Santa Olivia (Santa Olivia #1)

Her reflection looked back, wide-eyed and caramel-skinned, wearing a pretty blue dress patched together almost seamlessly, trimmed with white lace purloined from a curtain. A white kerchief cut from a pillowcase tamed her thick black hair.

“Santa fucking Olivia,” Pilar said with satisfaction, putting down her pins.

Loup took a deep breath. “Yep.”

“Is it too tight?” Pilar’s hands skimmed her waist, lighted, and lingered. “Remember, you’re gonna have to wear it over other clothes and strip it off quick after you clear the wall.”

Loup looked over her shoulder.

“Sorry!” Pilar’s color rose, but she didn’t pull away, not exactly. “It’s just so weird, you know? You don’t look like you oughta be able to lift that rock, baby.” One hand slid upward, palm tracing the projection of Loup’s right shoulder blade, fingers brushing the bare nape of her neck beneath the kerchief. Exploring; hungrily, half-unwittingly. “But you feel like it.”

“I know,” Loup said softly.

“Yeah.” Pilar snatched her hands back as though Loup’s skin had scorched them. “So whaddya think? Too tight?”

Loup sighed. “Can you give me another inch?”

“Sure.” Pilar busied herself with the pins.

She shouldn’t do it. Loup knew she shouldn’t do it. It was a bigger risk than they’d taken before. It was stupid and careless and everything Tommy had taught her not to do. But it was so appealing in so many ways. There was the lure of the righteous fury that had run in her veins the night they’d taken down Private Braddock—the clean, crisp deliverance of justice administered in two punches. That same anger sang on behalf of the old man, George Figueroa, whose dog had been killed.

Alive.

It was a way to feel alive.

And there was the camaraderie of the Santitos—a clan, a pack. Jaime and Jane lending their wits, Mack his leadership. Everyone pitching in, everyone doing their part. Giving people hope, giving people something to believe in. It felt good. It felt like the way things were supposed to feel.

And Pilar…

“Fuck,” Loup muttered to herself, standing at the crossroads of Fisher and Juarez, the white kerchief tied neatly over her unruly hair, a dark kerchief masking the lower half of her face. Below, a pretty blue dress, beneath which Loup was sweating through a second set of clothes. She rolled the boulder into the center of the road from where Mack and Diego had left it, hauling it in a garbage cart under cover of darkness. Across from the apartment building was an abandoned gas station. An elderly woman sold tomatoes in front of the empty pumps. She looked curiously at Loup as she set up her wares.

The jeep came, kicking up a trail of dust.

Everything else went away.

The driver saw her and the boulder and braked. The jeep didn’t have a top. The driver stood up, shading his eyes. Beneath the rim of his helmet, he had dense eyebrows. The dimple in his chin was so deep it was in shadow.

“The fuck, bitch?” he called. “Move!”

“I bear a message from Santa Olivia,” Loup called, speaking from the script Jaime and Jane had written for her. “You destroyed an old man’s last happiness. Santa Olivia bids you repent of your thoughtless cruelty!”

The driver leaned on the horn. “Move your ass, you freak-show!”

Loup hoisted the boulder, positioning it on her right shoulder. There were words written on it in white paint Mack had found in a shed.

DOG KILLER.

SANTA OLIVIA DOES NOT FORGET.

The soldiers in the jeep gaped. She summoned a surge of strength and threw it hard. There was about a yard of space separating the two men. Loup threw it between them. She didn’t wait to hear the crash, the tinkle of glass splintering in a spiderweb, the soldiers’ surprised curses. She just fled.

Past the tenement, down the alley.

God, it felt good. Tommy had never let her go. Loup ran faster than she’d ever run in her life, faster than she’d run on the rooftops, faster than anyone had ever run. The walls of the tenement rushed past. Her vision narrowed, focusing. She saw the fence looming before her, saw the dangling rope. Leaped without slowing, catching the rope halfway up the fence. She swung her body outward and her feet found purchase on the vertical surface. Loup scrambled up and over, pausing at the top to unhook the rope.

She dropped and ran, coiling the rope as she went.

Across the street was a building that had been a place where people took their cars to get their brakes and mufflers fixed. It was empty, long since stripped of anything useful. The garage bay door was dented and battered, the front door to the office unlocked, glass panes shattered. Loup ducked quickly through the latter, then made her way into the garage.

There was the woven plastic shopping satchel Jaime had left for her, half full of worn kids’ clothes too small for even Dondi, stolen from the church’s stores. Loup upturned the bag, dumping out the clothing onto a cement floor dark with ancient grease stains. She stuffed the coiled rope into the bottom of the bag, then yanked off the dark kerchief knotted around her face, stripped off the blue dress, and unpinned the white kerchief atop her hair, cramming them atop the rope. She piled the kids’ clothing back into the bag.

Done.

Her pulse slowed, steady and calm. She slipped out the back door and walked casually down Flores Street toward the town’s other long-defunct bank, the National Bank of Commerce, where the swap market was held. Behind her, a commotion was beginning to spread.

“Loup!” On the outskirts of the bank’s parking lot, Maria was waiting for her with an identical plastic satchel over one arm and Dondi beside her. She looked pale and terrified, but she did her best to play the role. They’d been chosen as the most innocuous, least threatening members of the Santitos. “What’s going on back there?”

Loup shook her head. “No idea.” She could hear soldiers shouting and the sound of racing feet coming around the corner. It quickened her blood again, but when she smiled, it came from a calm, happy place inside. “Come on,” she said to Dondi. “Let’s see if we can’t find you some new clothes.”

He grinned back at her. “Thanks, sis.”

The parking lot was already half full, the regular traders spreading their wares on blankets and sitting beside them on plastic chairs. All the good spots under the shelter of the drive-through lanes were already taken. A dozen of the irregular shoppers, mostly women with children in tow, were picking over goods and haggling, hoping to make a good trade. By the time the soldiers arrived, Loup and the others had already blended into the mix.

The soldiers worked their way through the market, questioning people. More soldiers arrived, spreading out block by block. A buzz of excitement and rumor arose.

“Hey!” The dimpled soldier blocked their way. “We’re looking for a girl in a blue dress. Seen one?”

“No, sir.” Loup risked a quick glance at his face, reckoning he’d seen no more of her than her eyes. “No dresses. We’re hoping to trade boys’ clothes for my brother.” She opened the bag. “See?”

He gave a cursory glance. “You?” he asked Maria and Dondi.

“No, sir!” Maria squeaked nervously.

It made him suspicious enough to rummage in her bag. “All right.” He jerked his cleft chin. “Move along; go home. Market’s gonna be closed today.” He gave Dondi a tight smile. “Sorry, kid.”

“What did she do?” Dondi asked with wide-eyed innocence. “The girl in the blue dress?”

The soldier’s eyes narrowed. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

Two more patrols stopped them on the way home, but they were questioning everyone. Both times, they let them go. Maria looked ready to faint. Once they were inside the church gate, her knees gave way. “I can’t do this again,” she whispered. “Don’t ask me again, please.”

“Okay.” Loup caught her by the elbows. “You were great. You did great.”

“Crybaby!” Dondi scoffed. “Did not. You almost gave us away.”

“Shut up!” There were tears in Maria’s voice.

An armored car rumbled down the street, bristling with soldiers. Loup glanced over her shoulder. Risk. Tommy’s voice echoed in her head, telling her to be careful. “Um… maybe we’d better go inside.”

The Santitos were waiting in a fever of expectation. They fell on Loup, Dondi, and Maria, hustling them down to the rec room.

“Well?” Mack demanded. “Did it work?”

“Yeah.” Loup overturned her bag. “It worked.” She picked out the coiled rope, the blue dress, and kerchiefs. “But Jane was right. The army’s fucking swarming. I think we better hide this shit.” She glanced around the room at the grimy petitions scattered about. “And those. Those oughta go back in Santa Olivia’s basket. Except for the one.”

“Aw, c’mon!” C.C. bounced on his toes, eyes bright. “What are you scared of? You did it! We’re celebrating! Tell us about it!”

Loup gazed at him.

C.C. stopped bouncing.

“Loup’s right,” Mack said. “I’ll put the rope back in the cemetery toolshed where I found it. T.Y.” He gestured. “Pick up this shit and put it back in Santa Olivia’s basket.” He met Loup’s eyes. “Okay if we burn the dress?”

Loup looked at Pilar.

Pilar shrugged. “I can always make another.”

“No traces.” Jaime sat on the butt-sprung couch, clenching his fists in his hair. “Mack’s right. Loup’s right. Let’s get rid of the evidence, Santitos. This was an insanely stupid thing we did. I don’t know what the hell any of us were thinking.” His head came up, glasses reflecting the light. “It actually worked?”

“Yeah.” Loup smiled slowly. “It did.”

TWENTY-THREE

Outpost was ablaze with rumor.

It ran rampant on the streets. It worked its way through the military echelons. Colonel Stillwell came back to speak to Father Ramon. His men searched the church. They found nothing, but they confiscated all the petitions in Santa Olivia’s basket.