CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

THE EVIL LEGEND OF MOSQUITO BOY

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 15

Rain glanced out the first-floor window. A hummingbird flitted from flower to flower outside. Rain watched it for a few moments and then turned back to Isaac Naborías propped up in his hospital bed. Just looking at him made her itch. Thanks to her zemi, most of her mosquito bites had already healed. But Isaac’s skin was still covered with tiny welts. He had lost a lot of blood during the attack, but he crossed himself and whispered painfully through swollen lips and an inflamed windpipe that his prognosis was good, though his hands were wrapped to keep him from scratching.

She stepped up to the side of the bed and took his hand. The zemi’s Healer snake glowed its golden light, which sped down her arm to her hand—only to be thwarted from crossing over to him by his bandages. Rain realized she needed skin-on-skin contact. Okay, this is going to be awkward. He was already looking at her a bit strangely.

She reached out again, this time gently touching his forehead. The glow made the leap, but it seemed weaker, spreading thinly around his face before disappearing beneath his bedclothes and bandages. Weak or not, Isaac seemed to receive some relief. He straightened up in his bed and smiled for the first time since Rain had entered his hospital room.

The smile quickly vanished when Rain asked, “You know a lot about the Taíno and their stories, don’t you?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Very little.” Still, the zemi had done its job; his voice was clearer, less ragged.

“Do you know any of the old words?”

He repeated, “Very little.”

“Do you know what Cacique means? I mean, kah-see-KAY?”

Now he couldn’t help grinning. He even chuckled a bit. “Do you mean to tell me, Rain Cacique, that you don’t know the meaning of your own name?”

She shrugged and tried to look appropriately embarrassed.

“Cacique means chief,” he told her.

“Like First Chief?” she asked, stunned.

“Exactly. And do you know the Taíno word for First Shaman?”

She shook her head quickly.

“Bohique,” he said. “Like your grandfather ’Bastian. You are descended from First Chief and First Shaman. The ones we call Great Searcher of Truth and Great Healer of Ills.”

Rain’s mouth had gone dry.

Isaac said, “You are true nitaino.” He watched her eyes widen further. “Yes, that’s the name of your parents’ inn and the maiden name of your Grandma Rose, I know. But it is also the Taíno word for nobility. And you are descended from true Taíno nobility. Not like me. I’m mere naborii. A commoner. A peasant. But still, going back, we are all cousins. All family.” It warmed the lonely old man to think of Rain as his family.

Rain always knew she had Indian blood, but this was something else, something new and something very, very old as well. This was a heritage. A legacy. Better still, this was an explanation. This is why I was chosen. Why the Searcher couldn’t be Dad or Mom or even Papa ’Bastian. I’m the only one that unites the bloodlines of the Caciques and the Bohiques. The only one who could be both Searcher and Healer. Tears of gratitude welled up in her eyes, and she wiped an arm across them. Get a grip, she thought. This is great, but you’re not done. She gripped Isaac’s hand again and squeezed it tight. The old man squeezed hers back.

“Mr. Naborías,” she said, “Cousin Isaac. I need you to finish telling the story of the Hupia.”

Instantly, “Cousin Isaac” lost his grin and pulled his hand away. “I can’t remember it,” he said.

“It’s important.”

“Best to leave those stories alone.”

“No, it’s not best,” she said. “A man died. You nearly died. And that thing is still out there.”

“The constables. The scientists. Leave it to them.”

“We both know they’re not equipped.”

“And you are?”

She stared at him. Why can’t I tell him at least? He’d have to understand. But she sensed that less was more. “I have to be,” she said. “He’s got a taste for me now.”

Isaac swallowed hard. He didn’t want anything to happen to this girl. This girl who saved him. This Cacique-Bohique. His new Cousin Rain. Still, he was afraid. “Just stay away from Sycorax,” he said.

“I have a friend who lives on Sycorax. Miranda Guerrero. What if she’s next?”

“Tell her to leave.”

“Mr. Guerrero’s daughter? How would that work?”

He looked away, knowing it wouldn’t, couldn’t.

She pleaded, “At least tell me what a hupia is…”

He mumbled something.

“What?”

He glanced at her angrily and glanced away. When he spoke, his voice was still quite low but very clear. “It is the Taíno word for ghost … or for vampire.”

“And that’s what we’re up against?”

He shook his head. “No. We can’t fight it. All we can do is stay away.”

“You don’t have to go back there,” Rain said, urging him on, “but I need to know the full story. How can I protect myself—or help anyone else—without knowing the full story?”

Isaac still wouldn’t look at her. But after a few seconds he nodded curtly. Then he cleared his throat. Despite his reluctance, he easily fell back into the old rhythms, the old ways of telling …

“In the First Days, the First Murderer was discovered to be a child. First Shaman denounced the child to the entire tribe as a demon. And all but his mother agreed the sentence must be death.

“But the small boy only laughed. He said, ‘There is only one way to kill a demon. And you do not have the courage for it.’

“But First Shaman knew the method for killing demons. And First Chief had the courage. Together, they dragged First Murderer to the First Fire, eternally burning in its great pit. Again, the boy laughed, saying, ‘You have not the courage…’

“And so First Chief and First Shaman consigned the child to the pit, to the fire, to a true demon’s death. But First Murderer had fooled them both. For although the flames consumed him, his ashes rose into the air and became the First Mosquitoes.

“And the plague of death continued worse than before.”

Isaac looked up at Rain, as if to say, Do you see now? Do you see the Hupia cannot be stopped?

Rain frowned, answering his unspoken questions. “But somehow the Taíno must have found a way.”

Naborías’ head wobbled back and forth, up and down, not quite nodding yes and not quite shaking no. “But the stories don’t say how. And there are other whispers too.”

“What whispers?”

“It is said that in 1566, the Spanish conquistadors released the demon again. And it all but destroyed them.”

Another voice spoke from the doorway. “It wasn’t your demon that devastated the Spanish. It was malaria.”

Rain and Isaac turned. Dr. Strauss stood in the doorway. He looked cranky. He hadn’t meant to be caught eavesdropping, but he couldn’t stop himself from asserting science over Cousin Isaac’s myths. Now, as he entered and made a show of checking Naborías’ chart, he wasn’t sure if it was the old man’s superstition or his own inability to let it slide that was making him cross. He decided it was the latter and surrendered to it. “There was a malaria epidemic in 1566 that devastated the Spanish community on the Ghosts. That’s how the French were able to come in and rout them in 1567.”

“But what if it wasn’t malaria?” the girl asked.

Strauss grimaced. This is why superstition is so dangerous. It’s more contagious than any disease. And the old pass it on to the young. “The symptoms of malaria include fever and headache, shivering, vomiting and joint pain. And, yes, some people blamed vampires. But staking a scapegoat isn’t going to provide a cure.”

Maybe it was that German accent, but Rain didn’t like the condescension she perceived in Dr. Strauss’s voice. She pointed at Cousin Isaac. “Does he have malaria?”

Josef Strauss looked up from the chart and found himself taken aback by the intensity of the young girl’s stare. Her almond eyes pinned him in place and forced him to croak out “No.”

Rain and Isaac exchanged vindicated glances and firm nods. Strauss could believe what he chose. They knew.

Rain absently scratched at her arm.