Then the flames kick in. I see flickers of their light shining across her skin, though I can’t see them, yet. They won’t be a part of this scene until they’re eating her alive.

Doesn’t take long. They erupt around her in seconds, crawl up her legs as though she’s been dipped in liquid oxygen, bright blue flames dancing up her body, relentless, unforgiving.

She catches fast when the flames touch her. Her skin already blackening and cracking. The fire sweeps over her like piranha devouring a cow. Bits and pieces shred away as ash and char. Conscious and screaming until there’s nothing left but a blackened corpse that’s more skeleton than person lying among the ruins. Ash drops in clumps from her body as pieces of her disintegrate.

The scene disappears like a soap bubble, there one second, gone the next. I can still smell the stink of charred pork, hear the screams and the crackle of searing skin.

Then it starts all over again. It’s the fourth time I’ve watched it. I crouch down to look at it from another angle, time it with my pocket watch. The moment the flames hit her she goes up like flash paper. From ignition to ash can be measured in seconds.

Nobody burns that fast. Even knowing it’s obviously magic, it’s surprising how fast she goes from burning to ash.

At least, it would be if I hadn’t seen it before.

I take my phone out, dial a number. Hear a sleepy grunt when it picks up. “Hey,” I say, “it’s Eric. It’s happening.”

“Can we all die in a horrible rain of fire after I’ve had coffee?” Gabriela says. Most people know her as the Bruja, and she’s at least as powerful a mage as I am. Maybe more so. We fought once. Called it a draw. To say we’re friends would be stretching things. A lot.

“I think you got time for a cup.”

“Oh, good. I’d hate to meet the apocalypse uncaffeinated.”

“We should all be so lucky.”

“All right. Spill. What’s going on?”

“Xiuhtecuhtli’s fire.” I describe the scene to her. The man, the gunshot, the flames—particularly the flames.

“Fuck me. You’re sure about the fire?” she says.

“Well, I am standing in the burned-out shell of a house, so . . .”

“I meant about what kind of fire. Are you sure it’s Xiuhtecuhtli’s fire? You’re the only one who’s seen it in action.”

“Yeah,” I say, watching the flames consume the Echo in front of me one more time. The preternaturally blue flames turn it to char and ash in moments. “I’m sure. And I’m sure it’s Quetzalcoatl doing it.”

“You can’t know that for sure,” she says.

“He pretty much told me that this is exactly what he was going to do. Anyway, it gets better.”