They pass out of the wider streets and into some that are narrower, moving toward the edge of the neighborhood. She is not allowed to go beyond the boundaries that mark their barrio, but he takes her to those boundaries often so that she will know where she is allowed to go in his absence. He travels outside the barrio, but he does not talk of where he goes or what he does. When she asks, he only smiles and says it is necessary. He is her father in all but blood, her best friend and her protector, but there is much about him that is a mystery.
At a corner marked by houses with broken-out windows and crumbling walls, they encounter members of a gang. She knows what they are from their markings, but she does not know their names. Johnny stops at once, confronting them. There are five in all. Their clothes are ragged and dirty, their faces hard and dangerous. They do not have weapons in their hands, but she knows they have them hidden in their clothes. They stare at Johnny for a long time, barely sparing her a glance. Then they turn aside and disappear into the ruins of the buildings.
Johnny does that to people. She has seen it over and over. If they are like these sad creatures, they back away. There is something in his eyes that tells them what will happen if they don’t. There is a presence about him that warns of offering challenge. Johnny never needs to say anything much to those who pose a threat. They instinctively know what they risk and are likely to lose.
The barrio ends at a forest of half walls, steel beams, and rubble piles, all that remains of what was once a warehouse district. The sun beats down on blocks and blocks of silent, empty ruins. Nothing lives here. Nothing will sustain life.
“Walk with me, pococito,” Johnny whispers to her.
He has never taken her beyond this point, so she is surprised at his request. But she does not refuse. She will go anywhere he wants to take her. Her trust in him is complete and unequivocal. She is not afraid.
They thread their way into the maze, winding down narrow passageways that are more alleyways than streets and in some cases not even that. The air is heavy and thick with dust, and it is difficult to breathe. But she does not complain. She ignores her discomfort and walks with him as if everything were as it should be.
Indeed, with Johnny, how could it ever be anything else?
But as their journey through the surreal landscape continues, she becomes aware of a slow darkening of the sky. It happens gradually and for no apparent reason. There are no clouds, no storms approaching. The sun simply begins to fade until their surroundings are wrapped in twilight. If Johnny notices, he is not telling her. He walks steadily ahead, her hand in his, his stride even and unchanged. She keeps pace, but she is looking around now, wondering. It is midday. How can the light be so dim?
Then suddenly Johnny stops, and his hand releases hers. For a moment, she cannot believe he has let go of her. She stands quietly, motionless in the fading light, waiting for him to join hands again. When he does not and when he says nothing, she looks up at him.
He is no longer there.
He has disappeared.
She catches her breath and shudders. How has this happened? How can he have vanished so completely?
Ahead, a shadow figure appears, cloaked and hooded, its features hidden. It does not move, but stands facing her. She does not know what it is, but it makes her feel cold and alone.
“?Quién es?” she calls out, her voice breaking.
The figure says nothing, but starts toward her, moving woodenly through the rubble, cloak billowing out behind it in dark folds. She knows suddenly what it is and what it wants. She knows why Johnny has brought her here and why he has left her.
She waits, already anticipating the inconceivable.
ANGEL WOKE SUDDENLY to biting cold and darkness. She lay half buried in a snowdrift, her damaged body stiff and drained of warmth. Her wounds were frozen beneath her clothing and in some places to her clothing, but she could feel almost nothing of the pain. The wind blew in sharp gusts, causing the snow to swirl across the empty landscape in intricate patterns. Particles of ice stung her face where there was still feeling, dancing at the edges of her vision like tiny creatures. Overhead the stars were bright and clear in the cloudless night sky.
She was on the mountain the Elves called Syrring Rise, collapsed in the snow that layered the upper slopes. She had crawled this far after her battle with the demon, seeking to reach the ice caves into which Kirisin and his sister had gone earlier. She had used up the last of her strength to get to where she was, but she already knew that it wasn’t enough to save her.
She was dying.