The jaguar goes limp, scraps of wool falling onto the ground. Hot tears carve tracks down my cheeks. My friend is gone. Something I made with my hands, put a piece of my heart into when all the world saw me only as someone else.
I jump to my feet and scoop up my sword. I’m racing at Atoc, my weapon high above my head. The ground twitches beneath my feet. Then it lurches, up and down, knocking me onto my back.
A harsh cry rips out of me.
No one can stay upright. Everyone crashes to their knees or onto their backs. La Ciudad crumbles, buildings breaking apart in chunks. The bell tower smashes to the stone floor. Chunks of rock smack people as they scramble to the middle of the street, away from the falling debris.
I’m transported back to the day my parents died. The earth had risen and quaked, uttering a deep and harsh sound from its depth. My parents were on the bottom floor of our house, hollering for me to come downstairs. But the walls were shaking. I went to the balcony instead—and lived when they did not.
Another violent shake wrenches the memory away.
“Ximena!” Juan Carlos crawls to me, pushing people aside. “Stand!”
He yanks me up. Over his shoulder, a guard raises a knife aimed for the back of his neck. I scream, shoving my friend aside, and thrust my sword deep into the man’s belly.
Juan Carlos looks up at me from the ground, smiling. “Dios, you’re terrifying.”
Before I can respond, Atoc roars and forces the ground to split and crack open like eggshells. Gulfs appear. Juan Carlos nimbly skirts around the cracks, then takes up his sword against one of the guards.
The gaping holes in the ground force people aside, and as the crowd parts, Atoc comes into my line of sight. His gaze cuts to mine. The false king leaps over the crevices and crashes into me. We stumble onto the ground, him on top of my chest. I can’t breathe normally. His strong hands wrap around my neck. He squeezes. My vision darkens. Overhead, my parrot has my dagger and drops it within my reach, clattering onto the cobblestone. It’s the faintest sound against the roar of the battle encircling us.
My fingers find the weapon.
I plunge the blade deep into Atoc’s neck. It slides into his flesh like a key into a lock and I twist the steel. There’s a gurgling sound. His eyes widen as blood gushes out of his mouth. Splattering on my face, stinging my eyes. It’s hot and sticky, tasting sour and rotten.
The ground stops shaking. I shove him away, kicking at the dead weight pressing into my bruised ribs.He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead.
My anaconda hisses and uses its tail to grip Atoc’s waist, flinging him away. I turn to my side, coughing up the blood of my enemy. A soldier steps in front of me, his dirty toes encased in rough sandals. I duck away from his blade as the parrot dives and sinks its talons into the man’s eyes. The anaconda wraps itself around his body, squeezing and squeezing until he turns purple. The soldier lets out a final warbled scream that rings in my head.
I lurch to my feet, yanking the dagger from Atoc’s neck. My sword is buried in the belly of a guard, lost somewhere in the fight. Tamaya rushes to my side and helps me wipe her brother’s blood off my face.
“You saved me,” she says, breathless. She pulls me into a tight embrace. “Gracias, gracias.”
My gaze snags on something over her shoulder. Something that should have stayed dead and buried. “Don’t thank me just yet.”
She stiffens and pulls away, a frown marring her brow.
“The ghost army comes.”
CAPÍTULO
The Illustrian horn blares a deafening bellow, heralding the advance of the spectral beings. Someone lets out a bloodcurdling scream and points toward the plaza. A twisting mass curves around the crumbling buildings and floods the street—not fog or smoke or vapor, but gnashing teeth and translucent clawing hands. The swirling bulk lets out a violent, collective shriek and the sound scrapes against me, blotting out my thoughts.
One by one, it separates into individual men and women. They encircle all of us, those left standing and wounded alike, standing shoulder to shoulder.
None can pass. We are trapped.
Tamaya latches onto my arm, her nails digging into my skin.
I barely notice. My attention is on the ghosts. Their pale skeletons are visible beneath their sharp silvery bodies. Carrying picks and axes, they’re dressed in simple clothing, worn and grimy at the knees. As one, their transparent flesh darkens, obscuring their bones, transforming them into something resembling humans. Harsh sunlight makes their skin chalk white.
They study their surroundings with centuries-old eyes.
The anaconda hisses. Fear blooms in my heart and spreads like poisonous ivy. My dagger trembles in my sweat-slicked hand.
Tamaya addresses the ghosts in the old language. Her voice rings above the clamor, almost shrill. But it’s no use—they raise their weapons and with a roar they barrel forward. A ghost separates from the group and races toward the princesa. I step in front of Tamaya and launch my dagger. It cuts through the air, spinning until the blade sinks into the spirit’s gut.
The hit does nothing.
