“Does that seem like the work of a carnival magician?” the sorcerer said triumphantly.
“Hun-Kamé,” Casiopea whispered urgently, touching his neck, his chest, his brow. The fireball had not ignited his clothes, yet his skin felt feverish to her touch. His eyes were closed. She shook him a little.
The sorcerer’s assistants were holding knives in their hands, cutting their palms, and the Uay Chivo had started speaking, weaving words and a spell together. Casiopea, not knowing what to do, held Hun-Kamé in her arms and watched as the men pressed their bloodied hands against the floor, tracing a circle around them, the blood bubbling and sizzling, as if water had hit a hot pan.
Despite her fear, which was real and alive, sharp enough to make her fingers tingle, Casiopea chased away panic. It would do no good to cry or scream. She knew no magic, she realized that she could not undo this spell; therefore she merely drew Hun-Kamé closer to her, as if she might protect him with her touch. She clutched him and stared at the men who circled them not with her face deformed by terror but with a more distant look.
A wall of fire rose from the spot where the blood had fallen. It was a fire born of a strange flame, blue in its cast. One moment it was solid, the next as flimsy as a spider web, yet it shivered as a flame would. The sorcerer tossed a handful of ash against it, and the fire acquired an almost violet hue.
The old man and the young ones were pleased with themselves; they chuckled and yelled a few obscenities in their triumph.
Casiopea, knowing nothing, unable to understand the nature of the spell, extended an arm, intending to touch the wall of fire.
“Don’t,” Hun-Kamé said, grabbing her arm.
He had finally opened his dark eye and stared at her. Casiopea felt such stupid joy in this, in the realization that he was not grievously injured—although he couldn’t have died of such an injury, immortal as he was—that she almost spoke an inane term of endearment before she was cut off by the laughter of the sorcerer.
“You won’t be able to get out, but it will hurt like the devil if you try,” Hun-Kamé whispered in her ear. “Hotter than blazing coals.”
Casiopea pulled her arm back, nodding.
“What was that?” the Uay Chivo asked. “Speak up. Or have you been rendered speechless by my magic?”
Hun-Kamé did not appear aggrieved. His eye was cool, though it was a tad too dark, too flat, a pool of ink directed at the silver-haired sorcerer.
“Your magic is thin, like watered-down pulque, no bite to it. Do you think your spell will hold? I can already see the strain it causes you,” Hun-Kamé said, and his voice had the same flatness of the eye.
“Strain? Not with this lovely necklace in my possession,” the Uay Chivo said, touching the jade beads, the sharp points of the oyster shell.
“Your face tells a different story, flushed like a fool’s.”
The Uay Chivo was indeed flushed, beads of sweat on his forehead, streaming now down his narrow, angry face, as if he’d been running for a while. Even his voice sounded breathless. The accusation made it worse, the face growing redder. The sorcerer bit into his cigarette with such strength Casiopea thought he’d snap it in two.
“I don’t have to hold you forever, Hun-Kamé. I only have to slow you down. By the time you reach Baja California, if you ever reach it, you’ll be weak as a kitten,” the Uay Chivo said.
“Don’t count on it,” Hun-Kamé said, and his voice was like the dead of night, utterly still, it clouded everything, it dimmed the lights for a moment. Even the flames that rose around them grew softer before leaping up and shimmering violet-red as the sorcerer tossed another handful of ash at the barrier.
“Enjoy your time in my house,” the Uay Chivo replied.
But when he stepped out of the room, he bent over his cane with a great deal of effort, and one of his assistants walked by his side, speaking in his ear. The other assistant remained, obviously meant to guard them.
Casiopea and Hun-Kamé sat next to each other quietly. The guard wrapped his hand in a handkerchief and crossed his arms, sitting down on a chair and watching them intently. At length he grew bored or tired and closed his eyes.
“How will we get out of this?” Casiopea asked in a whisper.
“I imagine with some effort,” Hun-Kamé replied laconically.
Casiopea raised an eyebrow at his words. “Was that a joke?”
“I suppose it was.”
“It wasn’t very good.”
“I don’t have much practice with them.”
She smiled at him and he smiled back. Minutes passed before he half turned away from Casiopea, regarding the wall of flame.
“The spell is sound enough, but there is a solution to every riddle,” Hun-Kamé said. “If I thrust myself against the flames, I’d simply scorch my body and writhe in pain. But I won’t do that, not exactly. What we need is that guard to come here, right next to the barrier.”
