The Smoking Mirror

Garza Twins: Book One

The Smoking Mirror

by David Bowles

This is a work of fiction. The events and characters portrayed herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places, events or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author do not necessarily represent the opinions of the publisher.

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Acknowledgments

The Smoking Mirror
has its roots in the culture I grew up in along the South Texas-Mexico border. The places described are real, though I’ve used them in a fictional way. Many of the supernatural creatures in these pages first appeared in the stories I heard at the knee of my grandmother, Marie Garza, or from other relatives and friends through the years.

I owe my familiarity with Monterrey and Saltillo to my wife’s family, whose willingness to love and guide me in tough moments of my life has left me forever in their debt. Also instrumental in this book’s genesis have been the hundreds of students that passed through my care in my fourteen years as a teacher. I learned as much from them as they from me.

Certainly, The Smoking Mirror would not exist were it not for my wife and children, who are eternally supportive of my writing and put up with my weird hours and impromptu readings of key scenes. The same should be said for the writing community of Texas and the Southwest, especially Guadalupe García McCall, Xavier Garza, René Saldaña, Jr., Malín Alegría and Jason Henderson. Their coaching and friendship made this project easier.

Finally, in crafting my fictional version of the Mesoamerican Underworld, I have drawn from several primary source documents, like the Florentine Codex and the Popul Vuh. The reader should note that I blended elements of both Aztec and Mayan mythology together, and any major differences from the actual beliefs of the indigenous peoples of Mexico arise from my own creative choices.

For readers unfamiliar with Spanish, a glossary is included at the back of the book.

To Angelo and Charlene, the best friends a dad could ever want.

Chapter One

Carol was awakened by the prickle of the morning sun on the back of her neck and a persistent itch against her left cheek. Opening her eyes with a groggy yawn, she was startled to see grass spreading all around. She lifted her head and realized she was lying in her backyard. Her arms were stretched out before her, and there between her hands sprawled a dead rabbit.

“What the…?” Carol muttered, pulling her hands away with a start and sitting up. She noticed that her nightgown was ripped in several places. Scrambling to her feet, Carol ignored her confusion and rushed to the house. She slipped through the back door, down the hall, and into her bedroom. Her mind whirling with possibilities, she changed into her school uniform, hiding the torn gown beneath her mattress.

In the bathroom, she checked her face in the mirror for any signs of panic or fear. There were none. The last six months had taught her to hide those emotions well. Her dark eyes peered coolly from her reflection as she smoothed her hair.
Nothing wrong with me, nope.
She smirked at herself.

Crossing the hallway to her twin brother’s room, she flipped on the light and announced, “Time to get up, Johnny.”

A sleepy voice murmured from beneath a pillow, “Is Dad up?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t checked. But it’s 7:15, and you need to hurry up.”

“Alright, I’m going.”

Her twin untangled himself from the sheets, which were twisted and untucked after a typical night of tossing and turning. With the awkwardness common to all twelve-year-old boys, he bumped and lurched his way to the bathroom.

Her stomach knotting for a moment, Carol walked through the kitchen to her dad’s study. As she had predicted, he was curled up like a child on the sofa that faced his desk. His multiple diplomas and awards hung on the wall, crooked and forgotten. On the floor beside him was a nearly empty bottle of liquor.

I’m not going to cry. Not going to
. She laid a tentative palm against his shoulder. “Pops? You going to work today?”

“Hmm? No, no.” He squinted at her, his hazel eyes bloodshot and sunken. “Go on to school, Carolina. I’m fine. There’s money on the desk.”

Wanting to hug him and tell him she knew he wasn’t fine, that she wasn’t fine either, that her heart and Johnny’s heart were just as broken as his, Carol instead swallowed hard, grabbed five dollars from the desk, and quietly shut the door.

~~~

She and Johnny walked the half-mile to Veterans Middle School in silence, till he looked at her oddly. “Did you dye your hair or something?”

“No, Moron, I didn’t. Why?”

“I don’t know. You look, you know, different.”

“You’re hallucinating. I look the same as ever. Get over it.”

Her brother glared at her in irritation. “Yeah, well, whatever.” They’d reached the parking lot, and Johnny hurried ahead, melting into the wave of students getting off a bus.

Why can’t we talk anymore? We’re always angry and rude now. Why can’t we just move on?
But Carol knew that families didn’t just move on from loss with such ease. Ms. González, her counselor, had talked about the grieving process often enough that Carol had memorized all the catch phrases: it’s best not to hide the pain; you need to talk to someone about your loss; it takes time to reinvest yourself in life…

Yet the problem wasn’t the loss itself. What was tearing her family apart
was not knowing what had happened
. There was no
closure
, like Ms. González said there needed to be.
How can I grieve when I don’t know her fate?

Six months ago, Carol and Johnny’s mother had disappeared. And no one knew how, why, or whether she was even alive.

The tragedy was made even worse by the fact that their father was coming apart at the seams, believing that he had done something to make her want to leave. Johnny was certain she was dead. And Carol…

She isn’t dead. She didn’t run off. Someone
took
her. I don’t know how I know it, but I do. Someone took her and they’re hurting her and there’s nothing I can do to stop it
.

On top of everything, Carol was certain she was going crazy. Waking up with a dead rabbit in her hands was clear evidence of her imbalance. Popping into the library, she logged on to a terminal and searched for
sleepwalking
. A quick review of the results showed that it could be caused by stress, both physical and psychological. There was without doubt a high level of stress in her life: losing her mother, watching her father—the man she most admired in all the world—spiral into depression, feeling her twin draw further and further away from her…

But the rabbit? She had no clue.

Despite her exhaustion, she went through the motions in her classes, but the image of the dead hare kept popping into her head. From time to time she seemed to scent the sharp odor of fresh blood. The most frightening thing was that the smell made her mouth water.

~~~

Running. Under the stars. Ghostly trace of rabbit through sandy soil. Crouching, extending claws. Pouncing as a form darts into the moonlight. Sinking teeth deep into soft flesh…

“Carolina Garza!”

Carol jerked her head up, glancing around at her giggling classmates. She had fallen asleep. Her math teacher, Mrs. Ramos, looked at her with concern and disapproval. “Carolina, you can’t be falling asleep in class. Do you need to go splash some water on your face,
m’ija
? Take the pass and go wake yourself up, okay?”

Wooden pass in hand, Carol headed to the restroom. She rubbed water on her face, digging her knuckles into her sleepy eyes, and then looked at herself in the mirror.

Her eyes flashed an inhuman yellow, and she gave a little scream.

“Carol?” Pushing through the door came Nikki Jones, Carol’s best friend. Heart racing, Carol glanced back at the mirror and saw her normal eyes, wide with fear and bloodshot.

“Uh, hey, Nikki.”

“You okay? I saw you through the window on the door, so I came to say hi. But then I thought I heard you scream.”

“Nah, I was just…just yawning. I didn’t get too much sleep.”

“I texted you last night.”

Carol sighed. “They cut off my cell. My dad didn’t pay the bill.”

“Ah, that sucks. Hey, I gotta get back to class, but you’re going to go with me in June, right? To my church’s summer camp?”

Though a part of her didn’t want to go, Carol had decided that she needed to get away from her house, get her mind on something different. She felt horrible about her dad’s depression, so she still hadn’t asked him. “I’ll talk to my dad about it tonight, okay? Tell you tomorrow for sure.”

~~~

The rest of the school day was pretty uneventful. There were just a few weeks left before summer vacation, and students and teachers both had their minds on the near future. She and Johnny walked back to the house in silence, Carol’s eyes flitting toward quick movements in the long grass and scrub. Jackrabbits. She thought they were cute, hated it when feral dogs or cats killed one. Why in heaven’s name would she pick up a dead one, even when sleepwalking? Or was it dead when she grabbed it? But that was crazy. Carol couldn’t catch and kill a wild hare…wouldn’t even if she could.

The silence went on as the twins did their homework, and it continued uninterrupted while they sat at the dining table, eating the hamburgers their dad had brought when he came home. It was unbearable, that silence. Carol wanted to scream, to rage against it before it filled all of them with emptiness. Her father had always been the one to shatter that ugly absence, with a laugh or a song. She needed him to be her protector, like he had always been. But Oscar Garza had surrendered to silence.

Something was on his mind, Carol could see. It looked like he was trying to figure out how to give them news they wouldn’t like. It was almost exactly the same look he’d had on face when he informed them of their mom’s disappearance.

After a minute or so, he began to speak, soft and low, in his serious professorial voice. “Kids, I know how hard the last few months have been on you. And I know I haven’t really been there for you like I ought to be. It’s just,” his voice cracked a little, “it’s just that I love your mother very, very much, and my soul can’t deal with her absence, with this betrayal.”

“Mom didn’t betray us,” Carol interrupted. “You don’t know that she did.”

He nodded, staring with an absent gaze at a spot on the wall behind her, and continued on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I need more time to get through this. And I’m neglecting you, I know it. So today I spoke with your
tía
Andrea…”

“No way,” breathed Johnny.