Chapter Text
It was around twelve noon on a sunny October day in Santa Cecilia. Eleven year-old Daniel Diaz didn’t know it yet, but his long streak of bad luck was about to take a turn for the better.
The dark-haired, golden-skinned boy had been watching the marketplace crowds for several days now in search of an opportunity. Wherever crowds gathered, there was always money to make. And more importantly, food to eat. But he had to be quick, and he had to be crafty. His telekinetic powers made things easier, of course—even if they did risk getting him into the occasional trouble. All he need do was outstretch his hand and the food would fly to his grasp! Pathetically easy.
On most days in other towns, he could whizz by the market vendors undetected while they were busy with other patrons. An apple here, a potato there. Maybe a tamale. Or six. By the time he was finished, Daniel often had a full three-course meal hidden in the zippered pockets of his brother’s hoodie. On most days. But today was unlike any other before or since. Because for the first time in a long time, he would soon find himself making a new friend. This was not something he intended. In the past, he’d been so good at it. Now, he could barely remember. It all seemed as if it happened to someone else.
Following the death of his older brother Sean after a long journey south to the Mexican border, Daniel preferred to avoid people. The few friendships he’d made on the road, after all, were fleeting. Screw trying to blend in. He was used to things as they were now; a life of constantly staying on the move to hide from whatever dangers lurked in the shadows. Whoever had entered his life up until this point were gone, or would be gone soon. It was just…easier that way. Even if there were certain moments he did long for more, he found himself always waiting for something to go wrong. For his things to get stolen, for him to get beat up. For someone else to die. These thoughts tended to stir in his mind so pervasively that he barely considered what might actually go right.
Daniel soon exited the alley he’d been hiding in. Hood up, as was always the case. Did it look suspicious? He didn’t care. He loved being known as ‘The Wolf of Nogales’, and soon enough, he would become ‘The Wolf of Santa Cecilia’ too. People didn’t know his face as he maneuvered through the crowds, but they certainly whispered about the ghost who stole their wallets and food, and he did relish in the attention the newspapers often gave him. ‘THE WOLF HAS STRUCK AGAIN!’ they’d say in Spanish. Funny how they ate it up.
He’d even amassed his own little collection of clippings on a corkboard back at the apartment he shared with ‘El Fuego Diego’, a weak luchador he’d rescued from the fringes of obscurity some months ago. Fuego had been losing every wrestling match he took part in until he met Daniel. The sad, aging fighter used to cry himself to sleep in the locker room showers. Now, his winning streak was the talk of the region. And when Fuego won, so did Daniel. The two would collect pesos on bets together, live it up like kings for a few weeks until all the money was spent, then do it all over again. It was nice to have company. But Fuego was no father to the boy, and there were times Daniel feared the man might leave his side if he ever found out his winnings were all due to his superpower.
“Man, I’ve been stupid,” the boy sniffled, inhaling more of the dry dust than he intended. At least in the markets, he felt it was okay to cry. Make himself look like the saddest boy alive. If nothing else, people would take pity on him, which came in handy if he was too close to the vendors to be using his powers without raising suspicion. Still, his tears were honest. And he hated every last one.
As he gazed out through the blur, Daniel kept alert for any signs of danger. Being out in public anymore often scared him, even if he did appreciate the notoriety that followed. Memories of being chased with his brother across the U.S. as if they were both animals still haunted him every day. What if the police catch me? Being judged for his prior life was always a concern. Then again, Santa Cecilia was a more remote town. And though it was poor in money, they were certainly rich when it came to music.
Daniel’s favorite place to go in the morning was Mariachi Plaza, located not far from the market. Every dawn, he would stand in the center of it all next to the new statue of Hector Rivera and watch all the bands tuning their instruments, the women painting children’s faces, marigold petals being spread across the ground. Dia de los Muertos fever had struck everyone, and for the first time, Daniel began to feel a sense of pride in his Mexican identity. But for now, the sightseeing would have to wait. It was lunchtime, and the smell of those tamales were making his stomach rumble.
“Smells sooo good!” he grinned, gazing around at the vendors spreading masa over corn husks, then loading in all manner of fresh ingredients—chorizo, beans, wild rice, tomatoes, and various peppers. But tamales were not quite as easy a steal as the bare ingredients. El Fuego insisted he could cook at home, though cleaning handfuls of rice out of his hoodie pockets wasn’t a mistake Daniel wanted to make again. Let’s see, he thought a moment, assessing the marketplace crowds. Stealing a few wallets first was often easier; he could simply discard them in the alleyways and pay for his food with real money like a good little boy. But that was less fun. Okay, first target…I need some orange juice!
His favorite vendor up on the corner would bring out his children to help serve freshly squeezed juice to the masses until one o’clock, and they were usually nice enough to slip him a glass. After that, he would work the stands, veering in and out of the crowd to snatch items as he made his way back to the other end. A simple plan that had so far worked every day this week. Every day, that was, except today.
As Daniel walked at a brisk pace toward the juice stand, an excited boy in a red Adidas hoodie came bolting around the corner at the far end. Daniel gasped and immediately shifted to his left through throngs of people, ducking against a nearby table to watch. The careless boy bumped into a man wheeling around a cart of vegetables as he ran. The man lost his grip a moment, causing the cart to teeter until he regained control.
“Hey!” he shouted. “Watch where you’re going!”
“S-Sorry!” the boy replied, rushing onward with a piece of paper in his hand. Something large and white was bouncing against his back. As he closed in fast, Daniel realized it was a guitar with what looked like an intricate skull design painted on the body.
“Great, another stupid busker!” Daniel grit his teeth. They were a dime a dozen out here. Whoever this kid was, he was almost certainly about to make a huge dent in his afternoon plans. All the wannabe mariachis in town got annoying fast. Especially in the marketplace, where they’d often play for money on the sidelines. And aside from all the stern-looking grandmas and aunts, buskers were the closest Santa Cecilia got to a form of surveillance. All they’d do between songs was sit and people watch. And being watched was the last thing Daniel needed. Man. My brother’s old girlfriend would feel right at home here.
But something odd happened as he continued waiting for an opening in the crowd to bolt for the juice bar. Small groups of people were starting to gather around the young wannabe musician. Customers abandoned their spots in the lines they’d been holding for the past half-hour, and several vendors shouted friendly greetings at the kid when they saw him. Geez, he must be popular, Daniel thought. What’s so special about him?
“Hey hey, afternoon Miguel!”
“Uh, buenos dias, Francisco!”
“You gonna play us a song, muchacho?” another man asked.
“Not now! M-Maybe later when my show starts at the plaza!”
“Oh my, is that Miguel Rivera?!” an middle-aged woman asked. “My daughter loves to sing along to your music! Would you mind signing my shoe?”
“Huh?! Um, that’s a little weird! And my family’s name is already on your shoes, so-”
“Miguel, Miguel!” another shouted.
“Is that the Rivera boy?” someone else wondered.
“I’m sorry guys, but I really don’t wanna…” Miguel trailed off as various shoes, guitars, handkerchiefs, papers, and other items were presented to him to sign. The boy’s eyes grew wide with anxiety at the sight.
“Really? On the eve of Dia de Muertos?!” the older woman exclaimed, somewhat insulted.
“Er…um…” he uttered, smiling nervously. Even a hundred or so feet away, Daniel cringed. It made him uncomfortable just to watch. If things didn’t die down soon, he would have to do something he really didn’t want to. Poor guy, he thought. Maybe he’s related to whoever that Hector Rivera dude was. I feel bad for him. Maybe…I could get him out of here? But that would draw attention to me. And I really don’t want—
“Don't be bashful, you’re our star act tonight in the plaza!” the woman begged, pinching Miguel's dimpled cheek. “Please, just sign the shoe for my daughter?”
“Well, uh…okay, I guess it can’t hurt to do a couple autographs today,” he laughed, still visibly anxious from his own stardom. But the crowd only seemed to close in further, and the commotion increased a hundredfold when they began asking him to sing.
“Will you be performing ‘Remember Me’ in your set?” a young father act. “Please?”
“Remember Me, Remember Me!” his little son and daughter chanted with enthusiasm.
The crowd quickly joined in, clapping their hands and stomping their feet in cadenced rhythm. Daniel sunk down to his knees as a chorus of voices echoed throughout the marketplace. “Remember Me! Remember Me!” It was giving him a headache. He couldn’t stomach it anymore. And to make matters worse, a familiar itchy feeling had begun to emerge between his eyes. He knew where that would lead. The more the people chanted, the more the urge to use his powers grew. Come on dude, NO, you’re in public! You wanna get caught? But the crowd grew louder. “REMEM-BER ME! REMEM-BER ME!”
“Oh man,” the boy panicked, rising up to his feet with a sigh. “What am I gonna do?”
Something in his peripherals immediately caught his attention. Daniel looked to his left. As it so happened, the closed vendor’s stand he’d crouched next to had a wheelbarrow full of vegetables sitting aside it. Perfect. A mischievous grin spread across the young boy’s face as he stepped over and proceeded to wheel the heavy thing out into the center of the street. He kept alert in case anyone might catch on, but so far, everyone was too distracted by Miguel. Good. Okay, now to center it just right…there we go. Daniel stepped back and dusted his hands off, then took a deep breath and focused with his power. Nice and slow, so I don’t hurt anyone.
The wheelbarrow took off. As it moved over the uneven dusty street, Daniel guided it carefully, keeping a watchful eye on the crowd in the process. It was crucial to get the timing just right. Once it plowed into the throng, he’d have about two seconds to rush back into the alley before anyone saw him. So much for my orange juice.
He forced the barrow faster when he saw Miguel struggling to break through the last of the obnoxious crowd, but every time the boy got done scribbling one autograph, someone else would beg for another. Daniel counted the seconds down in his head until the makeshift battering ram struck. Five…four…three…But when he got to two, Miguel unexpectedly broke through the last of the crowd. And of course he just had to emerge right in the center of the street. The barrow plowed ahead at about twenty miles per hour. It was headed straight for him. One.
“LOOK OUT!”
Daniel screamed. Miguel screamed and dove out of the way. The middle-aged mother shrieked as if she’d just seen a mouse and tossed her autographed shoe up in the air. The rest of the crowd went wild with shouting and dispersed, either fleeing back for the plaza or diving over vendors’ tables. All the while, Daniel did his best to slow the runaway cart as it veered to the right, but he was too late. The large hunk of metal crashed right into his favorite juice stand, puncturing a wooden barrel and flooding the end of the street with delicious, sugary liquid. Yup. Definitely no orange juice now. Daniel covered his mouth in shock as he surveyed the scene of panicked, angry people. It wasn’t long before the father of two kids pointed in his direction.
“It was him!” the man yelled.
Crap! Daniel panicked. But for whatever reason, he didn’t run back to the alley as planned. He wanted to. But he also felt terrible about leaving the young boy he’d just saved out in the street to fend for himself. Guess it’s now or never. Daniel rushed forward past several stands, where Miguel was still struggling to pull himself out from under an overturned table. He quickly took the boy’s hand and helped him to his feet.
“Hey!” Daniel said, peeling his hood back. “I’m so sorry, are you okay?”
“Uh, I think so…who are you?”
“I’m Daniel.”
“Miguel,” the boy smirked. “You totally saved my—”
“It’s HIM!” a woman across the street shouted, pointing at Daniel. “It’s the Wolf of Nogales!”
“So that’s who’s been stealing my tamales!” an old vendor grumbled. “Get back here, you street rat!” Shocked cries filled the outdoor marketplace as a throng of distressed onlookers directed their attention to the two fleeing boys and closed in on them, snatching up stones, fruits, vegetables, toys, and other items to throw as they went. Miguel eyed his new companion with a puzzled expression.
“‘Wolf of Nogales?’”
“Uh, long story, but I’m not exactly from around here!” Daniel laughed nervously.
“In that case, you’ll definitely be safer at my place,” Miguel shuddered as the crowd surrounded them. “C’mon, vamonos!”
“Uh, okay!”
With that, the young musician grabbed his hand, and the two quickly fled from the marketplace. As they navigated through a maze of vacant alleys and streets unfamiliar to Daniel, the young wolf found himself smiling again for the first time in a very long time. It had been forever since he’d felt the grasp of a warm, caring touch. Whoever this Miguel Rivera was, he certainly felt safe with him.
Man, he’s seems cool, Daniel thought. So maybe…I could stay in Santa Cecilia awhile.