Hungry Ghosts

by Stephen Blackmoore

  “You think I didn’t put a spell in that cuff you’re wearing to keep you from killing me?”

  She calls my bluff and pulls the trigger.

  The round hits the left side of my face, snapping my head back and making the inside of my skull ring like a bell. Half an inch to the right and it would have hit flesh and not stone.

  I stagger more from shock than any actual pain or damage. The bullet flattened when it hit the stone and bounced into the dirt at my feet. I wonder, if it had hit flesh would it have blown out the back, or just bounced around the inside of my stone skull?

  “Jesus fuck, Tabitha.”

  “You were saying?”

  “Fine, I lied about that part.” I touch the spot where the bullet hit me, but all my hand comes away with is Ahuizotl blood. I start to wipe my hand on my pants leg but that’s covered in blood, too.

  “You want to know what’s going on? I’ll tell you. But I’d really like to do it when I’m not covered in blood.” She’s in just as bad shape as I am. Her blue flannel shirt is soaked through with blood and her jeans are so thick with it they’re almost black.

  “You’re going to fucking tell me now or next time I won’t miss.”

  “Can we at least go somewhere we can get cleaned up? Or do dead Aztecs not bathe?”

  She lowers the gun, but keeps her finger on the trigger. “There are homes just outside the city. We can stop at one of those. Just so you know Santa Muerte will know we’re here no matter what cloaking spells you’ve got. She knows whenever anybody sets foot near Chicunamictlan. She’ll come looking.”

  It’s a gamble, but I’m betting that she’s going to wait for me to come to her. She’s proud. She likes to hold her power over people. She comes to me and she might as well admit that I’ve got her scared. That’s just how she’s wired.

  Or I could be wrong and she could show up at any moment and stomp me flat.

  Tabitha turns on her heel and starts to walk toward the city. I get into step behind her, the coppery stink of blood thick in my nose. My coat’s a loss. Covered in gore, slashed to hell. The shirt’s just as bad. I can probably get away with hanging onto the pants for the moment. They’re black and, besides making the fabric stiff and sticking to my legs, it’s not too bad. And the messenger bag, well, to be honest it’s been through worse.

  Even if she hadn’t shot me, from her body language I can tell Tabitha’s furious. I can’t blame her. She clearly cares about this place and about these people.

  I’m not sure I don’t. They haven’t done anything, and I’m not really up for mass murder. Hell, it’s beyond murder. Kill somebody in the living world and their souls go on. Kill them here? That’s it. End of the line.

  I won’t do that unless I absolutely have to. “So what do you want to know?” I say.

  “Isla de las Muñecas,” Tabitha says.

  “Creepy place. What about it?”

  “What you did to the portal. Is that where it started? The only way to close it was to free the spirits trapped in the dolls,” she says. “When you came through you stank of smoke, covered in soot. I know you set fire to the place, but it had to have spread fast. So it was a magical fire. Quetzalcoatl did that?”

  I clench my left hand over and over as we walk. It doesn’t hurt, but it doesn’t feel normal, either, especially when I tap my fingers together and heard the clicking of stone on stone. My vision isn’t doing much better. Having one eye tinted green kind of screws things up a little. I keep tripping over shit.

  “Would you believe a magic Zippo?”

  “This is you we’re talking about,” she says. “So yes, actually, I would. But it doesn’t answer the question.”

  “No. It’s not where it started and he didn’t do it. He just gave me the lighter. You know why I did it. Those spirits were stuck and they were in agony. They were going to be stuck there screaming until someone destroyed the place. I made that call.”

  I bring out Quetzalcoatl’s lighter to show it to her. She puts her hand out to take it but I slide it back into my pocket.

  “Quetzalcoatl and Mictlantecuhtli haven’t gotten along since he stole the bones of the dead to reboot humanity,” Tabitha says.

  “I’ve heard this,” I say. “Quetzalcoatl supposedly came down here during the Aztec’s … Fourth Era? To steal bones of that era’s humans to kick off the Fifth. They died out or something? I was never very clear on that. Every religion’s got an origin story. They know that’s not how life actually happened, right?”

  “If they do they don’t care. Truth is different from fact and truth is flexible when you’re dealing with gods. It’s true to them, and here that’s all that matters. Anyway, they’ve been holding a grudge against each other ever since.”

  “Man, gods don’t fuck around with their grudges,” I say.

  “Which is why Quetzalcoatl doubled down and sided with the Conquistadores,” she says.

  “And that’s why he wants to burn down Mictlan?” I say. That’s a hell of a grudge. How pissed off do you have to be to help wipe out all your followers?

  “Probably, though it’s hard to tell with him. What I’m wondering is why you want to do it,” she says. “Is your hate for Santa Muerte so strong that you’ll destroy everything around you?”

  “No. It’s not like that.” But it was like that. When I started all this, all I was thinking of was killing Santa Muerte, Mictlantecuhtli, and even Tabitha. Burn the place down after? Sure, sign me the fuck up. Salt the earth, never look back.

  But now? I don’t think I can do it. “I didn’t even realize what I was signing up for,” I say. “Last year, when I left your place to talk to the Santa Ana Winds? Turns out he’s got a connection to them. He’s a wind god, they’re wind spirits. I got what I needed and in return I promised to burn my home down.”

  We stop at a rise, and I can see Chicunamictlan more clearly. It really is fucking huge. Nearby are a handful of buildings. Too small for villages, too big for compounds. Fields of corn, groves of lime and avocado trees.

  I don’t see any livestock, but of course they wouldn’t have any. The Spanish introduced cattle, and why would they need them, anyway? They’re all dead. But then why the hell would they need corn? Or anything else for that matter?

  “Turns out the wind knew about my connection to Mictlantecuhtli before I did,” I say. “I didn’t know it would lead to this.”

  “So of course you said yes.”

  “I needed information. They had it.”

  “Do you ever think about consequences?” Tabitha says.

  “I did what I had to do. I ran into Quetzalcoatl in Zacatecas and he gave me the Zippo. Said it’d burn anything. Figured I’d give it a try on the island.”

  “I understand why you want to kill Santa Muerte and Mictlantecuhtli,” she says. “I even understand why you want to kill me, but you can’t do this. You know that, right?”

  I don’t know exactly when I decided I wasn’t going to let Mictlan burn, but I know I won’t. I take this place down what happens to all those souls? Do they burn along with it? Do they get ejected into the ether?

  When it comes to death I’m used to being the smartest guy in the room, or at least the guy who knows what the hell is going on. Someone kicks, I know they’re dead, but not, you know, dead dead. Their soul goes somewhere or it sticks around. They don’t get destroyed unless something actively makes it happen. But I’ve only dealt with ghosts, spirits in transition. Souls who’ve moved on? Above my pay grade.

  The souls in Mictlan are just people. I might not like some of them, but people are people wherever you go. Some of them are good. Some of them aren’t.

  None of them deserve to be on the receiving end of a genocide.

  “Yes. And I don’t want to. I think Quetzalcoatl knows that, too, which is why he sent the Ahuizotl to keep tabs on me. But if I survive this trip and I don’t burn down Mictlan, Quetzalcoatl hunts me down. I’m already trying to get out of a jam with a pair of psycho gods. I don’t re
ally want to get into another one.”

  “So you’ll let thousands of souls burn for your convenience. Nice.”

  “Oh, screw you. You think I haven’t thought about this? Do I want to do it? No. Do I want Quetzalcoatl coming after me? Also no. You know how I get out of this without lighting all this shit on fire? The answer is, I don’t. I suck it up and do the right thing and keep this fucking lighter in my pocket. I’m a lot of things, Tabitha, but I’m not a mass murderer.”

  “Just the regular, everyday, one at a time kind, right?”

  She’s not wrong. I’ve killed a lot of things that could easily be called people, whether they were human or not. But it’s rich coming from her.

  “Stones and glass houses,” I say. “Every one of Santa Muerte’s murders is on you, too. Now that we’ve firmly established that we’re both horrible people, are we done? Or would you like to shoot me in the face again?”

  She wants to say something, I can tell. Her face twists into an ugly sneer. “I can see why Vivian hates you,” she says, and heads down the hill toward Chicunamictlan.

  “Yeah? Well, you are … too. Shit.”

  “I’m sure you’ll hit me with a stunning riposte, eventually, Eric,” she calls over her shoulder. “Staircase wit. You should look it up.”

  Somewhere, deep inside, I can feel Mictlantecuhtli’s power stirring. I think it’s laughing at me.

  ___

  When Tabitha knocks on the door of a house on the outskirts of Chicunamictlan and the occupants see two people covered in dried gore they freak out for about thirty seconds before they realize they’re talking to their queen’s avatar. Then they freak out for entirely different reasons.

  Their entire demeanor is subservient, respectful, afraid. She’s polite, pleasant. They don’t seem to know what to do with that.

  Their names are Tenoch and Mahuizoh, a man and a woman. They’re dressed simply, like many of the Aztecs I’ve met on the other side of the mists. They offer us food, water. But more importantly they offer us baths.

  Turns out dead Aztecs don’t have indoor plumbing. Who knew? Instead they have a stone tub with a firebox beneath it and a rooftop cistern.

  “Does it rain in Mictlan?” I ask Tabitha.

  “About six months of the year,” she says. My surprise must show on my face because she says, “What, you think it doesn’t have weather because it’s the land of the dead? The souls who come here are what give it shape. They want weather, they get weather. Who knows what it will be like when the new ones finally get here.”

  “Probably a lot of Norteño music,” I say.

  “Oh, joy.”

  Tabitha calls dibs on the bath. She takes my Browning and the knife with her in case I get any ideas. I’m going to have to get them back at some point, but I’d rather do it in a way that doesn’t end with one or both of us dead.

  While she’s getting a hot soak I’m outside scrubbing as much of the blood off me as I can. I’ve stripped down to the waist, making the jade’s progress even more apparent. My entire left side and most of my right is stone. It covers half my head, goes down my throat and completely engulfs my chest and stomach. From what I can see from my reflection in the water the only thing left of me that’s flesh is most of my right arm and the right side of my face.

  On the plus side, stone is easier to rinse off than flesh, though the Ahuizotl’s blood makes even that difficult. It’s thick. Almost pasty in consistency. It coats my remaining skin in a thick sheen like layers of latex paint I can’t quite peel off.

  I wonder what rain of shit’s going to come down on me for killing Quetzalcoatl’s pet. Sure, I’m not the one who sliced its throat open and yanked out its tongue, but he’s not gonna care. One more thing to toss onto the pile, I guess.

  If I get out of this, Quetzalcoatl’s going to come gunning for me. If he can’t destroy Mictlan, maybe he’ll content himself with turning me into a smear. Lucky me.

  It takes almost half an hour to get the worst of the blood off. My hosts come out and nervously give me a change of clothes and a rough towel to dry off with. The clothes are simple, a cloak, a short sleeved shirt and a loincloth.

  There is no way in hell I’m wearing a loincloth.

  The pair say nothing when they come out. They’re clearly terrified, whether from all the blood or because they can see that I’m almost entirely made of jade, I’m not sure. Hell, maybe it’s the eyes. Or maybe it’s just me.

  I change into the shirt, can’t figure out how the hell the cloak’s supposed to be worn, so I don’t bother. I wad up my shredded jacket and shirt, transferring anything I still have in the pockets into my messenger bag. I should find a place to dump these. It feels weird to leave them out here. Like I’m committing some sort of sacrilege. Like that’s anything new.

  It’s quiet here. Peaceful. I clearly don’t belong. Even so, the calm of the place is infectious. For the first time in weeks I don’t feel completely on edge. I know it’s an illusion and it’s not going to last. But for a few minutes it feels nice to just lie here and listen to the water lapping at the banks of the stream.

  I can see how this could be somebody’s idea of paradise. At least on the surface. Tabitha said the people shape the place, and in my experience people don’t do peaceful well. The Aztecs were big on blood sacrifice. Do they still do it here? How? They’re already dead.

  “Oh, yeah. They still do it. What do you think that big palace over there is for, anyway?” Alex. Sitting on the banks of the stream next to me. Every time I see this fucker wearing my dead friend’s face it’s a kick in the teeth.

  “So now I don’t have to be asleep or concussed to see you anymore. Awesome.”

  “For me, sure. I get to make fun of you for a little while longer. But for you it just means you’re changing faster.” I show him my jade middle finger. “Oh, I see you noticed.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Just a little chat. Pick up from before we were so rudely interrupted by our mutual friend.”

  “I’m surprised you remember that.”

  Annoyance on his face. “I don’t. I remember you remembering it.”

  “So the fact that I don’t remember all of it must drive you batshit.”

  “Two minutes. That’s all that’s missing,” Alex says. “And it’s not even missing. Just stuck behind a wall. I can’t believe you let Darius of all people dick around with your memories.”

  “I trust him more than I trust you.”

  “Really?” Alex says. “Do you have any idea how many deaths he’s responsible for? Do you realize how many people are here, or were stuck behind the mists because of him? He killed the other gods. He murdered my friends. My family.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know anybody who’s murdered my friends and family.”

  “That wasn’t me, Eric. That was your wife. And though I don’t like that she did it, I understand why she did it. She wants to make this place whole. She wants to undo all the crap that fucking Djinn did half a millennium ago.”

  “I like how when you’re trying to make something feel like my fault you call her my wife, and when you’re just annoyed at her she’s your ex.”

  “What did Darius tell you, Eric?”

  “You know as much as I do.”

  And that isn’t much. I remember Darius telling me he needed to give me information and that at some point I’d remember. Though when and how I have no idea. I have a vague feeling that I didn’t like what I heard, but besides that, I don’t know what the message was.

  “Why do you think he did it? To hide it from me? Who am I gonna tell? I’m just a little chunk of Mictlantecuhtli cut off from the rest of me.”

  “He hasn’t lied to me so far,” I say. “Unlike some people.”

  “Oh no, he doesn’t lie. He just doesn’t tell you all the truth. He feeds bits and pieces to build a narrative where he’s the good guy, the victim. He’s just an old, trapped Djinn who wants nothing more than to be left alone and make the world a bette
r place. I know him, Eric. I’ve seen what he can do. He’s playing you.”

  “Why would he? What does he gain from helping me here?”

  “I don’t know,” Alex admits. “Let’s hope for all our sakes you don’t find out.”

  “Are you talking to someone?”

  I turn to see Tabitha coming down to the banks of the stream. When I look back, Alex is gone.

  “Nobody important,” I say. “You look nice.”

  She’s wearing a bright red, cotton skirt and a sleeveless, pullover shirt adorned with black and gold calaveras on the edging. A blue and red cloak adorned with black feathers woven into it drapes over her shoulder and she’s traded her shoes for sandals. She’s holding a package wrapped in rough cloth in one hand.

  “Thanks.” She chews her lip, doesn’t look at me. “Here.” She hands me the package. The minute I take it I know what’s inside, the Browning and the knife.

  “I thought—”

  “She’s coming,” Tabitha says. She shows me the cuff on her wrist. It’s glowing and the skin under it is turning red from the heat. “She’s trying to find me and she’s trying to break this. If she does …”

  She doesn’t have to finish the sentence. If she breaks the spell then they re-establish their connection with each other. If I understand it right, Tabitha stops being Tabitha. I tell myself I don’t care. That I shouldn’t care. I’m going to kill them both, anyway.

  Only I know I’m lying to myself.

  In the distance I can see rising dust and it doesn’t take long to make out the men marching toward us. I don’t see any sign of Santa Muerte with them, but if Tabitha can feel her then she’ll be along eventually.

  I think for a fleeting moment that Tabitha can run. I have to be here, she doesn’t. But she wouldn’t get far with that cuff on and where would she run to? And why? What would be the point? Eventually, no matter where she is in Mictlan, Santa Muerte will find her.

  I had hoped to kill Mictlantecuhtli first. My gut tells me that’s a better bet for fixing me, but I’ll take what I can get. That’s assuming I get a shot.

  The only way out is through. I unwrap the bundle, check the Browning and slide it into the holster clipped to my waistband. I hang onto the obsidian knife, grip it tight in my hand, and wait.