Hungry Ghosts

by Stephen Blackmoore

  “I could tell you,” Alex says, appearing next to me. “It’s hidden. Secret passage.”

  “Why the hell would it be a secret passage?”

  “To keep the riff-raff out, of course. Only Mictlantecuhtli and Mictecacihuatl are allowed up there. Along with whoever they’re sacrificing. And I know where it is.”

  “I’m sure you do. What’ll it cost me?”

  “Tell me what Darius said.”

  “You’ll know what Darius said as soon as I do. I can’t hide it from you.”

  He glares at me. “It’s in there in that fucking melon of yours, and I want to see it.”

  “I don’t know what he said. I don’t know how to break that lock he put on it. And, in case you haven’t been paying attention, it’s there specifically to keep you out.”

  “Tell me and I’ll show you the secret passage. You’re running out of time.”

  “Yeah, that means you’re running out of time, too. So how about you stop trying to screw me and just tell me where it is.”

  “Show me,” he says. An edge of desperation is creeping into his voice.

  “I’ve made one hell of a lot of bad choices when it comes to you fucking gods. I’m gonna make a hell of a lot more. But this isn’t one of them. So tell me what you know, or shut up.”

  He opts for the latter and disappears. At least I don’t have to listen to him whining at me anymore. But it doesn’t solve my problem. And then it hits me. I’ve got the perfect thing to get me out of here. I just have to ask it.

  I close my eyes and open myself up to Mictlantecuhtli’s power. I’m really not sure this is a good idea, but if it’s a secret passage not only do I need to find it, I need to open it. I’m betting I’ll need the door to think I’m him.

  The power floods through me, a great wash that pours through my limbs, into my mind. Throttling it back is like trying to tie a knot in a running firehose.

  I wrestle with the power until I can get enough of a handle on it that only a little is available to me. The rest of it is hammering on the walls of my psyche, trying to break through. I grab that power and channel it into a location spell.

  “All right,” I say, gritting my teeth from the massive pressure in my mind. It feels like it’s going to split me open any second now. “Show me where the passage is and let’s get this show on the road.”

  The pressure focuses on one side of my head, a sharp migraine that bursts inside my skull, driving me blind for a fraction of a second before receding. When my vision clears I see a wide, glowing line running along the floor, out through the doorway, and down the hall.

  “Much obliged.” I follow the line through a dozen rooms, the maze-like route leaving me lost in a matter of minutes. Every room looks the same. Every grinning skull grins in the exact same way.

  Until they don’t. The line stops at a tzompantli larger than the others. The rack takes an entire wall, the skulls twice the size of normal. The rack lights up and I feel a tugging in my hand.

  I remind myself that I need this. That I asked for it. That there’s no way to get from here to there without doing this. Then I press my hand against one of the skulls and Mictlantecuhtli’s power pulses through it. The rack and wall behind it disappear into smoke, revealing a wide staircase heading up.

  That’s when the pain kicks in, my vision goes green and I pass out.

  ___

  When I wake up I take a few seconds to marvel at the fact that I can wake up at all. Everything has a green tint to it. The jade’s engulfed the rest of my head and progressed all the way down my right arm. The only piece of me that’s still me are the last two fingers on my right hand.

  But on the plus side I got the door open. So, yay me?

  I pull myself up from the floor and stagger through the doorway to a staircase. The wall seals up behind me. I take the stairs two at a time.

  “Kinda dicked yourself there, didn’t ya?” Alex says, appearing in front of me. I walk through him, ignoring him. He appears a few steps higher, an annoyed look on his face.

  “I could have saved you all that trouble,” he says. “Now look at you. You’re—” He cuts off as I walk through him again. “Oh, come on.”

  Funny, I’ve never really ignored him. Even when he was actually Mictlantecuhtli and not this seed of his personality in my mind. I kinda like it.

  “Will you just stop for a second and fucking listen to me?” I give him my answer by walking through him again. I hear an exasperated sigh behind me. He doesn’t reappear again.

  Dim, gray light shines through a doorway ahead of me. I can hear raised voices. Santa Muerte and Mictlantecuhtli. They don’t sound happy. I suppose that’s to be expected. From what they’ve both told me they can’t stand each other.

  I stop a few feet from the entrance, something else from Darius’s message leaking into my mind. Not memories, not even words or concepts, really. Just this strange feeling that I’ve said something wrong. I listen, straining to hear. There’s a background noise of wind whistling through the doorway making it hard to catch what they’re saying. I give up after a few minutes and keep going, pausing only for a moment at the doorway before stepping out onto the roof of the Bone Palace.

  The sky has opened up. Rain comes down in sheets, the wind buffeting me, tearing at my clothes. A heavy, stone altar, red from all the blood, sits in the middle of the roof, a prone form lying on top of it, soaked through from the rain.

  Santa Muerte and Mictlantecuhtli stand on the other side of it, arguing loudly, though over what I can’t tell. Santa Muerte holds the obsidian blade in an overhand grip. A shitty way to hold a knife if the person you want to cut can see you coming. It’s a stabbing grip.

  Fuck. I run to the altar, neither god paying attention to me. They’re too caught up in whatever they’re fighting about. It’s Tabitha on the altar, unconscious but still breathing. The cuff is still around her wrist. She’s wearing a simple, red robe open to expose her sternum. It couldn’t be more obvious what’s happening if she had a big, red X painted on her chest.

  She’s held to the altar at her upper arms and calves by thick, metal straps. I pull at them, but they don’t budge. I’ve got nothing to pry them open with, either, not that I think anything would work. At that thought Mictlantecuhtli’s power perks up. It could do it. It could cleave through these straps like they’re paper.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Mictlantecuhtli says. They’ve stopped their bickering and they’re both looking at me. “But it’s a bad idea. You do that and you’re not coming back from it.”

  He’s right. It would be the end of me. I have two fingers left, and even those are starting to feel a little numb. I’m surprised just thinking about the power doesn’t tip me over the edge.

  Mictlantecuhtli looks more human than he did downstairs. Long, black hair falls over his shoulders. His face is more fleshed out, but not enough to hide the skull beneath. His cheekbones are a little too sharp, his lips a little too thin.

  “Why don’t you just stab him?” I yell. The wind has picked up and I’m having trouble hearing myself over it. “You’ve got the knife. You’ll get what you want. You’ll get what you want for me. He dies, I go back to normal, and we rule here together. That is what you want, isn’t it? You’ve told me that plenty of times.”

  Before she can say anything I turn to Mictlantecuhtli. “Or you? Are you saying you’re so weak you can’t get the blade away from her? You can’t wrestle it away? Hell, you don’t even have to do that. Just get her wrist bent the right way and shove. Inertia does the rest. What are you two waiting for?”

  “You,” Santa Muerte says. “We’re waiting for you.”

  “We can’t kill each other,” Mictlantecuhtli says. “Isn’t that obvious? Otherwise don’t you think we’d have done that a long time ago?”

  “You need to choose, Eric,” Santa Muerte says. “This is as much your destiny as it is ours. You need to be the one to choose which god dies.”

  “Am I executioner?�
�� I say. I nod toward the blood red altar where who knows how many hearts have been torn from ecstatic breasts. “Or priest?”

  “You can call it whatever you like,” Mictlantecuhtli says. “But the fact remains that you need to kill one of us.”

  “How about both of you?” I say. “I like that plan better.”

  Mictlantecuhtli looks at Santa Muerte and sneers. “I told you,” he says.

  “Told you what?” I say.

  “He believes that if I gave you the knife that you would try to kill us both,” Santa Muerte says. “He thinks that I chose my consort, his replacement, poorly.”

  “She doesn’t realize just how pissed off you are,” Mictlantecuhtli says. “But I’ve seen it up close and personal.”

  “So I am reconsidering,” Santa Muerte says. “As I am reconsidering my avatar. I will kill her and sever my connection. And then I will decide if I’m going to kill you or simply let Mictlantecuhtli’s fate be yours.”

  “For the record,” Mictlantecuhtli says, “I am not a big fan of this plan.”

  “You’re not killing her,” I say. “You’re going to give me the knife, and you’re going to cut Tabitha loose. And then we’ll talk.”

  Santa Muerte turns the knife over in her hands. “And what will you do if I don’t?”

  I can’t use my magic, I can’t cast any spells. Bullets will do fuck-all and a straight razor isn’t going to be any better. At this point I can safely say harsh language isn’t going to make any difference.

  But I do have something. Quetzalcoatl’s Zippo is in my hand. I flip it open and thumb the wheel. It casts an intense, white light, throwing long shadows across the roof.

  “I’ll burn this place to the fucking ground and all of us along with it.”

  “I told you he was angry,” Mictlantecuhtli says.

  “What is that?” Santa Muerte says. She peers at it, recognition and panic slowly dawning on her face. “Where did you get that?”

  “The important question is who did I get it from. And I think you already know the answer.”

  “The fire of Xiuhtecuhtli. I haven’t seen that in a long time,” Mictlantecuhtli says. “Not since Quetzalcoatl stole it from him. And back then it was just a pine torch. How is the old boy these days?”

  “About the same as both of you. Old, used up, not worth a good goddamn. But he does hold a grudge like nobody I’ve ever met. I agreed to burn Mictlan down for him. I’m starting to think it’s not a bad idea.”

  “Do not dare,” Santa Muerte says. She steps forward and I bend down to hold the flame inches from the roof, rain spattering on it, but never touching the flame. She freezes.

  “He told me this would burn anything. And Mictlan in its entirety. I already tried it out on an island on the living side of things and boy howdy did that place go up like a Molotov cocktail. So I got no reason to doubt that this’ll do the trick.”

  “Oh, it will,” Mictlantecuhtli says. “We all have our shticks and that was one of his after he stole it from Xiuhtecuhtli. Before the Conquistadores came we had ourselves a little war. Quetzalcoatl and a handful of others were on the other side of it. He tried to burn the thirteen heavens and only managed Omeyocan, the highest. Killed Ometeotl, the two faced god who made everything. Stars, earth, the other gods.

  “So, yes,” he continues, eyeing the flame closely, a scowl creasing his face, “it’ll do the trick.”

  Santa Muerte screams. It’s a sound of fury, anguish, pure, unfiltered rage. “You dare bring that thing here? Into my home?” Her body shifts, grows taller. Skin bubbles, splits, pours off her bones like boiling wax. The rain spatters off her skeleton, makes it slick and gleaming in the light. Her finger bones stretch, grow sharp and hooked with barbs on the end. The blade looks tiny in her hand.

  Mictlantecuhtli watches this display like he’s already bored with it. “She does this,” he says. “Give it a second.”

  Santa Muerte turns her rage toward him. “How did he get this into my domain?”

  “I’m assuming he had it in his pocket,” he says.

  “Why did you not—”

  He puts up a finger in warning. “Don’t.”

  She pauses, hand outstretched, bits of liquefied flesh still dripping into the puddle of meat at her feet. She shrinks, skin and pouring back up her frame, torn cloth mending until she’s standing there as before.

  “Good choice. The knife, please,” I say, holding out my hand. “And don’t try to stab me with it. You don’t want me to drop this.” Reluctantly, she hands the blade over.

  “And Tabitha?” The metal straps holding Tabitha’s arms and legs pop off. Her eyes snap open and she sits up.

  “Eric? What’s going on?” She looks down at her open robe, clutches it closed. Her hands are shaking. I wonder if she knew what was going to happen.

  “We’re just having a friendly chat.”

  “Why do you have the lighter out?” She slides to the floor on my side of the altar. Two humans separated from the gods by a single slab of bloody stone.

  “To keep the chat friendly.” I can see her out of the corner of my eye, staring at me.

  “The jade—”

  “He’s not going to last much longer,” Santa Muerte says. “He has to kill Mictlantecuhtli or be consumed. Tell him, Avatar. Tell him the truth.”

  “I—” Tabitha says. “I don’t know what the truth is.” She turns a glare onto Santa Muerte. “You’ve kept it from me. Gaps in the memories you’ve given me. Why? Why were you keeping things from me?”

  Something clicks. “Because you’re a part of this, too,” I say. “They’re playing us both.”

  “Oh, come on,” Mictlantecuhtli says. “What the hell am I going to get out of this?” He pulls at the skin on his face, the flesh covering his features like a badly fitted sheet. “Why would I even want this?” He steps slowly around the altar, hands up.

  “Slow your roll there, chief.” I bring up the knife, get ready to drop the lighter and set everything ablaze. He slows, but doesn’t stop.

  “You don’t have any time, Eric,” Mictlantecuhtli says. “I don’t have time. The last bits of you are already starting to change. I know you can feel it. Save yourself. Save me. Kill Mictecacihuatl and this all goes away. You know you have to.”

  “I don’t care what happens to you, vermin,” Santa Muerte says. “But if you don’t murder him right now I will make your eternity in stone a nightmare you can’t possibly imagine.”

  “She killed your sister,” Mictlantecuhtli says, continuing to get close. “Everything that’s happened is because of what she’s done. I’ve seen your pain. I’ve seen what you’ve been through. Lucy and Alex dead. Vivian hates you. She used Tabitha to move it all along. I know how much you want revenge. Killing her will fix all of this.”

  His eyes never waver from mine. He steps in close, the blade inches from his chest. He’s either really confident or really stupid. Possibly both.

  “I like his pitch better,” I say to Santa Muerte. “But he’s closer.” I lunge, the knife snaking out to his chest. The blade will cut anything, will kill anything. It should slice through him like a perfectly cooked steak. If I can take him out, hopefully I’ll have enough time to do the same to Santa Muerte before I turn into an ornament for a Zen garden.

  That’s when Darius’s spell holding my memories at bay unravels and I remember it all.

  ___

  “The thing you gotta know,” Darius said, “is that Mictlantecuhtli and Mictecacihuatl can’t leave Mictlan. They’re stuck there.”

  “Then how did they even talk to me?”

  “Son, you think I’m actually sitting here having this conversation with you? I’m stuck in a goddamn bottle buried someplace in L.A.”

  “Point taken,” I said.

  “It’s actually pretty goddamn impressive that Mictecacihuatl has been able to rebrand herself as Santa Muerte. Had to start small once everything went to shit, but she’s done good for herself. She’s been invading dreams, movi
ng shit around, getting people all worked up over her for the last few hundred years. And now look at her. She’s a savior, she’s a devil. Nobody can shut up about her.”

  “Okay, so she can’t get out,” I said. “She gets herself an avatar. Now she can move around.”

  “Not quite. She can influence her avatar. She’s connected to her the way a transmitter’s connected to a receiver. But she can’t completely rule her. She’s still her own person. What she needs is to swap places with her avatar.”

  “Swap places,” I said. “You mean the way Mictlantecuhtli and I are swapping places.”

  “Exactly. It looks more obvious on you because what I did to him with the jade is transferring over to you, too.”

  “Tabitha’s becoming Santa Muerte the way I’m becoming Mictlantecuhtli?”

  “Right now, it’s swapping. You’re turning into a rock, Mictlantecuhtli’s turning to flesh. But the point isn’t to be a swap. It’s to be a replacing. But that part doesn’t happen until there’s also a sacrifice.”

  “The obsidian blade,” I said. “It’s a sacrificial knife. But … wait a minute. They’re not trying to get Tabitha and I killed. They’ve been trying to get me to kill the other and … Oh, goddammit.”

  “I know that look,” Darius said.

  “They are the ones who need to be sacrificed,” I said.

  “You and that girl are vessels. They’ve been grooming you. Seeding you. When you kill them, they will become you. They’ll kick out your souls, or eat them, or whatever, but you’ll just be shells with new occupants. They’ll leave Mictlan, travel to the living world. Once they do that, they can do whatever the hell they want. Probably try to pick up where they left off five hundred years ago. I can tell you there’ll be a lot of blood, a lot of torn out hearts.

  “Your sister? She’s dead because they knew it would piss you off and make you come running. All that distrust they’ve been sowing in you? That’s to get you so mad you want to kill them both. They been feeding you this bullshit and you’ve been eatin’ it up.”

  “And Tabitha? Did Santa Muerte just promise her life?”