In a corner a parrot rested inside a circular chrome cage, which dangled from a thin metal stand. It eyed them as they walked in. The parrot in Uukumil was mean, and Casiopea regarded this bird as a bad omen.
In the center of the room there was a burgundy couch that matched the curtains. On it lay a woman in an elegant white satin dress, so fine and delicate each curve of her body was visible under the material. Her neck was adorned with a long strand of pearls, which dipped between her breasts. Her nails were red, as were her lips, and her dark hair was swept back with a silver-and-ruby embroidered headband. She looked like a movie star rather than a dangerous spirit.
“Let me speak,” Hun-Kamé told Casiopea. “There, stand there.”
Hun-Kamé motioned for Casiopea to stand close to the entrance, next to a row of potted plants, while he approached the woman. Xtabay held in her right hand the necklace they’d brought, idly, her eyes falling on Casiopea for a second and fixing on the god.
“Greetings, Lady Xtabay,” he said.
“My, but could it be the lord Hun-Kamé? Without a proper retinue and only one handmaiden at your side?” the woman said, making Casiopea wonder if in Xibalba he was followed by a dozen royal guards and servants holding parasols. And she thought, yes, that must be the case.
“And yet I found a proper gift.”
“Thank you for the pretty trinket, but it might have been even better if you’d told me you were coming. Unannounced visits can be such a hassle.”
Her voice was very beautiful, as was her face. It was not human beauty, every angle, every feature, too flawless, too polished. The room had an artificial quality and so did she. She had the allure of the snake, of the jaguar, and she was also every stray fantasy men have ever dreamed. Prismatic, she changed. From one angle her lips were full and her face rounded, yet from another that face became thin, the cheekbones sharp, as if she sought to please any and every onlooker.
It was easy to imagine how many men had been lured by her into the jungle, striving to catch a strand of her hair between their hands, only to drown in a waterhole instead. Casiopea touched the leaves of a large potted plant. She was nervous. If he’d assigned her a proper role—to guard the door, for example—she would have felt better, but to merely stand there seemed silly. Yet back in his palace he might have a multitude of people to do precisely that: handmaidens to stand behind him, servants to line up in front of him for no good reason, like decorative items. And women as attractive as this one to speak to. It was only because he’d been brought low that he now traveled in the company of a single, bumbling mortal girl.
Casiopea let go of the leaf and frowned.
“I am certain I was expected,” Hun-Kamé replied.
The woman smiled, placing the gold necklace she had been holding on the couch. She sat up, resting a hand against the hollow of her throat. Her movements and her voice were practiced, reinforcing the idea this was an actress often on display.
“Your brother might have hinted you’d be here,” she admitted.
“You know why I have come.”
“Of course. To intimidate me. To force me to surrender that precious piece of your essence that you must regain. But, dearest Hun-Kamé, we all know one thing: you are not quite yourself right now. I’m not afraid.”
The woman smiled at him. Her teeth were flawless, the smile most delightful. But sharp too, the smile of a predator, the allure of the carnivorous flower. By the couch lay a zebra skin, serving as a rug, and the woman ran a naked foot across the black-and-white stripes. Back and forth she moved her foot, her eyes on the god.
“I thought you’d be wise,” he replied.
“I am. And it would be unwise to surrender to you.”
“My brother must have made you an offer.”
“Which you cannot match,” Xtabay said.
“What is the offer?”
Xtabay stood up and shrugged. She circled Hun-Kamé, brushing a hand across his back as she did, the other hand busy touching her strand of pearls, as if she meant to count them. She sighed.
“A place beside his throne. I am to be his consort.”
“He cannot raise you to godhood.”
“You are very misinformed and out of date. The world is changing.”
“You’ve fallen for Vucub-Kamé’s dream? His ridiculous notions of power?”
Xtabay laughed. Her pretty voice had a musical quality to it, but the laughter was not pleasant. Hollow. As polished as the rest of her, as shiny as the metal and Bakelite furniture adorning the room. She pressed her hands together. She wore rings on many fingers; her bracelets clinked. And when she shook her head, there was the flash of expensive earrings. It must be nice, Casiopea thought, to wear such finery every day and have the constant favor of gods.
“You have been quite ridiculous too, Hun-Kamé. Existing so quietly in your kingdom of shadows, happy to think of former glories. You are like a dog eager to eat scraps,” she said languidly, managing to make the insult sound impersonal.
“Everything has its time. The gods do not walk the land for a reason,” he said, his voice subdued. The insult had not stirred him.
“The chu’lel can be harnessed.”
The dress swished as Xtabay walked in front of him. The white satin rippled, and Xtabay stretched out a hand, brushing Hun-Kamé’s face as her dress brushed the cool checkered floor. Knots of power, invisible, tied themselves around the god. Casiopea could not possibly see them, but a shiver went down her spine and the plants around her shivered too, making a low, low sound.
“Ah, Hun-Kamé, do not be upset with me, I couldn’t bear it. You know I have always been fond of you. You are so much more intelligent than your brother, so much stronger and more handsome,” the woman declared.
“You say that only because it is me standing before you, and not him, right this instant,” he told her, but his voice was odd, he slurred his words.
Casiopea noticed that Hun-Kamé had closed his eye and his shoulders drooped. She knew the legends of the Xtabay but had not thought she could affect him. Ordinarily, Casiopea would have been correct in her assessment: Xtabay could have no power over a god. Then again, Hun-Kamé was not exactly a god at this time, his immortal essence mixed with Casiopea’s human self. He was vulnerable.
Casiopea watched him carefully. She did not know about magic, but she did know about bad feelings, and she was certain now that the parrot had indeed been a terrible omen.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, and she wondered whether she should approach them. Last time she had not followed his instructions a ghost had almost snacked on her bones. Did she interrupt them? Would that make things worse?
Behind her there was a soft rustling, but she was too worried trying to listen to the conversation to pay it heed.
“I would much rather sit by your side than his. Wouldn’t that please you? It would not be too difficult to manage,” Xtabay said.
“I…can see your point.”
Each word the woman spoke made Hun-Kamé drowsier. Xtabay moved closer to him, placing her hands on his chest.
The rustling continued. Casiopea looked behind her, annoyed. One of the potted plants had extended long tendrils, reaching toward her. Before Casiopea could flinch, it wrapped itself around her legs. Another tendril whipped her in the face with such ferocity she stumbled back. One quick tug and she fell down. Hun-Kamé had noticed nothing. He was still speaking with Xtabay while Casiopea tried to pull the tendrils off her. They were as tough as ropes, and more slippery.
“I have the precious item you seek. The index finger from your left hand. Let me return it to you, and that portion of your power, but assure me you’ll crown me as your own queen. Assure me with a kiss,” Xtabay was telling Hun-Kamé.
A couple of paces from Casiopea there was a side table, crystal vases crammed with flowers set upon it. Sh
e scrambled up and reached for one of the vases while a third tendril wrapped itself around her midsection, squeezing her tight and digging into her flesh. Casiopea smashed the vase against the floor, shards bouncing around her. She picked up one piece of sharp glass and cut the tendril wrapped around her mouth. The plant let out an unpleasant hiss, uncoiling from her.
Xtabay, in turn, let out a gasp and touched her arm, where a scratch had suddenly materialized. She glared at the girl.
“Be care—”
Casiopea’s words were muffled by yet another tendril, which struck her and began knotting itself around her head. Xtabay clearly did not wish for her to speak, or maybe she just wanted to suffocate Casiopea. Either way, this was not good, and she pulled at the tendril, pulled with all her might.
Meanwhile, Xtabay kept speaking to the god. She raised a hand, as if to touch Hun-Kamé’s face, and Casiopea realized there were vicious thorns running along the woman’s arm. She meant to kiss and simultaneously scratch Hun-Kamé with the thorns.
Casiopea tugged at the tendril around her head and the plant shivered, but it would not relent. In fact, Casiopea felt that it was laughing quietly.
It made her boiling mad. She bit down on it as hard as she could. The plant hissed again in anger—and Xtabay hissed in equal anger, clutching her hand, the marks of teeth showing on her unblemished skin. Casiopea managed to peel the tendril off her face.
“Hun-Kamé!” she yelled. “Don’t listen to her!”
When the name escaped Casiopea’s lips, Hun-Kamé turned his head to look at her. He had heard nothing of the commotion happening in a corner of the room, but Casiopea’s voice sliced through the magic Xtabay had been weaving, as if a hand had shoved away a cobweb. The knots of power, which had remained invisible, glowed blue for a second before being extinguished. This minor act of destruction also had the effect of knocking Xtabay down. She lay on her knees on the zebra rug, stunned.
Hun-Kamé straightened himself up and walked to Casiopea’s side. The plant had slackened its grip on her, but when the god approached, it blackened and recoiled entirely, as if it could not withstand the anger of the Death Lord. And angry he did look, eye as dark as coal, brushing off a stray leaf that had caught in Casiopea’s hair. He offered her his left hand, so that she might find purchase on him and stand up.
“Are you injured?” she asked. “Do you need me to help you?”
“Perfectly fine,” he said. “Although I was about to ask that question.”
“Oh. Nothing is broken,” she assured him.
“I see. Just a scratch here,” he said, touching her forehead for a second, wiping away the mark like he’d wiped away the stray leaf, “and gone again.”
By the couch Xtabay, head down, spoke words of power, but they fizzled, a fire without tinder, impossible to spark.
“Your trickery won’t work with me,” Hun-Kamé told her, but he did not bother even glancing at the woman.
“It almost did,” Xtabay said, her voice now a venomous hiss, no sweetness to it. She nursed her injured hand, the red, angry mark of Casiopea’s teeth stark upon it.
“Return my property,” Hun-Kamé replied coolly.
“It will not change anything,” Xtabay told him.
Nevertheless, she complied, walking toward a bookcase where she kept a black box with two green jade lines running down its sides. Xtabay opened the box and offered it to Hun-Kamé, kneeling down before him, in what Casiopea thought was a clear display of mockery.
“For the Lord Hun-Kamé,” Xtabay said, as she threw the lid of the box open, “from his humble servant.”
Cushioned in black velvet rested the finger. Just like the ear, it was well preserved, as if it had been cut off a few minutes ago. Hun-Kamé pressed the digit against his hand, and it fused with his flesh. Then he motioned for Xtabay to stand up. She did.
“Who has the next piece of this puzzle?” he asked.
“You think I know?”
“My brother wishes to crown you, Xtabay. I think he would have told you.”
“You cannot make me speak the answer.”
“I have undone your spell,” Hun-Kamé said.
“No, not you, you vain and naïve lord, the girl. Did you lose one eye or go entirely blind?” Xtabay said, mocking him. “You did nothing.”
True, he had not. It had been Casiopea’s voice that quenched the spell, an act of will, though her essence mixed with that of a god, and thus it was partly his magic that had given her the ability to perform the task. Partly, but not wholly.
“Then give me the answer,” Casiopea said, feeling tired, the beginning of a headache drumming inside her skull. She wanted this matter over. She pressed forward to stand inches before the woman.
“You undo one spell and you think you can command me?” the woman said, scoffing.
“I’m suspecting that’s the way it works. And if it’s not the way, then I’ll start smashing all your plants and flowers to bits until you are nicer to me. I think you wouldn’t like that,” Casiopea said.
“You would not dare.”
“I would very much dare,” Casiopea said.
“She is a savage,” the woman told Hun-Kamé.
“The Lady Tun has a very distinctive personality, but I would not go as far as that,” Hun-Kamé said. “And she makes a fine point: do you want us to smash a few things around your home? Burn these flowers and plants?”
“Of course not, my lord,” Xtabay said, lowering her head and clutching her injured hand. “There is an uay in El Paso, the Uay Chivo. He serves Vucub-Kamé.”
Hun-Kamé turned as if to leave, motioning for Casiopea to walk with him, but Xtabay spoke again, her hard eyes watching them intently. She looked as beautiful as she had when they had entered the room and yet she was also diminished.
“You should let it be, Hun-Kamé,” the woman said, and she sounded empty now. “Forget about the throne and disappear. Vucub-Kamé will kill you.”
“Gods may not die.”
“Yes,” Xtabay said with a nod. “Gods may not. Look at your reflection in a mirror.”
Hun-Kamé grabbed Casiopea’s hand and pulled her out of the room. When they reached the elevator he dragged the metal door closed with a loud clang.
Downstairs, as he opened one of the double glass doors, Hun-Kamé glanced at his reflection. He saw nothing in the dim outline of his face to cause alarm.
Had he been holding a hand mirror he might have spotted the telltale detail that Xtabay had noticed. His eye, so dark it was like flint, reflected nothing, since it was not human. But the eye had now changed. The pupil, like a black mirror, caught reflections. The street, the cars going down the boulevards, and his young companion. She was rendered in most vivid colors.
Yes, the unweaving of the spell had been partly caused by the god’s immortal essence that lay inside Casiopea, giving her the ability to crumple Xtabay’s magic with the power of the Underworld. But the other part, the other reason Xtabay’s spell had failed—and which Casiopea and Hun-Kamé didn’t grasp—was a simpler truth: his vision was already too clouded by Casiopea. When she’d spoken and he’d turned his head, his pupil reflected her and washed away the rest of the room.
Such incidents are not uncommon between young mortals who believe they exist on a deserted island where no one else may step foot.
Hun-Kamé? He was not young, born centuries and centuries before.
And yet he was, upon stepping out of that building in the Condesa, a man of Casiopea’s age, his wisdom washing off his skin. Of course Casiopea could not notice this, as she had not noticed how he had no age when they met. He became young and that was that, as if someone had stripped off the dark, coarse bark from a tree, showing the pale core of it.
After his disastrous encounter with his cousin, Martín immediately ran back to the Hotel Mancera, hoping to meet with
her again. He tried to pry the location of her room from the front desk clerk, but the clerk would not budge, unable to even confirm that a woman matching Casiopea’s description was staying there. Martín threatened, then he tried to bribe the employee, but the clerk stared at him with the absolute indifference of a capitalino who has seen everything, and much worse. Irritated, Martín planted himself in the lobby, hoping to intercept Casiopea. His cousin never came down, or she’d exited the building already.
Once Martín realized it was futile to maintain his watch, grasping the stupidity of the endeavor, he hurried outside, walking around downtown until he found a vendor who was carrying cigarettes. Casiopea had purchased his smokes, and as he grabbed his lighter he was reminded of this detail, which diminished any pleasure he might otherwise have taken in the cigarette.
Martín went in search of an establishment that served alcohol and found no lack of them downtown, picking a cheap pulquería with a mural of Mexico City’s twin volcanos painted on a wall. There were more dignified establishments, including The Opera, where the revolutionary Pancho Villa supposedly shot bullets into the ceiling one evening, but Martín did not give one rat’s ass about the quality of the drinks he was imbibing. Each glass of pulque tasted more bitter than the last, as he drummed his fingers against the table. Women with too much rouge on their cheeks stopped by, hoping to make a few pesos off the surly man in good clothes, but he waved them away, complaining about the faults of the female sex. It all started with Eve and ended with Casiopea, according to him. Serpent, damn viper, that’s what she was.
Finally, when night fell, Martín walked back to his hotel, cursing Casiopea under his breath.
“Twenty times a whore and fifty a bitch,” he said.
It was in her blood, of course, Jezebel. Not only her gender, but her father’s Indian blood committed her to this state—Martín would have never conceived of any genetic ailment in the Leyva side of the family; it had to have been the part of her that was Tun that caused such reckless behavior.
Gods of Jade and Shadow Page 15