Hungry Ghosts (Eric Carter #3)(44)

“Tepito,” I said. “I had a couple bowls of migas.”

“Want some of this?”

“I don’t have much of an appetite, thanks.” I don’t want to eat, and I’m sure as hell not accepting food from her here. Persephone and Hades come to mind. But I need to do something. Exhaustion is yanking at me and there’s no way in hell I’m going to take a nap in this place.

I root around my messenger bag until I find the bottle of Adderall. I don’t really relish the idea of dry swallowing these things, but the only thing I’ve got in here is a flask with some whiskey in it that I haven’t opened since before I lost the Cadillac in San Pedro.

Ah, what the hell. I haven’t had anything to drink since that Coke in Tepito. I toss back a couple of the pills and take a swig from the flask. The whiskey burns on its way down.

“Do that a lot?” Tabitha says, concern on her face.

“The fuck do you care?”

“I—You’re right. Forget I said anything. Now that you’re adequately fortified you want to get going?”

“The sooner this is over the better off I’ll be.” No matter what the outcome. I stand up and wince at the pain in my knee. “Where are we, anyway? I thought the mists were the last stop before Chicunamictlan.” If this is the Aztec’s idea of paradise they’re more fucked up than I thought they were.

“It is, but there’s still a lot of distance between Izmictlan Apochcalolca and Chicunamictlan. As we get closer things will look better, too. Fewer skulls on the ground, that kind of thing.”

“So no more challenges?”

“Not like the mists were, no. I’m sure you’ve got plenty still ahead of you.”

“I saw someone in there,” I say. “Thought it was this guide who talked to me. It was you, wasn’t it?”

“Maybe. I was in there, but I couldn’t find you. I kept stumbling around in the fog. Eventually I decided to wait for you out here.”

“You ever gone through it?”

“Not like that,” she says. “I know how to skirt the edges.”

“Good for you,” I say. “What’s the point of it, anyway? Weed out the weak? Toss ’em back like fish that are too small?”

“It tests a soul’s resolve,” she says. “Burns away, well, not sins. They don’t really have a concept like that here. But your doubts, fears. It’s to prove that you have the courage to continue.”

“I can see why Mictlantecuhtli locked himself up if he had to deal with judging that crap all the time.”

“He didn’t. The point is to prove it to yourself,” she says. “Just because he ruled here, doesn’t mean he told people what choices they could and couldn’t make. It doesn’t work like that. If you’re going to get through the mists, you have to want to get through the mists.”

“Jesus. Tell me that’s not what kept everybody from getting through.”

“No,” she says. “That was just Mictlan being broken. But now that you’ve gone through you’ve cleared the way for them.”

“So I was the plumber who fixed the backed up toilet.” I wonder how many of those souls who kept trying and failing, slamming their heads against a door that couldn’t open, aren’t even going to try. And what about the ones who will, but won’t get through anyway. People whose wills are too broken to pass through.

Makes me wonder if maybe I should burn the place down like Quetzalcoatl wants me to. Might be a mercy.

“So where to now, lover?” Tabitha says, finishing her apple and tossing the core over her shoulder into the dirt. Seriously, where the hell did she get an apple?

“Stop calling me that,” I say. I know she’s doing it to get under my skin. “Depends. Who’s closer? Santa Muerte or Mictlantecuhtli?” My knee is in pretty bad shape, and I can’t help but limp. Really wish I had one of Bustillo’s bone cars right about now.

“You still want to kill her?” she says. “Mictlantecuhtli tried to kill her and got caught in his own trap. All those souls stuck out there outside the mists? That was Mictlantecuhtli’s doing. She’s trying to help them.”

“Killing my sister kind of trumps all that.”

She starts to say something, then looks away, won’t meet my eyes. Whatever argument she might have dies on her lips. “I told you I’m not going to help you kill her.”

“You’re really struggling with this, aren’t you?” Is she just as caught up in this mess as I am? I don’t want to feel sympathy for her. I don’t really want to believe her. That’s already screwed me.

“What? No. Don’t be stupid. I don’t want her dead.”

“No, but you want her different,” I say. “You argued with her about my sister. What else did you argue about?”

“I don’t . . . Look, I’m her avatar. I don’t get to like everything she does. And no matter how I feel about it, I’m not going to let you destroy her.”

“I’m not asking you to,” I say. “You’re here because I needed someone to get me in here. I need a guide. I’ll find her eventually. With you, I’ll find her faster.”

“And then you’ll kill her. I don’t see how that’s any different.”