When they came out of the trees, Lia was kneeling in the dirt where the young man called Esteban had been fighting with Mickey’s Tzitzimime. Weird tracks proliferated, scattered across the dirt in no discernible pattern. Ingrid didn’t see any other trace of the bugwomen, but then there was no sign of Lia’s friend, either, and her heart sank. She didn’t know the particulars, but she got a sense of what must’ve happened, all the same. She hoped it hadn’t been terrible for Lia to watch, but she could tell just by looking that the hope was in vain.
“Lia…” she said, very softly, coming up behind the smaller woman and hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on her shoulder. “We’re both alive. They can’t have switched yet. There’s still time. Maybe we can close that door to Mictlan, if we hurry.”
Lia looked up. Her eyes were black and cold.
“All right,” she said. “Let’s go do that.”
A column of three police cars blasted down Lankershim Boulevard, their lights flashing and their sirens wailing. Lia sat in the front passenger seat of the lead car. Riley and Ingrid were in the back. Lia was all too aware that theirs were not the only flashing emergency lights out here on the roads. Accidents, awe, and the evidence of panic were everywhere to be seen, right outside her window. Madness and wonder wandered freely through the streets while people stared up into a blue mid-day sky that should’ve been as black as midnight, according to their watches or the clocks on their cellphones.
“They must all think it’s Jesus coming home to roost or Superman turning the planet backwards or, well, shit, I don’t know what they must think,” Riley said, staring out through his own window as they turned onto Ventura from Lankershim, heading into the Cahuenga Pass. It was a rare thing to see either his vocabulary or his imagination desert him, Lia knew.
Panicked crowds were pouring down the hill from Universal Studios, making the intersection all but impassable. Their police car eased past a mad-eyed, bearded man wearing a sandwichboard too-tightly packed with apocalyptic text for any of it to be legible. He harangued anyone whose eye he could catch about the pressing need to repent, and Lia looked away from him. They’d driven past a surprising number of individuals who seemed to share his attitude already. Lia wondered when they’d had the time to hand-print all those ‘The End Is Nigh’ signs. She hated to think that people had them pre-made and socked away in garage rafters or under their beds, in case an unscheduled end of the world should ever catch them unawares.
Lia ignored the hysteria as best she could. She figured people’s existing beliefs would help them reassemble their conceptions of reality later on-assuming that things eventually did return to normal. There were no guarantees on that score, she reminded herself. This was unprecedented territory.
Their cruiser sped up again once they entered the Cahuenga Pass itself. From here they’d reach their destination within minutes, and Lia already knew she meant to send the police escort away as soon as they arrived-using Esteban’s brand of influential tricks, if necessary. The Blackdogs were needed out on these streets more than anybody, and, after what had happened to Ben Leonard, Lia didn’t want any more of their blood on her hands.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Black Tom stood by in the waiting room, helplessly watching Winston Watt’s old bones threaten Hannah inside the second of the King’s Chambers. Tom knew he couldn’t cross the barrier the way they both had and retain his will, as he was technically dead already and therefore a subject of el Rey’s (even if he’d been absent without leave for the last hundred years). He’d be rendered helpless by Mictlantecuhtli’s influence as soon as he stepped across the threshold, and he’d be no good to anybody, then.
“But I hardly know anything about these things!” Hannah protested, staring down the barrel of Winston’s gun. Tom had no idea what would happen to her if she got shot while standing in the realm of the dead. “I didn’t even know things like you could be, outside of movies,” she insisted.
“The dead like me can walk the earth this time of year, with permission from our King,” Winston informed her. “But a living thing like you has no business being here. You couldn’t be, unless you know something more than you’re letting on, my dear.”
“I really swear I don’t,” Hannah said.
“It doesn’t matter to me,” Winston replied. “All I want is for Black Tom Delgado to take over my position in Mictlan. Do you think your Lia will trade him for you?”
“I… I have no idea,” Hannah said. Tom didn’t either. He was glad that Winston couldn’t see him.
“I think you’d better hope so,” Watt said. “Now, summon Dexter Graves. He will bring Mictlantecuhtli, and Mictlantecuhtli must approve the terms.”
“I don’t know how to summon,” Hannah said. “I missed that class.”
“I am getting a bit tired of this obtuse routine, lady.”
Hannah sighed. “Okay, I can try,” she said. “But I wouldn’t expect much.” She put the lighter to her forehead and closed her eyes. “Hannah to Dexter,” she said in a dopey nasal voice. “Hannah to Dexter, come in Dexter…”
Winston looked like he was about to say something pissy in response when Graves’ ghost appeared beside the altar stone.
“Wow,” Hannah said, looking as startled as anyone. “Good reception. There must be a hellphone tower near here.”
King Caradura appeared a moment later, looking none too pleased. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded of Hannah. “Why have you summoned Dexter Graves from our palaver?”
Black Tom faded further back, making himself as hard to perceive as possible. Only distraction was keeping el Rey from spotting him out here. He thanked whatever other gods might be that Mictlantecuhtli wasn’t quite omniscient.
Hannah cocked her thumb at Winston. “He placed the call,” she said. “I’m just the operator.”
“Winston?” ‘Miguel Caradura’ said, raising his dark eyebrows. El Rey was fully dressed as a living human being for this performance, a form in which Tom had rarely seen him. He was even wearing a modern-day suit, one with big shoulders and pinstripes.
“Tomas Delgado is with them, Mictlantecuhtli,” the bony majordomo said. “The witch Lia will trade him for this one. I humbly ask that you force him to assume the mantle I have carried in his place. I’m tired. I just want to sleep. Please, Mictlantecuhtli.”
“I have a better idea,” Hannah said. When she had the King’s full attention, she continued. “Look, in case you haven’t noticed: I’m in here. I walked in and I didn’t melt. Guess that must mean I’m a witch, huh?”
“It… would seem so, Lady,” the King said. “Yes.”
“I’ve helped Lia with her work,” Hannah said. “I’ve fed the doorway demons, and I think I’ve seen them too. I make my living helping things grow out of the earth, and I just now summoned up a ghost. I guess that’s enough to qualify me as a witch or an operator or whatever it is they’re called, technically speaking. And I hear you need one, Mister, um… Death. Sir, I mean.”
“You hear true. What then do you propose, witch?”
“Leave Lia out of this. Do what you’ve gotta do with me.”
“That’s a really bad idea there, Miss Hannah,” Graves’ ghost said.
“Very good.” Caradura agreed with a nod, ignoring Graves utterly. “I accept your terms. Let us, as they say, ‘do this thing.’”
Hannah nodded too, and they shook on it, her slender hand disappearing into el Rey’s powerful mitt. Winston looked on, completely flummoxed.
“Hannah no,” Graves protested. “You can’t just-”
“Hannah!”
Everyone within the second chamber whirled around when Lia, Ingrid and Riley burst into the office. Winston Watt raised his gun and fired. Whether he did it reflexively or on purpose was more than Tom could say. The shot resounded in the tiny, crowded chamber, making every living ear ring.