How could she sleep at a time like this?
I pounded on the door with Fuego’s jade handle.
Silence.
“Brooks!” Pound. Pound. Pound.
The door swung open.
Brooks stood there in a pair of cotton pajama pants and a plain yellow T-shirt. Her hair was a heap of tangled curls. “Holy K, Zane! It’s nine thirty. Why didn’t you wake me?” She skip-hopped on one leg while slipping an ankle boot on the other.
“Um…you’re putting on your boots, but you’re still in your pajamas,” I pointed out.
“No kidding, Obispo! Who has time to get dressed when we’re supposed to be…” She stopped herself and looked around. “Where’s Ren?”
I explained everything that had happened while she was snoring away.
Brooks tied her unruly hair up into a sloppy ponytail and folded her arms across her chest. “She’s at Cab’s? Good. I’m sure they’ll have loads to talk about. And we’re wasting time standing around here.”
“We have to go get her.”
Brooks frowned. “We have a quest. And in case you forgot, it’s got an expiration date.”
“Brooks, we can’t leave without…I mean, we don’t even know if she was followed, or what those monsters chasing her were…and now her grandpa is coming down.”
“Great. Then she’s not alone. Now can we get going already? I have some ideas about how to get across that stupid barrier.”
“Really?”
“Burn it down. Rosie can do the honors.”
My shoulders slumped. “Pretty sure fire isn’t going to destroy the shadow magic.”
“Then how?” Brooks’s nostrils flared. “Ooh…I know,” she said sarcastically. “Why don’t you just march into hell and ask Ixtab to let you off the island?”
“Are you coming to Ms. Cab’s or not?”
“She doesn’t trust nawals, remember?” Brooks’s eyes searched mine. “I’ll pack the backpacks. And you have exactly thirty minutes.”
Fuego and I hurried down the playa.
Sandpipers skittered across the sand, seagulls and pelicans circled in the air, palm leaves rustled in the breeze, and the sunlight created shimmering trails across the clear blue sea. A few small fishing boats lingered past the waves. Ixtab had picked a pretty stellar hiding spot for us, but as beautiful as the “black hole” was, I guess I always knew deep down I wasn’t going to hide out there forever.
I headed toward town, crossing the main road that led to Ms. Cab’s. A few dozen tourists and locals cruised the main road in their shorts, flip-flops, and straw hats. People sat at outdoor tables, where stray dogs relaxed in the shade. The smells of coffee, fresh-baked pan dulce, and tortillas hung in the air. My stomach grumbled.
Ms. Cab’s casita was neon pink with a palapa roof and surrounded by a dozen leaning palm trees that, to be honest, looked like they were made of rubber and could catapult cannon balls. A green hand-painted sign hung on the rickety wooden gate: CASA DEL ESPÍRITU. House of the spirit.
When Ms. Cab didn’t answer the door, I headed around the side to the back patio, which opened to a shadowy jungle. I stared up at the crowd of colorful birds of all sizes peering down at me from the trees like they wanted to peck out my eyes. Now that Ms. Cab’s mission to protect me was over, she’d found a new mission—to rescue hurt birds. Ever since Ixtab had turned her into a chicken for a short time, Ms. Cab could actually speak bird, which helped them trust her.
Just then, Ms. Cab stepped out of the wide doorway, where sheer drapes fluttered in the breeze. “Zane Obispo, our next guest.”
Why did Ms. Cab’s voice sound funny? It was like she’d been screaming to jams all night. And what was with that weird greeting? Our next guest?
I peered behind her. “Hey, Ms. Cab. Where’s Ren?”
“Take your place in that chair,” Ms. Cab said, pouring me a glass of iced tea (was that dirt or sand twirling in between the ice cubes?). At the center of the small circular patio table was a plate of chocolate squares. “Homemade chocolate made from fresh-roasted cacao beans. Have some,” she said, adjusting a gold cuff on her wrist.
Her face was darker than usual. She must have done some intense sun-worshipping recently.