Down Among the Dead Men

92

Marta was worried. It had been many hours since she’d last heard from Rafael, and it was unlike him not to keep in touch with her.

Here they were, so close to the great ceremony, and her brother was still out there somewhere, defying the will of El Santo-as he so often did.

Any other man would have been killed by now. But Rafael, like Marta, had the benefit of being related to El Santo by blood, so the old man was merciful toward him. In fact, he often seemed amused by Rafael’s transgressions, and El Santo was not easily amused.

Despite Marta’s standing in the community, however-her status as a bruja — El Santo seemed to have little patience for her, and she was often envious of the affection Rafael received.

But then, Rafael was a second-born son and would always live with that mark upon him, so she knew that her envy was misplaced.

She also knew where her brother was. Ever since the night they’d met her precious Jennifer, he had been obsessed with the sister. Elizabeth. She was, he had once told Marta, an angel sent to him by La Santisima. The missing piece to an incomplete soul.

That she was a lying, conniving, sinful whore meant nothing to Rafael.

He often pretended to hate her now, to want her dead, but Marta knew his true feelings. Many times, when she and her brother and Jennifer made love, Marta knew he was thinking of his prize, wishing she were back home with them where she belonged.

But Beth didn’t belong here. She had gotten what she deserved, and despite Rafael’s foolish yearning for her, she belonged in that hospital, where she could rot and die, for all Marta cared.

She had not liked Beth from the moment they met. Did not trust her. And Rafael’s obsession with her was a constant source of frustration and annoyance.

So Marta knew he was still in Los Angeles, pining away for his lost love, thinking he could somehow change her. Mold her. Bring her back to him.

But Marta knew that Beth was not the type to be molded. Her time here had proven that, had it not?

And if El Santo were to find out about Rafael’s obsession, he might not be so merciful this time.

La Santa Muerte had made a deal with the ex-husband, the lawyer, to leave her alone, and El Santo did not go back on his pledges. And if Rafael again disobeyed El Santo’s command to honor that deal, Marta feared she would soon lose her only living brother.

It was bad enough that she was losing her precious Jennifer tonight.

Jennifer.

Marta knew this was supposed to be a joyous occasion. She knew that the sacrifice Jennifer was about to make on this holiest of nights was a high honor that would deliver her into the waiting arms of La Santisima and God. But that did not keep Marta from dreading the moment. From wishing that someone else had been chosen.

Jennifer and the baby were down in the preparation room now-down near the Great Chamber-their bodies being rubbed with holy oils. But Marta had decided to stay up here in their room for a while. Had thought about missing the ceremony altogether.

She knew, however, that Jennifer would need her in her final moments, would want to hold Marta’s hand until El Santo lowered the torch.

So Marta would be there, dressed in her finest robe, looking on stoically as her one true love was given to God in a burst of flames.