Broken Souls, page 16
“What’s with the switch from first person to third?” I say. I think I know, but I want to confirm it.
“Because Mictlantecuhtli is a name and a title.”
He lets me chew on that, watching me, not talking. My mind grabs onto that idea and worries it like a dog with a rat. The entity is the title. The title is the entity. The king is dead, long live the king. Magic is based on belief and belief takes that shit seriously. It’s like a logic puzzle by M.C. Escher. None of the conclusions have to make sense, they just need to be logical. The pieces start to click into place.
He’s Mictlantecuhtli. Mictlantecuhtli is the King of the Dead. The King of the Dead is the husband of Santa Muerte. I’m the husband of Santa Muerte. And if I’m the husband of Santa Muerte then I’m—
“Fuck me.”
“We have a winner!” He throws his arms wide into the air. “Welcome home, O Lord of Mictlan!”
The power I tapped into on the train, that I used to kill those demons Downtown, that I used to heal Tabitha. This is where it came from. It’s his power, now mine. Except—
“There’s two of us,” I say. “If I’m the Lord of Mictlan then what are you? Why can’t I use that power when I want it? It comes and goes.”
“I’ve always been around, but constrained. Watching the world go by. Observing things. But when you married Mictecacihuatl I— woke up isn’t entirely right. Became aware of you? Something like that. You’re becoming more like me, I’m becoming more like you. You’re being rewritten on a cosmic scale. We both are. That’s how I’m able to appear to you, how I can pluck bits and pieces from your head.”
“That’s how you know about Alex,” I say.
“That and how I can appear to you at all. And also how I managed to get past that funky new tattoo you got. I was already in the house before you locked the door, so to speak. Sometimes I can show up, other times— there’s interference. I’m not sure from where but I can guess. Point is, we’ve got a link to each other. I can’t read your thoughts but I can pull enough to get an idea of what’s going on.”
“What about your power? Is that interference, too? Is that why I can’t use it all the time?”
“That’s just time. It’s early days, yet. Right now all you can do is touch it. The fact that you can use it at all right now is not a good sign for you.”
I start to ask why, but I already know the answer. I don’t get the whole package until I’m completely him. What the wind told me makes sense now. Calling me the king of the dead. Talking about the old king and the new one. Two things in particular it said come floating up in my memory. “Watch the false friend.” That one’s obvious. I’ve been wondering about Alex since I heard his voice on the step of the Griffith Observatory.
But what about the wind’s other advice? “Beware the dead king.” Can Mictlantecuhtli be trusted? Can the wind? What’s the angle here? There has to be one. There always is.
“Muerte wants a new king for Mictlan and I fit the bill,” I say.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Then why the hell else do it?”
“She doesn’t want a new king” he says. “She wants the old king back. I was with her for thousands of years. You think she wants some punk to rule by her side? Please. She’s going to wait until you’re more me than you. Then she’s gonna stick a knife between your ribs. The title of Mictlantecuhtli dumps into the best closest candidate. The new king dies and the old one is reborn.”
“You come back to life.”
“And you’re a sacrificial lamb. In theory. We talked about it a long time ago. In case something happened to either one of us. Not like we ever tried it. It might work, it might not. But even if it doesn’t pan out, she’s still going to kill you.”
“I feel special.” I knew she wanted to use me for something. Now I know what.
“Hey, that beats the alternative. For both of us. If she doesn’t kill you we just keep swapping places. Eventually, you’re Mictlantecuhtli and I’m just some schlub.”
“Sounds like I get the better end of the deal.”
“You think so?” He taps the jade statue’s head. “Take a look at me. This is where you’re headed. I made this choice. I want this. But you? Eternity’s a long time stuck as a rock. I don’t care about you. I really don’t. But I like it here. I came down here for a reason. My time’s over. I want to keep it that way. Your world sucks. I want no part of it.”
“The pain in my chest,” I say. “Like somebody was ripping out my insides. It’s because of that, isn’t it? When I use it that’s me changing.”
“I’m willing to bet you’ve got some interesting anatomy right about now. A bone or two here, a chunk of a kidney. If a doctor opened you up he’d be scratching his head.”
“How come I don’t feel any different afterward?”
“Oh, you’re fine. Technically. You’ll keep on breathing, moving, all that. Until you don’t. That pain is part of the process. I said you were being rewritten. I wasn’t kidding. You’re turning into everything I am. When you use that power and it stops hurting? That’s when you should start to worry.”
“Say I don’t believe you. How do I even know you’re telling the truth?”
“You don’t. And there’s some things I can’t tell you. Old agreements. I’d rather you did trust me because we’re tied together and it might help me keep you alive and me dead a little bit longer.”
“This isn’t adding up. If I turn into you how can she even kill me? I’ll be a god. What the hell’s she gonna shank me with?”
“And realization,” he says, “dawning in three … two … one.”
“Oh, sonofabitch. The knife. She’s the one who had Sergei steal the knife.”
“You’re the slow one in your family, aren’t you?”
“You’re pretty sarcastic for a death god.”
“What’s funny is that you think I’m speaking English,” he says. “I haven’t said a word that isn’t Nahuatl since I met you. Your brain’s doing all the translating. So if I’m coming off as sarcastic, what’s that say about you?” I ignore him.
“If she had Sergei get this knife for her, why the hell is he still running around skinning people?” I say.
“It’s a guess, but I think she doesn’t have him on a very tight leash.”
“A guess?”
“It’s not like we talk. I made the knife a long time ago for Xipe Totec.”
“The farm god.”
“Farm god. Please. He’s a lot more than that. War, disease, rebirth. He’s all over the map. That kind of thing’ll make a guy schizophrenic. That knife can do a lot more than just take someone’s skin. It can kill damn near anything, including the other gods. When I gave it to him the shit hit the fan and everybody’s all freaking out because I gave Mister Bipolar an instrument of mass slaughter. So Huehuecoyotl stole it and got Tlaltecuhtli and Quetzalcoatl to help hide it with some mortals. That Bruja you’re hanging out with is from a long line of caretakers.”
The rattling off of Aztec names is dizzying. “Out of all of those names I think I caught one,” I say. “Quetzalcoatl. Feathered snake god, right?”
He shakes his head. “You better start learning some names quick,” he says. “They’re family now.”
Much as I don’t like it I know he’s right. The names sound familiar but I haven’t had time to dig into all of them. Huehuecoyotl is a trickster, but Tlaltecuhtli is new to me. It took me years to learn all the names of the Voodoo Loa. Most of them are ones you won’t find in any books, and I doubt it will take any less time to learn these. Only I don’t think I’m going to have years to do it in.
“Okay, so Muerte figures out where the knife is and sends Sergei after it. But he decides not to give it to her. Goes off the reservation. Why?”
“See these bones?” he says. He kicks at one of the skulls on the floor and his foot sails through it. “These men were led by a priest who couldn’t get into his own heaven so he tried to take ours. Hoped to conquer us here the way his people conquered us in your world. From Mictlan he could have moved to any of our other kingdoms.”
“Didn’t get very far, did he?”
“He got plenty far. But I was able to cut him off from his weapon when I lured him down here. I think Sergei’s trying to do the same thing.”
“He probably could,” I say, thinking of Kettleman. “He’s got a guy in his head who probably knows how to do it. But that would take a lot of power, right?” That would explain why he wants the Ebony Cage.
“There’s another way,” Mictlantecuhtli says. I’m still having a hard time not seeing him as Alex. He doesn’t act the way Alex does, not exactly, but he doesn’t sound like a millennia-old death god, either. If that’s all because of how my mind is translating what he’s saying I should probably get my head examined.
“He takes my skin,” I say. “I have a connection to this place now, right?”
“Exactly. He also gets your turning into jade problem, so even if he does I doubt he’d last very long.”
“You know, this is educational and all, but I got priorities, and whether Sergei gets into Mictlan isn’t even on my list. So how is this even my problem? I need Sergei off my back. Then I can figure out what to do about your crazy ex-wife.”
“Or you can use your fucking brain and do both,” he says, snapping at me. “You’re either deaf or stupid. It’s your problem because you need that knife. It can kill gods, jackass. You need to kill her before she kills you and if he gets into Mictlan with it you’re never going to see it again.”
“No shit. But how the hell am I supposed to find him? If it’s a choice between getting dead now or letting him go and getting dead later, I’ll take later. I had one way to track him and that’s—”
The answer pops into my head. There’s only one place he could be right now. He needs the Ebony Cage. It wasn’t in the bar. I don’t know if Tabitha told him where it is or not, but if she didn’t there’s only one other person who would know where it is.
“Vivian,” I say. “He’s at Vivian’s. I need to get out of here. I need to get out of here now.” A pain like my chest is being torn open by red hot knives hits me as steps carve their way into the wall and up into a new hole in the ceiling. It almost knocks me flat but I catch myself before my knees buckle.
“I wouldn’t recommend you keep doing that,” Alex says. “It’ll just speed things up.” He looks up at the hole in the ceiling I just created. “That said, I think you’re getting the hang of this. Good luck. That should open up close to where you want to be right now.”
The pain fades as I step onto the staircase, not sure if it’s going to disintegrate under me if I don’t concentrate on it. I made this? It didn’t feel like when I cast a spell. It just happened. The stone holds my weight and doesn’t disappear underneath me.
“Remember to get that knife,” he calls behind me as I run up the stairs. “If she gets it we’re both fucked.” Right now I don’t care about the knife, I don’t care about the cage. I’m worried about Vivian.
And that I might be too late.
Mictlantecuhtli was right. The hole I opened comes up on the sidewalk right in front of Vivian’s apartment building on Wilshire. Sergei already had a head start on me before I stepped into Mictlan. No telling if he’s already here or not. Without the orb to show me where he is, I’m flying blind.
I run to the building, pop the lock on the front door and go inside. Stairs next to the elevator. I head up to her floor taking steps two at a time. I’ve got the Browning drawn and a round chambered.
I push through the fire door on her floor and I can tell he’s already here. If the crowd of sleepy, panicked neighbors gathered around her door didn’t give it away, the sound of the fighting going on inside sure as hell does. I still have the Hi, I’m A COP sticker stuck to my chest and make the best of it, pushing my way through yelling, “LAPD.” They barely glance at the blood covering my shirt or register my sunglasses at three a.m.
“That was fast,” a gray-haired man in pajamas says. “I just called you guys.”
“Rich neighborhood,” I say. “What the hell’s going on?”
“We started hearing banging a few minutes ago,” an Asian woman in a bathrobe says. “I think it’s her boyfriend. They started arguing and then we heard that.”
“She has a boyfriend?” I say, surprised at my own anger. When the hell did that happen? I mean, okay. Six months since Alex died, I guess that makes sense. But how come I didn’t know about it?
“I think so,” the woman says, shrinking back from me. “I don’t really know.”
A tremendous crash comes from the apartment. There’s no point knocking and playing the LAPD card. Nobody inside is going to answer. I go to kick the door open and stop when I notice the wards on her door.
Of course she’d have the place warded. If I’m lucky the door just won’t break. If I’m not she could have it set to do something nasty instead. Being a doctor and a mage has given her a really ugly edge. I’ve seen the kind of magic she can do with diseases.
Okay, so how do I get in there? Brute force isn’t going to do me much good if I suddenly find myself on the floor puking my guts out and breaking out in boils.
And then, like a kid waving his hand around in class because he thinks he knows the answer, that dark power of Mictlantecuhtli’s rears its ugly head. I may not be a god. Not yet. But it seems I’ve got a god’s power.
“I have no idea what you think you can do,” I say, “but now’s a good time to do it.”
Pain flares through my chest. If I wasn’t ready for it I’d be on the floor screaming. Even knowing that it’s coming doesn’t help much. I stagger forward, my vision blurring from the agony. I try to brace myself against the door, but instead I just pass right on through it. I go solid again the second I’m through and the pain subsides, leaving behind an echo of itself that leaves me gasping for air. I wonder what the neighbors are going to think about that?
Vivian’s apartment is a mess. Furniture is overturned, books strewn across the floor. Vivian is behind a shield blocking something I can’t see that Sergei as Kettleman is throwing at her. His clothes are loose on him, the same ones he was wearing at the bar as the bouncer.
She’s wearing a bathrobe and her hair’s a mess and I’ve really missed seeing her and goddamn it why did everything have to go to hell and this really isn’t the time to be thinking about that so instead I shoot Sergei.
The bullets get about three inches from him and stop dead, clatter to the floor. I didn’t really expect it to work, but I’m still disappointed. At least it distracted him enough that he’s stopped his attack.
He turns his attention to me as Vivian lowers her shield. I pop another couple rounds at him. They may not get close but he flinches and in that split second of distraction Vivian hits him with a wall of force that slams him across the room.
Instead of shooting again I run at him. Whatever he’s got up keeps me from connecting but his shield is like a suit and it doesn’t keep me from wrapping myself around it. I get him in a bear hug, using my momentum to keep moving him across the room. The Kettleman form doesn’t have a lot of strength and he can’t break out of it.
He could magic his way out, I’m sure, but something that Gabriela said about how the forms the knife gives a person don’t actually change the way they think comes to mind. He might be wearing Kettleman’s skin and have his abilities, but Sergei’s still a brute force kind of guy. At least I hope he is.
He proves me right a second later when he bulks out into the bouncer. He’s a little lighter than I remember Sergei being, so it makes sense. Sergei in the bouncer’s clothes would be too tight, too restricting. I’m okay with that, because I’m hoping Vivian’s paying attention and will help me test a theory.
I let go as soon as he changes forms, letting him throw me off. I hit the ground and roll, getting as far away from him as I can. In this form he’s got strength, sure, but he doesn’t have any magic. His shield’s down. So when Vivian hits him with another blast it blows him straight out through the window of her fourth-story apartment.
He hits the glass hard, shattering it into a thousand shards. He scrambles, trying to grab onto anything. He changes from the bouncer to Sergei to some random guy I’ve never seen with a black crew cut and porn star mustache. I’m hoping he doesn’t change back to Kettleman. With my luck that fucker will probably know how to fly.
I run to the window and watch him fall, flipping back and forth through bodies and when he hits the ground he’s the bouncer. It’s a bad fall. Lands on his head and his neck snaps, his limbs whipping around and slapping the pavement below, their bones shattering as they hit. He lies there not moving, twisted into angles human bodies aren’t meant for.
Vivian runs to me, breathing hard, wide eyed, questions and accusations written on her face like newspaper headlines. She’s about to ask what the hell just happened, what the hell I have to do with it. How, whatever it is, it’s got to be my fault. I raise a finger, cutting her off.
“Wait for it,” I say.
“Wait for what?”
I’m hoping I’m wrong and that Sergei’s as dead as everybody whose skin he’s taken, but then the body convulses. Shivers and dances around like it’s being pumped full of electricity. Limbs right themselves, his neck snaps back into place. And when it’s all back, the skin he’s wearing, the poor, dead bastard whose only fault was trying to be a bouncer for a bar in Koreatown, sloughs off like melted wax, leaving a stunned and visibly shaken Sergei in its place.
I pop off a couple rounds from the Browning. I know I won’t hit him from this range, but you can’t blame a guy for trying. The gunshots shake him out of his stupor and he scrambles to his feet, a look of panic on his face. He bolts down the street.
“Yeah, you run you sonofabitch,” I say. I didn’t kill him, but now I know something I didn’t before. His skins can be killed. And when they do they fall apart. So he’s down one. Too bad he didn’t hit the ground as Sergei. Might have saved us all a lot of trouble. Or Sergei might just be another skin at this point.
