A knock came downstairs as I put the last box on top of the miniature Babel I had constructed. I wiped my face, took the stairs two at a time, and wondered when it would rain and the heat would finally break.
When I opened the door, Isaías stood there.
Here’s the thing about Isaías: he’s—well, he’s Isaías.
Let me try saying it a different way.
Everyone knows La Incarnación is a bruja. But it doesn’t stop anyone. People go to La Incarnación for broken bones, for overdue gas bills, for love. People go to La Incarnación because, even if they’re afraid of her—and we’re all a little bit afraid of her—they know she might help them. But nobody goes to Isaías.
Isaías comes to you.