American Bruja: The Los Angeles Cauldron

Chapter 20. Ben Salvia

Monday, August 8, 2011, 1:00 a.m. Los Angeles

I hold up a hand for silence as me and my brothers watch the psychologist Betty Morton lead Amber McBride and her twerp friends west across the meadow behind the Sleepy Oak Cemetery. Their dark shapes move against the landscape in the moonlight. We hang back in the oak forest shadows, spying through our night vision goggles.

George groans. "Fernando's an ass. Why the cat-and-mouse game?"

Ken grunts. "How's about we jump that Russian and make him talk!"

I keep my eyes on the redhead. "Fernando baited that witch. If we're to find him, we need to stay on her."

When the teens and their adult chaperones reach the western-most side of the expanse, they turn north to walk up a steep hill. As they disappear into towering brush, we stash our gear in backpacks and dash across the dry, brittle prairie grass.

We reach the base of the hill and slip into a nearby stand of Laurel Sumac. As we retrieve our goggles and scan the trail, the overhanging branches rustle to send a shower of leaves into our hair. No sign of the twerps.

Martin grabs my forearm. "I know where they're headed."

I snort. "So you're a psychic, bro?"

He lands a jabbing punch in my shoulder. "There's a natural amphitheater nearby. Perfect place for their witchy shit. The fastest route is an animal track atop the hill."

Martin slips from the brush and gestures for us to follow. In silence, we climb northward to the hilltop, then cut west on a thin ribbon of trail.

My brother disappears between boulders the size of houses. In under a minute, we're navigating a stone maze. The summer heat radiates from the sandstone as sweat drips into my eyes.

Within a half-hour we clear the rocky tangle and enter a stone amphitheater half the size of a football field, surrounded by towering cliffs on three sides. Blocky sandstone boulders dot the bowl-like formation.

I push in front of Martin and climb the nearest formation, a rock the size of a semi-truck. At the eastern edge is a sheer fifty foot drop-off  into a dry streambed. My brothers follow as I drop to my belly and slither to the northern-most end.

Retrieving my night-vision goggles, I scan the grey expanse from west to east. As I reach the eastern-most edge of the amphitheater, movement catches my eye. I adjust the binoculars to focus on the four teens seated in a circle under a lone oak. The trunk splits into three large branches like fingers forming the Hawaiian hang loose symbol.

Martin grunts. "Told you."

My brow furrows as a single flame shoots skyward from the circle'scenter. Witchy shit, for sure.

George scoots next to me. I elbow his side. "Dr. Morton and Maxsim Kisilev, the Russian. Get eyes on them."

Within seconds George whispers, "Got them. They're twenty-five feet from the kids. Looks like they're standing watch."

The back of my neck tingles. Who'd want to hurt these kids?  "Martin, Ken, keep a lookout." I direct Martin to the west and Ken to the south. No one's sneaking up on us east from the creek bed unless he's Spiderman.

Martin curses. "Something just ran past! It's black and moving low to the ground."

Ay carumba! I bite back the urge to leave my post to punch Martin. "Sounds like a coyote, you moron."

As if in answer, howls erupt from the darkness at the northernmost end of the formation.

Amber's voice cuts through the coyote chorus. "What do we do now?"