The Hollow Ones(38)

Mauro headed for the timer.

Then he heard the rustling again.

In the laundry bin—more forceful this time. Like something about to rise out.

Odessa heard it. Mauro became incredibly agitated again.

Blackwood stood still, no expression.

Mauro wanted to leave, but he was unable.

The sheets moved again.

Mauro said, “You ain’t no cop.” He regarded Blackwood with a mixture of hatred and terror. To Odessa, he said, “What’d you bring on me?”

Blackwood said, “Tell us where to go next, and we can all leave.”

“Evil,” whispered Mauro, shaking his head at Blackwood. He hissed more words in Spanish, which Odessa did not understand.

Blackwood said, in a low, even voice, “A girl of two years, Mauro. Gone to her final rest. Until you disturbed her.”

Mauro shot one final look back at the bin of linens, and in a trembling voice told them everything they wanted to know.



Outside, Odessa stopped Blackwood away from the doormen at the hotel entrance.

“What was that?” she said, unable to hold her tongue any longer. “What happened in there?”

“Would you please use your mobile telephone again to summon our conveyance?” Blackwood said.

Odessa stood her ground. “Just tell me how you made that noise in the laundry bin. Is it a trick, like ventriloquism or something? Throwing your voice? You did something back there…”

Blackwood said, “Mr. Esquivel thought I did.”

“He thought the ghost corpse of a two-year-old girl was going to rise out of the dirty laundry.”

Blackwood looked at her with one eyebrow slightly raised. “Would you activate your telephone now? We must be in Newark before the hour grows too late.”





The botanica was a few blocks east of Newark Penn Station, a small storefront sandwiched between a shuttered, formerly twenty-four-hour mattress chain store and a takeout-only taqueria with a prominently displayed NO BA?O sign.

Odessa stopped Blackwood outside near a burnt-out public phone before he could walk in.

“We need a plan,” she said. “A story.”

“What do you mean?” he said.

“Walking in here,” said Odessa. “We are obviously outsiders. This is a store of Latin religious items. We look like tourists from Fort Lee. We need a story. We have to blend in—”

“No,” Blackwood said. “We don’t.”

He grasped the door handle and opened it with a total lack of concern. An old woman with a deeply weathered face and gray hair tied in a bun sat in a folding chair just inside the doorway. She looked up from the prayer she was mouthing, her large brown eyes watching them pass. Odessa smiled, but her smile was not returned.

The store was narrow, deep. Behind a counter to the left, a woman greeted them genially.

“Hello, hello! Welcome. How are you?”

She was a tall black woman, wearing an apron over a dress, which was odd, and a soft white cotton headwrap. She had a big smile, looking up from some beadwork she was doing.

“Fine, thank you,” said Odessa when Blackwood said nothing.

“Please take a look around, I can answer any questions.”

“Thank you,” said Odessa, noticing small, pearl-like piercings over each knuckle on the woman’s hands. Apparently, the woman behind the counter was used to taking money from spiritually curious tourists. Odessa had never been inside one of these botanicas, and she drifted away from Blackwood to examine the wares.

The right-side wall was lined with shelves of labeled merchandise, including spiritual candles in many colors, set in tall jars of decorated glass with long wax wicks. Plastic jars contained different spices, herbs, grains, roots, all clearly labeled. Other shelves held books, pamphlets, affirmations, stones, prayer cards. In the most fragrant corner of the shop were the spiritual and magical oils, soaps, resins, and incense.

A smaller shelf was reserved for passion oils and lucky love spells. Also: various eye-catching vagina-and penis-shaped candles. Nearer to eye level, candles and bath spells promised healing, “jinx breaking,” hex removal, application of the “evil eye,” potions for love and sexual attraction, and money drawing. Next to candles offering good luck and fortune were others designed to resolve legal problems and court issues. Red wax candles in the form of praying figures were labeled ANCESTOR OFFERINGS.

Odessa moved back near the front, fascinated. One-stop shopping for all your mystical needs. Here was a table altar of “La Madama,” apparently the spirit of female slaves, depicted as a darkly black woman posed holding a broom, wearing a headdress with an open bowl balanced on top for offerings, next to a bouquet of marigolds. This display was not for sale, but was instead a devotional station. The table surface held two silk-lined dishes containing bits of bread, mints, coins, wilted rose petals, and neatly knotted dollar bills. A hand-lettered sign admonished customers:

Leave your offering.

Get a blessing.

Do not touch anything here.



Odessa heard voices and realized Blackwood had engaged the counter woman at the rear of the store. Odessa moved toward them quickly.

Blackwood said, “We are looking for the owner of this botanica.”

The counter woman said, “I told you, the owner is not available. I can help you with anything you see here.”