Gods of Jade and Shadow(34)

As Casiopea and Hun-Kamé left the train station, hailed a cab, and journeyed downtown, she observed this prismatic, contrasting city. If she’d thought in Mérida people moved quickly, the pace was absolutely insane in Mexico City. Everyone rushed to and fro, savage motorists banged the Klaxon looking for a fight, the streetcars drifted down the avenues packed with sweaty commuters, newspaper vendors cried out the headlines of the day at street corners, and billboards declared that you should smoke El Buen Tono cigarettes. Kodak film and toothpaste were available for sale in the stores, and, near an intersection, a poor woman with a baby begged for coins, untouched by the reign of progress and modernity.

There were many places where someone with money could stay. Hun-Kamé decided on the Hotel Mancera, with rooms starting at five pesos a night, a price that Casiopea found terribly high. It had been the baroque home of aristocrats before it was vastly remodeled and turned into a venue that now boasted about its beds with box springs and Simmons steel furniture. High ceilings, chandeliers, wood paneling, and a handsome bar completed the ensemble. It was, in one word, luxurious, and had been purchased by the leader of a union, the Confederación Regional Obrera Mexicana. They said he’d paid for it in gold, that he organized numerous orgies, and that he’d gone through a million pesos meant for disaster relief. This was all likely true.

So far, their trip had been scarce on grand accommodations, and Casiopea felt intimidated as they walked into the lobby, having no idea even how she was supposed to greet the person behind the front desk. Hun-Kamé, however, knew what he was doing, or at the very least had no problem commanding attention.

He secured for them two rooms, though they did not have a chance to unpack, because Hun-Kamé immediately set out to conduct errands with her. Or so he told the hotel staff as he instructed them to take their bags to the rooms without them.

They did indeed go outside, and it was not hard to find the things Hun-Kamé wanted: matches and scissors. Curious, Casiopea inquired about this purchase, and Hun-Kamé said he would explain back at the hotel. Since she was hungry and wanted to get a bite, she let it go.

“I must summon a ghost,” Hun-Kamé told her when they were back in her room, as he closed the heavy curtains.

“You need scissors for that?” she asked.

“Yes. To cut your hair. A good chunk of it will have to go,” he said and touched her hair, indicating how much of her long mane he needed: he meant to cut it below her chin.

She thought she hadn’t heard him right. “My hair,” she said carefully.

“Yes.”

She did not even know what to tell him. All she wanted to do was yell a loud, emphatic no, and yet she was not even able to open her mouth, too outraged to phrase her objections.

“Let me explain,” he offered, his voice very calm. “I am in need of information regarding the whereabouts of my missing elements, and I will employ ghosts for this purpose. The summoning of ghosts can be done using human hair, bones, or teeth.”

“But…but you called that other thing in Veracruz and you didn’t need my hair,” she protested.

“That was a psychopomp, a creature of Xibalba over which I have some power, by virtue of my birth. If we were in my realm I would indeed be able to summon the dead without offerings. But, since I am in your world and since I am not…quite myself at this moment, I must find another solution.”

He was being serious. She had hoped it was a jest, even if she didn’t think him capable of jesting.

“You cannot use me as…as…a stupid puppet,” Casiopea said. “You can’t take whatever you want and—”

“If you calm down, you will realize this is the most rational way to proceed.”

“Can’t we…what if we pay a barber for some hair? They sweep it away into the garbage, anyway,” she insisted.

“Symbolism is important. It should be offered willingly,” he said, speaking low.

She had not been one for tantrums as a child, but when she did pitch a fit, it was a sight to behold, and right then she felt that if she didn’t sit down, calm herself, and close her eyes, she was going to smack the god of the dead across the face. She’d hit Martín one time when she’d been like this. “Devil’s got into her,” her mother said when her temper flared.

“You and your symbolism! I do not know why I even came with you to this city!” she yelled, because he was being so damn calm and measured, and his voice was but a whisper.

There was a table by a window and on it a glass ashtray, rather heavy. She clutched it between her hands and wished to pelt him with it, but then, thinking better of it, she sat on the floor and tossed it aside.

“You came with me because we are linked together, unfortunately, and you need me to remove the shackles that bind us,” he said. “And maybe because it’s greater than you or I, this whole tale.”

Casiopea stubbornly stared at her shoes. “I don’t care,” she said in a low voice.

He leaned down, as if to get a better look at her.

“We could try to do this another way, which would involve having to get a shovel and see if we can find a suitable corpse at the cemetery, but when it comes to necromancy, I am guessing you prefer to keep it simple, especially since time is ticking.”

He spoke so serenely, so nicely. It made her feel petulant and silly, and it made her want to wail. So she bit her lip hard, because if she didn’t she was going to really, truly, smack him across the face.