Hungry Ghosts (Eric Carter #3)(73)

“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.”