“This bottle?” I say, putting my hand on the stopper. “The one with the Djinn in it? Yeah. Surprise! I figured out your plan. But then, you knew that already, because you saw it through Chu’s eyes. You know he was going to take it for himself?”

“Of course, he would have tried.”

“Hey, remember that spell that Mictlantecuhtli cast to seal the bottle? That was the fight where he handed you your ass. In case you forgot. Anyway, I got some help getting those seals pulled off. So what’s say I pop the cork and we celebrate together? I bet Darius would love to hang out, don’t you?”

“You wouldn’t dare.” He backs up a bit, his form tightening into something a little more recognizable.

“Let’s find out.” I put my hand on the stopper, really hoping this works like I think it does.

And Quetzalcoatl slams down on me with all the fury and power he can muster.

Chapter 31

I jump out of the way, almost make it, but the force of Quetzalcoatl’s power clips me and slams me into a wall. I drop the bottle and brace for the end. When gods go a-smiting, well, it’s not a huge room is what I’m saying. All he’s got to do is a little shimmy and I’m a charcoal smear on the wall. But the fiery killing blow of an angry deity doesn’t land.

I twist around and see that it’s because Santa Muerte, eight feet tall, in a black dress, eye sockets glowing with an intense blue fire, has her hand around Quetzalcoatl’s neck.

“He is not yours,” she says, the power of her voice shaking the room. Quetzalcoatl whips his tail and wraps it around her waist. They both squeeze, but neither gives. There’s some exchange of power I can’t see and the two are thrown apart.

I’m sorely tempted to get out of their way and let them slug it out. But if I want to end this, that’s not an option. Muerte’s scythe is in her hand, slashing through the air and tearing fiery chunks from Quetzalcoatl’s form.

A great wind picks up inside the room and a mini twister of debris spins around him, slapping onto him, chunks of trash armor like when I saw him in Zacatecas. Muerte’s scythe tears through a piece only to have another take its place.

Quetzalcoatl’s attacks are feeble. Feints and dodges, as if his entire focus is on keeping his armor.

Waiting them out is looking more and more like a better idea than my original plan. Yeah, it’s a dick move, but even though she isn’t Santa Muerte, Mictecacihuatl, or even Tabitha, there’s a part of me that wants to see her fall. And there’s a part that really doesn’t.