Year of the Snake

Chapter 4 Excerpt: Popocatépetl

~Citlalli, Santa Fe, Present Day~

I almost didn't recognize the woman sitting by the window.

Granted, it had been years since I'd seen Nana, and my memories were dim. She had been verbal then. Her love of perfumes had possibly eclipsed Mami's, a distinctive fragrance of gardenias, but I still smelled the warmth of chili and cinnamon beneath. This woman sat in her wheelchair with a single-minded stare and didn't move despite the fly buzzing around her. Papi gestured us closer, but we didn't move, almost as if we feared our mere breathing would make her collapse.

"Lita." Papi knelt and took her hand. The woman in the chair twitched, her tongue pumping furiously for a second. Slowly, as if extracting herself from Heaven, our great-grandmother gazed down at her grandson-in-law with clouded eyes.

Miguel shifted behind me. "Are we sure we should tell her? If we off Bisabuela, Mamá will shit a brick and make sure it lands on our heads."

"Only if gravity works up in the afterlife," I muttered. Miguel snorted, Dani glared, and for a moment, it felt like old times.

"Lita, your granddaughter, Ileana, she has—" Papi bowed his head. Nana continued to stare blankly.

"She's passed on." When Papi's head rose, his cheeks were damp with tears. No reaction stirred on Nana's face. She may have clutched his hand a little harder, for Papi stayed there, prone. After ten minutes, Dani put a hand on his shoulder.

"Papá, let's get you something to eat. You didn't touch your breakfast."

"We'll keep Nana company," Raina added encouragingly.

Papi allowed our older sister to tow him away, rubbing his nose on his sleeve. "Ay Dios, You won't believe how they've grown, Lita."

Once the door closed, I was the first to step forward. Instantly, I caught it—the scent of decay, old and wrong. I bit back Wolf's snarl and took my great-grandmother's hand instead. Her fingernails sank into my skin briefly. They were almost sharp enough to draw blood. Looking over her head to Raina, I knew she could smell it, too.

Death.

"Where is this?" Restless as always, Miguel had begun poking around the room. He stood before a picture of a volcano, a striking white cinder cone overlooking a mountain village nestled high in the clouds.

"Cholula, México," Raina read from the picture's frame. "It is said to have as many churches as there are days in the year."

"Or one for each temple that used to be there before the invaders. Really, there are maybe forty." We turned to see a mild-mannered man in scrubs smiling at us. "Popocatépetl," he went on, nodding toward the formidable volcano dominating the desert. "Second highest peak in all of México. I climbed it once, in another lifetime."

"Wow, that's incredible." Raina nodded around us. "We're the great-grandkids. Raina, Miguel, and Citlalli."

"Pedro," he greeted, tapping his nametag. "I have been caretaker for your bisabuela for long time. I remember when you were small. It has been a minute, eh?" He paused, taking another sidelong look at me. "The world has not been kind to you."

I retreated further into my sweatshirt, my cybernetic eye glowing. During the Red Night, people had stared, too. However, they had looked at me with pride. My new eye was a sign that I was battle-seasoned. My myoelectric arm that had the power to channel soulfire had proved an invaluable weapon against the Lords of Walking Death and Frost King Aleksandr's supernatural army.

Now, the hope and respect in people's eyes had been replaced by fear—or worse, pity.

"Who says I've been any kinder?"

Pedro chuckled. "You live up to your namesake, I see."

Raina came to put her hands on Nana's shoulders. "Do you think she can hear us?"

Pedro knelt before the old woman, smiled, and chattered in espanõl. Nana made a fist but otherwise stayed blank-faced.

"She sees and hears different things, now. Kinder times," Pedro added with a smile at me, rubbing his five o'clock shadow. "Do not be sad. She lived a good life and is content just being here, with you. Your bisabuela does not stay awake for just anyone. I think the last time was when your madre visited a few months ago."

"Mamá was here?" Miguel demanded, staring about the room with newfound scrutiny. "Did she say why?"

Pedro blinked, surprised. "To visit, I assume. It has been long time since I see her come. Your padre, every Sunday without fail, like church. They watch soaps and he comb her hair. He tell most wonderful stories, like telenovela. All residents love him. Your madre, this is first time I see her in years, right before the pandemic."

"What do you recall of that day?"

Raina put out a hand to stay Detective Miguel's arm. "Pedro, you must understand, our mother just passed. Any recollection of her last days would mean a lot to us."

Pedro bowed his head. "Ay, mis condolencias. I am sorry for your loss. What do I know—your madre was in a hurry, I remember. Scared half the waitstaff, pulling your bisabuela from her breakfast. Wouldn't let anyone in the room. I'm afraid I don't know more—I think I see your madre leave a small book, bound in cow hide, maybe?"

"A book." You couldn't accuse Miguel of subtlety. He began ransacking drawers while Pedro looked on in alarm. I cleared my throat, pulling the nurse away.

"Pedro, you climbed Popocatépetl. Did you visit Cholula? You wouldn't happen to know if one of its cathedrals is known as 'Church of Water,' would you?"

Pedro ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Ay, maybe it has Spanish name? The conquistador Hernán Cortés ordered many built. Very ornate, Catholic style. Walls yellow, red—but blue?" He pursed his lips, thinking. "I wonder if you mean...Capilla de Agua?"

"Chapel of Water?" Miguel spoke up, from where he was hunched over Nana's laundry.

"Yes, it has been long time, you understand...this is some twenty years ago...but I remember talk at local bar about place with walls that look like water. It is like Spanish church from the front, but deeper you go inside, the more paintings change...until saints become blue-skinned demons."

Raina and I shared a troubled look. "From the underworld?"

"Sí, what is unique is it is said to have influence of Maya that far north in México. The blue represents the cenote, sacred underground pools that are often the only water source you can find in the jungle. The right ones are also believed to lead to the underworld." Pedro paused. "To Xibalba."

Raina flinched, and I went into a defensive stanch, as if half-expecting demons to come screaming and clawing their way up the toilets to terrorize the Sante Fe nursing home. Miguel slammed a book shut, and we both jumped.

"Ifound it," he said, his eyes gleaming with guarded excitement. "Raina, 'Lalli—it's Mamá's diary."