#thewager

Manolo and Joaquin were returning from their date when Chuy ran into them. In Joaquin’s case, quite literally. The soldier fell back on his butt, opening his mouth to yell at Chuy to get off him. Manolo had his mouth open too but only to laugh. Both men’s mouths snapped  quickly when they noticed that Chuy’s eyes were huge and he was squealing. They never heard Chuy sound so much like a pig until now and it chilled them to the bone.

Chuy jumped off Joaquin and ran in a tight circle, his squealing turning into frantic beying. He stopped running and jutted his snout in the direction of the mansion, giving two short beys. Joaquin and Manolo gave each other one glance before bolting towards the house. Chuy kept up with the two as best as he could, but soon he fell away.

Joaquin was the first to the mansion and he slammed his shoulder into the front door. It crashed open with a loud bang and slumped awkwardly, its top hinges having been ripped out of the wall. His hands grabbed at the hilts of his swords, pulling them out of their scabbards with practiced ease.

By that time, Manolo had ran up beside him. Without a word passing between them, Joaquin handed Manolo one of his blades. The two walked into the foyer much quieter than their entrance, their eyes scanning their surroundings constantly.

“Where’s Maria?” Joaquin whispered furiously to his boyfriend.

“I don’t know,” Manolo murmured back. The two men were climbing up the stairs, their ears straining to hear anything amiss.

Soon, they were in front of Maria’s room. The door was shut, a now common sight, and Manolo and Joaquin nodded silently. Joaquin stood in front of the door with Manolo beside him, the sword raised. Joaquin counted down from three and turned the doorknob as quickly and quietly as he could. He threw open the door and the two dashed inside.

The room was empty.

Cursing, Joaquin and Manolo went back outside.

Chuy had finally caught up with the two. He was in the foyer, beying loudly. Joaquin and Manolo ran towards the sound and found Chuy pointing with his snout towards the library. The three walked to the library, Chuy leading. Now that he was back at the mansion, the pig had calmed somewhat but there was still a nervous speed to his step.

The library’s doors were wide open, which struck the two men as odd. Maria had always made sure the doors were closed. The three went inside and found Maria in the middle of the floor. The woman was out cold, an arm curled protectively around a book as her hair spilled over her shoulders and covered most of her face. Manolo handed Joaquin back his sword and carefully took the book from the sleeping Maria. Maria gave a grumbling protest in her sleep but she did not wake up. Manolo looked at the cover and saw that it was Moby Dick. He could have sworn Maria had thrown the novel away when she found out Mary as really La Muerte in disguise.

“Here,” Manolo said, handing Joaquin the book so he could see the cover as well. He saw Chuy give a sad bey and walk closer to Maria. The pig sniffed at her face, screwing up his snout at the scent he found. He nosed at her hair, causing the woman to grumble again and squirm slightly on the floor, but her eyes still did not open.

Finally, his wet nose made Maria turn in her sleep. Her hair moved only a bit away from her neck and Manolo and Joaquin frowned in confusion. Chuy looked at them expectantly as he waited for the dots to connect in their minds. Slowly so as to not awake Maria, Manolo knelt. Manolo brushed back Maria’s hair from her neck and the two men cursed under their breaths.

There was a bruise forming around her neck like a hand had curled its fingers right around it. The fingers were extremely thin and long and neither men knew who the hand could have belonged to. Chuy nosed the shoulder strap of Maria’s dress, pulling it away to reveal another bruise. This one had four scrabs as if the fingernails had pierced Maria’s skin. Manolo and Joaquin looked at each other, both men unsure of what to do now.

Manolo was the one who acted first. He lifted a hand to grab Maria’s shoulder to wake her but he glanced at the bruise. His hand fell on her waist and he shook her once gently. Maria muttered something under her breath and the two men caught a whiff of alcohol. He shook her more incessantly, murmuring her name at the same time.

“Wha?” Maria grumbled as her eyes lazily opened. They were unfocused and the men knew it was from more than sleep. They were red and blinked wearily up at Joaquin and Manolo. She sat up and rubbed at her eyes. “What’s going on?” Maria asked.

“We want to ask you the same thing,” Manolo said softly. He nodded down to Chuy who laid his head in Maria’s lap, gazing up at the woman. “He came and led us to you.” Manolo gestured towards Maria’s neck. Too late the young woman tried to hide the bruise with her hand, only able to cover it partially. “What happened?” He could not hide the edge in his voice. Manolo looked up at Joaquin and saw the same hardness in his eye. Whoever had done this will pay.

Maria looked away from the two and her eyes fell on the book still being held in Joaquin’s hand. She then saw the swords out and sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters,” Joaquin said a bit too harshly. “Someone hurt you.” He grabbed back his sword from Manolo after placing the book unceremoniously on a nearby table. Sheathing the blades, he bent down to help Maria back to her feet. He didn’t like the way she stumbled. “Who did this?”

Maria shook her head. “Like I said, it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does,” Manolo countered, getting up on his feet as well. He held out his hands in case Maria stumbled again. “Whoever hurt you could hurt someone else.”

“He won’t.” Without any other explanation, Maria walked out of the library, presumably towards her room.

Joaquin and Manolo could only watch her go. They didn’t know what else to say. “Do you know who did this?” Joaquin asked Chuy. The pig gave a sad grunt and shook his head.

Manolo frowned to himself. There was something he was missing, something that should be obvious. He could feel it tickling the back of his brain. It was at the tip of his tongue but the word, or name, alluded him. Manolo trusted that Maria was telling the truth about the person not hurting anyone else. But that didn’t mean whoever did this wouldn’t hurt her again. “We need to watch over her.”

Joaquin responded with a solemn nod of his head. “You need to help too,” he told Chuy. “You’ll walk her to and from the orphanage and Manolo and I will walk with her whenever she leaves the house.” He shuddered at the thought of telling Maria this plan.

Surprising, and worrying, them, Maria was silent the morning after as Manolo and Joaquin told her what they intended to do. She simply shrugged and moved the eggs around on her plate.

Her attitude did not improve for the entire week that followed. There were no more incidents but Joaquin and Manolo were no closer at figuring out who had hurt Maria in the first place. Joaquin had the brigade do double shifts and he took to strolling the streets for most of the night. Manolo would train and perform for the town’s people as usual, but he searched the crowds for an unfamiliar or unfriendly face and found the usual people cheering him and the bull on. Even Chuy was walking through the town, sniffing here and there to catch a stranger’s scent to no avail. They did not try to press on Maria too much, each time they asked she became even quieter than usual. The last time, Joaquin had suggested that a new group of banditos had come to San Angel, Maria took her plate of barely eaten food and went to her room alone.

Now Maria was asleep and Joaquin and Manolo were in their room, their voices hushed even though they sound proofed the room months prior.

“What were you thinking?” Manolo asked Joaquin. “We need to be subtle about this.” He was sitting on their bed, watching Joaquin pace back and forth in front of him.

“I’m tired of being subtle, Manolo!” Joaquin groaned. “We need to find out who hurt Maria and we need to find out now!” He waved a hand towards the window and into the streets. “I can’t keep forcing my men to chase after a ghost. We can’t keep chasing after a ghost.” Joaquin had scarcely slept this past week, as well as Manolo. “That bull almost hurt you today.”

It was true, Manolo couldn’t deny it. As the week went on, his reflexes dulled and his steps started to become sloppy. This morning during a practice routine, he was almost impaled by the bull’s horns. Manolo would have been if the bull hadn’t yanked his head to the side at the last second during the charge. He still barreled into the matador and Manolo suffered a new bruise on his side as well as aching bones, but he was alive.  

“Then what do you suggest we do?” Manolo asked, at his wits end. “Maria won’t tell us who hurt her and we can’t find the fucker!” He jumped off his bed, his fingers curled into fists.

Joaquin shook his head in despair, having no answer. “We can’t keep doing this.”

“Then what!?” Manolo yelled. He marched up to his boyfriend and waved a hand wildly at the window. “Someone hurt Maria! Someone might have wanted to kill her!”

That broke the dam inside Joaquin. “I know!” He roared back. Joaquin and Manolo weren’t ignorant, only someone who wanted to kill would have left such a mark on Maria’s neck. Something must have stopped the attempt, maybe a civilian happened to pass near them. If that was the case however, that civilian would have gone to the brigade or Joaquin himself. Maybe Maria fought back? Joaquin and Manolo had already dispelled that idea. There were no signs of struggle, no bruised knuckles if she punched or skin under her nails. Joaquin and Manolo were at a dead end. “I know Maria could have been killed,” he whispered, his shoulders deflating. He was the town’s hero, why couldn’t he protect his family? His eye stared imploringly at Manolo. “I don’t know what else we can do if Maria won’t talk to us.”

Manolo had no response to that. He pulled Joaquin into a tight hug. With a start, he realized that Joaquin’s shoulders were shaking and there was something wet dripping onto his neck where Joaquin buried his head. Manolo rubbed at Joaquin’s back, his own frustrated tears spilling out. “We’ll figure something out,” he said to both of them. His eyes widened when he saw his breath. When had it gotten so cold?

Joaquin must have felt it too. He pulled away from the embrace, his eye roaming throughout their room.

“Are you done?”

Manolo and Joaquin whirled around towards the voice. Xibalba was standing in the darkest corner of the room. The god took a step forward and the candles around the room snuffed out. He cast an eerie green glow but Manolo could not find himself to be frightened. There was something stiff and sluggish in the way Xibalba moved, like he didn’t have full control of his limbs. His wings were constantly twitching and a feather would fall every once in a while. Manolo felt a strange sense of pity for the god and a look to Joaquin showed that the hero felt the same.

“Why are you here?” Joaquin meant to make his voice demanding but it was a difficult task to accomplish with one of his cheek wet from his tears.

Still, Xibalba answered. “It’s my, it is La Muerte.” His voice was strained and gravely, like he was only gaining his voice back after losing it. “And Maria.” Xibalba’s eyes were slightly glazed over. “How is she?”

The question put the final pieces together. The marks on Maria’s neck and shoulder. They were made by very slim fingers. Manolo glanced at the hand that was clutching the purple staff. “You,” he whispered, too low for anyone to hear. Xibalba had found out about his wife’s and Maria’s relationship. He hurt Maria. He tried to kill Maria! “You,” Manolo said again, louder.

Joaquin seemed confused but he caught a flash of guilt in Xibalba’s eyes and his nod. He clenched his teeth and reached for his swords. “You-”

Whatever insult Joaquin was about to make was drowned out by Manolo’s bellow. “YOU!” Manolo snatched one of Joaquin’s swords from its scabbard and practically threw himself at Xibalba, Joaquin close behind. He managed to jab the sword at Xibalba’s neck but in his rage he was off target.

The sharp edge cut into Xibalba’s neck but it was little more than a graze. Green blood oozed out of the wound and when it touched the metal, it bubbled as the blood ate away at the steel. Xibalba snapped his fingers and the two men froze, Manolo in mid air, his arm thrust out and his mouth open into a snarl. Joaquin’s face was expressionless but his eye was feral with its hatred.

“Enough,” Xibalba said casually, flicking his wrist. Manolo and Joaquin were thrown to the back wall by an unseen force and were unable to move no matter how hard they struggled. Xibalba glanced down at where Manolo had dropped the sword during his push back. The bubbles spread through the metal and soon there was only a puddle of silvery green metal. He lifted a finger to wipe away the blood on his neck, the wound had already closed. “I did not come here to fight, fools.” He allowed the men to slump down on the ground, their backs still pressed against the wall. “I need your help.” It was obvious that Xibalba was loath to admit it.

“You bastard!” Joaquin yelled.

“I’ll kill you!” Manolo shouted.

Xibalba’s wings twitched behind him even more. “You may not have to.” His words gave Manolo and Joaquin pause and Xibalba was quick to talk in that moment of silence. “The Land of the Remembered is dying.” He waited a few seconds for the words to be processed in their heads. The fight went out of them soon enough. “La Muerte is neglecting her realm.”

“Why do you care?” Manolo asked, genuinely curious. From his perspective, Xibalba should be delighted that La Muerte is allowing her realm to fall into ruin.

“Balance,” Xibalba answered. He held up a hand and Manolo and Joaquin could see the fingers quiver uncontrollably. “The Land of the Remembered and the Land of the Forgotten are on a scale the likes you could not even begin to comprehend. If the two realms are not balanced, everything falls apart, including gods.”

Manolo and Joaquin shared a concerned look. They had the same thought: if a god like Xibalba was this effected, what about their families in the Land of the Remembered? “How can we fix this?” Manolo despised Xibalba but he was wise enough to know that he couldn’t let his feelings get in the way. If what he was saying was true, and he didn’t doubt it, then his family was in danger.

“La Muerte must be happy,” Xibalba looked as if he had to force the words out. “If Maria does that then so be it.”

“Wait,” Joaquin held his hands up like he could physically halt the conversation. “You want your wife to get back with Maria?”

Xibalba nodded although the pain was clear in his eyes. “Yes. La Muerte is happy with Maria so she needs her.” For a moment he looked almost human with his shoulders slumped and his hands gripping onto his staff like an old man to a cane. “I want her to be happy and if that’s with Maria instead,” he took a deep breath, “instead of me then so be it.”

Manolo and Joaquin could only stare at him for a few moments. Manolo glanced at the closed door and for an absurd instant he wondered how Maria and Chuy hadn’t heard them. “Do you have an idea?” he asked Xibalba.

“Yes.” Xibalba’s fingers nervously tapped on his staff. “I know how to get La Muerte to meet me at the tree outside San Angel. It’s, it’s where we first met.” He took a swallow to fruitlessly get rid of the lump in his throat. “You two will get Maria to go there tomorrow.”

The two men looked at the puddle that used to be one of Joaquin’s swords and nodded to the god. At once they were alone in their room. “How did we get ourselves into this mess?” Joaquin asked.

“I don’t know,” Manolo said. “But we have to try. For Maria.”

“The end,” Mary Beth finished her story with a smile. She listened to the group of children groan, disappointed that the tale had reached its conclusion. Once the groaning ended, they began to ask for more stories. “I’m sorry but there isn’t any time,” Mary said, a bit disappointed herself. The children may have gotten in some mischief at their school, but they had good hearts.

She escorted the children out of the museum just in time for the bus to pick them up. Mary debated whether to reveal herself as La Muerte but she became distracted by the sight of three people heading towards her. She waved goodbye to the children in her human form as the three reached her.

It was two males who were holding hands and a female who was walking a rather chubby dog. The canine gave a strange bark that sounded almost like a pig’s bey and dashed to Mary. The woman let go of the leash, knowing the dog wouldn’t run off into the street. He sniffed at Mary curiously, his tail wagging furiously. Mary laughed and gave him a churro that she did not have a moment before. The dog snatched it out of her hand with a grateful bark.

Mary turned her eyes to the group as the dog scarfed down the treat. Joaquin was wearing his police uniform, not a wrinkle in sight, while Manolo was wearing faded jeans and a simple black t-shirt. Slung on his back was his guitar. The fading light glinted off their matching wedding bands. Maria had on black slacks and a white blouse under a black jacket. And a very happy smile.

“How did your exhibition go, Maria?” Mary asked.

Maria rolled her eyes. “Have any of my exhibitions went terrible?” Mary shook her head with a grin. “I sold five of my paintings and I was asked to come back in a year. What about you?” Maria looked Mary up and down. “I see the kids haven’t improved their aim with their spitballs.”

“They’re good children, Maria. They just need a little guidance.” Mary kissed Maria on the cheek. “I’m so proud of you, mi amor. Do you want to celebrate tonight?”

Maria nodded, her eyes glowing. “Yes. I asked Manolo and Joaquin to watch over Chuy tonight.” The dog raised his head at his name but soon went back to devouring his churro. “We can go to that lovely Italian place.”

“Really?” Everyone knew that Maria preferred the steak house. It was Mary that adored the Italian restaurant. “Are you sure?”

“I am.” Maria quieted Mary’s misgivings with a quick kiss on her lips. She wrapped her arms over Mary’s shoulders loosely. “So, how did the children like the ‘secret’ entrance?”

The question was meant to switch topics and hopefully distract Mary, as both women well knew. But Mary indulged Maria, the younger woman deserved it with how much hard work she put in her latest art exhibit. “They loved it, as usual. I suppose that is one of your better pieces.”

“Better?” Maria scoffed in disbelief but there was a happy glimmer in her eyes. “I worked on that for months! I had to get it the stones just right or else anyone could see the entrance.”

“And you did so wonderfully,” Mary conceded, nuzzling against Maria’s chin to show she didn’t mean any harm. “They also loved the artwork inside. Especially that bull.”

Maria grinned a little smugly. “I did have hundreds of years to work on it.” In truth it only took her a decade or two to finish the piece. It was an on and off project for Maria when she didn’t work on another art piece. “Did they say anything about my wall of skulls?”

Mary shrugged. “I’m sure they would have if I hadn’t started my story.”

A delicate eyebrow rose. “And which version of the story did you tell?”

“You know which one.” When Mary first talked about the tour, Maria was more than a little peeved that she usually had to end it with Manolo and Maria getting married. Mary had tried to explain that there was simply not enough time and for their story to make sense the first story must be told. She kissed away Maria’s frown. “Don’t be like that, mi amor.”

“You could always tell the condensed version,” Maria said, a slight pout on her lips.

“Yes but some parts are not appropriate for children to hear.”

“Those are the parts that you leave out. That’s why it’s the condensed version,” Maria said defensively.

Before the discussion could turn into an argument, Manolo cut in. “We’re in public you two.”

Mary and Maria shared a glance and let the conversation move away from that subject. “So, do you want to start heading towards the Italian place?” Mary asked.

Maria chuckled and grabbed Mary’s hand. “Only if I get to pay this time.”

“Only if I get to buy you some flowers,” Mary countered as they started to walk  towards the restaurant.

“Only if they’re marigolds.”

“Of course,” Mary said. “You’ve always been fonder towards marigolds instead of the traditional roses.”

Maria laughed and her eyes shined with love. “Someone very special showed me how magical they are.”

“She must have been very wise,” Mary said with a playful tone.

“Not really, but I still love you.”

La Muerte stumbled and almost fell when she arrived back at her palace. The petals that swirled around her were hard to look at. Not one was healthy and the smell they produced caused the goddess to wrinkle her nose in disgust. She was grateful that they went away quickly.

Her eyes took in the sorry state of her palace. The paint on the walls were chipped and curling inwards at the edges. The few candles that were lit burned so low that they hardly helped alleviate the gloomy atmosphere. La Muerte climbed the steps to her throne and sat on it with a heavy sigh. What once looked like a chair carved from a giant hunk of purest gold now appeared to be carved from wood and painted to only look like gold. Her fingertips traced the cracks where she had slammed her fist into an armrest so long ago. They had grew until they covered the entire throne and La Muerte was only counting the days until the chair would crumble on itself.

If La Muerte took a glance outside one of her broken windows, she would have seen that her palace was not the only thing affected by her mental state. There were no fiestas being held to celebrate a newcomer into the Land of the Remembered. There were no parades for everyone to participate in. There was not even a bullfight to lift people’s spirits. It was like everyone could feel La Muerte’s pain as if it was their own.

One could have even mistaken it to be the Land of the Forgotten.

La Muerte sunk deeper into her throne, trying to banish the thought. She was successful in a manner of speaking. Now that she was not focusing on the condition of her realm, her mind traveled to the events that occured today. She grimaced at the flare of pain in her heart and clenched her fist.

In the briefest of looks that La Muerte had given Maria, she knew that the younger woman was not doing well. She looked so tired and La Muerte worried that she had not been eating regularly. Her eyes that used to hold so much emotion seemed empty, like Maria had chosen to stop feeling altogether.

“My fault,” La Muerte whispered to the empty palace. She rubbed at her eyes with the palms of her hands. They came away wet.

Once the tears finally subsided, La Muerte summoned the page that had caused all this pain. No, she thought. I have noone to blame except myself.

The page appeared out of thin air. La Muerte grabbed it and examined the illustration once again. She did not know why she kept doing this to herself. Every day she would spend at least an hour gazing at the illustration. Maybe she hoped that one of those times the picture would change. Or maybe she felt like she deserved the pain at seeing Maria terrified of her. La Muerte did not know and she could not find it in herself to search for an answer.

She felt a presence enter her palace. La Muerte tore her eyes away from the illustration and banished it with a quick snap of her fingers. She prayed it was not another Sanchez. She adored the family, truly, but they’re attempts at cheering her up did not work the first time and each time after they put in less effort like the sadness she felt was seeping into them.

“Come in,” she called. Her voice that used to effortlessly sweep throughout the throne room now drifted out and barely reached the other side of the closed doors.

Still, the person behind them heard her. General Posada pushed open one of the doors and shuffled in. He walked up to her slowly, a limp in his step that did not go away with his death.

“La Muerte,” he said, bowing to her respectably. When he straightened his back as much as he could with his hump, La Muerte studied him. The swirls that adorned his skull appeared dull, as if the edges were chipped away. The light in his sockets had dimmed and it seemed to take a moment for them to move when he looked one way to the next. Even the space between his bones appeared to have lengthen just enough to be noticable.

“General Posada,” La Muerte greeted, putting away her unease. “Why have you visited me?” Before, she would have engaged in some friendly conversation with those that visited her, but now she found she did not have the energy to do so.

“My daughter,” he said. He watched as shock and guilt play on La Muerte’s face before she could hide it. “What happened?”

La Muerte glanced away before meeting his gaze. “How did you know something happened?” They both knew that it was her attempt to delay the conversation.

General Posada answered nonetheless. “A father always knows when his children are hurt.” He squared his jaw and stood a little taller. “What happened?” This time the question had an edge to it, like he was daring La Muerte to lie to him.

She wanted to. She wanted to use one more white lie to appease him. But La Muerte was tired of lying. “Xibalba attacked her,” she answered truthfully. Before General Posada could shout or foolishly leave and challenge Xibalba, she added, “I stopped him before he could really hurt her.”

The room became silent as General Posada read in between La Muerte’s words. He looked like a man who lost a battle. “How bad is it?”

“She’ll have a bruised neck for a week but she will be fine.” The words were bitter on La Muerte’s tongue. She should have kept a close eye on Maria. She should have known Xibalba would eventually take his rage out on her. But she didn’t, and Maria got hurt, was almost killed, because of her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

General Posada did not respond, he only looked at her face closely. Whatever he found must have appeased him because he did not yell at La Muerte for putting his daughter in that situation in the first place. Without asking for permission, he turned and began to walk out of the palace. He stopped when he was ten feet from the throne. Turning back around, Posada asked, “Why didn’t you stay with her?”

La Muerte had not expected any more from Maria’s father. She did not know how to answer the question immediately. La Muerte thought about showing Posada the page but decided against it. “Maria didn’t want me there. She’s afraid of me.”

Posada narrowed his eyes in confusion. He wasn’t satisfied with that answer but he doubt any explanation would settle well with him. “If you truly believe that then you’re more stupid than that Manolo boy.” With that, he turned and walked out of the palace.

Maria turned over on her bed, a hand reaching out to pull Mary closer. When her fingers brushed against cold sheets, reality crashed over her. Maria swallowed down a sound of disappointment and grief as she sat up on her lonely bed. Why did she still search for the other woman as she woke every morning?

It’s been a month since she learned that Mary had been lying to her.

“Fuck her,” Maria muttered to noone in particular. Chuy grumbled, still asleep but somehow sensing that Maria was disturbed by her thoughts. She got out of bed and went through the motions of getting ready for the day. Maria did her best to avoid looking into a mirror, knowing that she’ll see the deep bags under her eyes if she did.

Once she was presentable again, Maria made her way downstairs. She waved halfheartedly at Manolo and Joaquin just as they were leaving the mansion. They gave her sympathetic looks and smiles that didn’t reach their eyes.

Maria still remembered the night they found her drunk with perfect clarity. She was in the library, chucking Moby Dick at a nearby wall. They expressed concern for her of course. But then Manolo asked where Mary was. At that, Maria stumbled up on her feet and staggered out of the library without answering Manolo’s question. She didn’t make it to her room, she knew, but she woke up in her bed. Even the morning after their breakup, her fingers sought after Mary.

“Fuck her,” Maria said again, eating a simple breakfast. She left the mansion and kept her eyes lowered so she wouldn't have to meet anyone’s eyes.

Before Maria had awoken, Joaquin had made the trip to the orphanage to inform the nuns that Maria would not be available that day. The nuns had nodded but it was clear they were curious, it was the first time Maria had ever missed a day so suddenly.

Maria stopped in front of the orphanage. The reconstruction had been completed a week earlier and if Maria had not been there since the beginning, she would have said that the building in front of her was brand new.

They dogged her with questions throughout the day in between giving her water and food to nibble on. Finally sometime in the afternoon, Maria broke. She told them everything. At first there was only silence once Maria had stopped talking. Then Manolo, with a puzzled look on his face, said that La Muerte would never do something so cold. Even as the words left his mouth, his eyes were doubtful and disbelieving to his words. Maria still snapped back that he shouldn’t trust the gods and reminded him of La Muerte’s and Xibalba’s first wager. That had stopped any listless attempts to defend La Muerte’s actions.

Maria shook her head to get rid of irrelevant thoughts as she entered the orphanage. The children gave her polite greetings, slowing from running to a fast walk. The children noticed the change in Maria’s attitude before the nuns did. They were on their best behavior for her class and not one commented on how it would take Maria a little longer to grade their homework.

She took a deep breath and put on a smile before she entered her classroom. Maria asked the children how their day was and listened to their answers said all at once. She saw all their familiar faces, each one eager to learn and be praised by their teacher. They sat in new desks and held new pencils, ready to write down on new paper. Even their clothes were new. The sight of them always brought a genuine smile on Maria’s face. She turned and began to write the day’s math problems. It was here that everything else melted away, even Mary and her wager. As the day wore on and they moved from math to grammar to history and finally to science, Maria noticed that her previous assumption was wrong.

There was a boy, about seven or eight, seated in the back right corner. It was the darkest part of the classroom so Maria had not seen him right away. He was the only one that wasn’t participating. He had his arms crossed and scowled at Maria. Each time she glanced over to him, he met her eyes and glared, hatred engulfing them. When she turned her back to erase something or write, she could still feel those eyes.

Maria did not recognized him so she assumed he was new. It tore at her that a child that age was sent to the orphanage. He was at the age where he knew his parents, or maybe a distant relative, so they must have died or given him up for whatever reason. Maria shuddered at the last thought. It was a rare occurrence but it did happen. And when it did, the child would usually lash out at those around him or try to run away. Maria made a mental note to get to know him and try to offer whatever support she could.

The class ended without incident and Maria found herself glancing more and more at the child as she gave her lessons. He must have noticed, he mood seemed to sour each time she looked at him. The other children ran out laughing happily when Maria dismissed them. She realized she forgot to give them homework but by the time she recognized her mistake, ten children had already rush out of the room. Maria let them go and decided that they deserved some rest from homework. She moved to erase the science lesson when the hairs on the back of her neck and arms rose.

The child from the back corner was still there. Maria knew it by the way she felt the hatred roll off him. She let the eraser fall back to the holder and turned to face him. She had opened her mouth to greet him and ask him his name with a friendly tone but the words died on her tongue.

He was standing right in front of her. “Don’t say a fucking word,” he growled. The voice was what stilled Maria’s voice. It was so full of malice that no child should achieve. His eyes pierced deep into her soul, ripping it apart with its gaze. His eyes still bearing into Maria’s, he walked to the door and shut it without a sound.

Seeing the door shut was what snapped Maria out of whatever trance the child seemed to put on her. “Who, who are you?” A small bit of fear leaked into her voice. Every fiber in her being roared at her to get away from the child.

“You don’t know me?” The words were softly spoken and the rage dripped into his words. He took a step forward and the room darkened slightly. At first Maria thought a cloud had obscured the sun but the child took another step towards her. The room darkened again and Maria felt a chill.

Three more steps and the child stood in front of her. One could have mistaken it to be nighttime by how dark the room had become. Maria could see her breath puff out and goosebumps appeared across her skin.

“Do you know me now?” As he said the words, the child sprouted. He grew a disheveled white beard and his pupils became red skulls. Black wings made of tar unfurled from his back. The pencil clenched in his right hand became a staff, each end carved into the likeness of a striking snake. “I asked you a question. Do you know me?” Xibalba repeated.

“How,” Maria could only say as she watched the boy transform into a god. She couldn’t take a step backward, it was like his gaze petrified the muscles in her legs. The words finally registered in her head. “You, you’re the ruler of the, the Land of the Forgot, Forgotten,” she stammered out.

Xibalba nodded, his expression unchanging. “Do you know why I’m here?”

Maria did not need any time to answer the question. “La Muerte.” Saying the name squeezed her heart in a painful way.

The god must have seen the flash of pain on her face because his face somehow darkened. “Correct.” Xibalba’s voice was smooth but it was too smooth. It was like the edge of a newly forged blade. It was so fine, so smooth, that it could end a person’s life easily. “I have played with the lives of men and I thrive in the chaos I sow.” He bent down so he was eye level to Maria. “I could never have accomplished what you have done, however.” The skull pupils turned in his eyes so that their empty sockets bore into Maria’s eyes. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

“I’m sorry,” Maria said, still unable to run away and now her eyes were trained on the skulls. “I didn’t know, I swear!” She could feel Xibalba dissecting her with those skull pupils, pulling away every layer of Maria until only her heart was left. “I didn’t know Mary was lying.”

The last sentence was ill spoken. Xibalba looked as if he was about to yell his anger but he took a swift glance at the closed door. Maria took the opportunity to look away but her legs still would not move. Xibalba glared back at the woman and brought up his staff off the floor and slammed it back down.

Maria felt a horrible sensation of vertigo and almost doubled over. Just as the feeling started, it ended. She looked around and saw that Xibalba had taken them to the tree outside of San Angel. Maria stared at the tree, horrified.

For as long as the town existed, the tree had thrived. Some of the elders even claimed that it was the first tree that ever sprouted from the earth. Maria did not know if that was true, but she did remember first looking up at the reaching branches as a child and thinking that it was something that had always existed, like the gods and their realms. Now though, the tree was dying. The tree seemed bloated and there was a crack here and there on the trunk where too sweet smelling sap leaked out. The branches slumped downwards with few sickly looking leaves clinging to them. Most of the ground was covered with the decaying leaves that had already fallen. Maria knew that if she dug down, the roots would be in the same poor state.

“Do you understand now?” Xibalba asked after Maria studied the tree for a few silent minutes. He laid a clammy and cold hand on her shoulder, his fingers curling and allowing the sharp fingernails to dig into her skin. Xibalba bent down to whisper angrily into her ear. “You caused this.”

The accusation stung Maria. She turned her head to look at the god. “I don’t understand. What did I do?” Her gut told her it had to do with her relationship with Mary but that was all.

The fact that Maria still did not know what she did pushed Xibalba over the edge. He pushed his staff down and disgustingly, the ground parted like it had rotted. Xibalba released Maria’s shoulder only to grab her neck and slam her against the deceased tree’s trunk.

Maria tried to scream out for help but the hand tightened momentarily, warning her.

“You broke her heart!” he roared. Xibalba’s candles relit and the green flames soared up with his wrath. There was something else in his eyes though. Maria recognized the wild desperation in them. “You broke her heart and now I’ll break yours.”

The hand tightened once again and Maria tried to scratch at the hand to no avail. Her eyes bulged out as she realized she could not breathe. Maria opened her mouth and closed it again as she stared into Xibalba’s eyes. She expected to see some sick satisfaction in them but instead they were sad and disgusted. With a start Maria realized Xibalba didn’t want to do this. As if he heard her thoughts, his grip loosened and he seemed unsure of himself. She took those precious seconds to gulp in some air.

“La Muerte!” she cried out.

Everything afterwards happened so fast. Maria fell to the ground with a groan. She looked up to see the back of La Muerte. Xibalba was slowly rising to his feet, rubbing his jaw with a pained grimace. He spared Maria a glance and she could have sworn she saw relief in those eyes. Xibalba then looked at La Muerte and his expression became indifferent but they could see the wings twitching behind him.

“Leave.”

Maria had never heard such coldness from anyone’s voice, least of all La Muerte’s. A part of her expected to see frost spreading on the ground when she glanced down at the commanding power of the goddess’s voice. Xibalba did as he was told.

Fifteen seconds passed before Maria looked up. La Muerte had turned around to face the younger woman. Maria gazed at her in confusion until it hit her. La Muerte had shrunk. She should be towering over Maria like Xibalba had but instead she was only a head taller. Her eyes that should be glowing bright were so dull that Maria could spy some blue in them.

La Muerte lifted a hand to help Maria on her feet but just as it started to rise it fell back down. The goddess glanced sadly but unsurprisingly at the tree before focusing on Maria. She could already see the bruise forming on the woman’s slim neck. La Muerte met Maria’s eyes and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

It was now the Day of the Dead. Mary wanted nothing more than to disappear into her castle but Maria had specifically asked her to come with her and the others. Mary could not say no.

So she was standing outside Maria’s mansion, knocking on the door with one hand and clenching a bouquet of roses in the other. She waited a minute before Joaquin opened the door. He smiled at Mary and beckoned the woman inside. He was wearing a very stained apron, however the uniform underneath was as pristine as always.

“We’ll be ready to leave in a few minutes,” he said, leading her towards the kitchen. “We’re making some traditional foods for our families and it got a little out of hand.” Joaquin’s eye caught sight of the roses. “Whose are those for? Maria said you don’t have family here.” His eye fell to the floor as he gave an embarrassed cough. “Sorry, I just meant,”

“It’s okay, Joaquin,” Mary interrupted his unnecessary apology. “They’re for General Posada, Maria’s father.”

Before Joaquin could respond and possibly make the situation more awkward, the smell of food drifted over to them. They entered the kitchen and Mary stopped in her tracks.

The entire place looked as if a tornado had passed through it. There was batter splatter on several places on the walls and the sink held a precariously tilted stack of dirty dishes. Mary was somewhat surprised to see that the counter where the three had placed finished plates of food to be clear of any mess. Mary spotted Maria bent over to grab a metal sheet from the oven, warm loafs of bread perfectly cooked to a nice brown situated on them. There were three different types of bread, or rather it was apparent that three different people made the same type. Joaquin’s came out the best with noone being surprised. Maria’s was a bit lumpy, along with Manolo’s, but they still looked good.

Maria grinned at Mary and took off her oven mitts after setting the bread down to cool. “Mary, we weren’t expecting you for half an hour.” Without hesitating, she pulled Mary into a hug, turning her head to kiss her cheek.

“I know, but I couldn’t stay in that apartment for another moment.” It was true. Since she received the page from Xibalba a month ago, Mary had been restless. Her mind was constantly wondering back to how that future could possibly occur and how it could be avoided. Like before, Maria had noticed and asked if Mary wanted to talk about it. Mary had declined, fearing that talking about the page or even trying to give a half truth would cause everything to spiral out of control. Maria had relented but her patience only made Mary’s heart ache more.

It took another half an hour to clean the kitchen, even with Mary helping. Chuy tried to help as best as he could, like licking off the splatters from the walls where he could reach. Joaquin tried to chase him out but as soon as he turned around, Chuy would dash back in to lick at another splatter. After five times of chasing the pig out only for him to run back in, Joaquin gave up and left the pig to happily lap at the batter on the walls. He did vow to wash the entire kitchen once over when they came back, earning laughter from the other three. The cleaning gave the bread more than enough time to cool down enough to safely transport. The four people and Chuy headed out of the mansion and made their way to the cemetery.

Other families joined their journey and soon there was a steady river of people walking and holding their offerings. Mary felt some stares from people when they noticed she only held a bouquet of roses. She almost somewhat jokingly told Maria that she should slip away and get some other offerings but the river became several streams as they passed under the archway to San Angel’s cemetery.

Joaquin, Manolo, and Maria split away from each other, the three heading to their respective family graves. Mary and Chuy followed Maria as she strolled to her father’s grave. Mary could not help but recall how Maria had looked at the last Day of the Dead. She was glad that Maria seemed much happier and that she had a hand in creating that happiness.

Mary and Chuy stopped a few feet away from the grave, giving Maria some privacy to place the offerings in front of the grave. Afterwards, Maria closed her eyes and tried to feel her deceased father’s presence. Mary saw General Posada stand next to his daughter, lifting a hand to rest on her arm in a comforting gesture. The corners of Maria’s lips tilted up in a small smile, somehow knowing that her father was with her.

“You can come closer, you know,” Maria told Mary and Chuy, opening one eye to look at them.

The two walked to the grave, keeping respectfully silent. Mary laid her bouquet of roses in front of the statue. She studied the statue more closely, trying to ignore the fact that she could see General Posada standing not five feet away from her.

“He was a good man,” Maria whispered. “I know most daughters say that about their fathers, but he truly was a good man. He helped build the town’s brigade to stop Chakal and his bandits from raiding the town.” She nodded towards the hook that replaced General Posada’s hand. “He even gave up his left hand to protect this town and its people.” A few tears budded in Maria’s eyes but she made no move to wipe them away. “Even though it hurt him, he sent me away to Arroba to become a proper lady. It took me so long to realize that he only did it because he thought it would be best for me. It would have been safest for me to be a proper lady.” Maria chuckled. “But I have his blood. I could never be a proper lady. I was a fighter, just like him.”

Mary, not caring who might have been glancing at them, wrapped an arm securely around Maria’s shoulders. “He’s proud of you.”

“How do you know?” Maria’s question had some humor in it but it also shined with her curiosity.

Mary shrugged. “I just do. Any father that has a daughter like you can only be proud.”

The two women listened to the people around them talking quietly but happily, feeling their deceased relatives coming from the Land of the Remembered to visit them. Several children, the same ones from the previous year in fact, were running about in a game of tag. Mary could see Carmelo waving at her from a few tombstones away to where Manolo’s family was. She had to resist the urge to wave back. Mary looked back and noticed that General Posada was watching her, a frown on his face. This took her aback but she schooled her features.

After seven minutes, Maria looked over at Manolo, unable to see his family standing around him. “I should be the dutiful wife and see if he needs anything.”

“I thought the husband was supposed to check up on the wife,” Mary teased. She heard General Posada huff in annoyance at her.

“I’ll be back soon,” Maria said, sneaking a kiss on Mary’s cheek before moving towards Manolo.

Chuy glanced between the statue and Maria and decided to trot after the woman, giving a bey of goodbye to Mary.

Mary watched and once she was sure they were out of earshot, she looked at General Posada. Now that his daughter was not in the vicinity, he fully glared at Mary. She glanced away, almost ashamed, before meeting his gaze again.

“I don’t care that you’re La Muerte in disguise,” General Posada said evenly. “If you hurt my daughter I swear I’ll,” he continued in a mutter that Mary could not understand but the message was quite clear.

A flash of the illustration passed in her mind’s eye. That damn page was never far from her mind. She turned her head to look at Maria and Manolo laughing at something, but the laughter was tinged with sadness. She looked back at General Posada. “Can I have your blessing,” she asked suddenly, unaware that the words were out of her mouth until she heard her own voice asking the question.

“No.” There was a frankness to the answer that shocked both Mary and General Posada. It shocked General Posada because he had refused a goddess’s request and it shocked Mary because of the swiftness he gave his answer.

“Why?” Mary had to know. She was afraid of the answer, she knew what it was, but she had to know.

General Posada gave her a quick glare  as if she was a teenager caught out late with his daughter and not the ruler of the realm he presided in. “Because what you’re doing is wrong.” He waved his hooked hand to his daughter. “You’ve been lying to her this entire time. Even before you two started seeing each other.”

“I had to,” Mary replied.

It was General Posada’s turn to ask, “Why?” The expression he gave her made it clear that whatever excuse she could possibly give was not going to be enough.

Mary almost did not answer. At first she had no excuse. Her wager with Xibalba had all but won, she made Maria happy as she could and she was happy as well. Xibalba had left her and now she was free to explore her feelings with Maria. All in all the only reason why she had not told Maria she was La Muerte was because she was afraid. And she blamed that twice damned page.

Just as she was about to open her mouth to explain herself, General Posada continued. “If you truly care for my little girl, maybe even love her, you’ll tell her the truth.” With that, Posada left the realm of the living.

Mary stared at the spot that General Posada had previously occupied for a minute. She looked back at Maria and noticed that she had ended the conversation with Manolo and was heading back over to her. Mary glanced around the area, hoping that Posada would return as his daughter neared. When it became evident that he wouldn’t, she knew she had to tell Maria the truth.

“Sorry that I was gone for so long, Mary,” Maria said. There was only happiness in her eyes and Mary felt cold. She leaned against her lover, looking back up at the statue of her father. She sensed something was amiss with Mary and looked at her. “What’s wrong, mi amor?” Maria whispered the last bit and it stung Mary more than she expected.

“I need to show you something,” Mary answered. She took one last gaze at the statue before leading Maria away from the cemetery. Luckily, the families around them were too busy celebrating and praying to notice the two women slipping away.

Mary and Maria did not exchange any words as they walked. Maria was growing more and more concerned as Mary led her first through the town and than out on the bridge leading away. Finally, the two stopped in front of the old tree.

“What’s going on, Mary?” Maria asked. Her instincts told her she didn’t want the answer but she was going to get it nonetheless.

Instead of answering, Mary kissed Maria. Soon she backed Maria against the tree, her heart hammering in her chest in desire and fear. Mary broke the kiss, studying Maria’s eyes. There was desire in them too, so much that Mary was enticed to go back to the apartment and forget all of today. However, there was a burning curiosity in them too, and Mary knew she could not leave this place until she told Maria what was in her mind.

“Please,” Mart begged, her voice trembling, “please understand why I did it.”

“Did what?” Now there was fear in Maria’s voice as she stared back at Mary, the desire and endearment still present in her eyes. She probably thought whatever Mary had to tell her was some dark secret but nothing that could split them apart. Mary prayed to whatever god that could hear her that Maria was right.

Mary kissed her desperately one more time. “Close your eyes,” she whispered, her forehead pressed against Maria’s.

Maria did as she was asked and Mary took a few steps back. She tried to snap her fingers but she was too nervous that no sound was made. Mary had to try again before a sound rang out, much louder than what should have been produced.

“Open them,” La Muerte said.

Maria frowned at the change in voice but her gut told her it was still Mary. A part of her wanted to keep her eyes closed, to tell Mary to stop whatever trick she must be playing. Still, her eyes fluttered open and then gaped wide at the goddess standing before her. For a miraculous second, Maria thought Mary must have somehow used makeup and changed her clothes to look like La Muerte. She appeared different than when Maria remembered seeing her two years ago. The eyes were much dimmer and the marigold flowers in her hair were dull, like they were on the cusp of dying. But there was no denying that this was indeed La Muerte, the ruler of the Land of the Remembered.

“I don’t understand,” Maria finally said, taking a step back. Her eyes dashed around, searching for Mary even as her heart told her she wouldn’t find her. She focused back on the goddess. “Where’s Mary?”

La Muerte looked saddened for a moment before replying. “I think you already know, Maria.” She said the name like a lover would and everything fell into place in Maria’s mind.

“What? You, you can’t be Mary!” Maria exclaimed. She could feel the panic raise inside her, along with betrayal. She searched into La Muerte’s eyes and gasped as she recognized them. They were different to be sure, but they held the same fondness as did Mary’s.

“Maria, please, listen to me,” La Muerte said, seeing Maria accepted the truth of her identity. “I didn’t want to lie to you.” She took a step forward, intent on pulling Maria into her arms like she’s done a hundred times before. Maria took a step back, holding up a hand and stopping La Muerte without having to say a word.

“Why?” Maria asked, tears welling in her eyes.

“I had a wager with Xibalba,” La Muerte began.

“Another one!?” Maria yelled out, cutting La Muerte off before she could get another word out. “How could you?” She gestured between them. “Were you - this entire time did you - did this mean nothing to you? Was this just some sort of sick kick for you?”

“No!” La Muerte tried to take a step forward again and Maria took a few steps back. Each one hurt as if Maria had struck her. “The wager was if I could make you happy.” The words were wrong, she saw that in Maria’s eyes. “I only meant to be your friend but then I fell for you, Maria. I wanted to tell you the truth for so long. Please, I lov-”

Maria shook her head wildly, her eyes now angry even as several tears fell. “Don’t! Don’t you dare tell me you love me after all you’ve done.” She shook her head again, hands coming up to grip at her locks, her vision blurry as she recalled every moment she spent with Mar- no La Muerte, and all of them tarnishing at this confession. Maria stilled and looked up at La Muerte, fear now the main emotion on her face. “Xibalba, you’re married to Xibalba!”

“Yes but we’re not together anymore. You don’t have to fear him,” La Muerte tried to console Maria. “I will never let him harm you,” she vowed.

Maria saw some of the fire return to La Muerte’s eyes and could not help but sense the truth in those words. It was a small comfort, but nowhere big enough.

La Muerte saw the walls start to come up around Maria’s heart. In a last ditch effort, she flashed forward in a cloud of marigold petals. Too fast for Maria to stop her if she wished, La Muerte pressed their lips together. She poured everything into the kiss, all her love for the woman in front of her, all the happiness that Maria made her feel, and all the hope for their future.

SMACK!

Maria gaped at her own hand after it had smacked against La Muerte’s face, ending the kiss instantly. She turned her eyes up to the goddess, her face pale and her body slightly trembling. When La Muerte reached out for her, surely to punish her for attacking, Maria gave a trembling gasp of fear and held up her hands instinctively.

The illustration.

“No,” La Muerte whispered in despair. Her arms went limp at her sides as she looked at the horror on Maria’s face at what she had just done. At the fear of La Muerte retaliating. “I won’t hurt you. Please, mi amor, don’t be afraid of me.”

Maria flinched at the words ‘mi amor’ and La Muerte felt her heart break. “I never want to see you again.” With that, she turned and ran away.