“Look, believe whatever you want. I’m not asking you to believe. You’ve seen the Suuke. You’ve seen the landscape utterly changed. You’ve seen a forest burst from nowhere, overnight. You’ve seen volcanic ash disappear when your books tell you it should have lingered. Yet you don’t believe anything you’ve seen. Science is about more than what the Western world tells you is true. It’s about finding answers for what we see around us. Well, I’m saying let’s find answers. My people have seen this kind of change before, mujer. This kind of shifting between worlds is the basis for our stories. We’re an intelligent people, mujer. We’re not a spectacle for your fascination …”

“I didn’t mean—”

He cut her off. “You study the past. I study possibility. We emerged from the underworlds and theoretical physics says it’s possible …” He moved away from the armrest, smoothed his wavy hair from his face.

“Chance, I—”

“Whether you believe or not, you’re part of the story, mujer. You might as well start believing.” He walked away, out the back door.

Through the window, the evening shone a reddish glow around him. He picked up a small piece of wood, propped one leg on the chopping board, pulled a pocketknife from his boot, and began whittling. His words buzzed in her mind like those cicadas she’d heard at the hangar, when her bisabuela had encouraged her to trust him.

Fine. She had no better plan. She might as well trust Chance.

TWENTY

TWENTY

THE COYOTE WHO KILLED

“Have you seen Eunjoo?”

Mara and Buick were sitting at the table eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Calliope’s stomach growled. How long had it been since she’d eaten? Her last meal had been yesterday’s snacks on the journey to Tía’s. She was starving. Eunjoo would be hungry too.

Calliope had showered, thankful for Tía’s water pump, and changed into clean clothes she’d found in the closet, a cable knit sweater and pair of black yoga pants—the only items Tía owned that would stretch over Calliope’s belly. The contractions had subsided before the shower; afterward, they’d ceased altogether. She’d towel-dried her hair since she couldn’t waste the generator on a blow dryer, and she entered the kitchen with a towel turban-wrapped around her head.

“I thought she was with you,” Mara said. “She said she was tired and going to take a nap with you.”

“I was in the shower … Eunjoo?” she called.

No answer.

Calliope opened the back door.

Chance was still in the yard whittling. “Peace offering?” He held up a figurine he’d carved.

“Have you seen Eunjoo?”

“She’s with you?”

A stab of guilt. Eunjoo was her responsibility, not theirs. The girl should’ve been with her.

“Eunjoo, answer me.” Calliope flung open the front door.

On the porch, Eunjoo’s footprints.