“Listen,” I hissed, “I know this Francisco they’re talking about. He’s one of those damn Nahualli you were talking about earlier, an Aztec sorcerer. He is nowhere near righteous.”
“Aw, shit, brah, really?” Dwayne said. Gretchen made a nervous “mmrph” sound, and Dwayne stroked her head to calm her. “You guys good? We wouldn’t get that lucky.”
“I nearly fried his ass a few times back when I was Nightwise,” I said, “what the fuck do you think?”
“Well … that’s disappointing,” Dwayne said matter-of-factly. “I was really hoping we’d get through this without any harshness.”
I looked around at the groggy street soldiers, at all the guns. “Yeah, me too,” I said. “Dragon—Lauren—darling, get ready to crash the party. I’ll give you the word.”
“Can we at least try to not hurt Fabian?” Dwayne said. I nodded.
“You hear that, Lauren? Try to not hurt this Fabian guy. Everyone else, hurt the hell out of.”
Fabian descended the open staircase to the upper floor of the ranch. Following him was Francisco. He had changed in over thirty years, the long black hair was now gray, he was still slender, a little too thin, and there were shadows under his eyes, which were still merciless wells of pitch. I stood as he walked down the stairs, locking eyes with me. I already felt some of his power playing through his eyes at the edges of my awareness, a subtle testing. I returned the favor, but I felt brittle and off my game.
“Laytham Ballard,” Francisco said. “The years have worked you over, Holmes, rough. You still got those balls, though, I see, walking into my house asking favors of me. You get Alzheimer’s or something, Nightwise?”
“Still like the junk, Francisco?” I said. “That shit will eat your soul, put you off your game.”
“Shit, this coming from someone who gave away more of his soul than his mamma gave away hand jobs.” Several of the mara bangers laughed at this. I felt ice crack inside me.
“Now, don’t go bringing family into this, Frankie,” I said. “Otherwise I might have to mention how your brother screamed like a little bitch when I cooked him from the inside out. You recall that, don’t you, ‘Holmes’?” I didn’t blink; my eyes were empty and evil, just like his. I felt the tiniest flutter of his pain, and I licked it up like a cat with cream.
“Look,” Dwayne said, getting to his feet. Gretchen stood as well. “We don’t want no war. We’re just here to do some business. History is bad for everyone’s money, you all know that. No future if we close each other’s eyes over someone else’s beef.” The MS-13 guys were up and aware shit might start flying, hands drifting to their pistols, shotguns, machine pistols. The Amazon Alexa near the bar was playing “Hard Time” by Proper Dos; even the air was getting ready for this. “Ballard just wants a sit-down with your mica maker; that’s it, and he’s willing to make it worth your time.”
“Is that so?” Francisco said, stepping off the stairs. Fabian and Dwayne exchanged quick glances. Dwayne shrugged. “What’s in it for us?” I already knew he wasn’t going for it, and he knew I knew. Everyone in the room knew.
“Well,” I said, lining up and opening my plexuses of power. I felt him doing the same, shields and wards dropping from that initial testing push. I left my defenses down and focused on building energy, taking the ragged scraps of spiritual energy in the room, and the raw electromagnetic power of the universe. The room got colder. My breath trailed behind my words, “You all get to live. You too, Frankie. I got no cause to end any of you. You’re just a means to an end.”
I felt something old gather around Francisco, its power emanating from hot stone, bitter pulque, and stained obsidian. He was summoning help from outside. The air around him got hotter, and you could smell the metallic tang of fresh blood. Several of the hardened gangsters whispered prayers or crossed themselves. I glanced at Dwayne. His eyes told me he was ready. I was less than ten feet from Francisco.
“I’ve missed this, Francisco,” I said in Spanish. He nodded. I nodded back. “Let’s war.”
The kid I fucked with at the door drew the pistol I took away from him, stepped toward me, aiming to blow my head off. He turned into screaming hot ash as he was caught in the first exchange between me and Francisco. Dwayne squeezed a tiny pin cable release on Gretchen’s leash and the chain disconnected from her collar. The dog launched herself at the throat of an MS-13 banger who was about to spray both Dwayne and me with a MP UMP machine gun. The kid gurgled and screamed as he fell over, struggling with the German pit opening his neck. Dwayne snapped the leash chain in his hand like a whip and cracked the temple of one of the mara killers. The chain bounced off the now-dead man’s skull with a flick of the urban shaman’s wrist and blinded the shooter next to him, pulping one of his eyes. Dwayne cleared the distance between them and crushed his windpipe even as he was screaming about the lost eye. The banger’s hand convulsed on his pistol’s trigger and Dwayne grabbed and aimed his rapidly drooping arm to shoot two more of the MS guys dead.
“Iyolo tlahtec nian cuaz,” Francisco commanded, his hand outstretched. I felt a horrible pain in my chest, like it was splitting. I flexed my Manipura chakra, as I anchored myself with my Muladhara, and the pain decreased, but it had given me pause. Francisco pressed his attack. The otherworldly force he had entreated hovered over him, ready to spike my spells back, but I had an idea about that.
“Coatl cocoliztli izqu cocoa,” he spat. My blood felt like it was beginning to burn in my veins, and
