Tlepilli aren’t big. They’d be easy to hide and nobody’d think about one if they saw it. Lighting them with regular fire probably wouldn’t do much. But if they’re lit with the Zippo? We could have a situation that makes the Vernon fire look like a goddamn Fourth of July sparkler.

I can already hear other sirens down below. I need a ride out of here fast. I grab the keys for a blue Porsche from the valet stand, but before I can turn around to get to it I feel a stabbing pain in my back and every muscle in my body seizes up.

I hit the ground face first, and someone kicks me over. The sicaria stands over me holding a Taser, the leads going to barbs digging into my back. I try to move, which only barely works, so she hits me again.

“Oh, no,” she says, her English heavily accented, and hits me with another jolt. “I don’t fucking think so.” She pulls a couple wadded up pieces of paper from her pocket.

Paper charms. Kind of like my Sharpie magic. You write glyphs on the paper and cast the spell into it. When you want it to work, you trigger it, throw it on the ground, light it on fire, whatever. I saw a woman kill a train car full of people with one and then later set off an earthquake along Santa Monica Boulevard.

“One of these kills you,” she says. “The other one knocks you out. But I can’t read this shit.” She shows me one of the charms, Aztec glyphs burned into the thick paper. “I’m pretty sure this picture’s death. Or maybe a rabbit? You know, fuck it. It doesn’t matter.” She wads up one of the papers and tosses it onto me. It bursts like flashpaper when it hits my chest and everything goes black.

—

It’s so dark when I come to that it takes me a minute to realize I’m not still unconscious. Then dim, hazy lights pass overhead. I can feel the floor move beneath me. My body hasn’t caught up with my brain, and when it does I realize the floor isn’t moving, I am. I’m being dragged. I try looking up to see who’s dragging me, but I still can’t move.

I’m not sure where I am or what just happened, but something in the back of my head is telling me that this isn’t just bad, it is double-plus-un-good.