The Wistful Incense
Chapter One The square of San Luis del Humedal was a hive of commerce and suspicion, where the smell of roasted corn and river mud mixed with the sharp, chemical tang of fear that had settled over the missionary district since the last cold snap burst the iron pipes and froze the ground solid. Imelda Escobedo, forty-two and wearing her mother’s threadbare shawl like armor, stood before the...
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