Lyn Benedict - Gods & Monsters

Cachita bit her lip, running calculations.

“I’ve got the gun,” Sylvie said. “I’ve got the advantage here.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got nosy neighbors.”

“Put it down,” Sylvie said.

Cachita sighed, let the Taser drop. “Happy?”

“Not even close.” Sylvie gestured Cachita closer, edged around her, picked up and pocketed the Taser; only then did she holster the gun.

“So your little assistant looked into me, I guess,” Cachita said.

“She did. Elena Valdes isn’t your cousin. You aren’t a reporter.”

“Hey, I could be,” Cachita said. It was a feeble rebuttal. The young woman looked suddenly tired. Burdened. It was more than just the sleep disruption; it was ground-in stress that she had managed to cover up with her act.

“Sit,” Sylvie said.

“I’m the host here,” Cachita said. “Just so you remember.”

“Sit,” Sylvie repeated.

Cachita flounced into a seat, a little of her previous attitude surfacing. “If this ends with bondage, I’m going to be pissed.”

“Who are you?”

Cachita laughed. “That’s your question? Isn’t that obvious? Sylvie, I’m you.”

SYLVIE LOOKED AROUND THE ROOM, THE GLOOM OF IT, THE FILES stapled to the walls, the disorder and chaos of a life, and grimaced. She pulled up the only other seat in the living room, a rickety ladder-back chair with a cane seat, perched on it. “You’re a PI?”

“I’m a god’s bitch,” Cachita said. “Just like you and Justice.”

“I’m no one’s dog,” Sylvie said.

“Then you’re lucky. Or deluded,” Cachita said. She put her face in her hands. “Or your god is kind.”

“Gods aren’t kind,” Sylvie said. “Not their nature.”

“Tell me about it,” Cachita gasped. Laughed again. “Oh god.”

“So you’re Tepeyollotl’s—”

“Yes.”

“He hired you? To find Azpiazu?”

“Hired is a human word,” Cachita said. “I’m not sure there was anything human about what happened to me.”

Sylvie said, “Tell me?”

Cachita shuddered.

“C’mon,” Sylvie said. “You’ve latched onto me. You’ve studied me. You’ve been hunting any excuse to talk to me. You’re dying for an audience.”

“Your girl looked me up? She tell you I was an anthro student?”

“Yeah.”

“Latin American culture,” Cachita said. “I went down there. I worked there. In Mexico. I went down worried about los narcos . About my health. About making something new and noteworthy academically out of plowed ground. I didn’t worry about gods. I didn’t even believe in them.”

“Atheists are fair game,” Sylvie said.

“Know that now.” Cachita rubbed her face. Her lashes were spiky with tears that didn’t quite fall. Too controlled for that. Too tired for the catharsis of it.

“So instead of finding a study topic, you found Tepé.”

“He found me. My dreams first, then my waking hours. Until every moment of every day was filled with his presence. He’s not . . . He’s not very good at communicating,” she said. “It was like being forced under a waterfall while someone yells at you. Except the waterfall was blood and screams and knives. I thought I was going insane. I was insane after a month of it. Then I started waking up with a jaguar in my room.”

“Off-putting,” Sylvie said.

“One word for it,” Cachita said. “ ‘Terrifying’ was another. But it shocked me sane again. It wasn’t in my head, you get that? Something there. Something impossible. But real. Something I could touch. Something I could smell. Other people saw it. I could tell by the screaming.” Cachita shrugged. “The last time I saw it was in a hotel, and it had stopped first to eat some woman’s dog.

“So the next time the yelling started, I yelled back. It was that or crumble. It helped. He stopped sending jaguars and shaking things. Still get house cats and uncontrollable kudzu. And a lot of anger. He wants Azpiazu found. He wants Azpiazu dead.”

“He give you any ideas on how to accomplish that?”

“I just need to summon him,” Cachita said. “That part’s easy. It’s finding Azpiazu that’s fucking things up.”

“Been there, done that,” Sylvie said. “Let’s back up. Summon Tepeyollotl? That’s not going to happen on my watch.”

“You found him? And you didn’t call me?” Cachita wailed it, a woman who learned her chance at freedom might have escaped her.

“You lied to me,” Sylvie said. “I didn’t have any reason to think you’d be useful. Your own damn fault.”

Cachita panted, brought herself under control. “I thought we were going to be partners.”

“You researched me,” Sylvie said. “You know I don’t do partners.”

“What happened?” Cachita said. “With Azpia—”

“I know what you mean,” Sylvie said. She closed her eyes briefly, the better to shut out Cachita’s burgeoning hope. “We found his lair. We saved one of the women. Then he came back and caught us in the act.”

“No,” Cachita said. “No, dammit, he’ll have moved by now! He’ll be gone. You ruined our chance. He’ll be in a new state.”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Sylvie said. “Stop panicking. He wants something, and he’s close to getting it, Cachita. Stop reacting and start thinking. Why did Tepeyollotl change his mind?”

“What?” Cachita said. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, dared to rise and start pacing. Sylvie watched, but didn’t try to make her sit again. Cachita looked like she was the kind who thought on her feet. “Tepeyollotl changed his mind. . . . You mean the curse?”

“I do,” Sylvie said. “First he curses Azpiazu with uncontrollable shape-shifting and immortality. Then he . . . decides no? To kill him instead?”

“Azpiazu controlled the curse,” Cachita said. “That was never Tepeyollotl’s intention.”

“But it took him this long to decide to send someone after him? A human agent? No. That doesn’t make sense. Something changed, Cachita. You’re not a reporter. But you were a student, and you’ve done decent research. Take yourself out of the equation and think about it. Why kill him now?”

Cachita said, “I’m the first human he’s reached out to in centuries. I knew that. His language. His thought patterns. He’s archaic and totally uninvolved with this modern age. He’s violent and simplistic. He wants. He takes.”

“So what does he want?” Sylvie said. “You can’t tell me you didn’t research him. Not if he’s holding your leash.”

Cachita shook her head, not a rebuttal, but a sort of exasperation. “You want to talk about Tepeyollotl now? Azpiazu’s the problem.”

“Yes and no,” Sylvie said. “Azpiazu’s pissed off the god. He’s outthought Tepeyollotl’s curse and punishment. But if we don’t know how Tepeyollotl thinks—”

“He doesn’t,” Cachita said. “He’s broken. Badly broken. Look, Shadows, here’s a history lesson. Tezcatlipoca was one of the primary gods in Aztec culture. He had . . . aspects, like a mirror. He showed different faces, different things, to his people depending on their needs. He juggled personalities. He reshaped himself, over and over and over. He was clever. He was cunning. He was . . . everything.”

“ ‘Was’ being the operative word,” Sylvie said.

“When the Aztecs crashed. In the sixteenth century, when the Spaniards came, complete with sorcerers as well as soldiers, Tezcatlipoca was spread thin across his region. Focused in different directions. I’m not sure what the sorcerers did—Tepeyollotl doesn’t remember—but he shattered. Became only the parts, separate and fading. Tepeyollotl, the jaguar god, the earthquake bringer, is all that’s left of Tezcatlipoca, and he’s mostly animal instinct.”