She nodded, just so he’d know she’d heard, and let the door shut him out behind her.
* * *
Naya’s Subaru Outback wagon looked like a soccer mom’s ride. In Naya’s line of work she needed a practical vehicle, and the Outback carried a lot of shit. She slid in behind the wheel and let her head loll back against the headrest. Fatigue tugged at her eyelids, but she didn’t dare close her eyes. Every time she did, she relived the bloody moment when she’d stabbed the dagger into the woman’s chest, piercing her heart. It didn’t matter that she’d been more monster than human at that point. It never got easier, no matter how many times Naya had to remind herself that she was serving the greater good.
Her breath came in quick little pants as Naya gripped the wheel. Stars sparkled at the periphery of her vision and her heart beat a violent rhythm in her chest. Anxiety coursed through her; she fought against the sensation of suffocation—of helpless imprisonment—that threatened to lay her low. Thanks to the Subie’s soundproof interior, no one heard the release of pent-up emotion and magical energy that burst from her lips in a scream. She hadn’t even known the woman’s name. But Naya had done what she’d had to do. Magic—malicious magic—corrupted those not born to control it. Magic in the wrong hands created monsters, and Naya’s very existence demanded that she be responsible for damage control.
That woman had come by her power through unnatural means, whereas Naya had come by hers through birthright. Bruja. Shaman. Witch. Sorceress. Whatever her title, it was half a dozen of one or six of the other. The indigenous tribes of South America took their spirituality and magic very seriously, and her ancestors had crawled right out of the goddamned rain forest.
Naya’s tribe, the Bororo, had taken on the responsibility of policing the magic in this world centuries ago. More specifically, they policed those who stole and misused magic in this world. If you didn’t come by your gifts naturally, it was considered a crime against the natural order. A perversion. A break in the sacred circle. And once possessed by magic, those unworthy of wielding it became nothing more than mindless monsters hell-bent on death and destruction. Demons. The vile mapinguari of legend. Naya was an enforcer. Her job was to find the creature and play judge, jury, and executioner. It’s not a job she would’ve wished on her worst enemy. The tribe paid her expenses, but aside from that, she didn’t get many benefits. No insurance, retirement, 401(k). As for unemployment … The only way to get let go from her job was to be paired off in an arranged mating or die in the line of service. Personally, she’d rather die, and a bruja wasn’t exactly easy to kill.
The woman’s death tonight had been an unfortunate necessity. She’d already been too far gone to save and the magic she’d stolen had to be retrieved. She’d been human before she’d come by the magic, but once it had merged with her essence she had become something dangerous. Other. A rabid beast that had to be put down. Naya suppressed a shudder as she recalled the empty expression on the woman’s distorted face, her irises nothing more than solid white orbs in her skull, and the snarl that tore from her lips before Naya drove the dagger into her chest. The woman was no innocent. Only through vile acts of darkness could true magic be stolen. And no matter how many times Naya had done this, she still could not reconcile her soul to the violent lengths people would go to possess true, terrifying power.
With a quick turn of the key the Subie purred into life and she pulled out onto the rain-drenched street. The entire city block was actually a small village and no one was the wiser. Her tribe’s entire culture centered on the village circle. Time flowed in its circumference: the past, present, and future. And right now she wanted the hell out of it.
Panic pounded in her chest as Naya sped through a yellow light. She was always twitchy as shit after a repo, but tonight she felt like crawling out of her skin. A metallic tang burned her mouth, scorched with the evidence of what she’d done to that woman. That creature. Naya had had no choice but to kill the demon, she reminded herself, and what she’d done was no different from any repossession she’d performed in the last eight or so decades. So why did it suddenly feel so shameful?
The familiar tune of “Black Magic Woman” played from the cell phone mounted on her dash. His was one of only a few special ringtones programmed into her contacts. But only because she needed a good thirty seconds warning before she answered any of his calls.
“Where have you been lately, Naya?” Paul’s voice scolded, despite his calm, level tone. He hadn’t gone by “Paulo” for many years. Naya guessed he thought the Americanization of his name helped him blend in. She didn’t have the stones to tell him he wasn’t fooling anyone. “For weeks no one has seen you, and Joaquin says you haven’t been at your apartment. You know you’re supposed to stay close to the circle when you’re not patrolling.”