I hurried down the hall to the kitchen. It looked as if someone had trashed it. Herbs had been torn from the ceiling and scattered about, dishes were knocked onto the floor, and the motorcycle parts Rafael had been working on were lying by the door, as if the table had been tipped over and only recently been righted. Mama G sat on a chair in the middle of the room, clutching a piece of the ceramic jar from which she’d drawn the snake earlier. Her dress was soaking wet and a blanket had been draped around her shoulders. Downy white feathers drifted across the floor, but there was no sign of the snakes that the jar had once held. Like the first serpent, they’d done a vanishing act.