“Why should there be trouble?” Flix asked. He could not take his eyes off his niece.

“If it comes to that, I’ll handle it,” St. Vincent said. To Orteño, he said, “Go on now,” in a voice that was almost gentle. “Clock’s running.”

Flix felt oddly light-headed as he approached Lucy, as if he had wandered off the Yellow Brick Road into the field of poppies in Oz. The last he had seen of her she was just an adolescent, now she was an adult. She was playing old-school solitaire with cards, rather than on a tablet.

When his shadow passed over her hand she looked up. He was startled to see no recognition in her face. She was shockingly thin, almost frail-looking. Her eyes were sunken deep in their sockets, the skin of her face stretched tight over her mother’s pronounced cheekbones.

“Lucy, it’s good to see you.”

Her head swung back and she returned to her game.

“Lucy?”

“I suppose I should know you.” Her voice was reedy, as thin as the rest of her. Her thick hair was lank, greasy-looking. A sickly sweet smell wafted off her every time she exhaled. “The truth is I don’t.”

His heart plummeted. He sat down beside her. “It’s Felix. Your uncle Felix.”

“So I have an uncle?” She spoke entirely without inflection, as if she had died and been reanimated by the power of the Institute of Mary Immaculate and the power of Christ.

“You must remember.” He leaned toward her and spoke low and urgently. “Eres la hija de mi hermana.” You’re my sister’s daughter. “Marilena’s niña.” He felt perplexed, at sea. “Seguramente te acuerdas de ella, tu madre.” Surely you remember her, your mother.

“What makes you think I speak Spanish?”

Dios mío, Flix thought. “Because, guapa, you’re Mexican.”

She looked at him with those haunted eyes. “I’m the opposite of lovely. I’m a fucking mess.”

“But you do speak Spanish.”

They stared at each other for a moment, Flix desperately searching for even the smallest spark of recognition. Abruptly, he rose, crossed back to where St. Vincent stood like a sentinel beside the doorway.

“What kind of drugs is she on?”

“A cocktail of antipsychotics and tranqs.”

“Take her off them.”

“She had a break while she was being taken into custody,” St. Vincent said as if he hadn’t heard. “She almost tore an arm off one of the cops.”

“She doesn’t know who I am. Take her off all medication—”

“Felix—”

“—so I can talk to her. Otherwise…” There was no need to finish the sentence.

St. Vincent gave him a hard stare, then sighed. “To show my sincerity, okay?”

Orteño nodded, wishing he knew a Mayan curse he could put on this sonuvabitch. He should have paid more attention to his grandmother while she was alive.

St. Vincent gave the briefest of nods. “I’ll talk to Sister Margaret.”

“Now.”

“Watch yourself.”

“Por favor.”

Orteño watched St. Vincent stride down the hall, then returned to his niece. “Lucy, I’m going to get you out of here,” he said as he sat down.