Year of the Snake: Changeling Sisters, #5

By Heather Heffner

XIBALBA IS RISING.

 

The Alvarez and Yong siblings have saved Seoul from a zombie apocalypse, but a murder close to home reveals the terrifying truth that the Death Gods are far from finished. Citlalli, Raina, and Miguel team up with Rafael and Khyber in a dark and convoluted investigation that will take them deep into the Central American peninsula, into the heart of the Maya underworld itself. Citlalli and Khyber's newfound romance faces the ultimate test when Khyber is summoned to be King of the Vampyre Court, forcing him to choose once and for all his allegiance to the living or the dead.

 

Meanwhile, dragon shapeshifter princess Sun Bin is welcomed into the high-powered tech world of Saja Corp with promises of finding her missing brother and saving Nyssa from her divine captor. However, while the research into the viruses that created the Were Nation glitters brightly, underneath lurks a deadly secret, one that could spell ruin for life itself.

 

As Changeling Sisters across the globe unite to stop the catastrophic rise of Xibalba, the spirit world of Eve can no longer bury the sins of the past—and the world may well drown in them.

 

Year of the Snake is the penultimate book in the Changeling Sisters Series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Heather Heffner
• Release date: Nov 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223058663

Heather Heffner

HEATHER HEFFNER was born in Seattle, Washington, where she grew up being dragged along on endless hikes by her well-meaning parents. Luckily, her brother was forced to come, too, and they ended up storytelling to entertain themselves. Heather's never given it up since, and now she can't think of anything better than imagining a thousand-page-long epic (and maybe even going for a hike, after). Heather is the author of the dark epic fantasy book, THE TRIBE OF ISHMAEL (Afterlife Chronicles #1), about a boy who accidentally boards a train bound to Hell, and the urban fantasy book, YEAR OF THE WOLF (Changeling Sisters #1), about a girl who faces off against supernatural evil in Seoul, South Korea. You can read all about her adventures, or more likely, misadventures, on her blog: https://heatherheffner.blogspot.com/.

Book preview

Prologue

~Lita, Before~

THE GIRLS PLAYED IN the surf until their toes were blue. With their backs turned and their hair loose in the wind, they could have been twins.

"Cinco minutos, girls!" Lita called, waggling her fingers.

"Sí, Nana!" Citlalli and Raina answered their great-grandmother and then returned to giggling.

No sand in the car, Ileana Alvarez chimed in, returning from packing the beach umbrella. Shower first, you hear?

Off they scampered. Ileana turned to find Lita’s frown waiting. Qué?

They call me Nana.

Ileana was dismissive. It’s easier for them to say.

"Are you teaching them español?"

They live in America. Ileana planted her feet and folded her arms, and Lita saw again the stubborn girl who embodied the shadows of México City. They will know English.

They can know both. A child is like a sponge, absorbing everything—

’Lalli! Ileana interjected sharply. Raina! Are you trying to grow fins? Let’s go!

Surprisingly, Citlalli listened better than her sister. Raina stayed in the shower with her back turned, splashing in puddles.

Ileana blinked, unused to chastising her youngest child. Raina, come.

Twice more her mother called for her, but Raina Alvarez only turned the pressure on harder. She remained hunched, intent on the swirling currents around her ankles. Citlalli emitted a high-pitched squeak of camaraderie and attempted to return, but Ileana strong-armed her into the car.

Wind whispered across the azure gulf. Lita stood sharp and intent, listening. Streams of light danced in the eddies, carrying glimpses of the jungle, of maize fields after a heavy rain. She smelled roasted corn although there was none to be seen, and further beneath, something burning. Bodies tumbled underground.

Zyanya, she called softly.

Slowly, the girl turned. Blood ran down a face riddled with scars.

By the time Ileana came back, it was water once more.

Part 1: The Serpent Wall

Chapter 1: The Dream Sickness

~Samson, American Southwest, Present Day~

GET OFF THE PLANE.

Samson Carver’s eyes snapped open, his irises lengthening vertically under the shifting shadows. Xu Xiang’s warning lingered in his mouth like ash. The window shades were drawn in business class, voices hushed and a faint tapping on laptops echoing here and there. Deputy Minister Dema, alerted by Samson’s accelerating heartrate, already sat to attention.

It’s here. We need to go now, he stated simply.

The werehyena glanced out the window, where miles of freefall awaited them. Quinn can’t shift until nightfall.

He better figure it out, because there’s no time to warn him. You and me, Dema. If you value your sanity, we need to leave now.

She didn’t question him. Good hyena. It was how she had survived for so long. Samson grunted as he unbuckled the tiny seatbelt. He didn’t believe in the gods, but damn if this wasn’t a sign he should travel by sea from now on.

Sir, the fasten seatbelt sign is on— the flight attendant began.

A shrill whinny sounded in coach. The infection had begun, and the human believed herself to be a horse. Samson closed his eyes for a moment, the closest he got to sleep these days. A goddamn filly. Of course it couldn’t have been something docile like a turtle that just holed up in its shell.

The flight attendant’s mouth hung open. The human bucking around coach in an impressive rodeo was joined by more infected, one who believed themself to be a braying donkey, and the other a tiger. The man roared in a terrified mother’s face, as she fought to protect her baby.

I believe there is a small containment problem that requires your attention. Samson elbowed past the stunned flight attendant and into the aisle. An armed marshal and two more attendants ran past, but they would be taken, too. Samson spared a glance to where the werecondor, Quinn, tried to fight his way over, and then he turned back to the exit. His roar crumpled the door in an instant. The fury of the jet stream answered him, just as overpowering and loud, enough so that he didn’t have to listen to the screams. Nodding to Dema, he took her hand and jumped.

The Red Phoenix Xiang caught them—not before they had tumbled, head-over-heels, through several hundred feet of clouds, their stomachs picked up and torn inside-out.

They flew in the opposite direction of the doomed plane, past valleys, past streams, to where the green ended and the desert began. It was so bright that Samson’s vision blurred, but still he watched until he saw the telltale solar panels glinting like black diamonds in the middle of nowhere.

Home sweet home.

The holding dock of Saja Corp swung down to meet him, from where it was carefully camouflaged in the sandstone mesa. Attendants rushed over, their body sensors blinking as they took temperature readings and asked questions. Samson let Dema answer, his excitement at being back growing as they rounded the tunnel into the main hall of the clandestine research facility. A for-now-extinct woolly mammoth and a saber-tooth cat towered, while rosy light poured through the viewport, illuminating the natural spring trickling down a black quartz wall behind them.

Welcome, he told Xiang, bowing him into the command room with its panoramic screens catching broadcasts from around the world.

I am impressed, the goshawk leader said. From the outside, it does not look like much.

Like me. Samson smiled, placing a hand on the map console in the center. You’ll find that I do not flout my wealth like Mun Mu did, friend. A lesson I learned in the neighborhood I grew up.

The Elder Life Spirit’s hooded eyes were guarded. Let us hope your enemies underestimate you as much as your friends.

The doors hissed open, and Dema ushered in the department leaders. Samson’s smile grew. They were all here except for one, his new senior director of operations, who (now that he had cleared her head of distractions) was on her way to where she truly belonged. The rightful place for Sun Young’s daughter, far beyond the shadow of the Dragon of the East Sea.

Ralph Rigsby entered last, a slight limp in his step. Samson clasped his arm in solidary. My man. Still as slow as a snail, I see.

The elderly Head of Shifter Resources chuckled, his watery blue eyes snapping up from beneath his crop of white hair. Mr. Carver. Your escapades are still as impressive as your Biblical namesake.

Xiang cocked his head. I have heard of this story. Was this man Samson’s power not taken away from him when his enemies cut his hair?

Samson smirked. So they tried to do to me. But my power was never in my mane.

Do you want me to summon your son, Defense Minister? Dema inquired.

No. It is more important than ever that we finish our work. Samson’s massive hands gripped the office chair, claws momentarily lengthening to puncture the leather. Effective immediately, I am resuming my position as CEO and declaring a global state of war between the Were Directorate and the Children of Death. All of Saja Corp’s efforts will be redirected to support the effort. What is at stake, fellow shifters, is no less than freewill itself.

He swept his arm toward the screen, where hundreds of broadcasts captured footage of people acting like animals. A eulogy in Scotland disrupted when the priest began bleating like a sheep. An armored car standoff in Jordan ended when both sides began thrashing on the ground and refused to be pacified until they had been submerged in salt water. A tour guide in Italy was reduced to tears when his entire group began scaling Saint Peter’s Basilica, several hissing at the security guards, and others taking flight from the alcoves as if they were pigeons.

The Department Heads covered their mouths, shaken. Dear God. Is that—

The Fenrir Virus has evolved. Samson paced grimly. A new Beta variant. What happened in Seoul is not over. The Plague Lords, the Lords of Walking Death—they will not reappear because One-Death has channeled their power into something else: a global pandemic to bring humanity to its knees.

He clicked the remote, and a new scene appeared in front of the UN Headquarters in New York City, the screen shaky as a deranged man filmed himself among protestors demanding governmental action.

"For too long, we thought ourselves better. Better than animals, better than our planet. He reminds us that isn’t true. We’re just the same, deep down. Animals, all of us. If He appears to you in your dreams to remind you of this, do not dismiss Him. It is your only chance." The man fumbled in his pocket and then held up an object with trembling fingers. Everyone collectively flinched, compelled to avert their gaze. It was a six-fingered monkey hand.

Take His gift! It’s your only chance to survive His coming. He will rebalance the Earth. He will rebalance the Earth. The man kissed the withered talisman, rocking back and forth. Lo, the Fifth World is upon us.

Activity exploded near the front, a security guard who thought he was a rhinoceros charging shrieking civilians, and then the video feed cut out.

Samson turned off the broadcasts. A sea of shocked faces stared back at him in the empty screens.

My dear friends, they are attacking our minds.

Otto, the Head of Research and Development, wheeled himself forward; he was a wereoctopus whose legs were knee-deep in a mobile salt water tank.

We have been observing the Weres infected with this new strain of Fenrir Virus as you asked, Mr. Carver, he said, holding up a tablet streaming footage of the lower holding cells. There is only one food source they are interested in, just as we feared. The good news is that the disease is still vector spread, not airborne—yet.

Xiang sidled closer, his eyes narrowed. What in the Nine Heavens is that Were doing?

On the screen, a ram twisted back and forth, as if having a seizure. It abruptly ran into a wall and fell limp.

Trying to shift, Rigsby said. The Fenrir Virus may make the humans believe themselves to be animals, but for us, we really become animals. Mind-trapped, with no way to shift back. He hesitated. Hungry for human flesh.

Samson watched the shapeshifter with the all-too-human eyes thrash about in agony. Too knowing. Too aware.

We need Citlalli Alvarez.

Chapter 2: Desert Sojourn

~Citlalli, New Mexico, Present Day~

IT WAS EASY TO REMEMBER the bad but not the good.

I stared across the breathtaking sweep of desert, the juniper and piñon trees silver under the sea of stars. It had been so long, I had forgotten what it was like to turn off the lights and see an entirely new world stir. In Seoul, every night I had fallen asleep to a neon symphony and awoken to the buzz of the hive, smog and noise clinging to every part of my skin until the subway put on enough speed to outrun it. Back in New Mexico, space unfolded so quickly that I didn’t know what to do with it. Miles, I could run, and not see another human being. Crickets chirped and Gila monsters hissed; the luminous eyes of a ringtail cat appeared below a yucca and then vanished into that big, black space.

The pain began to whisper again. Cacti became staggering zombies. A white wolf with the shadow of a woman ran through a magical snow palace. A mother stepped aboard an airplane for the last time.

Mami.

Her name tore me in two. My hands became paws, my hair black fur. My mismatched eyes, one as golden as a moon ringed in fire, the other a cybernetic prototype courtesy of Saja Corp, burned luminous, as I blinked the pattern for night vision.

I hadn’t run far enough.

The wind carried the scent of wild burro to me. I blinked out the command to see in infrared and then plunged into the ravine.

The clear night meant it was cold, even in Santa Clara Canyon. Stars watched as I darted across the sand from shadow to shadow. The burro’s heat signature was wandering along the mesa by the Puye Cliff Dwellings. The abandoned pueblo, once home to hundreds, held solemn watch as I leaped on the burro from above. It grunted and whinnied as shrilly as a child. I sunk my teeth in more ferociously, jaws collapsing bones and cutting off the beast’s windpipe. It was merciful to do it quick—even if listening to it scream released the pain I felt inside.

My resolve wasn’t strong enough. This wasn’t what I wanted to hunt. The donkey got away, bleeding and wheezing for breath. A winged shadow departed from the cliff dwelling above. Fangs flashed in the moonlight, and then the burro collapsed, whimpering.

Khyber extended a hand to me, his fingers dripping in blood. His grayish-blue eyes were as bright as the stars beneath his jet-black hair, enchanting, promising it would be enough. I prowled around the burro’s other side, the pain drumming white-hot behind my eyes now. Without a word, we began to eat.

THE NEXT THING I SHOWED Khyber was a prickly pear cactus. I batted it about with my robotic hand, nosing it a bit too quickly and getting my muzzle bloodied from the spines. Khyber watched, very aloof. Finally, I broke through the tough skin and tasted a few drops of water on my tongue.

Very impressive, was all he said, and I headbutted him. The vampyre prince merely touched the blood and then looked at me, concerned. I gazed back, all right but not really.

Khyber kissed my paw and then flitted about a giant century plant, so tall it looked more tree than agave. He plucked the flower from the top and then offered it to me. My tongue lolled out despite myself. The century plant only bloomed once, toward the end of its lifetime. Possibly Khyber knew. He’d lived far longer than me, back to when the Pueblo People had lived in the cliff dwellings, and traveled much of the earth.

But even in hundreds of years, this was his first time here.

The edges of the desert turned coppery red, like color bleeding down petals. Dawn was approaching, seeking a way over the mesas. Khyber and I found our way back to our campsite in the rock garden ringed with wedges of volcanic tuff to keep out the light.

Your pain is like a spring, he said suddenly, his eyes tracking a jackrabbit bolting between stunted pines in search of cover. It makes me remember what it was like to lose my mother. My sisters.

Maya. The Vampyre Queen, servant to the Twelve Lords of Death, had started all of this. She had been destroying families long before mine came along.

I whimpered and nosed him. He rested a hand on my head. It’s one of the few memories I have of the sunshine life. My sisters were shifters, the last of the Crow line. They climbed the rope up to Heaven to escape Maya. When it broke, they discovered how to shift. I remember watching them fly away on beautiful, black wings.

His voice turned hushed, as if he spoke too loudly, the sun would find us. They called to me. However, my eyes had begun to fail, long before this. I couldn’t see. I didn’t know Maya had made the rope rot. Falling hurt. Losing that life hurt, but it’s still there, that memory, that one time life was very good.

He took my face in his hands. It will be that way again, Citlalli, I promise you.

I trembled and then burst back into human form, my cheeks damp with tears. He kissed them, and then his lips moved across mine. As the sun rose, we retreated, one step at a time, back into the tent.

Did you remember to bring my clothes? I gasped between kisses.

Khyber’s eyes were heavy-lidded, distracted. Clothes are silly things. His lips moved down my chest, and my mind finally relaxed, eager to be away from the grief.

So is hiking butt-naked back to the car in the heat with a burnt-to-a-crisp boyfriend. He seemed to find the image amusing, so I grabbed him by the chin. I’m due at the nursing home soon to tell our great-grandmother the news about my mom.

His look sharpened. Why struggle like a human when you can run as a wolf, be it night...or day?

We grinned at each other. It was time to try again.

Chapter 3: Celebration of Life

~Citlalli, Santa Fe, Present Day~

THE CELEBRATION OF the life of Ileana Alvarez took place on a little patio under the eye of a hot Santa Fe sun, in the back of a shabby apartment. There was a pool. There was food. Despite the property manager’s dismay, there was an altar lovingly adorned with goldenrod cempasúchil flower garlands, incense, and corn. The scent of Pan de Muerto—piping hot, sugar-glazed bread of the dead—swam alongside the aroma of rich coffee and mole.

There was no body.

I stood in the dark apartment staring out at the circle of mourners who were part of this surreal dream, the drone of the air conditioning drowning out their voices. In the early hours of the night, I’d known this day would come. My parents would pass on. With the life bond I had with Khyber, there were many who would, but that hurt too much to think about. Given Papi’s drinking, this was somehow never the situation I’d imagined. Mami, in some respects, had been as hard to kill as a vampyre. She had survived gang violence in México City. She had endured attacks by the Children of Death. She had overcome prejudices as a foreigner in not one, but two countries. I’d never seen her afraid of anything, except when she spoke of her homeland.

After so many years of warning us to stay clear, why had she returned to México?

The staticky old television was on as it had been the past twenty-four hours, fear over the global Fenrir Virus making everyone unable to listen but too frightened to look away. It had followed us. South Korea was being assailed with scrutiny. They weren’t wrong about the location but wouldn’t be able to comprehend the source. Seoul had all been a test run. The perfect conditions for isolation within the Yeouiju’s Curse. It had proved an inglorious success. Now, the Twelve were coming for us all.

A particularly cold draft blew through the clothes on my back, reminding me that this new, unhinged reality was all real. Memories of the sounds undead fingers made as they scraped for door handles swirled from just a short time ago, when the air had literally stung with Yeouiju curses. The past had a long shadow. Spooked, I hurried back into the sun.

This world was familiar and yet unrecognizable to me. South Korea had been the home of my adolescence and early adulthood. Every now and again, I would get a craving for bulgogi or one of the kimchi tofu soups that staved off the cold. I would sing K-pop songs in the shower so I didn’t forget. I would miss the cosmopolitan splendor of Seoul that was a mecca of fashion and technology intermeshed with underground alleys full of markets that had no name.

I would remember running through forested parks on four legs, my mind melding with that of a wolfpack, the only witnesses statues of Joseon queens and kings from days bygone.

Now I was an outcast. Would Korea ever want me back? Could I ever return, after all that had befallen us during the Yeouiju’s Curse? After what I had done to Yu Li?

After what had been done to me?

A familiar sensation burned in my veins as an aroma of scents wafted over. There was a feast here, to be sure, but it was the low thrum of voices, colors and energy beating like novae in the mind of each human being, that made my biologic eye glow round with hunger.

Ankor had never told me the lab results for my Fenrir Virus test.

Citlalli.

Raina was watching, and she patted a seat next to her at the picnic table. We had promised each other that we would watch, for when the past became too difficult for either of us to bear. We would be there for each other to remind us that this was the present. We were needed.

Dani immediately put an arm around me. I’m so glad you’re here. After everything you went through with that freak outbreak in Seoul, and now this...

I mustered a smile. We were supposed to see you again at your wedding, not a funeral. I remember how excited Mami was.

My older sister’s food was untouched. Her fiancé Hosuk watched in concern as Dani tore her napkin into smaller and smaller pieces. I know.

They still won’t release her body, Papi was saying to a concerned neighbor, reaching for another Corona. "Pendejos, all of them. We go down next week, after we go to the nursing home to tell Lita."

"Ai, güey. The neighbor shook his head sympathetically and tipped his hat in support. Will they even let you into the country with this crazy plague?"

I’ve been distancing from my mother for a month, another woman said. She was at a wedding, and when they got to the vows, the groom began to bark and flop about like a seal. Can you imagine?

The man shrugged. Eh. Sounds like my wife has had this for years.

Papi rose suddenly, nearly upsetting the table. What is he doing here?

Miguel’s familiar Santa Fe Fuego cap appeared over the chain link fence, as he reached to open the side door. A box of Bud was in his other hand.

Hey, boy. Papi could still move incredibly fast, even with the years and pounds hanging off his belly. We don’t need you and your gangster shit around here. I told you not to come back.

Papi, please. I still couldn’t look at Miguel, not after what I’d done to Yu Li. Shame shut me down every time. We should all be together.

I’d used my cybernetic hand to grab him. Despite the heat, I wore a hoodie, leggings, and an eye patch to hide how many body parts I was missing. The new artificial eye I had gotten from Saja Corp definitely freaked people out, especially when I revealed I could blink sequences to trigger vision settings like infrared and molecular mode. A prototype Ankor had been working on. Samson Carver told me the dragon prince had shared it in the spirit of the merge.

I blinked a command, adjusting to the bright sunlight. Raina’s half-brother was a marvel. A true genius. I couldn’t gush too much, because Khyber would surlily remark that I didn’t need it and Miguel would ask what Saja Corp wanted from me. Both valid points, given the number of times Saja Corp had asked for me to check in, but I didn’t care. It was cool. And I would return to Saja Corp—when Ankor bothered to return my calls of gratitude.

Papi flinched, looking from the artificial hand to Raina. I knew how much it confused him, to be simultaneously grateful and yet hate that the technology preserving me came from the company founded by Yong Mun Mu. The only reason we’d been able to get out of the South Korean government’s quarantine had been thanks to the former Dragon King’s private jet. Mourners milling about paused to look at me, whispering behind their hands. Rumors and wild stories about what had happened in Seoul had taken the world’s imagination by storm, and I knew many believed my beleaguered family to still be infected by whatever madness had taken the city.

They didn’t know how right they were.

At last, Papi exhaled. You can stay.

Miguel didn’t flinch from the past as I did. I’m coming to México. Dani told me about the letter.

Raina and I looked to our older sister, startled. Hosuk nudged her and Dani looked up in a daze, as if remembering we were still there.

I was going to tell you this evening. She fumbled in her pocket and withdrew a plain envelope, sealed with the stamp of a strange looking dog. We found this among Mamá’s things on her layover here. It’s instructions to the ‘Church of Water’ in the mountain village of Cholula. She cleared her throat, trying not to cry. It sounds like a ransom note.

For what? Raina asked in a ghost of a voice.

I don’t know. Dani closed her eyes. "There’s something about ‘only the worthy can see the way,’ and it is signed by someone called Xolo."

Identical blank expressions met hers, but my ear twitched toward the sound of Papi’s accelerating pulse.

It is too late, Miguel, he said abruptly. We don’t have room in the car for you.

He can have my seat, Daniella replied. I have to stay as will executor. You’ll need him, Papá. Citlalli and Raina don’t know Spanish.

Raina cleared her throat. I’ll meet you down there. I have another assignment for Saja Corp.

She didn’t meet my eyes. What she wasn’t saying was that it wouldn’t be alone. Rafael Dominguez, my ex-turned-attempted-murderer, would be at her side as a representative from the International Were Council.

Another devil company. I know that name. Papi pointed his beer menacingly in Raina’s direction. "They corrupted your mother. Introduced her to him. Ileana was never the same after that."

I blinked rapidly. Samson Carver’s taunts from long ago resurfaced. The former CEO of Saja Corp, Yong Enterprises’ rival, had claimed he’d helped my mother escape from México long ago. He said she had been alone and afraid, carrying nothing but a six-fingered monkey hand—the emblem of Xibalba.

When Raina’s half-sister Sun Bin had announced her new role as Saja Corps’ Senior Director of Operations, we’d all been in shock, but even more so over news of the merge with Yong Enterprises, not to mention that Samson would resume his position as CEO to best coordinate with the International Were Defense Agency. I didn’t know how Ankor had ever agreed to oversee the merge, but at least we had Sun in the enemy’s camp. She’d immediately hired the only one she knew she could trust to head up investigations into Xibalba’s plans for the Fenrir Virus—Raina.

I wished Sun could have said the same for me, but I lived every day with what was unsaid: I had killed Yu Li. Vampyre Prince Aleksandr had broken my mind during the Yeouiju’s Curse and infected me with their trial Fenrir Virus to boot. I was compromised. Weak.

Tired, oh-so tired.

I was also no longer a Triad, and that was of great interest to Saja Corp. Sun would protect me from their attentions for as long as she could, but the company dominated this part of the globe, and with Mun Mu’s downfall, the Were Directorate would be snug in their pocket.

Raina embraced our father. If they have anything to do with Mami’s death, I’ll find out, Papi.

So, little family road trip with my estranged father and brother. I finally managed to look at Miguel and saw the anger there. It was staggering, really, that the woman who had single-handedly built us up and then tore us apart could elicit such devotion, but somehow, Mami’s sins were forgiven, and we were going to find out who killed her.

Heaven help them.

Chapter 4: 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.

I found it, he said, his eyes gleaming with guarded excitement. Raina, ’Lalli—it’s Mamá’s diary.

Chapter 5: Love Story

~Ileana, México City, Childhood Before~

ILEANA ALVAREZ WAS barely as tall as a stalk of wheat the first time she saw the Serpent Wall. Like a stormfront warning of danger, snakes of many shapes and sizes crawled over and under one another in an intricate pattern. There were spearheaded rattlers, bushmasters with poison tongues, vipers the blackish-blue of shells, and coral snakes more colorful than any rainbow.

She walked toward them as if in a trance. First she stuck in a hand and next a foot.

Then she pressed inside entirely, leaving the city streets behind. All was dark and warm.

Gunfire erupted behind her.

Later, the comforting rattles and hisses moved off. Ileana awoke to a world splattered with blood and screams. In the distance, dogs. The gangs were gone, and now the church doors were open, people spilling into the streets in mindless fear and fury.

They’d gotten Señor Hernandez, who sold chocolate. The hair salon was in tatters, shampoo leaking into the hot and sticky mess of crimson mud. Señora Garcia touched the newest color of corn in her baskets in a daze. And despite the fact that Dr. González’s white sedan had smashed into the market, the horn still worked. It rang shrill and lonely as sirens echoed in the distance, men rushing to cut the doctor loose.

Ileana sank beside the bodies of her parents. She held her mother’s hand. After a lifetime of hearing them shout at one another, she found the peace that had settled over their faces oddly hollowing. Ileana’s mother, a devout Catholic from a poor neighborhood in México City, had fallen for a clever car salesman. He’d bragged about his connections in America and painted a picture of a future for them there. Abuela told Ileana they’d been head-over-heels in love in the past, lost in their own little world. They didn’t have much, but one of their most treasured possessions was the tiny patio garden. It was built around a mosaic of the Mother Mary and caught enough sun for them to grow their own herbs and spices.

However, poverty breaks everyone. Reality trickled in for the young couple as little by little, paychecks grew lighter, fewer seeds were planted each year, and the dream of their own backyard in America faded. By the time the pregnancy happened, a new plant was rooted firmly in the family bedrock: resentment. Ileana’s mother would never leave out of sense of duty. However, she would often tell Ileana that she was the reason she was trapped here, with a man who had promised her the world but left her dreamless.

Is America really so much better, Lita? Ileana had asked her grandmother as they pounded corn for tortillas. The hovel was sweltering, but Ileana didn’t mind. She could spend hours in the kitchen transforming raw pork straight from the butcher into crispy carnitas that were fall-apart tender and taming torrid chiles into smoky sauces bubbling with flavor.

Lita had paused to wipe sweat from her brow. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. What I do know is that man is a restless beast and will always look for new ways to be dissatisfied, no matter what you give him.

Police swarmed the streets after the shoot-out. There was a lot to clean up. No one knew what the smalltime local gang Los Caballeros had done to earn such ire from Xolo, and the halcones weren’t talking.

Lita found Ileana when the shadows grew long. Her wail jolted Ileana to remember to cry. They stayed like that until it became too dark to see, and then the first responders herded them away.

LITA SENT ILEANA TO spend that summer in Guatemala. A distant cousin worked as a laborer growing maize on the banks of Lake Atitlán, and that season they could use an extra farmhand. Ileana didn’t want to leave her grandmother, but their home and finances were a mess, and although Lita would never admit it, Ileana knew this was the only way her grandmother would put down her strong face and grieve her only son.

For Ileana, her legs shook every time she left the complex. They grew steadier the further away from México City she traveled. On the last bus, she saw the Serpent Wall again, and her breathing grew easier. She was going the right way.

Then, to behold Lake Atitlán. Waters of the purest azul stretched as far as the ocean, but unlike it, they lapped gently at shores laden with lush tropical palms. Colorful houses on stilts populated the hills, and overlooking it all were a trio of emerald peaks crowned by puffy white clouds.

They’re called the Three Giants. Volcanoes. Lake Atitlán is an extinct caldera, too; it’s the deepest lake in all of Central America! the boy Roberto Mejía told Ileana, polishing off a bag of esquites. They were the youngest ones on the bus, and Ileana hadn’t been able to ignore the way the hungry boy’s eyes had lingered on her homemade snack of roasted corn peppered with scallions, lime juice, and chili powder.

He licked the front and back of his spoon. "Sabroso. You made that?"

I can teach you if you show me the way to the farm.

"Sí, por supuesto. It is my second year working at Oro del Cielo. Everyone knows. It is the biggest plantation in town!"

Roberto was from a rural village in the Yucatán. He’d known few children his age, and his incessant talking had needled the village elders into sending him as far away as possible. Now that he had found a rapt audience, Roberto wasted no time unloading upon Ileana the entirety of his life: of his perilous journeys spent exploring ancient Maya ruins to cave-rappelling exploits in search of the entrance to the underworld Xibalba. Ileana heard the true story between the lines—his father was a tour guide for wealthy foreigners and archeologists. Roberto rarely saw him, but when he did, he absorbed his words like a seedling, so they could blossom in his imagination into a mighty Montezuma cypress.

What will you do when you find Xibalba? Ileana asked, amused. She was Catholic and found such talk of the old world superstitious. Isn’t that a place for the dead?

He looked at her in surprise, as if the answer should be the most obvious thing in the world. Explore.

Chatter arose at the front. The driver and the foremost passengers were arguing. Ileana couldn’t catch their words, but she didn’t miss the way their bodies stiffened with fear. The bus groaned as it rattled to a stop.

A pair of armed men dressed in black boarded the bus, smelling strongly of tobacco. Their arms were bare, so no one could miss the tattoos of Xoloitzcuintle, or Xolo—hairless dogs who guided spirits through the underworld—staring with hyper-vigilant intensity. Ileana felt her throat shrivel up like a husk. Frantically, she stared out the window for the sanctuary of the Serpent Wall as their boots clomped down the aisle. Roberto looked at her but had the good sense to stay quiet.

The passengers in the back cleared out. No one spoke the rest of the time as the men laughed and spat chewing tobacco. They got off near the city center. Collective relief shuddered through the bus, and conversation returned to normal.

Even Roberto had heard of Xolo, the mysterious shadow organization who had taken the country by storm. At first, there had been laughter over the curious name. It was so common, even derogatory in certain circles. People couldn’t help but smile.

No one was smiling anymore.

What are they doing in Guatemala?

Ileana couldn’t answer, her fingers still gripping her armrest in a vicelike grip. The nationalist fringe group Xolo sought the overthrow of any form of organization they viewed as complicit in colonization. Cartels, politicians, and ordinary people were dealt with equal ruthlessness by assassins as elusive as the leaders themselves. All anyone knew was that enemies of Xolo disappeared mysteriously, as if by magic.

Or in spectacular shows of blood, meant to send a message. Ileana would carry theirs burned into her heart for the rest of her life.

UP IN THE HIGHLANDS above the lake, she was finally able to breathe again. Roberto led her true to the gates of Oro del Cielo, Gold from Heaven, where crops had been planted to coincide with the monsoon. Although not the gold of its namesake as of yet, the vibrant green of corn stalks greeted her, already taller than most men. The harsh glare of the sun and insects were kept away by a healthy breeze coasting off the lake. Farmhands paused to cock their straw hats, watching the newcomers curiously.

Lita’s cousin was less impressed. His skin was as crinkled as his spine from constant stooping, and his eyes were hard river stones. Resting the machete