“Tepito.”
Of course she is. Tepito is a barrio in Mexico City that has one of the highest concentrations of Santa Muerte devotees in the world. There are others, Tultitlán north of the city, Ciudad Juárez just on the other side of El Paso. But Tepito is where her base is. Where the people who need her most live.
Tepito’s a slum, a massive, blocks wide, open-air bazaar. You can find food, drugs, electronics, guns, phones, computers, anything you can think of. As long as you’re okay with questionably sourced goods and illegal trade, you’re golden.
“You know where in Tepito?” I know of the place, heard a lot about it, but I’ve never been there myself.
He spreads his hands and shrugs. “She didn’t say. Can you answer something for me?” Bustillo says.
“Possibly.”
“You want to kill her,” he says. “Why?”
“Santa Muerte, or her avatar?”
“Both.”
“Santa Muerte murdered my sister. Her avatar, well, she’s got a piece of her in her head. They’re pretty much the same person. You’ve been a devotee of hers long?”
“Many years. Even before I knew it. There is an honesty to her I find refreshing.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Honesty. Right.”
“I have heard some of what she did to you. But tell me. Did she lie, or did she merely keep the truth from you?”
This is actually a question I’ve been struggling with. She’s never flat out lied to me as far as I can tell. When we first met she offered to tell me who killed my sister, Lucy. I didn’t take her up on that offer, the price was too high. So instead she offered me a cryptic clue that wasn’t, technically speaking, incorrect. If I’d taken her up on her offer right then and there, would she have told me the truth? I think she might have.
“No, she hasn’t lied to me. That’s not why I’m going to kill her.”
“Of course not. But she is a product of her time. She has not fully grown into this modern world. It is regrettable that your sister died, but Se?ora only knew one way to get your attention. You cannot expect her to be anything but true to her own nature, even as she tries to change it.”
“Yeah, and I can’t blame a bear for trying to eat me, either, but I can put a bullet in its brain so it doesn’t.” Something he just said catches my attention. “Wait, what do you mean about trying to change her nature?”
“She hasn’t lied, but she has deceived. That’s new to her. Foreign. She tries to accommodate this new world, but doesn’t know how. Her ways are not—”
“Sane?”
“I was going to say subtle. She may only know death, but she is not the instrument of it. To enlist you in her cause she used the only tools she understood. So, as I said, she has an honesty that I find refreshing. She’s simply death. There’s nothing more honest than that.”
He has a point. Death is the great equalizer. It’ll lay you low whether you’re the richest motherfucker in the world or the lowliest peasant.
“Well, aren’t I lucky.”
“She needs you for something,” Bustillo says. He pours out more tequila for us. “Do you know what?”
“No. And I don’t care.” Not anymore. For a while it was driving me crazy. Second guessing her. Trying to figure out her game. But then I realized, it didn’t matter. Because whatever it is, I’m not going to let it happen. I’m going to kill her. I’m going to kill her husband. I’m going to kill her avatar. I’m going to kill anyone who gets in my way.
“You don’t? It seems you’ve been given a gift. Why not accept it?”
I’ve heard this one before. Everybody seems to think it’s like a fucking Christmas present.
“I know this game. This is where I say, ‘I don’t want it,’ and you say, ‘But the power! The opportunity!’ And I say, ‘You don’t get it,’ because you don’t. It’s not a gift. It’s my sister’s murder. It’s my friend’s death. It’s me trapped in jade. It’s a debt I haven’t paid back, yet. And now I think we’re done here.”
“Yes,” he says. “I am very sorry.”
He says it less as someone offering condolences and more as someone who is apologizing for something he’s done. Or, more likely, something he’s about to do. I don’t give him the chance.
I grab the shotgun and pull the trigger. It goes off in my hand with a thunderous blast that should vaporize Bustillo’s chest, but he’s fast. I feel a flare of magic as he lets off a spell he already had primed, and the desk, a thick, oak monstrosity that has to weigh a few hundred pounds, flips up blocking him and forcing my shot to go into the ceiling.
Minor talent, my ass. With as much power as he’s got I can see why his ass is so chapped that he’s not the one with Santa Muerte.