A week had passed.Today was the day.
I needed to look good for the job interview. I dressed in a new outfit: a burgundy blazer that contrasted with my skin and a simple blouse underneath. I had asked for two days off from my jobs to recover some of the sleep I'd lost over the past weeks.
Buying that outfit was a small indulgence.I needed to feel good about myself.
This was my chance to return to studying journalism and to help my grandparents.I couldn't fail.
Soft knocks sounded at my bedroom door.
"Come in," I said.
It was my grandmother.
"What do you think? It's nice, right?" I asked, touching my abdomen. "It doesn't make me look fat, does it?"
"You look good. Don't worry about that," she replied with a smile.
Then she took something from her hands: a small alebrije, beautifully carved from wood. It was shaped like a black leopard with yellow markings and wings.
"Here," she said. "It's for good luck… and to protect you."
"Thank you, Grandma," I replied, attaching it as a keychain to my backpack.
I had seen her carving it since the day I told her I was going to apply for that job. I didn't know exactly what it meant, but I knew enough—my grandmother had been a shaman for many years, and those pieces were always meant for protection.
Normally, they weren't that detailed. Seeing how much effort she had put into it made me smile.
My grandmother's work had always been beautiful—clean, carefully painted. It used to sell quite well. But after the change in the law and the prohibition, everything became complicated for small priests and shamans.
I couldn't blame them entirely. That new "religion" that had scammed thousands of people—including important economic and social groups—had ended in an international scandal. Millions vanished along with people, temples, and leaders. No one ever truly knew what had happened.
After that, tarot readers, fortune tellers, shamans, and small temples shut down one by one.
"It's a very precious design," my grandmother said. "They are protectors who have watched over our family for years. Everyone has their own, and now this one is yours. Take good care of it. It will always protect you."
"Thank you, Grandma," I replied. "I should go, or I'll be late."
"Be careful, and look both ways when you cross the street."
"Yes, Grandma."
Leaving the house at five in the afternoon felt strange.
People walking calmly, laughter, young adults heading to bars, couples strolling. A normal life. A life I wanted too.
That only strengthened my determination.
Getting that job meant nice clothes, going out, reclaiming a part of my life…and who knows—maybe even having a boyfriend someday.
The interview location was an hour away, slightly outside the city. Old houses and low buildings surrounded the area, mostly inhabited by elderly people. In the middle of it all, a large dark building stood imposingly.
It clashed with its surroundings, yet at the same time, it felt like it had been there for many years.
Inside, a woman with black hair and skin so pale it looked sickly handed me a ticket to wait my turn. I couldn't help staring at her a bit longer than normal—at times, she seemed almost… transparent.
I told myself I was just tired.
Well-dressed men and women sat on sofas, some drinking coffee. The atmosphere, though professional, felt cold. Uncomfortable.
"You know, the cookies here are huge," someone commented, breaking the silence.
No one laughed.
Everyone looked tense.
Then a girl came out of the interview.
She was pale. Too pale.
She barely managed a few steps before leaning against the wall. Her legs trembled. Then she bent over a planter and vomited.
Several people rushed over.
"Did they do something to you?""What happened?""Are you okay?"
A man who seemed to know her spoke urgently.
"No… nothing bad happened," she said between gasps. "It was a normal interview… routine questions… some strange things… but nothing else."
She bent over again.
"It's the pressure… and his eyes.It feels like they rip your soul out."
Silence fell heavily.
For a moment, I thought everyone would leave. But remembering the salary was enough to keep them seated.
A man stepped out and called the next applicant.
One by one, they went in… and one by one, they came out just as pale.
Even the blonde girl in revealing clothes who had mocked me earlier ended up leaving in tears.
At nine at night, only I remained.
"Last ticket," the secretary announced.
I stood up, nervous and exhausted.
We walked down a long, antique-style hallway filled with paintings from different eras and cultures. Some were beautiful; others unsettling.
We passed a recording studio. Professional equipment, people working, live music. Everything looked impeccable. I was surprised they were looking for someone with so few requirements.
At the end of the hallway stood a large door.
The secretary sat at his desk and opened it.
Inside, the office was elegant. Fine furniture, leather armchairs, a mahogany table. Papers, awards, recognitions.
And by the window, standing, was a man.
Tall.Black hair with greenish highlights under the light.Pale, almost ghostly skin.Green eyes like jade.
When he saw me, he sat down and motioned for me to do the same.
"You're the last applicant," he said. "I'm not a fan of interviews, and I've been here for hours, so I'll get straight to the point."
"Have you worked as a radio host before?"
"No, sir."
"Journalism? Interviews? Customer service?"
"I wanted to study journalism, but I had to quit. I've worked in cafés… I'm used to talking to all kinds of people."
He nodded.
"Last question—and the most important one.Have you ever worked as a guardian, shaman, or caretaker of any religious place?"
"Yes, sir. My grandmother is a shaman. I helped her with cleansings, seals, and designs. I know legends and stories."
Something moved inside my backpack.
It trembled.
The man smiled.
"Perfect," he said. "Would you like to start working today?"
Before I could answer, a black shadow exploded out of my backpack. I fell backward along with the chair.
A deep growl echoed through the room.
"Don't you dare touch her."
I opened my eyes.
A black jaguar with golden markings stood in front of me.
I searched for the keychain.
It was gone.
And that was how everything began.
Now, the memory dissolved before my eyes.
The contract still lay on the table.
To my right, the dark-haired man watched me patiently, as if he had always known what my answer would be.
To my left, the winged jaguar remained still, vigilant.
Two gazes.One decision.And this time, there was no escape.