Hungry Ghosts (Eric Carter #3)(51)

“And that’s when Cabrillo took the bottle,” I say. The gaps are filling in quickly.

“Only thing that saved him. Took him weeks to get out of Mictlan. And I was no help. He couldn’t open the bottle. I couldn’t get out. He kept me around, afraid what would happen if anybody else got hold of it.”

“And then he bounces around South America and twenty years later heads up to California, gets himself killed in the Channel Islands. And your bottle winds up where?”

“No idea. Somewhere on the mainland.”

I know Darius well enough to catch when he’s outright lying, something he doesn’t do very often. He’s much better at twisting the truth by simply not telling you all of it. But a flat out yes or no? That’s not like him.

“This is fascinating and all,” I say. “And it fills in some holes, but what does it have to do with why you’re here now?”

“Shit’s about to hit the fan, son. For you and that little lady you got snoring out there. You’re both fucked and you got no idea how bad.”

“Oh, I have an idea.”

“No. No, you really don’t.”

“Then tell me. You know what Santa Muerte wants from me, don’t you? You know her agenda. Which one of them is telling the truth? Which one do I kill to fix this?”

“Oh, it ain’t nothin’ that simple. But there’s three problems with telling you what the real deal is and how to keep your ass out of the fire. The first is that I can’t tell you. Not the important part at least. Mictlantecuhtli’s magic locked me up, sealed my lips as much as it sealed my bottle. I can’t get out even if somebody finds it. That shit lasts a long time. I’ve only been able to talk about this at all in the last hundred years or so.”

“It’s weakening?”

“Yeah, but not fast enough to do you a goddamn bit of good.”

“Great. So, what, I play Twenty Questions?”

He taps the end of his nose. “Got it in one. Though I seriously doubt it’ll take you twenty.”

I haven’t slept in days and the first time I get any shuteye I get to spend it playing a guessing game with a Djinn.

“All right, what else?”

“Second one’s more of a problem. See if I tell you, then you know.”

“How is that— Oh. If I know it, this piece of Mictlantecuhtli in my head knows it.”

“You keep this up, son, you may win yourself a cigar. Right now I got him asleep. He ain’t eavesdropping on this conversation. But once you’re awake, it’ll be like normal and he can run his fingers through your brain like it’s a Rolodex.”

“But what does that matter? I’ve got it locked up in there. It can’t talk to Mictlantecuhtli or vice versa. So what’s the big deal?”

“We’ll get to that. But trust me, it matters.”

“So what do I do?”

“You forget,” he says. “You’ll get your answers and then I’ll block them off.”

“You’re going to tell me and then make me forget. I’m seeing a flaw in this plan.”

“Oh, you’ll remember, but only when the time’s right. We’ll work out the details. Chances are, when you do remember, you won’t have a lot of time to use what you know. Seconds, probably. So I’ll make sure you at least remember that you forgot.”

Takes me a bit to wrap my brain around that concept. “That way I’ll be waiting for it to kick in and not just be caught by surprise.”

“Right. Now that piece of ol’ Mick you got in there with you, he’ll know you learned something, too. But he won’t be able to get to it until you do.”

“What are you getting out of this?” I say.

“Revenge. Fix a problem should have been fixed a long time ago. I’ve been watching and waiting for this for five hundred years. And when I met you I knew that eventually one of them would come callin’. Truth be told, when you up and left L.A. I panicked a little. Wasn’t sure you’d come back. But then she got her hooks into you and here we are.”

“Why do I feel like the mark in a long con?”

“Because that’s what you are. You’re the mark, you’re the McGuffin. You’re the boy they’re gonna screw over, and you’re the treasure they’ve been huntin’ for.”

Well, goddamn. “So this all started five hundred years ago?”

“Yep.”

“And you’re telling me that for five hundred years there were no other necromancers around?”

“None that were powerful enough, or weren’t batshit crazy. I mean you got your moments, but you remember that Nazi who used to live in the Hollywood Hills?”

“Neumann, yeah. He was a prick. I heard somebody ate him.”

“Somebody did. Friend of mine. For a long time Neumann was the only game in town. I think you can understand why nobody would want to throw in with him. Lot of you necromancers are just as crazy, or more so.”

I’d met Neumann a couple times before I left L.A. Talked a little shop. But he was a condescending little fuck who always had these two bodyguards around who creeped me the hell out.

One was this body-builder, six-foot, easy. Real enforcer type. The other was his homunculus. Twisted, little, razor-toothed midget who followed him around on a leash. Homunculi are good places to store all your rage if you have anger management issues. Long as you can keep them from eating people they’re not bad to have around.