Above her something huge flew, flapping its wings and stirring a wicked breeze. When Casiopea noticed this, she grew afraid and hurried down the road. There were stone pillars at certain intervals, and she crouched next to one of them, scanning the sky. But the flying creature had vanished.
Casiopea, realizing she was alone, began walking the road once more. It had no end. At length she came upon a lake that glowed an eerie blue, as if all the stars had fallen into the water and nestled in its bottom. She stretched out a hand and touched the surface of the lake, its luminescence rising, as if to meet her hand. She looked at her fingers, bathed in the blue glow, and smiled.
It was then she noticed a drop of blood falling into the blue pool of water, creating ripples upon its surface. Casiopea held up her wrists, realizing the blood emanated from there, two slashes like bracelets decorating her arms. The blood welled thicker, faster, and as it fell the lake turned red.
She stepped away from the pool of water, hurrying back to the black road, but the black road had disappeared. Instead, a path of the deepest crimson branded the land, like a hot iron. When she stepped on it, she began to sink, as if she’d stepped in quicksand. Down she went, and even though she tried to crawl her way out, she could find no purchase, and as the road closed above her head she tasted the copper flavor of blood in her mouth. There was nothing but the beating of her heart, fear clawing at it, in the depths of Xibalba. And high above in the land of men, a king sat on an obsidian throne upon a pile of bones as tall as a mountain, and his eyes were gray as smoke and she knew him as Vucub-Kamé.
Casiopea gasped, staring at the ceiling. The room was dark, and she could hardly see anything. Then came the click of a light.
She turned her head and saw Hun-Kamé sitting by her bed in a chair. Casiopea pushed herself up on her elbows. Her throat was parched and she struggled to find her tongue.
“What happened?” she asked.
“You fell asleep,” he replied simply.
“At the shop?”
“Of course.”
“How long did I sleep?”
“Seven hours, as promised. Night has fallen.”
He had tucked her under the covers and Casiopea attempted to shove them away so she could stand and take a look out the window, as if to confirm this fact, but as soon as she pulled the covers and made to move, a shiver went through her body.
“Wait,” he said, stilling her, his hand on her shoulder. “Do you need anything?”
“Water,” she croaked.
He returned with a glass, pressing it into her hands as he sat down on the bed. Casiopea drank it. It hurt going down her throat, but she was very thirsty. She gave him back the glass, and he set it aside on the night table. Casiopea rubbed her wrists, almost expecting to find gashes along them, but the only thing adorning them was her silver bracelet.
“Was your dream unpleasant?” he asked.
“I…I dreamed of Xibalba,” she said. She did not speak of the blood, nor the road that turned red, superstitious fear holding her tongue, as if by describing this incident she might bring misfortune to herself—and her luck, it was black! Somehow she identified the dream as a portent, and her heart knew not to tempt fate by solidifying it with words. He must have sensed this too; instinct made him frown, an uncomfortable silence extending between them
“Did you get what you needed from the witch?” she asked, wishing to dissipate the fear that clung to her body.
“Indeed. I have the Uay Chivo’s address and the assurance that he keeps what I seek in his studio, behind a safe with three locks.”
“But you can open the locks.”
“Yes.”
“Do we go now then?” she asked, already squaring her shoulders.
“Why don’t you rest?” he replied.
“I slept for hours,” she protested.
“But you did not rest.”
“I say we go now.”
She made a motion as if to stand up, but he shook his head, his hand bidding her to halt in her efforts.
“He will be there tomorrow, no need to leave tonight,” he told her.
“Tomorrow I might be dead,” she countered, unable to conceal the edge of panic on which she danced. The dream had brought with it the whiff of the grave, the undeniable reminder that the sands of her life were being spent, that she needed to dislodge the bone shard.
“Not tomorrow,” he assured her.
“Would you even tell me if it was tomorrow?” she asked. “Or would you keep quiet?”
“I have not lied to you. Why should I deceive you now?”
“You didn’t tell me all. You didn’t say your brother means to rule and have offerings brought to him and…and all that.”
“I might have said it sooner, but I’ve said it now. You can trust me.”
Casiopea tried to grab the glass again, fumbled the job, and he lifted it instead and pressed it against her hands. There wasn’t much water left, so when she’d taken a couple of sips he dutifully filled it again, ensuring her thirst would be sated. She settled the glass on the night table.
“The Uay Chivo is a man, not a god, but he commands magic. I expect treachery from him and we must be alert; we will be unable to afford any distractions. We shall venture forth tomorrow night. Now, refrain from overexertion. Rest. Do not be afraid, fear will blind you.”
“It is easy to be unafraid if you are immortal,” she said. “Not if you are human.”
“Fear is generous and does not exclusively lodge in the hearts of mortals.”
“And what do gods fear?” she asked.
She’d asked the wrong question. Hun-Kamé had a rigid preciseness about him at all times; in that instant he seemed to become a wooden statue, even the dark eye growing hard. He would not answer, she realized, just as she had not spoken about the road of Xibalba or the blood. Some things are simply not said.
“I’m better now,” she said, picking an innocuous comment to distract them both. “We could fetch ourselves supper.”
“I can ask them to bring us food. What would you fancy?”
“I don’t know. We should phone the front desk.”
Casiopea turned her head; noticing the lavender rose by the phone, her fingers reached for the long stem, the delicate petals.
“My rose.”
“The witch gave it to you, so I thought I’d bring it with us,” he said. “You paid for it, after all.”
“But you didn’t put it in water. It is beginning to wilt,” she replied.