“Phoenix,” Lehia added, nodding her head, “will be better than this dump, especially with you assholes around.” Just as though they still spent most of their time together. “For a little while,” Mica said, so softly that both Lehia and Brad could pretend they hadn’t heard him. Maybe they hadn’t. Maybe he’d slipped into vision language again. Modern technology had its advantages. After Lehia’s worried, curb-side kiss and Brad’s skeptical goodbye, all Mica’s pilgrimage required was a quick walk across Phoenix airport’s terminal four, a plane ride, a six a.m. cab to Mexico City’s Del Norte bus station and a seat on the Los Piramides bus. Teotihuacan’s Avenue of the Dead was just like the map in his guidebook: the Temple of Quetzalcoatl stood across from the entrance, the Pyramid of the Sun was farther down, and at the far end loomed the Pyramid of the Moon. Only a handful of people were in the park, most of them vendors setting up for the day. All those waves of holy plasma energy traveled for light years just to end up as vacation-time entertainment. No wonder most gods couldn’t be bothered to leave their off-earth homes. The spider goddess might have been sketchy on certain details, but she was very specific about Mica’s next step. Mica needed to unearth the fire god, after which she would provide the necessary plasma. The sky shifted from early-morning blue to storm-cloud gray as Mica started toward the Pyramid of the Sun. A few raindrops fell against his face, followed by a frisson of static as lightning flashed nearby. The goddess knew he was near. In moments, Mica was at the base of the pyramid. Nearby, overlaying the modern Avenue like some sort of photographic double-exposure, sat a circle of men with stretched lobes and earplugs, snorting from a painted bowl. One of the men, gray-haired and stooped, occupied the same space as a vendor’s spread-out wares. The vendor, in his New England Patriots jacket and straw hat, seemed completely oblivious to both the spirits and the impending storm. “A good price for my first customer,” he called out. Through the shaman spirit’s semi-transparent skin, Mica could see the vendor’s crystal jewelry and, for some unknown reason, pottery elephants. “A hat, señor? For the rain?” the man continued. “The first sale of the day, it is very lucky.” The vendor was both shorter and stockier than Mica. He looked like he could wait days if necessary for that first sale. “No gracias,” Mica said. Another streak of lightning cut across the sky. Much closer this time. A pain hit Mica somewhere behind the eyes. It felt like a bursting biochemical dam, the shards cutting new channels that spread out along his brain’s neural pathways. His body shook. His eyes flinched closed, then opened again. Of course, the spider goddess didn’t care about his discomfort.
Julie C. Day | 11