Cracks in the Shell

Chapter 12

This night it was Henry who couldn’t sleep. He rolled onto his stomach just as a shadow passed unnoticed in the rafters overhead. Staring into the charcoal symbols covering the floor, he felt a growing tide of worry rise in his chest. Where the hell am I? He’d never paid Mambo’s superstitions much heed. She was stuck in her ways, and no amount of lecturing on his part was going to change that. But now he was immersed in her world, and that terrified him more than anything. If this isn’t a test of faith, what is it? 

Only one thing kept him calm: the glimpses of Christianity he saw everywhere. Bits of familiarity, he could hold onto these puzzle pieces and find comfort there. Instead of spirits…they are just patron saints. And the floor patterns - religious icons. That he could understand. He began tracing one of the designs with his finger, when a thought occurred to him. 

“Carlos, you asleep?” he asked. 

“I was.”  

“I just realized something about this icon here…” 

Carlos groaned. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“It’s the same as the medallion Mambo gave you.”

“We’ll ask Jell about it in the morning,” Carlos groaned. “I saw roosters out there. Let’s get some sleep while we can —”

A pair of dirty boots slammed into the dust. Startled, Carlos and Henry looked up. That’s all they could do before the man reached back with his dagger. Then a metal dish slammed into his face. The force knocked loose a spray of saliva and sent him crashing hard to the floor. Carlos and Henry scrambled out of his reach. 

The assassin cursed and used his burlap vest to wipe the blood from his lip. A plate, which Ayzili had just thrown, lay rattling at his feet. She stood before him, one hand clutching a sword. This weapon was more than a match for his rusted dagger. And she knew it too. Her eyes blinked back calm and unafraid. 

But the assassin had one card left to play, for his dagger gleamed with a thin coat of poison. He gripped its hilt and spun the knife violently towards his foe. With one elegant move, Ayzili swung upwards with her blade. The assassin’s knife clattered harmlessly across the dirt. Utterly defenseless, he stared into her eyes. No pity or remorse shown in those red irises. She ran at him. Her sword sliced down fiercely. The assassin winced, but the sharp edge had come to a halt inches from his nose. Carlos had thrust his buck knife against the blade.

“We need him to talk.”

“He’ll only tell you lies.” She leaned in and pressed harder.

“For the love of God,” Henry tried to pull Ayzili back, but she shook him off. 

Carlos held firm. “I can’t let you kill him.”

Ayzili turned her head in his direction, her green eyes bloodshot and piercing. Then her expression softened, and she retracted the sword. 

“Only because it’s you.”

Carlos cast her a wary glance and then moved his knife towards the assassin’s throat. He pulled him to a standing position. “Easy,” he said. “Answer carefully and you’ll live.” The man was sweating profusely and shaking. Carlos knew it wasn’t because of him.

“Dante, have mercy,” the assassin pleaded. “Forgive me.” Ayzili ignored his strange words, her attention rapt on Carlos’s next move. 

“Why were you trying to kill us?” Carlos asked. The man’s eyes darted to Ayzili as if gauging whether or not he should respond. He exhaled nervously, his breath stinking of onions and kerosene.