Supernatural: Coyote's Kiss (32 page)

“Then we’d better get on the road.”

Xochi boosted the only vehicle in the museum parking lot, a bondo-ed pick-up truck covered in religious stickers. Claudia rode up front while Sam and Dean climbed into the bed. The ride was slow and bumpy, constantly thwarted by crazy traffic, and for a good hour, Sam and Dean didn’t speak.

“Why did you save Claudia?” Dean finally asked.

Sam didn’t answer for a minute, just squinted against the sun.

“Why not?” Sam said. “We still need her, don’t we?”

“Yeah, but you didn’t know that at the time,” Dean said. “For all you knew, Elvia could have been dead at that point.”

“I saw that I had a shot. I took it.” Sam shrugged. “Couldn’t really think of any reason not to.”

Dean knew it was impossible, just wishful thinking really, but he found himself wanting to believe that maybe there was some tiny scrap of conscience left in Sam after all. Some little echo inside his head that kept him from taking the easy shot, through Claudia’s chest and into the shifter behind her.

A few minutes later, the truck coughed, spluttered and died. Xochi was able to coast over onto the shoulder to get them out of traffic.

Dean and Sam got out of the back while Xochi leaned out the driver’s side window.

“This truck has no third gear,” she said.

“Lovely,” Dean said. “Pop the hood.”

He raised the hood, releasing a ton of toxic smoke as he propped it open and peered inside.

“Who knew that you could make a whole engine out of duct tape?” Dean said, waving a hand in front of his face to clear the smoke. He shook his head and closed the hood like it was a coffin lid. “This thing isn’t going anywhere.”

Xochi got out and fished around in her pockets.

“Let me call Alejandro,” she said, unfolding a crumpled bar napkin.

“Who?” Dean asked.

“The guy with the El Camino,” Xochi said, pulling out her phone and dialing the number off the napkin.

“He gave you his phone number?” Dean asked.

“Of course,” she replied.

She switched to Spanish and turned away from Dean, voice taking on a flirtatious tone.

Dean looked down at his hands. The backs of his hands and forearms were scratched up from the broken glass. Nothing serious.

Xochi ended the call.

“Alejandro is at work right now,” she said. “But he’s sending his cousin Oscar. He can give us a ride to Santiago de Querétaro. We can get another car there, or, if we find no other choice, we can take the bus into El D.F.”

“The bus?” Claudia made a sour face. “I’m not taking the bus. Aren’t Mexican busses, like, full of chickens and babies with TB and ten smelly guys mashed up against you?”

“You’ve been watching too many American movies,” Xochi said. “The bus is just a bus. Just normal people, going to work or to visit relatives. No chickens allowed.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “But we don’t have time to wait for a bus. We’re bleeding time here. Every lost minute is an extra mile Teo has on us. At this rate, there’s no way we are gonna make it in time to stop her. We still don’t have any idea exactly where she’s going. Now I’ve never been to Mexico City, but I understand it’s pretty big. ”

“You’re right,” Xochi said. She paused a moment in thought. “Claudia, have you ever tried consciously to link minds with your mother?”

Claudia shook her head.

“It just kinda happens,” she said.

“I will teach you,” Xochi said. “Once we get on the road. This may be our only chance.”

They waited for over an hour in the dusty swelter before a guy pulled up in a ridiculously tricked-out white mid-eighties Monte Carlo SS. He looked about twelve years old, but with way too much hard living around the eyes. Dressed in a shiny, sharkskin suit and a screamingly loud fuchsia-silk dress shirt. He was so short, Dean was surprised he was able to drive without sitting on a phone book. This guy had to be Oscar.

Xochi greeting him in Spanish and made introductions. Dean just nodded and smiled. Xochi sat up front while Dean and Sam had to cram themselves into the back seat with Claudia between them.

As they crept through the snarled and snail-like traffic, the prepaid phone Xochi had given Dean back in Nogales rang in Sam’s pocket.

Sam took out the phone, glanced at the screen. He took the call.

“Bobby?” he said. “What have you got?”

Sam listened in silence for several minutes.

“Right,” Sam said. “Okay.”

He ended the call.

“What did he say?” Dean asked.

Sam kept his voice low, even though it seemed pretty clear that Alejandro’s cousin didn’t speak English.

“Not much on the possibility of curing Elvia using the Alpha’s blood,” Sam said. “He says he can’t find any info whatsoever on the Borderwalkers, only the most vague allegorical references to the Coyote’s Kiss in some old recordings of Native American oral history. We’re on our own there. But he had some interesting things to say about the Star Demons.”

“Great, let’s hear it,” Dean said.

“Those soul-chewing teeth,” Sam said. “They’re a weakness as well as a strength. Probably the Star Demon’s only weakness.”

“How?” Dean asked. “I don’t get it.”

“The teeth are made of obsidian. Obsidian is a type of naturally occurring volcanic glass, razor sharp but also brittle and easy to shatter. A couple of good cracks in the mouth with a blunt weapon would essentially defang the demon. The only problem would be getting cut by the flying shards.”

“Not to mention getting close enough to score a hit like that,” Dean said.

“Right now,” Sam said. “That’s pretty much all we’ve got.”

The ride to Santiago de Querétaro was agonizingly slow. Xochi tried to make polite conversation with Oscar, but she could feel every passing second cranking the tension inside her higher and higher.

Once they finally got into town, Oscar dropped them off in front of the bus station. Unfortunately, massive lines snaking out the main door made it clear that the bus wasn’t going to be an option.

Dean managed to boost a halfway-decent Caddy El Dorado that didn’t look like it would fall apart on them, but getting the car out of the city was a whole other challenge. Xochi could tell that dealing with improvisational Mexican driving was making Dean homicidal. He was leaning out the open window, shouting hilariously creative American profanities and shaking his fist at the motorbikes and taxicabs, but there was nothing she could do about that now. She needed to be in the back seat with Claudia.

“Now I want you to listen very carefully to me,” Xochi told the girl. “What I am teaching you is not easy. Normally you would need to learn how to link with someone who is right next to you before you would be able to link with people who are far away, but we have no time. You must learn to run before walking, but your natural ability and your bond with your mother are both so strong that I believe you can do it.”

“I hope you’re right,” Claudia said.

“First you must clear your mind,” Xochi said. “I know this is hard with so much happening, but it is a critical step. Imagine that you are a glass pitcher and all your thoughts and worries are pouring out of you like water, until you are empty.”

Claudia took Xochi’s hand and closed her eyes.

“Slow your breathing,” Xochi said. “Shut out all the noise around us.”

Claudia did as she was told.

“Now,” Xochi said. “Say these words after me.”

Xochi slowly spoke the ancient words of the mind-linking spell, carefully and clearly enunciating the complicated string of syllables. Claudia stumbled on some of the pronunciation, and Xochi had to struggle to keep her own mind calm and breath even.

“Start again,” Xochi said.

She spoke the spell again, even more slowly this time. Claudia followed along, but before she could finish she sucked in a sharp gasp, clutching Xochi’s hand tight.

“I see her,” Claudia said.

“What do you see?” Xochi asked.

“A huge swap meet,” Claudia said. “With all these different color tarps. Hundreds of stalls selling all kinds of weird, cheap stuff. I see the
Nagual
taking Elvia into an empty storefront. A green building.”

“Show me,” Xochi said, pressing her hand to Claudia’s forehead.

A stream of images flooded Xochi’s mind. She recognized the place at once.

“Tepito,” Xochi said. “El Barrio Bravo. This is a rough neighborhood in the Cuauhtémoc section of Mexico City.”

Claudia’s eyes opened, looking into Xochi’s with a kind of stunned wonder.

“I did it,” she said.

“Yes,” Xochi said. “You did.”

“Tell me about the area,” Sam said. “How rough are we talking here?”

“We will have dangers there,” Xochi said. “Human and inhuman. But I know the area well. It is full of good people as well as bad. Many of my closest friends are Tepiteños.”

“Okay then,” Dean said to Xochi. “Now that we got that cleared up, I think it’s time for you to drive, before I add a dozen counts of intentional vehicular homicide to my rap sheet.”

They made Mexico City by sundown. The area of Tepito was easy to find. The flapping, colorful blue-and-yellow tarps were just like Claudia had described them. Tall wire racks of merchandise. Knock-off perfumes. Fake designer watches and purses. Pirated DVDs. Piles of second-hand clothing and small appliances. Paper flowers and cheap nylon panties. Dean had never seen anything quite like it.

Xochi parked the stolen El Dorado on a side street. They all got out of the car, gathering and checking their weapons, but Xochi seemed distracted, staring up into the night sky. She turned to Dean with real fear in her eyes.

“Dean,” she said. “The
Tianquiztli
cluster, can you see it?”

“The what?”

“That’s a constellation.” Sam said. “The Pleiades, right?”

“You call it ‘the seven sisters,’” Xochi said. “We call it ‘the marketplace.’”

“I don’t see it,” Sam said. “Maybe it’s just too smoggy. Or the bright city lights are hiding it.”

“Can’t you feel that breeze?” Xochi said. “The night is clear. All the other neighboring stars are clear. This is a terrible omen.”

“What kind of omen?” Dean asked. “What does it mean?”

“It means the end of the world,” she said. “It means demons will devour the earth. It means the
Tzitzimimeh
are coming.”

“Are coming?” Sam asked. “Or are here already?”

“Don’t you see?” Xochi said. “It’s all connected. This place, Tepito, it is the ancient second marketplace. In the time of my Aztec ancestors, this place was a ghetto market for disreputable, lower-class merchants who were not allowed in the main marketplace. Stolen goods have been sold here for hundreds of years. It is now and has always been a place of much illegal activity, and it is the perfect place for Teo and
Itzapapalotl
to conduct their illicit business. Now the celestial marketplace is gone from the sky. It has already begun. The Star Demons are on their way, if they are not here already.”

“What’s that music?” Claudia asked.

“Sounds like
mariachis
,” Xochi said.

They turned the corner and found the street choked with people. There was some kind of parade or street fair in progress. Every tenth person seemed to be holding a large doll, each one wearing a different frilly, elaborate outfit. It took Dean a second to realize that all the dolls had skull faces.

“What is this?” Sam asked.

“No,” Xochi said, her voice full of dread. “No, this is terrible. We need to get these poor people out of here!”

“It’s a
Santa Muerte
festival, isn’t it?” Claudia asked.

“Yes,” Xochi said. “And all these people will be meeting the Skinny Lady much sooner than they expect if they stay here tonight.”

“Saint Death?” Sam asked. “They worship Death?”

“They think they are Catholics,” Xochi explained. “But really they are worshiping the Aztec death goddess
Mictecacihuatl
. Death is neither good or evil. She comes for all of us. We are all equal to her.”

“My Tia, Izzy, has an altar to
Santa Muerte
in her backyard,” Claudia said. “She put it up after her son got shot. My mom always said she was nuts.” Claudia looked down at her hands. “I mean, my adopted mom...”

“Come on,” Dean said. “We need to find Elvia.”

There was a group of Aztec dancers in full traditional dress gathering up their drums and equipment at the edge of the crowd. A man in a huge, elaborate skull and feather headdress spotted Xochi and raised a hand.

“Javi!” she called to him.

He came running over to where they stood and swept Xochi up in his arms, lifting her off her booted feet and laughing. He was broad-chested and ripped within an inch of his life, wearing nothing but an elaborately embroidered loin cloth. She spoke to him in Spanish, kissing him on the mouth and getting his black-and-white skull make-up on her lips. He set her down, cupping her the curve of her ass with one hand and speaking close to her ear in a low, intimate tone.

“This is my friend Javi,” Xochi said. “Dean, Sam, and Claudia.”

Dean nodded in silent greeting, biting back on an involuntary and ridiculously powerful surge of competitive, testosterone-fueled dislike for the buff dancer.