Free Esperanza by Trish J. MacGregor

everyone who passed.
    “Buenos días, cómo está, bienvenidos.”
Now and then it emitted a wolfwhistle as some beautiful babe passed by. When Nomad sat in front of the perch, the parrot gazed down at the dog and greeted him in perfect English. “Hello, Nomad, welcome.” Then the bird squawked, picked up a piece of dried fruit from her bowl, tossed it, and Nomad caught it.
    “Cómo te llamas?”
Tess asked the parrot.
    The parrot looked her over, whistled softly.
“Me llamo Kali.”
    “Wow, Kali, as in consort of Shiva?” Ian asked.
    “Supreme deity of Hinduism,” Manuel added, and pointed at Juanito, now talking to a bald man at the front desk. “The manager is Ed Granger. He and Juanito will take care of you from here. If I can be of help, amigos, here is my card.” One for each of them. “I can drive you around, take you to wonderful restaurants, show you marvelous sights, drive you to the volcanoes,
me entiendes?”
    Ian, evidently feeling guilty for his outburst on the bus, quickly dug cash from his pocket and pressed it into Manuel’s hand. “Thank you for everything, and I apologize for getting angry.”
    “It is nothing, señor. I understand. Dealing with
brujos
. . .” He shrugged. “No two people react the same.”
    Manuel extended his hand to Tess, but she hugged him instead. That sense of familiarity rushed through her again. She stepped back, frowning. “I feel like we’ve met before, Manuel.”
    His quick smile lit up his face. “I know what you mean. But I think not. You are not one I would forget, Señorita Tess.”
    “I appreciate everything you’ve done.”
    As they crossed the lobby, Tess noticed more of its details—the beautiful light that spilled through the glass domes of several skylights, the intricate designs set into the floor tiles, the magnificent craftsmanship of the woven rugs. Music played in the background, something familiar with a Latin rhythm. The faint scent of smoke from the fireplace mixed with the richness of freshly brewed coffee.
    “Hey, it could be a lot worse,” Ian remarked. “We could’ve gotten stuck in that bodega for the next three days.”
    No argument there.
    At the desk, Juanito introduced them to Whiskers, the black and white tuxedo cat Tess had seen moments ago, now curled up on the counter near Ed Granger. Granger looked like an ex-wrestler—a slick, shiny bald head, massive shoulders, a colorful and elaborate tattoo that decorated his rightarm and the back of his right hand. “Mates,” his voice boomed. “Juanito tells me you are North American allies.”
    The phrase struck Tess as strange, as though a war had been declared and Americans and Aussies were on the same side. She could tell from the expression on Ian’s face that he found it odd, too.
    “Uh, yes, that’s right,” Ian said. “We’d like two rooms.”
    Ed’s smile shrank. He said something in Quechua to Juanito, who looked flustered, replied in Quechua, then shrugged and hurried off. “We have just one room at the moment, actually a cottage, with two double beds. I hope that won’t be a problem, mates.”
    Not for me,
Tess thought.
    “We should have something else by tomorrow,” Granger continued. “Juanito went over there now to make sure the refrigerator is stocked with food. He’ll make you tea that helps counteract the effects of the altitude.”
    Ian looked over at Tess, who said, “It’s fine with me. Right now, a bed in a stable would be fine.”
    “A stable.” Granger exploded with laughter. “Oh, I assure you, mates, the cottage far surpasses any stable.” As he slapped a key on the counter, the tattooed figures on the back of his hand seemed to move, dance, undulate. “Go down the first hall to the right, out the first door. Cottage thirteen is on the east side of the courtyard.”
    Thirteen. That number again, Tess thought. “Do you take credit cards?” She reached into her pack.
    “Credit cards, cash, a check, traveler’s checks. But don’t