Shapeshifted by Cassie Alexander Read Free Book Online

waiting room was still empty when I reached it, although the janitor was done. Maybe that woman would be back tomorrow. She’d called out to Santa Muerte like she knew her personally—in prayer, no less. Rosary and all.
    Praying while using a rosary smacked of comfortable familiarity. If even one person knew of a Santa Muerte, no matter who or what that was, there were bound to be others. I’d just have to find them.
    The same early-teens kid from before blocked my path. “Oh, lady, you still need a limpieza . Bad. I have the don, I can tell.”
    “How can I need that if I don’t even know what that is?” There was drying blood on the ground outside too, slightly darker than the rest of the surrounding stains on the cement. I wondered if the janitor had even tried to clean it up out here.
    “My grandfather, Don Pedrito, he can heal you.” He patted his chest with authority.
    “Look.” He was thin, rail-thin, with wrists that my hands could wrap around, the fingers meeting and then some. “I don’t have any money. But tomorrow I’ll be here. I’ll bring you a sandwich.”
    He pulled his head back as though he’d been hit. “I don’t need your charity!”
    “And I don’t need your limp-pizza. Whatever the hell that is.” I stepped around the blood on the ground.
    “You’ll need it eventually. You have a curse on you. You’ll see.”
    “Maybe tomorrow. But not tonight.”
    He heaved a sigh and glared at me. I shrugged and walked around him, and then walked the two blocks back to the train station in the daylight. I wasn’t scared in the crowd anymore. I felt alive.
    And when I got home I called up the sleep clinic to officially quit.

 
    CHAPTER SIX
    I felt substantially less alive at six thirty the next morning. I’d gone to sleep easily enough, thanks again to Ambien. But six thirty was early enough to make me feel frail. I got out of bed like the floor might roll away from me, then stumbled up to make coffee, take a shower, and head out the door. I remembered to make a sandwich for myself before I left, and an extra sandwich for that kid too. I could eat it later if I didn’t see him again.
    I was tempted to call my mom from the train, to make plans to see her tonight, but I didn’t know what her sleep schedule was like. I made a mental note to call her later.
    The ride felt different today. The train shook back and forth on the rails, the early-morning light strobing through the windows, looking like the beginning of an old-time film reel. I reached the right station at seven forty-five A.M. and descended the stairs.
    “This phone’s mine, move your damn blanket over!” This morning I noticed a row of pay phones, long since missing their earpieces, and surely free of dimes. They now provided the backbone for a cardboard shelter where two homeless people were arguing over the edges of their blankets.
    There were more people milling, getting on and off the train. It was windy today, thank goodness, creating a rare breeze. It sent pieces of trash scudding around on the ground, weaving in between people’s feet, looking like they too were queuing up for the train.
    I moved to the periphery and struck out for Divisadero. I walked past shit by the side of the road that looked, to my clinical eye, too big to be from a dog. I’d have to be more careful where I stepped today.
    I looked behind me and wondered if the man I’d helped treat was somewhere in the crowd—or if those who’d come to get him were. I didn’t think I saw anyone I recognized, but I did walk a little faster at the thought.
    The same bloodstain was there on the stoop when I reached the clinic doors. Blood’s really hard to get out of a lot of things, especially cement. I was pondering this when I heard a small moan from behind me.
    I jumped and turned around. It didn’t sound human, really, more like wind stroking past the end of an open glass bottle. I heard it again. I stood there on the sidewalk for a second, overly