It looked like the things girls wore in magazines. Reckless, as was this whole voyage.
Charmeuse, voile, gingham in bold colors were heaped on the bed as the maid began to fold the items Casiopea had picked, or at least acquiesced to, placing them in a suitcase. Another maid walked in and said Loray wanted to speak to her.
Casiopea went back to the living room, glad that she did not have to stare at silk brassieres with side laces any longer. The demon smiled as soon as he saw her and, walking toward her, lifted her hand. His raven was not at his shoulder this time; it rested on the back of a chair, cocking its head at them.
“There you are and looking well.”
She nodded, unsure of his intent. He held her hand and kissed it, like gentlemen used to do in the old days. He clasped her hand between his.
“You must forgive me for what I said before. I was rude to you. It is a fault of mine, I can be boorish.”
“It’s fine. Although I wonder why you’ve bothered giving me nice clothes,” she replied, pulling away from his grasp and lightly tugging at the sash adorning her hips. It felt so odd to be attired like this, and she wondered how much he’d spent on her.
“I thought you could use a change of outfit, and I was correct,” Loray said, appraising the girl with a smile. “Besides, it might help us become better friends.”
He was trying to charm her, but Casiopea was not used to being charmed. The village boys scarcely paid attention to her. Had she been a common servant they might have wooed her and stolen kisses, but since she was a member of the Leyva family, however nominally, they did not dare. She had little practice in this arena.
For this reason, rather than blushing or lowering her lashes, she replied with earnest vehemence.
“Somehow I don’t think demons and gods have many friends,” she said.
“You are correct. But I’m willing to make an exception for you, seeing as I have a soft spot for mythmaking. Do you understand the journey you are about to embark on?”
“I know I have to help Hun-Kamé if I am to help myself.”
“Of course, but do you understand what is at stake?” he asked.
She had no idea. A somnambulist, she was placing one foot in front of the other and following whatever path Hun-Kamé traced. It was not a lack of initiative on her behalf: she was utterly confused, unsure any of what was happening was quite real, and reacted based on instinct. She was, however, curious.
“Tell me,” she said, knowing a story lay ahead, as fine as any of the legends and tall tales her father had spun for her.
“Thousands upon thousands of years ago a stone fell upon the earth. It cracked the land, left a scar. And when an event of such intensity takes place, something remains,” Loray told her, and seemed pleased in the telling. “Power, embedded in the peninsula, radiating from it. There is much magic here. In other parts of the world the ancient gods have gone to sleep, for although gods do not die, they must slumber when their devoted cease in their prayers and offerings.
“But here the gods still walk in Yucatán. They can move deep into the jungles, into the isthmus, or they can wander farther north, where the rattlesnakes curl in the desert, though the farther they walk from the place of their birth, the weaker they become. Yucatán is a well of power, and the Supreme Lord of Xibalba can tap into that power.”
“Power,” the raven said.
Loray raised his hand. The raven flew across the room to rest upon his wrist and the demon stroked its feathers.
“Through a series of unfortunate events I’ve found myself chained to this city and wish to escape it. If I can descend into Xibalba, I could transcend the bonds that hold me here…tunnel my way out, so to speak. But I can’t walk around Xibalba without permission.”
“Which Hun-Kamé will grant you,” she said.
“It is a gamble, of course. Hun-Kamé may fail, and if he does, I will find myself in trouble. His brother is harsh.”
Again here was a detail Casiopea had not considered, what it might mean to defy a god. She had followed Hun-Kamé because she thought it necessary, but a desire for freedom—even a “peasant” who has never owned a pair of garters can sense the call for adventure—had also pushed her forward, making her ignore the dangers she might face. Now that Loray spoke, it was obvious there was much to worry about. It was not only the words the demon said, but the way he said them, quietly, and she noticed that at no point had he spoken the name of Hun-Kamé’s rival.
Vucub-Kamé, she thought, and held the name in her mouth.
“I want insurance. That same insurance would prove beneficial to you,” Loray said.
“I don’t understand,” she replied.
“Inside you there is a strange thing, is there not? A piece of him, the seal of the underworld upon you.”
“A bone shard.”
She opened her hand and looked at her fingers. Whether Hun-Kamé had volunteered this information or Loray had found out by some other means she could not know.
