita's mother took her baby from Roberta and gave her back to Kayla to hold. Then she gestured for Kayla to sit next to her, in the circle of folding chairs. Kayla smiled and joined her there, listening to the musical flow of Spanish around her as Juanita did her best to eat Kayla's shirt.
One of the women addressed her directly in Spanish; Kayla smiled and shook her head. The woman called to Roberta, who sat down next to them. "She wants to know if you can help her husband, the way you helped Jose," Roberta translated for Kayla.
"What's wrong with her husband?" Kayla asked.
"Cancer. He came home from the hospital three days ago, after another surgery. They don't think he's going to live much longer."
"I don't know," Kayla said. "I mean, this is as new to me as all of you guys. A few days ago, I couldn't do any of this at all. Maybe I can do it, maybe I can't. I still have to learn how to do this. I just don't know."
Roberta spoke with the woman in Spanish, then in English to Kayla. "She says that any help would be good. She says that you're still young, maybe you can learn quickly."
"Maybe." The naked hope in the woman's face frightened Kayla, hurting her as much as someone's physical pain. She looked down at the baby in her arms, not knowing what to say.
The telephone rang, a shrill sound from the kitchen. Roberta rose to answer it. A few seconds later, Roberta spoke quickly in Spanish to the young man at the door, who nodded and ran out of the apartment a moment later. Roberta spoke to Kayla in English. "Quickly, put your shoes on, we must go."
"What's going on?"
"Some of the boys have been hurt. Hurry, hurry!"
Kayla gave Juanita back to her mother and ran to the bedroom, pulling on her tennis shoes and grabbing her leather jacket. Roberta ran with her down to the street, where the young homeboy was already waiting with the car, engine running. "Come on, come on!" he urged them as they piled into the car.
"Who was hurt?" Kayla asked Roberta.
"I don't know!" Roberta's hands twisted in her lap. "Carlos didn't say who, just that some of them had been hurt. I don't know, I don't know. . . ."
Chapter Seven
The car pulled up in front of a row of warehouses, in an older, industrial area of Van Nuys. The street was deserted, dimly lit by distant streetlights, the shadows hiding everything but the outline of large buildings. The driver motioned at them to stay in the car and moved carefully toward one of the warehouse doors, drawing an automatic pistol from beneath his jacket. He glanced inside, then waved to them to join him.