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“We’ve been in New Orleans for over a month Héctor,” Ernesto hissed, getting right up in Héctor’s face, the way he hated. “I’ve rescheduled train tickets and made our excuses and we’ve missed out on who knows how many performances we could have gotten just because you want to waste time here with your new amigos.”
“Not everything is about money, Ernesto.” Héctor whispered back fiercely, keeping his voice down as well.
They were both standing outside a back door of the Tiana’s Palace restaurant, but they both knew the sound of the Mississippi river lapping against the dock a few feet away would do little to mask the sound of their argument. The humid November evening air had an unexpected chill in it, especially for Louisiana.
“And besides,” Héctor said, pulling his jacket a little tighter, not meeting Ernesto’s gaze. “it’s not like we had anything else scheduled. Naveen and Tiana have been very kind to have us stay with them and Imelda and Coco are having a good time. I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”
“This isn’t about money, it’s about you getting distracted.” Ernesto said, jabbing a finger at Héctor’s chest. “Tonight is the first time in years that we haven’t been performing on Dia de los Muertos. This is valuable time we should be using to move our careers forward and we’re wasting it bumming around a five-star restaurant in the states. You’ve gotten lazy Héctor, you really want to give up now? When we’re this close to reaching our dream?”
“Look, Ernesto, I’m just…I’m not sure that we’re…” Héctor looked away, grimacing.
“What? Not sure we’re what?” Ernesto demanded, folding his arms.
“I just don’t think we have the same dreams anymore.” Héctor said, looking back at Ernesto and standing a little taller, as if delivering a line that he had been practicing for weeks.
“Héctor, hermano,” Ernesto could feel the blood drain from his face. He unfolded his arms, softening his voice as quickly as he could. “You don’t mean that, you’re just a little worked up.”
It was Mexico City all over again.
Last year while on tour Héctor had snapped. He’d packed his bags and stormed right out of their hotel room, catching a train back home to Santa Cecilia and leaving Ernesto frantic and alone in Mexico City. Once he’d collected himself, Ernesto had rushed back on the next train to Santa Cecilia after him.
It had taken Ernesto months of convincing and cajoling to get Héctor on the road again, and even then it was only because they’d been offered a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to perform up north in the states.
Even then Héctor had only agreed to come as long as he could bring his wife and child.
“I’m serious this time Ernesto.” Héctor said, his gaze steady now, no longer whispering. “Imelda and I have been talking things over and we think it’s time that you and I stopped performing together. Lo siento Ernesto, but our lives and our goals are completely different now. It’s only causing us both greif.”
“Héctor, no.” Ernesto said, feeling dizzy, like someone had pushed him off balance.
“This is your dream Ernesto.”
“Héctor, you can’t just leave, I can’t do this without your songs.”
“You’ll manage.” Héctor said, his stern expression looking very much like his wife’s, “Hate me if you want, but I’ve made up my mind Ernesto, it’s over. Imelda and Coco and I are going to stay here in New Orleans for a while longer, and then we’re going back home and focusing on the shoe shop. You’re free to do whatever you want, I don’t care.”
No no no, this was wrong, this was all wrong, Héctor couldn’t just leave him! Ernesto needed Héctor’s talent, his songs if he was going to get anywhere, and now Héctor was throwing it all away for nothing.
Ernesto’s mind scrambled, a cold anger rising as all kinds of dark emotions swirled inside him. Who did Héctor think he was, that he could abandon Ernesto like this? They’d been together for years before Imelda came along and she’d completely ruined everything they’d had going for them.
Ernesto had thought he was desperate when he’d agreed to let Héctor’s family travel with them, but apparently he’d been wrong. This was what real desperation felt like, and he didn’t like it.
“Everything alright out here, gentlemen?”
They both looked up to see the back door of the restaurant had opened. A man in a tilted newsboy cap and a button-up shirt with rolled sleeves stepped out to join them on the wharf.
“We’re just, settling some differences.” Héctor said, standing a little straighter as Naveen, Tiana’s husband and their host of one month, walked over to join him.
Ernesto grit his teeth to see the knowing looks the two exchanged. So it hadn’t been just Imelda turning Héctor against him after all. He should have known.
Naveen and Héctor had been as thick as thieves since the moment they’d met, and it had been slowly suffocating Ernesto to see them goofing off together, wasting time when Héctor should have been practicing with him instead.
“You look a little worked up Ernesto,” Naveen said pleasantly, slinging an arm around Héctor’s shoulders. “perhaps you should take a walk to cool your thoughts? The riverside is beautiful this time of night.”
It took every ounce of Ernesto’s self-control, but he managed to compose a smile to match Naveen’s. Héctor might miss social cues sometimes, but Naveen had the diplomatic confidence of someone raised as royalty. No matter how relaxed he looked on the outside. Ernesto knew that Naveen could feel every ounce of the tension that he did as they smiled each other down.
Naveen’s message was clear: Héctor was under his protection and Ernesto had better move along.
The disgust brewing in Ernesto’s chest was early enough to make him try throwing the prince right into the Mississippi but instead Ernesto adjusted his jacket and nodded politely, knowing when he was outmatched.
“I think I will.” He said with forced calmness, then turned and strolled away from the two tontos behind him, silently fuming with each measured step.
He could feel them watching him go, so he took the first turn he could. His casual strolling turned into stiff stalking the moment he was out of sight.
“I shouldn’t have let him leave.” Ernesto hissed through clenched teeth, jerking loose tie until it hung limply around his neck.
If only he’d done something, anything, to keep Héctor from going back to his family last year then none of this would have happened. they might even have become famous by now, on their way to record deals and film roles.
Ernesto angrily turned corner after corner, weaving his way deeper into the city.
He rubbed his forehead, imagining all the well-paying and reputation-boosting Dia de los Muertos gigs they were missing at this very moment, all because the Riveras wanted to waste time with American strangers.
And the nerve of that idiot prince getting involved in his business, to steal away what little of Héctor’s time that wasn’t already claimed by Imelda and Coco. It was a good thing that they all stuck together, otherwise Ernesto just might-
His gaze followed a tumble of leaves as they swept past his boots in a sudden stiff breeze. He looked up to see a wrought iron gateway looming above him. Beyond the metal bars stood a grim forest of stone sepulchers and monuments, a far cry from the cozy field of a Mexican cemetery, which would have grass and lovingly laid decorations and offerings.
Tonight of all nights it was especially strange to see a place of burial so…well, dead. Where there should have been flickering orange light, joyful loved ones, and carefully prepared offerings, there was only dark shadows and damp lichens creeping across cracked granite surfaces.
He looked down the road to see the streetlights were all burned out ahead, casting the road into dark gloom. The cemetery at least had sparse lights throughout it, making it the preferable direction to travel.
Ernesto looked down at the open gate as another strangely cold breeze blew past him and into the cemetery, as if tugging him in. Which was ridiculous. It wasn’t like he was uneasy around cemeteries. He was a grown man. Besides, Americans were the ones who were always antsy around death.
He repeated that thought in his head as he squared his shoulders and stepped through the gate to cut through the cemetery. As he walked down the cement path and between the graves he kept his stride casual, proving to himself that he was completely at ease as he wove his way past the tall obelisks and tombs.
It was just the wind that was making him shiver was all.
“For not being scared, you’ve got yourself some pretty loud thoughts my friend.”
Ernesto nearly jumped out of his skin, whipping around. The drawling voice had sounded like it had been right next to his ear, but there was no one there.
“Hello?” He called in English, reaching for the flip knife in his back pocket. He’d been right, this had been an awful idea, forget death and spooks, why hadn’t he been thinking of muggers?
“Ahhhh, tu hablas español?” The drawling voice said in accented but perfect Spanish. Now it sounded like it was coming from the deep shadows between two crypts. Blocking the way back out of the cemetery.
“¿Qué deseas?” Ernesto demanded, flipping open his knife and standing tall.
“The real question is what do you want.” The speaker said in Spanish, smoothly emerging from the deep shadows, as if he’d been one just a moment ago.
Ernesto couldn’t tell if the man reminded him so forcefully of a skeleton because of his extreme height, how extremely thin he was. Or maybe it was the green glint of light in the man’s eyes he could have sworn he’d glimpsed just now. Either way, there was nothing about the advancing man’s too-easy manner that made Ernesto feel comfortable in the slightest.
“Dr. Facilier, at your service.” The lanky man said, twirling a globe tipped cane in one hand while grandly sweeping off his top hat with the other in a low bow. His long limbs and quick movements made him look like a marionette with loosely pinned joints. “I’ve heard you’ve got a bit of trouble on your hands, amigo. I believe I can be of some assistance, Señor De la Cruz.”
Ernesto and the Riveras had been featured in the local paper a week ago, apparently international musicians visiting local royalty was enough to make the local news, which must be how this man knew his name.
“Is that so?” Ernesto said, still not lowering his knife as the man straightened and swept his hat back on.
“I can see in your eyes that you’re a future-minded man, am I right?” The man, Ernesto highly doubted he was any kind of real doctor, said. Facilier leaned lazily on his cane with one hand, flicking his other wrist and flouring a fan of cards out of thin air. “Care to have a look at what the future has in store for you?”
Ernesto lowered his knife slightly. So this was a street performer then, someone trying to get the spare pesos in his pockets, not to cut his throat.
“No gracias, I’ve already got plans for my future.” Ernesto said, folding his knife and stowing it back in his pocket, pulling a smile on. He was still wary, but this seemed to be a situation to talk himself out of, not fight. Which suited him better anyway.
“Oh, then there’s no harm in looking, is there?” Facilier grinned, fanning the cards under Ernesto’s nose. He’d gotten suddenly closer without having made any movement that Ernesto had seen. “No charge, just pick the one that calls to you.”
Ernesto glanced down at what were definitely tarot cards. They smelled like cajun spice, but also like something…rotting. “Will you leave me alone if I pick one?”
“Oh, of course, just go on and humor a poor sinner, won’t you?” Facilier said, a slinky grin on his face.
Ernesto sighed and picked a large card from the right edge of the deck. Héctor would probably be all over this “cultural experience,” but Ernesto just wanted to get rid of this beggar as quickly as possible. The sooner he got this over with the sooner he could go back to Tiana’s Palace and figure out how to deal with the Riveras.
Ernesto flipped over the card he’d chosen. The image was upside-down, but he could still make it out: a woman pouring out a jug of water, a shining star above her head.
“The star,” Facilier said, tapping the card. “Creativity and inspiration. You’re a musician, not from around here, looking for your big break?”
Ernesto gave a noncommittal grunt, unimpressed. The charlatan could have gotten all that from the newspaper.
“Hmmmm, but it seems your inspiration doesn’t belong to you alone, does it?”
Facilier took the card in two fingers, and flicked it with his other hand. Ernesto blinked, seeing that the image on the card had changed, there was no longer a woman pouring water, but a lanky young man with messy hair in a charro suit, a brilliant gold foil sun shining behind his head.
“How did you do that?” Ernesto asked, a slight chill running down his spine as he stared at what was unmistakably a stylized picture of Héctor.
“You can play and sing, but you don’t write the songs, do you?” Faciler continued, looking at the card in his hand, “You’re the brains of the operation, but it’s your partner that’s got the heart. And now you’re terrified because he’s given his heart to someone else.”
He brushed his fingers over the card, revealing a delicately painted woman and child that had joined Héctor in the image.
“He’s gone and run off from the dream you both used to share, and he’s taking your future with him.” Facilier clucked his tongue as if in disapproval.
“I don’t need Héctor, I can came still succeed on my own.” Ernesto said, a sickly feeling shivering down his spine. He didn’t know how this man had known all of this and he was starting to feel the uncomfortable sensation of being hunted.
“Not without his songs, not without his inspiration.” Facilier flipped the card over, but instead of the purple and yellow backing design, there was a stylized image of what was unmistakably Ernesto, wearing an old suit and holding a broken guitar.
“Without your hermano’s talent you’re done for my friend, and you know it.” Faciler said, tipping his head to the side and peering down at him. “That’s why you’re wandering the city tonight isnt it? He doesn’t care about you or your dreams anymore, he’s gotten rid of you. Your days are numbered amigo, if you don’t seize your momentit’ll be too late. Everything you’ve worked so hard for is going to be swept away by your friend’s selfishness.”
Ernesto felt dizzy at having his darkest thoughts laid bare so easily, and by a man he’d never met, in a strange city.
He looked up at Facilier’s face, noticing for the first time the way a subtle purple light seemed to shine from an unseen source beneath the man. It might be his imagination, but Ernesto felt like he could nearly make out the bones in the man’s hands, as if his dark skin were somehow slightly translucent. As if he was not entirely alive.
“You’re not a street performer.” Ernesto said, his eyes wide as he took a step back.
“Never said I was.” Facilier chuckled, flicking his hand, making the card turn into three cards, then twenty cards, then vanish entirely, leaving behind a sickly scarlet feather that he tucked into his hat’s ribbon. “What I did say is that I can help you.”
“And why would you do that?” Ernesto asked, halting his retreat.
Getting involved with a brujo always had a catch, any child that had ever heard a fairytale knew that. You never got what you thought you were getting, and you never came out on top.
But…Facilier had known exactly what his problem was…it seemed only logical that he would know what the answer was too.
Ernesto was smart, he hadn’t agreed to anything yet. Maybe if he played it just right he could come out on top, and with the future that he wanted.
“I’d say I’m helping out of the kindness of my heart,” Facilier drawled with a smile, idly scratching at his neck, as if itching at an invisible collar latched too tightly. “but we’re both men of business I think. The sad truth is that I’ve racked up quite a bit of debt you see, I’ve got some ah, penance that needs doing. It’s helping folks in need, such as yourself, that gets me a little closer to my freedom. I don’t make it a habit to work for free, but this one would be on the house, just a little something for your friend to drink.”
“Well if you’re suggesting poison then you can forget it.” Ernesto said, folding his arms. “I’m not a murderer.”
“Sure you aren’t.” Facilier said with a chuckle, making Ernesto want to squirm. “Rest assured, I wasn’t suggesting anything that obvious. My friends and I have something a little more artful in mind.”
He snapped his fingers and a burst of green light made Ernesto shield his eyes. When he recovered he saw a round glass bottle of purple liquid had appeared in the brujo’s hand, the contents swirling malevolently behind the glass as a trickle of green mist dripped down through his fingers.
“Share a toast of this with your partner.” Facilier said, looking at the bottle in his hand, tipping the mardi-gras-purple colored contents back and forth, “He’ll never be able to play another note, but you’ll have all his songs.”
“You’re saying it’ll give me Héctor’s talent?” Ernesto said, hating himself for sounding so stupidly eager, but unable to help himself.
“It’s all yours.” Facilier said, offering him the bottle.
How had Facilier known that was exactly the impossibility that Ernesto had wished for? Héctor had always wanted to keep all his skill to himself, if Ernesto hadn’t convinced him otherwise Héctor’s music may never have even left his own home. Now he was leaving and all that music and talent would be wasted, kept to one man and his family when it belonged to the whole world. To Ernesto.
Ernesto nearly grabbed it, but kept his arms folded, looking the brujo in the eye. “And you’re saying that sharing a drink of this with Héctor will get me my future back?”
“Guaranteed fame and glory.” Facilier said, tucking his cane under his arm and flourishing another tarot card out of thin air with his free hand, handing the card to Ernesto. “In fact, I have some friends who would love to hear you play. I’ll take you to see them as soon as the deed’s done, they’ve got all the best connections.”
Ernesto took the card and tipped it toward the growing purple ambient light around them. The gold foil accents glinted darkly in the image, highlighting a man in a white and gold charro suit singing to an adoring and wealthy looking crowd.
He squinted closer at the card, seeing that the artist had made everyone in the image a skeleton for some reason, bony hands extended toward the performer on the stage.
Well, this was from a deck of tarot cards. It was a stylistic choice no doubt.
“And will Héctor be harmed?” Ernesto asked, sliding the card into his jacket pocket when Facilier didn’t move to take it back.
“Oh, not to worry, they’ll all be perfectly healthy.”
“They?”
“Your partner and his family of course.” Facilier swirled the potion in its bottle like a glass of brandy. “So, do we have a deal músico?”
Ernesto stared at the bewitching purple liquid. It felt like he was forgetting something, but he found himself already reaching for the bottle.
“And I don’t owe you anything?” He checked, forcing his hand to hesitate just above the glass surface, fingertips nearly brushing against the long dark feather attached to the twine wound around the bottle’s neck.
“You take the bottle, get your friend to drink it with you, and then I sweep you off to fame.” Facilier said, “All you have to do is take it, and the deal is sealed.”
Something in the back of Ernesto’s mind was screaming for him to stop. This was magic he was dealing with, real, dark magic, and he didn’t know this man, and he had no idea what exactly was in this bottle, and he didn’t-
Ernesto seized the bottle. A crack of lightning split the night, throwing him back as he cried out, shielding his eyes as booming thunder echoed around the cemetery.
Ernesto blinked hard as the afterimage of a laughing skeleton fading slowly from his vision. He pushed himself up from the ground, swearing as he steadied himself against a tombstone. His vision gradually cleared and he looked around, but he was alone among the graves.
He looked at the glass bottle still clutched in his hand. Gone was the swirling purple and feathered twine, now it looked exactly like an unopened bottle of tequila, the blue label proudly reading “Recuérdeme.”
He’d never heard of that brand before.
A stiff breeze rattled the dead leaves between the graves and Ernesto hitched up his jacket collar against the chill. Looking around once more, Ernesto tucked the bottle close to his chest and hurried back the way he’d come, towards the cemetery entrance.
Who knew where that man had come from or where he’d gone, all Ernesto cared about right now was that his problems were about to finally be over, and that he wanted to get this over as quickly as possible.
Héctor was going to be sorry he ever tried to leave.