I wave his apology off. I should have figured that this would be Mósí’s chosen destination, and that someone like this Nohoilpi would be waiting for us. Because Mósí isn’t just a cat, or even just a Bik’e’áyéeii, but a nightlife-loving former bookie of one of the most notorious dens of iniquity in Dinétah. Of course she’s tight with the god of gambling.
“We are acquainted,” she admits. “But I do not know if he will remember me. He was banished long ago from Dinétah for angering the Diyin Dine’é.”
“What did he do?” I ask.
Mósí shrugs. “Only what was in his nature.”
“That could literally mean anything.”
“Well, he’s back now,” Rissa says, “and apparently living in a very fancy abandoned casino.”
“Which is his prerogative, I guess,” I say. “But why can’t I come in?”
“You are known to the gods, Battle Child,” she says to me. “I have told you this. And”—she cocks her head, considering—“you are wearing a very large sword that once belonged to Naayéé’ Neizghání. Before you buried him alive.”
“You did what?” Aaron asks. Rissa lays a hand on his arm, shakes her head. Not now.
“And how does he feel about Neizghání?” I ask, suddenly feeling hot. And short of breath. And like I might not need to go in this damn casino after all.
“There is nothing between them. I did not think it would matter. But clearly it does. Perhaps he would let you in if you left the sword outside,” Mósí suggests.
“Is that wise?” Rissa asks. “He may be your friend, Mósí, but he’s still a god. I kind of think we should bring the sword.”
“Bring the sword,” Ben agrees.
“Definitely the sword,” Aaron echoes.
“I’m keeping the sword,” I say loudly. Maybe if he knew I can’t call the lightning it would make a difference, but I’m not one for telling strangers my weaknesses, and not knowing how to use the sword is definitely a weakness. But I can make one promise that sounds reasonable. “I’m not giving up the sword, but I will keep it in the scabbard. Would that work?”
“And if it is not enough?” comes a voice from the across the casino lobby.
We turn to find a brown-skinned man walking toward us. He’s dressed in a scarlet red suit. The jacket looks expensive under the light of the casino’s chandelier. Fitted at the shoulders, trailing down past his knees, a row of red buttons adorning the closure. Matching red pants are wide and loose at the hip, cuffed at the ankle so that they balloon out over his black-and-white dress shoes. He’s wearing a black hat with a red band and a large brim that keeps most of his face in shadow. A huge piece of turquoise hangs from a gold chain around his neck to rest dead center over a white tie with small polka dots.
“Wow,” Ben says. “Nice threads.”
He smooths knuckles down the line of his lapel, preening. Lifts his chin to get a better look at her wedding dress. “Quinceañera?”
She shakes her head sadly. “It’s a long story.”
“Nohoilpi,” Mósí murmurs with a small bow of her head. “It has been many years since you were banished to live among the Nakai.”
“But you are ever the same, shí heart.” He rests a palm against Mósí’s cheek. She flushes and leans into his touch. “How could I ever forget you?” And a few things come together in my mind.
“Perhaps you can introduce us to your ex, Mósí,” I say, still standing outside the door.
Nohoilpi’s eyes turn to me. “That won’t be necessary. Your fame, Godslayer, precedes you.”
That name again. “Where did you hear that name?” I ask.
“On the tongue of a dying angel, from the mouth of a storm king. It is known.”
There’s something familiar about Nohoilpi, something in the way he talks. I can’t quite place it, but it’s there. “Then maybe you can let me in.”
“Not without reassurances.”
“What kind of reassurances?”
His eyes flicker to the pommel over my shoulder. “That my head stays on my shoulders this time.”
This time? “Have we met before?”
“Perhaps you are hungry? Tired?” he says, ignoring me and turning to the others. “I can provide you with a feast. The kitchens here are vast and well stocked. My predecessor kept everything as it was before. A remarkable skill, even for a god. There are beds with clean sheets, soft pillows, showers with water that falls from a mechanical rain cloud. It is all here, and it is yours.”
Ben and Rissa make agreeable noises and Aaron brightens noticeably. It’s been at least twenty-four hours since we’ve eaten, more since we’ve bathed. Everyone could use food, some rest. The Twin Arrows glows and beckons, a temptation to partake, an oasis from the darkness of the Malpais.
Nohoilpi gestures toward the bounty farther in. “Mi casa es su casa,” he says, his voice as enticing as warm baths and soft sheets and impossible as lost loves found again. And they follow. Every one of them. Even Ben. This time Aaron lets go of the door without even bothering to look in my direction.
“Wait!” I shout, but they are already disappearing deep into the lobby, out of earshot.
The last thing I hear is Ben happily exclaiming over a gift shop.
“It’s a trap!” I shout. I don’t know how, but I’m sure of it. “Don’t listen to him. This isn’t real. It’s not real.”
Nohoilpi appears in front of me so quickly I stumble back. He grabs the door right before it shuts. His nails are long and curved. He lifts his chin, and I catch the gleam of a golden eye hidden under the brim of his hat. He leans out over the threshold and says, “Once I’ve accommodated my new friends, I’ll be back to discuss the price for their return. It is a small matter for a godslayer like you. So, if you would please wait here . . . Magdalena.”
He shuts the door firmly in my face. I stare for a moment, dumbfounded, until the shock wears off. I beat my fists on the glass and scream helplessly as my companions disappear into the depths of the casino.
“Ma’ii!”
Chapter 29
I’m sitting on the curb, watching the sun climb higher in the sky, when I hear him approach. I think about shooting him on principle, but I don’t understand all the forces at play here. Why the casino won’t let me in, why Coyote is pretending to be an exiled god, and how the hell I’m going to break whatever spell is holding my companions prisoner.
Granted, it’s a luxury kind of prison, but they’re in there and I’m out here, both of us stuck all the same.
So, when Ma’ii holds out a bottle to me, just behind my shoulder, I don’t rip his arm off like I want to. Instead I turn slightly to get a better look at what he’s offering. Winged demons of some kind cavort across a gold-edged label, arms raised and mouths open.
“I hate tequila,” I say, reading the label.
“Unsurprising. Your tastes have always been somewhat dull.”
I squint pointedly at the sun, still hours away from its zenith. “Besides, isn’t it a little too early for booze?”
“What is time to a coyote?” Ma’ii, still in the guise of the god Nohoilpi, sits down beside me. He stretches his red-clad legs out, crosses his feet at the ankles, and straightens the turquoise on the chain around his neck before taking a swig from the bottle.
“Don’t suppose you have coffee?” I ask. “I’d kill for a cup of coffee.”
“Then I shall endeavor to procure you one in the near future, because killing is exactly what I need you to do for me.”
And there it is. Or at least part of it. But I’m not much in the mood to do Ma’ii any favors. “I’m off the killing these days. Trying a new leaf, or whatever you call it.”
“The phrase is ‘turning over a new leaf.’ ”
“Yeah, that one.”
“You could not have considered this new leaf before our last encounter?”
The last time I saw Coyote, I shot him dead. Slit his throat, cut off his head and threw it off a rooftop for good measure
. Clearly, I should have done more. Because here he is, reminding me that the problem with immortals is that they don’t stay dead.
“You deserved it.”
“That is your opinion, and clearly debatable.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off. “But I am not here to debate it,” he says hurriedly. “I forgive you.”
I shrug. I couldn’t care less about Coyote’s supposed forgiveness. The only reason I’m not taking his head off again right now is because I’ve got a feeling that I might need his help. Later, after I’ve rescued the others? We’ll see.
“Since when do you drink tequila anyway?” I ask, curious. “I thought you were more of a whiskey man . . . coyote?”
“Well,” he says, coughing slightly. “I ran out of whiskey a few weeks ago. The bourbon soon after that. But if you must know, it all began when I imprisoned the real Nohoilpi in the presidential suite of this fine establishment.”
“You did what?!”
He stares into the distance, eyes on the horizon. “It seemed reasonable at the time.”
“To you.”
“Yes, to me,” he says, sounding slightly annoyed. “Who else would it sound reasonable to?”
“No one.”
“Well,” he says with a huff. He takes another drink from the bottle. “So, there I was, fretting about how I was going to escape this particularly tricky situation, and a godslayer literally flies over my head. What are the chances?”
“I’m not a godslayer.”
“More’s the pity. Because I’m desperately in need of one.”
“I don’t know where that name even came from. There was this woman near Lake Asááyi . . . What is it?”
Ma’ii’s looking at his toes, face decidedly guilty. And I can guess why. “You started it, didn’t you? The whole ‘godslayer’ name? It’s your doing.”
“It’s a bit aspirational, perhaps, but not wholly untrue.”
“Damn it, Ma’ii. You’ve got people calling me that. And some nutjob cult guy thinking it too.”
“Interesting. Which god does he wish you to slay?”
My mouth drops open. Of course. “I have no idea.”
“You should probably find out.”
“Yeah . . . ,” I say slowly, mind racing with a million scenarios I hadn’t considered. “I’ll get on that.”
Ma’ii sighs and pushes his hat back.
“Does the Cat know?”
“That I am not her long-lost paramour? That the real love of her life is tucked away with a micro-kitchenette and a wet bar? Not exactly.”
“When are you going to tell her?”
“In due time, Magdalena.” He twists his body to look at me. “Why were you flying over my casino?”
“It’s a long story.”
“And here we are, with all this time.”
What the hell. Coyote seemed to genuinely like Kai, so maybe he’ll help. “I’m rescuing Kai. Remember that nutjob who wants me to kill a god? He abducted Kai.”
“Ah, Kai Arviso,” he says wistfully. “A lovely boy. So, you did take him to your bed as I advised? Did you shake the very heavens with your lovemaking?” His voice is sly, suggestive. Confident.
“No,” I say flatly. “I killed him, too.”
He chokes. Drops the bottle. The tequila sloshes violently, and I reach out a hand to right it before the bottle spills. I stare at it a moment and decide what the hell. I pick it up and tip it back, letting the alcohol run down my throat. “Don’t worry,” I say after I swallow. “He obviously didn’t die either. Huh . . .” I take another swig as the idea occurs to me. “Maybe I really am losing my touch.”
“You truly are a marvel,” Ma’ii says once he gets his breath back.
My voice is as dry as the Mother Road. “Thanks.”
We sit for a while. Watch the sun make its steady ascent. It’s starting to get hot. It’s my first morning out here beyond the Wall, and the heat is no joke. In the hour I’ve been sitting here it must have climbed twenty degrees. I’m still wearing the cowl from my disguise last night, and I pull it off, sweating. My hair sticks to my head, cakes around my neck.
“What are you doing out here, Ma’ii?”
Ma’ii fusses with the crease of his pants, smoothing the line between his thumb and forefinger. “It seems I am persona non grata in Dinétah. The Diyin Dine’é were not happy that I borrowed the naayéé’ats’os. Or raised the monsters. I am barred from crossing the Wall.”
“Forever?”
He takes a drink. “What is time to a coyote?”
“So why is everyone trapped in the casino? What did you do to them?”
“I did nothing. It is the magic of the place. It has a mind of its own, and it does enjoy company. It will let them out eventually.”
“Why didn’t it let me in?”
“It didn’t want you.”
I pull my knees to my chest, feeling myself irrationally offended at being rejected by a sentient casino.
Ma’ii glances at me. “Oh, Magdalena, be reasonable. Perhaps because you wear that sword? Perhaps because you have always been more than what you seem and the tricks that work on others do not work on you. Perhaps because despite your dislike for the appellation, it is not incorrect to call you a godslayer and there is, in fact, a god in residence.”
“Whatever,” I growl, realizing I’m a little drunk.
He shakes his head, exasperated. “I suppose Nohoilpi could intercede with the casino on your behalf, should you convince him. It is his casino, after all.”
I hold out my hand for the bottle. He gives it to me, and I drink one last long swallow. I draw my arm back and throw the bottle as hard and as far as I can. It smashes against the pavement, shattering into a dozen sharp-edged pieces. I pocket the cap, a round, gold-colored top.
“The bottle wasn’t empty,” Ma’ii protests. “We weren’t done.”
“We’re done,” I say, standing. I’m a little unsteady on my feet, but otherwise fine. I think. I start walking back toward the entrance, swaying only a little.
“Where are you going?” he calls.
“To fight your friend. That god.”
“Drunk?”
“I’m sure as hell not doing it sober.”
“Fair point.” He scrambles to his feet, dusting his backside and hurrying after me. “What is your plan?”
“Can you release him? From the presidential suite.”
“Of course. It’s actually quite simple. I just—”
“Do it.” I roll my shoulders, stretching my neck. “Now.”
“And what will you do?”
“Just bring him to the front of the casino. You said he’s a god of gambling, right? Like games?”
“Indeed.”
“Then I guess we’ll play a little game.”
* * *
Minutes later, Ma’ii rushes out the door to where I told him to meet me. It’s clearly him because he’s looking over his shoulder, his brows bunched up in worry. “He’s coming,” he warns me, “but he’s not happy. Seems the minibar ran out days ago.”
“I don’t need him happy.” I draw Neizghání’s sword from its scabbard.
Ma’ii gasps excitedly behind me. “A battle for the ages!” he exclaims. “Cleaved by the lightning sword! After you defeated Neizghání, I knew it was only a matter of time before you confronted the gods themse—”
He cuts off abruptly as I lay the sword down on the pavement at my feet.
“Give me your shoes,” I tell him.
“Pardon?”
I motion impatiently toward his feet. “Shoes. I need them. Before he gets here.”
I untie my moccasin wraps, unwinding the length of soft elk skin that stretches from my heels to my knees. Pull off my red suede moccasins.
“Is this some sort of clever battle strategy?” he asks, doubtful.
“Give!”
He sighs and slips off his shiny shoes. Toes them over toward me. I line up his pair next to mine. Tuck t
he tequila bottle cap into Ma’ii’s shoe on the far end. Scoop up a handful of sandy dirt and pour it into Ma’ii’s shoe. He makes some sort of gargling noise in protest. I do the same to the remaining shoes until they are all filled with dirt.
I take a seat behind the line of shoes, face toward the doors. Think back to the songs of my childhood, the ones my nalí taught me. The ones sung only in the winter months. The ones that the animals sang.
“The shoe game,” Ma’ii murmurs. “You know I invented this game.”
I pause my song. “I know you tried to cheat to win.”
“This will never work. Where is the yucca? The blankets?”
“Quiet. It’ll work. You said he likes games.”
He snorts but doesn’t respond past that. Instead he takes a seat, sitting back on his heels and waiting, I assume, to see what happens.
I keep singing, low and steady. The minutes pass, and nothing changes. The sun keeps climbing, and my throat is getting dry. The tequila sloshes around in my otherwise empty stomach, making me queasy. Another five minutes of singing and I’m beginning to think maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.
The sword lies nearby, my other option. But one I want to avoid except as a last resort. To wield the sword is risky enough. The use it against a god? At the behest of a trickster? If there are worse scenarios, I don’t know what they are.
Ma’ii clears his throat to catch my attention. I look over toward the doors and smile. Someone’s coming across the lobby. Someone in a red suit and a black hat. Someone that looks exactly like Ma’ii.
Nohoilpi opens the door. His eyes dart to Ma’ii, who could pass for his doppelgänger. Nohoilpi’s face clouds, and he takes a step toward the trickster. Thunder booms somewhere in the distance, and the wind that didn’t exist moments before picks up. I sing louder, stressing the words to turn his attention. It works, and the god comes to stand in front of me.
I keep my voice steady, strong. Try not to show my fear, although I have no doubt he can sense it. He looks at me, studying my face. I let him. His eyes flicker to the sword lying beside me.
He crouches down in front of the shoes, eyes roaming curiously and then eagerly. And just like that, I have him.
Storm of Locusts Page 17