"That ring you have in your hand is very beautiful."

"Oh, this? Yes, yes. I bought it on a work trip, at a jewelry store in the very center of a little town."

"An Atlantean ring of Solomon."

"Yes, that's what they told me. It has the three metals, along with other symbols that you must know. Would you like to see it?" the executive asked, turning the ring around to slip it off his finger.

"Oh, no. I know them well. You shouldn't let others touch your jewelry."

"Oh?"

"No, sir. We all carry certain energies, frequencies. And through certain objects, materials, and so on, we tune into different vibrational levels. If someone else touches your jewelry, it's like they detune it from your... your channel. Like when you turn the radio dial just slightly off the perfect frequency, and the signal gets weaker."

"And is that bad?"

"Well, in itself, no. But it can become a problem. Imagine your body is a car, and this interference—this handling of your jewelry—is like fogging up your windshield. At first, you can still drive, but it's harder than it should be. If you don't clear the fog and it keeps getting worse, eventually, you'll crash."

"I see. So that's why people cleanse or bless these kinds of objects, right?"

"Something like that. But anyway, tell me, how can I help you?"

The young man in a suit and tie, his briefcase resting on the floor beside him, took a sip of hibiscus water. He wiped his lips with a napkin and explained:

"Look, ma'am, a few months ago, things started going downhill at work. I manage a sales team, and we had an amazing streak—three years of outstanding performance, improving month after month, year after year. But then, as if by magic—"

The woman frowned.

"—our sales started dropping, contracts were canceled, and my people began quitting overnight."

"And why come to me? This sounds more like a business management issue, doesn't it?"

"It seems that way, ma'am, but it's not."

"Explain why you think so."

"At the beginning of the month, my cousin—he's my neighbor, we live in the same building—came to me about a ring he was given. Speaking of rings. His friend, who is a Mason, gave it to him. And..."

"Go on."

The executive glanced at the reflection in the buffet mirror, which faced the garden window.

"Sir," the woman insisted, "continue."

From the stairs, the boy watched, puzzled. He didn't understand the pause, but he felt something strange about all of it.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Please, continue."

"Yes, well... Ah, right. My cousin gave me a silver ring—a replica of the Ring of Solomon."

The woman cast a quick glance at the boy on the stairs before returning her attention to her guest.

"Why did he give it to you?"

"Well, as I was saying, because I was a Mason."

"You hadn't mentioned that. You told me about your cousin's friend, but not about yourself."

"I'm sorry. Well, I was a Mason and—"

"You are a Mason."

"..."

"..."

"Yes, you're right. Once a Mason, always a Mason."

"Yes, well, it's a little more than that, I'd say. You were initiated. A specific ritual was performed to align you, like tuning into frequencies that remain hidden to most. Additionally, you have—or had—access to certain knowledge that is veiled to outsiders."

"Absolutely. You're right."

"And that's why your cousin gave you the ring."

"Yes and no. The thing is, he's very religious—goes to mass every Sunday, prays daily, carries saint cards and Virgin Mary images in his wallet—"

The executive glanced at the image of Archangel Michael in the living room and the reproduction of Dalí's The Last Supper in the dining room, then corrected himself.

"Which, of course, is not a bad thing."

The woman stifled a chuckle, the boy grinned from his spot on the stairs, and the executive, embarrassed but smiling, continued.

"Anyway, he's extremely devout and is genuinely afraid of committing sins... let's say, unintentionally. He gave me the ring to confirm that it wasn't something satanic or anything like that."

"And why did he think that was a possibility?"

"Because he did some research and found out that the ring was used in exorcism rituals and to expel demons—imagine that."

"And if he discovered that, what does that have to do with you? Because your friend and you are Masons? And Masons supposedly know about rings and demons?"

The young man, who couldn't have been older than thirty-five, laughed, enjoying the conversation with the woman.

"He thinks Masons are—or that we are—satanic."

"If that were the case, wouldn't it be a mistake to approach you?"

"Of course. But you know, before being a Mason, I'm his cousin. And he, his brother, and I care about each other much more than any religious or philosophical stance dictates."

"I see. So, tell me."

"Well, my cousin, who's a truck driver, was about to go on a trip and asked me to research the ring. Honestly, when he visited, I explained what little I knew at first glance, but I wasn't sure about all its components or properties. So, he decided to leave it with me so I could study it and tell him whether it was safe to keep or if he should return or give it away. He assured me that his friend, a fellow trucker, was an educated man, a man of good morals, and that he didn't think he would try to harm him—but he still feared it might be something sinful."

"And what happened?"

"Well, first I left it overnight under the moonlight, in water with sea salt."

"Good," said the witch with a smile.

"Yes, yes."

"You may not know much about these things, but at an initial level, this is perfect. Based on your knowledge and experience, cleansings and the curing of jewelry and objects adjust accordingly. A believer can perform an exorcism on another without any ritual, simply through prayer and strong faith in God."

"Yes, of course. It's like communion and other sacraments that can still be performed even without being a priest."

"Exactly... under certain circumstances," she replied with a smile.

"Hey, I was promised a witch, and here we are, sounding like a couple of theologians or monks," he joked.

The boy let out a loud laugh, and the witch smiled warmly.

"So, what happened next?"

"Well, you won't believe it... While I had the ring in my possession, right away my team started making a comeback—sales and more sales. My salespeople brought in unemployed friends and relatives to join my commercial team, and everything improved. Contracts went through without a hitch, I started receiving recognition for our turnaround, and an old love—literally—knocked on my door. I was happy in a way I hadn't been in years."

"Interesting."

"No, wait. I hadn't connected the dots, ma'am. There were things I hadn't noticed that only became clear in contrast."

"What things, young man?"

"I live in the south of the city, in Toriello Guerra. There, believe it or not, the local wildlife is unusual."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there are certain creatures you can find there that you won't see in the rest of the city. The most common are cacomixtles, among others—you know, little raccoon-like animals. I was aware of that. In fact, my apartment is between two parks, and it's very common to see those critters running across the streets toward the park or darting through the bushes at dusk or nighttime."

"Okay..."

"Well, from time to time, one of those creatures would sneak into the gap between my ceiling and the rooftop floor. There's a small space there, and at night—especially in the early hours—I would hear strange noises. Imagine that: tiny footsteps scurrying across the ceiling at three in the morning."

The boy leaned back, holding his breath.

"That space was like a nocturnal burrow for the cacomixtle. It would play around, and on some nights—not very often—it sounded like it brought visitors for mating rituals. You could hear all sorts of noises."

"And are you sure they were cacomixtles?"

"Well, I hired a pest exterminator who confirmed the burrow's existence. There were eggshells, rotting fruit, insects, flies—lots of flies—loose fur like from a stuffed animal, and blood-stained feathers."

The woman glanced at the boy.

"And did your cousin hear it too?"

"No. At least not until after I returned the Atlantean ring of Solomon to him."

"What do you mean?"

"Yes, after realizing the ring wasn't harmful, researching its components and purpose, and noticing the peace in my home, I told my cousin everything and gave the ring back to him."

"My God..."

"I know, that damn ring was protecting me, wasn't it?"

"You tell me."

"Absolutely," the executive replied. "Of course it was protecting me—or at the very least, shielding me. Think about it: Once I had given the ring back to my cousin, one night, while watching a movie in my room with my girlfriend—well, my ex-girlfriend—she suddenly pointed at the window in alarm and said, 'Nico, what is that?'"

The woman smiled.

"I turned to look, and right beside the window, on the wall, there was a scorpion—a big one. At first, I thought it was a spider, disgusting and huge, but to my surprise, it was actually a massive scorpion. I killed it, and that was that. We searched for its mate—you know how they say scorpions always come in pairs, right?"

The witch nodded, and the boy, captivated by the story, slowly stepped down from the stairs, inching closer.

"Well, we never found the other one. We figured it must have come in through the window alone and left it at that. But then, on the very day I returned the ring to my cousin and explained to him that the ring supposedly had the Ineffable Name—the name of God—engraved on it, along with elements to repel and expel demons, and everything else you probably already know about the ring, that same day, terrifying things started happening."

"What things?"

Nico started to fidget, uneasy. Taking a deep breath, he stole another glance at his reflection in the buffet mirror before continuing.

"For starters, strange people staring at my window from across the street."

"You don't say..."

The boy, nervous, gripped the railing tightly, pressing himself against it in fear. Upstairs, footsteps began moving about. Nico cast a sidelong glance upward but, unshaken by anything other than his own memories, carried on.

"I have nothing against bald guys," the witch couldn't suppress a chuckle, "but this was something else entirely. I got home after giving the ring back to my cousin, and somehow, I noticed that the living room window was open. I say 'somehow' because I always keep my windows shut when I'm out. I figured it was just an oversight and thought nothing of it. I walked over to open it a little more, let some fresh air in, and that's when I saw him—a bald man, stocky, rough-looking, standing across the street, staring straight into my eyes."

"Hmm..."

"I don't think I'm explaining this right. Listen—there's no way anyone from the street should be able to look directly into my eyes, you get me? It's not just the distance or the angle—my apartment has security bars on the windows, and because of the way the light and shadows play off them, it's impossible for anyone outside to see inside. The only way someone could make out my silhouette would be if it were pitch black outside, and I had my living room light on—the bright one—but even then, they wouldn't be able to see my face clearly."

"Okay, okay."

"But this bald guy? He was right there, on the other side of the avenue, standing at the corner, staring straight into my eyes. Surprised, but reassured because I knew he shouldn't be able to see me, and with the living room light off, I tested it. I moved to the right, to the left, stepped forward, stepped back—but no matter where I went in the room, that bald guy kept looking straight into my eyes. He never blinked. He just followed me with his gaze."

"What did you do?"

"I'm embarrassed to admit it, but startled, I shut the window, closed the blinds, backed away, and tried to put it out of my mind."

"But you couldn't..."

"No, I couldn't. I crept back and peeked again, and to my horror, there was another bald man standing beside him—tall, thin, with a goatee, all gray, staring at me too. Both of them. Just standing there, completely still, looking straight into my eyes."

"And then?"

"Terrified, I started praying."

"There are no atheists in the trenches."

"That's right, ma'am. There aren't. We don't exist. I began to pray, and the cacomixtle started scurrying around above me, chasing something in that little space. I decided to go to bed, but then I remembered I hadn't eaten all day, so I opened the fridge to heat something up. The food, sealed in its containers, wasn't just spoiled—it was crawling with maggots."

"Dear God..."

"I know."

"Not wanting to go to bed on an empty stomach, I grabbed a couple of eggs and cracked them into the pan. They were nothing but clots and blood."

"Oh, Lord..."

"I opened my oatmeal canister, and dozens of moths flew out, fluttering all over my breakfast nook. I gave up. I locked myself in my room, where I have a Saint Benedict medal my mother gave me for protection. It hangs on the inside doorknob of my bedroom. I entrusted myself to its protection, feeling slightly calmer. Even though I hadn't yet connected all the dots, I knew something far beyond the ordinary was haunting me."

"I understand."

"I peeked through the tiny gap between my blackout curtain and the window, and there they were—four bald men, each with different builds and features, but all with a ghostly presence. They were staring straight at me, right through a slit that should have been invisible to anyone from the street. Expressionless but firm. I felt a tickle on the back of my hand, and when I looked down, a scorpion was crawling over it. Instinctively, without thinking, I flicked it off and jumped back. I took off my shoe and crushed it in one swift motion. I started looking for its mate, and without even touching the curtain, as if felled by some unseen force, seven black scorpions tumbled onto the floor of my room, twisting and writhing to right themselves."

"Incredible."

"I know, it sounds like a load of crap when I say it, but it was real. I killed them all. I searched for more but didn't find any. I stripped my bed, shook out the sheets, and made it again. I lay down, and, deeply unsettled by the bald men outside and the creatures inside, I fell asleep with nightmares. I dreamt of the first bald man, standing outside my bedroom."

"What was he doing in your dream?"

"Just staring. Nothing else. He didn't move, didn't try to come in. Just stood there, watching. And I think that's what scared me the most."

"Was he looking at you?"

"Oh, no. No, no, no. He wasn't looking at me—he was looking into the room, past the door, but not at me. It was as if he couldn't actually see inside but was just standing there, waiting. Waiting for an opportunity."

"Oh, dear..."

"I know, ma'am. It was terrifying. What woke me up was a series of thuds behind me—on the wall above my headboard—and then on the ceiling. It sounded like a predator and the cacomixtle locked in a fight to the death. Then came a chilling squeal, something choking on its own gurgles, like a creature drowning in its own blood. And then, footsteps—clawed ones—tapping against the floor as they moved away from the scene. The creature, whether the cacomixtle or whatever was hunting it, thrashed and shrieked for about ten minutes, spasming, its cries fading until, finally, silence swallowed the rest of the night."

"Your cousin heard it too."

"Yeah, we ran into each other in the hallway the next morning, and smiling—wearing the ring—he asked me what the hell I was doing at exactly 3:04 a.m."

"What did you tell him?"

"Nothing," Nico said with a smirk. "What was I supposed to say? But here's the thing—ever since then, I hear noises outside my room, no food lasts in my fridge, everything spoils, even canned goods. Roaches crawl out of every single pipe in the place. My sales team collapsed; we used to be fifty people. Now it's just my secretary, two salesmen, and me. I'm desperate, and I'm starving, ma'am."

"I understand, I understand, young man. And what is it you want me to do?"

"Ma'am, I need you to help me find a solution, some kind of protection. From what I understand, you can find anything, right?"

The woman nodded, hesitantly.

"Please, help me find either a solution or a protection."

"Why didn't you just ask your cousin for the ring back? It seems like that little artifact was doing a fine job protecting you."

"I know, ma'am. But I'm sure that now it's protecting my cousin."

She smiled at him.

"I love him very much, and as soon as he started wearing it, he got recruited by a leading logistics company. They promoted him to route leader, put him in charge of drivers and warehouse workers, tripled his salary and benefits. On top of that, he seems happier than ever with his wife and the rest of the family."

"Well, well. Let's see what we can find for you. I'm going to charge you..."

The woman looked into his eyes, then at the boy, who simply shrugged, washing his hands of any responsibility.

"...I'm going to charge you fifty thousand now, and after three months of good sales, you'll give me another fifty thousand."

"Deal," said the young executive, reaching for his checkbook.

The woman gave him a reproachful look, and he smiled.

"Ah, gotcha... Just kidding, ma'am."

He picked up his briefcase from beside his feet and, without hesitation, pulled out thick stacks of cash, placing them on the table. The boy grinned as he gathered them up and carried them upstairs. The footsteps above continued as the boy returned to his place on the stairs.

"Give me the sales reports from your best months, a picture of you in a moment of success and happiness, and the pen you use to close contracts."

Nico handed over what she asked for.

"This one's magic. Take good care of it," he said, referring to the pen.

The woman and the boy laughed.

She stood up, grabbed a glass from the lower section of the buffet while Nicolás eyed his hibiscus water and took a sip. The woman murmured:

"Please, Lord, let me find what I am looking for, because I can't see it."

She set the glass upside down and returned to the dining table.

"There's something else, Nico."

"Tell me."

"Sometimes, it's not just about money. Sometimes, there's an extra price to pay, an additional cost for being able to find what we've lost, as I mentioned over the phone. It's still too soon to say what that might be, but if there is one, that's the price you'll have to pay."

"I understand."

"Good. Let's begin."

The witch started the ritual, and although it took her much more effort to connect to the right frequency, everything unfolded as it always did. The lights flickered, darkness fell outside, the bulbs flared brighter, rain began to pour, the three sets of footsteps stormed out, slamming the door behind them, and the answer burst into the open with a deafening bolt of lightning.

"Nicolás, there's a curse on you. A work competitor has cast a very strong and dangerous spell to bring you down."

"Those sons of bitches..."

"It's nothing fatal. Unfortunately, this is actually quite common. But the fool who cursed you summoned forces beyond their control. In other words, they conjured a powerful entity for a simple task. Two things will happen: their family will deteriorate under unmanageable illnesses—your envious rival's family—and you will suffer emotional consequences. After all, these forces were channeled directly into your downfall."

"..."

"Imagine a high school girl hiring a hitman to threaten a classmate just because the boy she likes is paying attention to her."

"Fuck..."

"Exactly. But don't worry. The solution is simple. You're going to go to Polanco, to the Church of Saint Ignatius of Loyola, and you'll ask the parish priest for holy water and consecrated hosts. You'll have to lie to the priest."

"But isn't that a sin?"

"One thing for another, Nicolás. One thing for another." She paused. "Besides, what do you care? As a Mason, you've already been excommunicated."

Nico burst into uncontrollable laughter.

"Excommunicated, ma'am, but still a believer."

She smiled at him.

"You're going to tell the priest that the hosts are for a bedridden relative waiting at home. Carry the holy water with you everywhere—in your briefcase. At home, you'll mix small pieces of the consecrated hosts with a little holy water and spread a thin paste of it on every door and window frame. This won't just protect you from the confused spirits lingering around you, but it will also, over time, drive away the powerful entities that were summoned against you. Little by little, every aspect of your life will improve, everything will realign, and based on what you've told me, I'd even bet that better fortunes are coming your way."

"That's it? Holy water and wafers?"

"At your level, you don't need anything more. That will restore your peace, the tranquility you long for, the success that was stolen from you, and—I'd even wager—love will knock on your door again."

Nico smiled, embarrassed by his skepticism.

"Nicolás..."

"Yes?"

"Eventually, people will come to you for help—any kind of help. The additional price you must pay, beyond the money, the holy water, and the hosts, is to never refuse assistance when asked—unless it conflicts with your well-being, your finances, or your values and beliefs."

Nico carefully considered what he'd just heard, then, flashing a Colgate-white smile, assured her that he would.