Chapter Text
She’d given up on libraries. It was becoming more and more obvious that what she needed to find out wasn’t written down. Instead, she did what she’d always done best. She listened.
She spread out over the city, seeking out stories. She sat with old Irish men in dimly lit pubs, buying them drinks as they rambled on about that weird thing that happened back in the 40s, and the ancient myths of Celtic gods and warriors. She stood at kitchen sinks, washing dishes as old abuelitas told legends about the gods from back home in Mexico. She burned her tongue on fresh jerk chicken and conch fritters and laughed along with the chefs’ tales of Papa Legba and Erzulie-Freda. And she learned.
Half-unwillingly at first, she became attached to these people. Kay had been cautious around most other people, always suspicious. Mars didn’t want to admit it, but she loved people. She befriended vagrants, barflys, late-night clerks, and cleaning staff; the people whom no one noticed. She was one of them, after all.
Maybe it started when Lùz looked up from the kitchen table where she and Mars were swapping spooky stories while her kids played in the living room. She shrieked. “Ah! I have to leave, now, or I’ll never make the bus! I can’t be late for another shift!” She snatched up her bag and caught Mars’ eye. “Can you keep an eye on them? Just for a couple hours, okay? Mama will be home soon - I’m sure she’s just chatting. Romina, Ana, Mama has to go to work. Be good girls for Tia Marcia, okay?” And then she was gone, leaving the door and Mars’ mouth hanging open. (They were very good girls. The wicked dragon Tia Marcia was heroically slain by the allied forces of Barbie, Dora, and Dr. McStuffins many times.)
It could’ve started there. Or when Darius missed the last Orange Line and called her for a ride, too embarrassed to tell his mother that he’d lost track of time with his boyfriend. Possibly when the Chengs got an unfair eviction notice from a landlord; Mars recognized the name from one of Kay’s connections and… persuaded the man to reconsider.
It started at some point, anyway. It must have, because otherwise why would she be standing awkwardly in the bedoilied living room of Mrs. Glegocińska as the older woman practically sobbed in gratitude. She’d tried to dissuade her, explain that the few hundred dollars in gift cards wasn’t really that big of a deal, she’d just asked around, really she owed more thanks to the neighbors who had chipped in $20 and -
“You are a blessing,” Mrs. Glegocińska interrupted. “You are a saint. Święty Juda.” She folded Mars’ hands in hers and pressed a prayer card on her. She left a little shell-shocked, but happy to have helped.
Somehow, it always got around to her if someone needed help - usually if someone was in truly dire straits. And somehow, she was always able to help. Not necessarily in the most tasteful ways (blackmail, she was learning, was amazingly effective), but she could always do something.
Of course, people talked. She did everything she could to discourage it, but the rumors only grew. Some called her Kay, because that’s the name they knew. Some called her Ginger, which was what Kay used to go by once upon a time. The creative ones and those prone to exaggeration called her the Dark Angel, the Guardian, and the Lady of Last Chances. Stupid names, really, but the one that stuck was Mrs. Glegocińska’s - Juda, St. Jude, who granted hopeless prayers.
Well, she’d been called worse.