Although Emmy’s appearance had caused a stir, her traditional greeting in the ancient language completely silenced the commotion. At least half of the old folks stared at Emmy in amazement, while the other half stared in confusion. It was obvious who among them recognized her words and who didn’t.

Emmy continued speaking in their old language, of which I understood roughly nothing at all. It was clear that no more than a handful could follow her words, and as Emmy continued to speak she focused on those who knew enough of the mother tongue to understand her meaning. After a bit one of the guitar players handed her his beat-up old guitar. Emmy sat down and tuned it quickly, then started singing.

I was pretty sure I’d heard her play the melody before, but I’d never heard her sing along with it. It sounded like a lullaby, soft, soothing and sweet, despite the rough sound of their ancient language. Looking around the large covered patio, I could tell about equal numbers of people were curious and puzzled but keeping quiet out of respect and those for whom the song was having a very profound emotional effect. Some of the old folks were openly weeping, unheeded tears running down their old faces. When the song ended, Emmy handed the guitar back to the old man, who looked as if someone had stabbed him right in the heart. She then spoke in Spanish to the entire group, and not for the first time I wished my Spanish were better. Although I could understand a word here or a phrase there, the best I could do was listen quietly and let Emmy talk.

Angela realized after a bit that I was floundering, so she whispered in my ear that Emmy was talking about their people, their ancient culture, and how it was time for the Children Of The Night to stand up with pride to be seen.

“She says that they should look at her and look at Jeremy as examples of how their people can choose to live. She says that we must remember the past, but create a new future for our people. She says that the young must learn of their heritage- it must not be forgotten, as it seems is happening. She promises that if the Night Children of Cartagena choose to join with the growing nation of Night Children in the New World, she will, um, make certain that they…” Angela trailed off, listening to Emmy. “She says that this life they have made here in Cartagena can be better, opportunities can be created if they simply choose not to hide, and choose to embrace their heritage.”

Emmy’s speech seemed to hit a nerve with a lot of the oldsters there at the social club, but I saw a handful of skeptical faces among the crowd. I’m certain Emmy noticed them too, but she continued to address the entire group, not just those who were leaning her way.

“She says that she only just found out about this community two nights ago, when she was approached by two men who live in Barrio Albornoz. They told her of their barrio’s Night Children, and said that more lived here, in Tierra Bomba. Until those men saw her and spoke with her, she had no idea there were any of our kind in Colombia. She was overjoyed to learn that she had been wrong, and to find so many here. She says that you are the queen of North America, but not like any of the queens or kings of old. She says that you offer peace, prosperity and safety to your people, but do not demand much in return. She says…”

“It’s O.K.,” I told Angela. “I get the idea.”

While Emmy continued, I indicated that our group should sit at a couple of the open tables. I waved to the young woman who was obviously the waitress, and she came over to ask what we wanted. Again, we relied on Rafael and Angela ordering for us, since Grant and Tiny spoke Spanish about as poorly as I did (or maybe even worse).

Emmy’s speech wound down after a bit, but she remained standing in the middle of the patio, answering questions. Eventually she took a seat at a table with some of the card players, chatting amiably with them, now that the shock of the whole encounter was wearing off for the locals.

The woman who’d spoken to us earlier in English came and sat down at my table to talk. She’d listened to everything Emmy had said with a frown on her face, so I figured she was doubtful of all we represented. That said, the simple fact that she came over to talk indicated some degree of openness to discussion.

“My name is Leah Farmer,” I said, holding out a hand to shake, which she did after a moment’s hesitation.

“Cynthia Rodriguez,” she replied automatically.

“Cynthia, your English is much better than my Spanish,” I told her. “Where did you learn?”

“From the missionaries,” she said, not volunteering any more information.

“Well, we’re not missionaries,” I told her. “We aren’t here to convince anyone to do anything they don’t want. Like Emmy said, we didn’t even know these two groups of us existed here until Ignacio came to say hello to Emmy two nights ago. This,” I said, gesturing to indicate our little group, “is simply an invitation. we’re making an offer, and you’re free to accept or not.”

“You say ‘we’, but you are not one of us,” Cynthia said.

“When a child is born to a Night Child man and a day walker woman, do you consider the child to be one of our people?” I asked.

Cynthia looked as if she would object, but she stopped herself.

“I am the queen of our people in North America. My people accept me, despite the fact I’m not blessed by the night. They know I am one of them.”

“Our ancestors came to the New World to escape the old ways. Why should we subject ourselves to what they ran from?” Cynthia demanded.

“Cynthia, I might not be the best one for you to talk to about this,” I told her. “You might be better off talking to Jeremy over there,” I said, pointing out the very large bodyguard. “He can tell you his own personal experience, and what his life was like before he accepted my shadow, and afterwards.”

“Why do you care if we follow you or not? What does it mean for you? We have nothing to offer,” Cynthia said.

“It’s this simple. Our people have lived in the margins, in the shadows and in hiding for thousands of years. The world is getting more connected, and hiding is going to become impossible soon. We need to make ourselves visible now and take our place in day walker society,” I explained. “The more of us that do so, the more the rest of the world has to accept us. If the only Night Child the world knows is Emmy, she’s an object of curiosity. But if the world sees us in their daily lives, then we become a fact of life.”

“You never said what you want from us,” Cynthia protested.

“I want you to take off the makeup. I want you to show your true face to the world. I want you to tell anyone who asks that you’re part of an ancient and proud people. That’s what I want,” I told her.

“That’s it? Just to walk around, showing…” she said, at a loss for words.

“Well, here’s the thing. That’s what I want all our people all over the world to do, whether they accept my shadow or not, and yes, some people are doing just that. I had a meeting with the leaders of the Night Children in Japan, and I think they are going to choose to come out of hiding. Not because I told them to, but because they agree that it’s time. They aren’t under my command or anything like that and I didn’t ask them to be. It’s the same for you here in Colombia. I want you to stand proud, whether you choose to accept my shadow or not. If you do accept my shadow, I’d be happy to build a school here in Tierra Bomba and another in Albornoz, and some medical clinics, too. Maybe I can help create jobs here, too, but I haven’t looked into anything like that yet.” Cynthia started to interrupt, but I held up my hand for her to wait, and she did.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“We only found out about your existence two nights ago. We have no plans as such. This is all about asking if you want our help, and asking what we can do to help, if you do,” I said.

“We don’t need your help,” she snapped.

“No, you might decide that you don’t, and that’s your choice. We’re here to make the offer, that’s all,” I agreed.

Lunch was served about then. Mine was chicken, but most people in our group got the fried fish. It seemed as if that was the default option in Cartagena, which made sense. I noted that the only other non-fish eater was Rafael, and I wondered if he was like me- a non-pescatarian. The food was fine but not great, and the golden-colored soda was appallingly sweet, but I ate and drank it all anyway. Like I told Angela, we couldn’t be seen as looking down on the locals in any way.

After we ate Emmy took the guitar from the old man again and sang a few more songs in the language of the Night Children, then a few in Spanish. Eventually we thanked everyone for their hospitality and left. A number of the old folks clasped Emmy’s hands in theirs, grateful for her even being there with them.

On the boat, I asked Emmy how her conversations had gone.

“The elders who still understood our old language all wanted us to build a school to teach the children our heritage,” Emmy said, holding her hat on her head, fighting the breeze. “A few of the people there wanted to simply forget the past, but I think they were in the minority.”

“So, do we bring our crews down, or not?” I asked.

“Yes,” Emmy answered without hesitation. “I think the door is open.”

After seeing Emmy, Angela, Grant and Tiny off to Mexico City the next morning, I stopped by the KLM desk and rescheduled my flight to London. I’d need to stay in Cartagena for another week to get the incoming crews up and running, after all.

I’d debated with Angela and Rafael about the relative merits of where I’d stay during that time, and although I did agree that me staying in Angela’s old room would be great in a lot of ways, I needed to separate my image as queen of North America from the Castro family, so I stayed in the suite I’d shared with my two honeys. Of course, my intention was to have dinner over at the Castro house as often as possible since Mamá’s home-cooked meals were a real treat and I enjoyed spending time with them.

Also, Mamá probably would have spanked me or something if I didn’t, but that part remained unsaid.

The day after Emmy and Angela left, Rafael and I went back to Albornoz to have lunch at the restaurant where Ignacio and the others had met with us. Interestingly, this time the woman that ran the place wasn’t wearing makeup- her coal-black skin was on full display.

“She says that seeing Emmy and the giant showed her that it was time to throw away the old fears,” Rafael explained after a brief discussion. I asked him if she’d had any problems since she chose to show herself, and she snorted in amusement when he translated for her.

“Everybody around here knew already,” he explained, translating her words. “It might be different in the city center, but here, no.”

After lunch I made sure to leave a generous, but not too generous, tip. I told the woman (through Rafael, of course) that my men were going to be eating there a lot in the future, and hoped that she’d welcome them as she had us, which got another snort of laughter.

“She says that all are welcome, especially if they tip well,” Rafael explained, laughing along with the old lady.

Back in Rafael’s well-traveled Ford, I asked him his thoughts on the whole thing.

“To be truthful, the night I met Emmy’s father, my eyes were opened. When the three of us spoke of your plans and problems you have been facing, it seemed… theoretical,” he said, looking thoughtful. “But now we have found all these people in my own city, people who have been here for a long time, I understand what you have been doing…”

I waited for him to continue, but soon we were in the walled city’s dense, chaotic traffic and he didn’t have time to elaborate.

Back at the house, Mamá took one look at me and told me to go upstairs and take a little siesta. “You need to rest, mija,” she said. “I will come get you in two hours.”

Bemused, I went upstairs to Angela’s room and did as I was told. I rarely take naps, but I was asleep in no time. When Mamá knocked to announce herself it took me a moment to wake fully. She sat down on the edge of the bed and brushed the hair from my face.

“I wish you would stay here, but I understand why you do not,” she said. “But do not forget- this is your house now also.”

“Mamá, I don’t know why I was so tired,” I told her as I rubbed my eyes. “But that siesta really helped. Thank you.”

“Sometimes we are not tired in the body, but in the soul. It is hard when your loved ones leave. Mi Angel has told me that for you it is more important they stay safe and happy than you do, and that is a sign of true love. But that does not mean that you should… sacrificar,” she said, unsure of the word in English.

“Sacrifice,” I suggested.

“You should not always sacrifice your own happiness for the ones you love. Sometimes you must be a little bit selfish,” Mamá said. “They will understand.”

“I can’t right now,” I told her. “And when the babies are born, it’ll be all about them for a while. But I understand what you’re saying.”

“Don’ forget,” she said, tapping my forehead. “You are as important as they are.”

The king-sized bed back at the hotel was lonely, making me regret not staying at the Castro house after all. There, at least, I was surrounded by reminders of Angela and feeling the warmth of a very caring family.

Finding it difficult to sleep, I checked the pool hours and found it was already closed. I didn’t want to go out, but I didn’t want to stay in the suite, either, so I made my way down to the same bar where Rafael and I had talked a couple of days earlier.

I was sipping on a really decent Old Fashioned and looking through a picture book of Cartagena when a thirty-something year old man sat himself down next to me.

“American?” he asked.

“I’m from California,” I replied. “You sound as if you’re from Boston, maybe?”

“Close enough,” he agreed. “Man, it sure is hot down here, huh? But I guess you’re used to that, bein’ from Cali.”

“The weather here is a lot closer to Boston’s than it is to Los Angeles’,” I replied. “And Cali is the name of a city on the Pacific coast of Colombia. I’m not from there.”

“Sheesh,” he said. “I’m just tryna be friendly with another American.”

“And I’m just trying to relax and unwind after a long day,” I told him.

“Yeah, yeah, I get the hint,” he said and got up and went back to wherever it was he’d come from.

“You certainly sent him packing,” said a man from behind me. I turned around in my seat to look at the guy who’d just spoken to me. He was older, salt-and-pepper hair perfectly groomed to go along with his very high-quality tailored suit. The guy could have been in beer ads as a Very Interesting Man, based on looks and voice alone.

“Am I going to have to send you packing, too?” I asked.

“No, no,” he chuckled, his well-educated and cultured Spanish accent smooth and very pleasing to the ear. “I have no intention of, as they say, ‘getting in your pants’. In any case, I doubt it would work even if I did, since you’re married to Emmy De Lascaux.”

I nodded to confirm he was right, so he continued. “My understanding is that she left this morning, but you’re still here. Unfinished business?”

“Unanticipated new business,” I confirmed.

“Here’s to profitable business,” he said, racing his glass in a toast.

I raised mine in return and we sipped our drinks.

“My name is Emiliano Suárez,” he said, introducing himself. “Imports and exports.”

Thinking that was probably shorthand for drug trafficking, I said, “Leah Farmer, real estate investing.”

“I know that look,” he said with a smile. “No, not drugs. My company exports gold and other ores, and imports industrial machinery.”

I chuckled, knowing that he was probably fishing for that reaction and knew to play it to break the ice.

I left my seat and took the one facing his so we could talk. We discussed the economics of shipping in Cartagena, the challenges of fluctuating exchange rates, the effect of rising water temperatures on Caribbean weather, and other similar topics until the waiter announced last call at midnight. Emiliano was a good conversationalist, and true to his word, never even hinted that he’d like to get me in bed.

“Good night, Leah Farmer,” he said when we parted to go to our separate rooms.

“Good night, Emiliano Suárez,” I replied.

Just on the off chance that it was all bullshit, I googled him when I got to my room and found his LinkedIn profile showing him as director of a company that did exactly what he’d claimed. You can never be too careful, I told myself as I closed my laptop.