Page 70 of Born for Starlight

She made the sound only genuine fans make. She apologized for her English, which was better than she thought it was. She apologized for the chairs, for the fan, and for Fernanda, who was out sick. I complimented her earrings, and she nearly slid off her chair.

Then I went to work.

I explained my connection to Casa Semente. The visit, the check, the sisters. I told her Luzia was special to the nuns, and to me. I asked, hands clasped, if there was any way in the world I could speak with Luzia's doctor. Just for a minute. Just so I could carry some real news back to the worried nuns.

She picked up her phone and made call after call.

I stood there with my concerned face on and listened, surprised when I understood some of what she was saying.

Not all of it. Not even most of it. But words kept surfacing that I knew. Médico. Doctor. Não é possível. Not possible. Espera. Wait. She said Luzia's name twice, and both times the answer made her shoulders drop.

Spanish, I told myself. You've soaked up set Spanish for twelve years, and Portuguese is its cousin. That's all this is.

But it didn't feel like Spanish. It felt like remembering.

Stop it, Drakos!

There’s no time for mysteries.

Focus!

She hung up the last call. "The doctor is no available. But there is nurse. She knows this patient. She will come to speak with you. You wait?"

"Of course I can wait. Thank you. Truly."

I sat down in one of the chipped plastic chairs, and my serene face lasted about ninety seconds.

The nurse took twenty minutes to come down. I stared into space and tried to think it through. Every time I started to piece it together, piece together the word auction with Luzia’s disappearance, and Matthew’s lies, I got angry and terrified.

He lied about Layla's father. Four days ago somebody walked a seven-year-old out of this building without signing a name.

And the man in my bed sat through lunch and fed me stories to keep me away from that fact.

How many lies, Matthew? Give me a number.

"Senhora?"

The nurse was small and wiry, forties maybe, scrubs washed to no color at all, tired eyes. She looked at my face and nothing happened. No flicker, no double take. One of the few people in this country with no idea who I was, and I could have kissed her for it.

"You ask about Luzia," she said. Her English came slow but solid. "Why?"

"I'm a friend of the sisters at Casa Semente. They're desperate for news of her. I was told she was discharged, but nobody ever called the⁠—"

"Why do you ask me this?" Her confusion looked genuine. "I already told the officials everything. Everything I know, I told them."

The officials.

"What officials?"

As soon as I asked the question, she froze.

"You are not with them?" she whispered. "You are not with the American?"

The American.

My heart slammed, but I kept my face soft and my hands still. "I might be. Tell me about the American, and I'll tell you if he's mine."

Her face shut down, and she took one step back from me.