Marielena smiles slowly, and her entire attitude changes. "Very good, Van Thomas. Excellente."
My eyes narrow. "Did you know about the Wendigo?"
Did she know what a mystical place this is? Is that why she kept stopping by, sticking her signs into our lawn?
She folds her arms and gives me an enigmatic smile. "I can see past the skin of the avocado to the pit. I know when the cacao bean is ripe. Yes. We knew about the Wendigo. Or we'd heard about it. But to see a lamia, an animal god, or even a demoness ... well, that takes some adjusting to. We keep our divinity hidden. Have for generations, ever since our family came up from Veracruz in the 1930s. If you've read THE GRAPES OF WRATH, that would be our family competing with the 'Okies and Arkies.'"
"I've read it," I reply. "But something tells me you blew those settlers from the Dust Bowl out of the water."
With a smile, Marielena assesses all of us. "You aren't quite human, either."
