Hungry Ghosts (Eric Carter #3)(21)

She flips the final card.

EL CORAZóN. The picture is an anatomical heart, bright red. For a second it looks as though it’s actually pumping. “No me extra?es corazón, que regreso en el camión.”

“‘Don’t miss me love, I’m coming back on the . . . bus?’” I’m returning to something? Something’s returning to me? Love? I have a hard time believing that. And how the hell does it fit into any of this?

“Lotería isn’t exactly known for its stunning poetry, but it sounds promising,” Tabitha says. “There are all kinds of love, you know. Maybe it’s not all bad news.”

“A bus trip?”

“It’s a metaphor. Unless it’s not. You never know with these things.”

“Why are you doing this?” The room suddenly fills with the scent of cigar smoke and roses. I know that smell. I was wondering when this was going to happen.

“I’m trying to help you do what you agreed to do.” Tabitha’s voice shifts, goes hollow, her face goes gaunt, skin caving in to press against bone. Her eyes go as black as mine. “Husband.”

“Oh. Hi, honey. Fancy meeting you here.”

“You delay the inevitable,” Santa Muerte says through Tabitha’s mouth. Or maybe it’s hers now. I’m really not sure. “You have Mictlantecuhtli’s blade. You are tied to him and he to you. In the blink of an eye you can find his tomb and kill him. Why haven’t you?”

“I work in mysterious ways,” I say and waggle my fingers at her. “And, you know, his tomb’s full of demons.”

A while back I found myself looking for a place to stuff a bunch of demons that got loose in a storage unit in L.A. The only thing I could think of at the time was to open a hole into Mictlantecuhtli’s tomb and dump them there. It was a dick move, but it wasn’t like he was really using all that space.

Didn’t occur to me at the time that that might be a problem for me later. Well, now it’s later and it’s a problem. Going in there to take him out is going to be a bit of a challenge.

“I don’t need you watching over my shoulder while I crack that particular nut,” I say. “Seriously, I got this covered.”

She cocks her head to the side, black eyes regarding me with silent judgment. “You do not trust me,” she says.

“The hell you say! Me? Not trust you? Killing Lucy, locking me up in this jade prison, getting Alex killed, threatening Vivian, duping me with Tabitha. Honestly, what’s not to trust?”

“I would know your plans.”

I reach over and give her a condescending pat on the hand. And I’d like to know hers. “Don’t you worry your pretty, little death goddess head over it, sweetie. I got this.”

The obsidian blade is heavy in my coat pocket. It would be so easy to pull it out and stick it in her throat right now. But that wouldn’t kill Santa Muerte, just kill Tabitha. Tempting though it might be, it’s not the right time. I still need her.

She gives my hand a sour look and I’m not sure if that’s Santa Muerte doing it or Tabitha. “Why are you so interested in my avatar?” she says.

“I’m curious, how much of her is left in there?” I ask. “Anything? Or is she just a shell? A puppet for you to talk through?”

“We are joined,” she says. “That is enough. How else should I speak with you? You’ve inscribed so many wards against me on your skin I can’t see you except through her eyes.”

The last time I spoke with Santa Muerte was on the side of the road outside of Los Angeles after talking to the Wind. She was able to track me down then, though she couldn’t see me. I’ve added spells to my tattoos, found a couple of charms to hang from my neck to bolster the effect, try to push her further away. But I haven’t been sure they really worked. Now I know.

“Thanks for the confirmation. I was hoping you’d say that.” I clamp down on her hand with mine. She jerks back with inhuman strength, the muscles of her wrist wasted so that the bones show through, but I hang on. I pull the handcuff from my pocket with my other hand and slap it around her wrist.

The effect is immediate. The black fades from Tabitha’s eyes. Her body puffs out from its skeletal shape and goes rigid, snapping her out of her chair to hit the floor hard. Her limbs jerk like she’s having a seizure, while a thin whine escapes her lips. A moment later she lies still, staring blank-eyed at the ceiling.

On to stage two.





Tabitha bolts awake in the passenger seat of the Eldorado, looking around confused. I’ve been driving through Mexico City for the last half hour waiting, hoping she’d wake up. She’s no good to me dead.

“You got the Caddy back,” she says.

“That’s what you’re gonna open with?” I say. “No, ‘what the hell did you do to me, Eric?’”

“I know what you did to me,” she says, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’ve cut me off. Hidden me from her. The way you’ve hidden yourself.” She inspects the cuff around her wrist, traces the runes Dremelled into its surface, the conspicuous S stamped on its side. “Wish I’d known your kink sooner. We could have had a lot more fun together. I assume you’ve got the master for this slave?” I lift my arm and show her the matching cuff on my wrist.