Silver Nitrate(88)

Then López kicked or elbowed the thing, and the creature snarled, opened its mouth with too many teeth, intent on tearing through the man’s throat, but this must have been what López had expected, for he shoved the cane into the dog’s open mouth.

There was a sudden, incredible splintering of flesh, as if the cane had been acid instead of wood, corroding the creature’s body. The dog’s head became a spray of black liquid that fell on the ground, on Tristán’s shoes, and even on the car.

The rest of the dog dissolved, becoming rivulets of blackness that began to smoke and disperse.

López was trying to stand up, and Tristán helped him to his feet. The man leaned on him, gripping his cane with his left hand and holding it up, as if he were about to brandish a sword. The two men in suits stared at them but did not move from the spot on the sidewalk where they had stood, impassive, watching the dog-things. Their mouths were closed in two firm, angry lines.

“The keys to the car are in my raincoat,” López said. “I would appreciate it if you’d drive.”

Montserrat unlocked the car, and Tristán helped López into the back, sitting next to him. The men in suits started slowly walking toward the car. The leashes were wrapped around one hand, and their mouths opened, whispering a word.

López rolled down the window, reached into his messenger bag, and tossed out a handful of feathers and nails. The men in suits stumbled and glared at them. As Montserrat sped away, López sprinkled more nails out the window, then coughed and fell heavily back against the seat, his hand resting on the messenger bag.

“Where are we going?” Montserrat asked.

“Near the Pemex tower in the Anzures,” López muttered. “My house has safeguards.”

On a window there was a Garfield plush toy with sucker cups, and three air fresheners in the shape of pines dangled from the rearview mirror. Tristán stared at them with incongruous wonder, astounded by the sight of these ordinary trinkets. He was unable to suppress a laugh, which earned him a glare in the rearview mirror from Montserrat. He reached for the cigarettes in his jacket pocket and turned to López.

“Smoke?” he asked.





22


José López’s home was indeed close to the Pemex tower, on a quiet side street lined with houses from the forties and fifties. It had a double metal door painted green that led to a tiny courtyard and then the door of the house proper, which was also made of metal. The elements had nibbled at this door and were eating the paint away. López muttered and took out his key ring, and they walked through a minuscule vestibule and into the living room, which had a fish tank. The curtains were drawn tight, and it wasn’t until Montserrat was right next to the tank that she was able to see its contents: leeches.

“For spell casting,” López said as he placed his cane in a ceramic umbrella stand and the canvas bag on a rattan couch, next to a sleeping white cat. This was no secretive antiquarian’s lair, and López did not look the part of a wizened sorcerer. The living room reminded her of a tacky Polynesian restaurant Tristán had once taken her to.

“How do you use them?” Montserrat asked.

“You can get bones for spells easily at the Mercado de Sonora. But blood is a different matter and some spells require it. When I need it, I use my own blood and the leeches.”

“You let the leeches bite you?” Tristán said, glancing at the tank in disgust.

“Self-sacrifice. It also hurts a lot less than cutting your palm or any of that nonsense.”

Montserrat walked toward a bookshelf, pressing a hand against a spine embossed with gold letters while López went around the room and pulled the curtains with a banana leaf print aside. Then he took off his shoes, sat down, and rubbed his feet with a sigh.

“My blood pressure must be through the roof,” the man said, reaching into a pocket and uncapping a bottle. “At least Clarimonde Bauer has style, I suppose. A neat trick, the dogs.”

“That was Clarimonde, then?” Tristán said.

“Clarimonde’s people, at any rate. Can you hand me that can of soda there?”

Tristán grabbed a can of Pepsi that had been left by the aquarium and gave it to the man, who promptly swallowed a pill and took a sip. “They were also inside my apartment. They painted one of Ewers’s runes on the wall.”

“It wouldn’t have been Clarimonde in your apartment,” López said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Now, I’m going to need food, and then I’ll have a nap.”

“What? Why?” Tristán asked.

“Because I’m seventy-three years old. And I’m not what I used to be,” López said, shuffling in the direction of a hallway.

“No, I mean why are you sure it wasn’t Clarimonde?”

“Because if it had been her, they would have ambushed us while we were inside,” Montserrat said. “Therefore, the person who broke into your apartment must have been Alma.”

“Good! She gets it. Basic deduction skills,” López said and continued walking into a kitchen that had barely enough space for two people to stand in it. Instead of a door, there was a curtain with beads, which Montserrat supposed served to make moving around easier.