Page 124 of Dead Vengeance

The face of Tezcatlipoca.

Liam was right. It’s the exact face from the mask I showed him earlier.

But this one is flesh. It looks so real. Not like a ghost. It looks real and here and viscerally touchable. His body comes into view, tall, well built, his skin dark, the loincloth at his waist white, the gold and jewels that adorn his arms, his chest, his legs glinting in the light.

Liam’s holding his fire. He’s letting him come towards us, out of the mist, stepping into that shaft of swirling sunlight, which lights him gloriously, head to… toe…

One set of toes.

Because one foot is long and well-formed and beautiful. But the other… It’s missing. His foot is missing, and that sharp sound, that step, tap, step, tap—it’s his mirror.

The mirror is his foot.

The very one from the paper. The mirror that I think for one moment can’t actually be missing at all, because Tezcatlipoca must have stolen it back.

And I’m happy for him. A little relieved, if perplexed.

But then the mirror wavers, morphs, and turns into a snake. A snake wrapped around a bare shin bone, slithering up and down the fleshless appendage, its long red tongue licking at the air.

Liam watches with more calm than I’d imagined him capable of a few days ago when Raul was killed by chandelier. Watches, takes the lot in, then says, “I can get your mirror. I know where it is, and I’ll bring it to you.”

“What?” The word escapes me on a breathless whisper. What is he talking about? Why is he making deals he can’t keep with a literal god?

Deeply, boldly, he demands, “Give me my brother back. Let him go. Let him cross over—just let him rest—and I’ll do whatever you like.”

Tezcatlipoca raises his chin, as if he’s assessing Liam. Slowly, his hand extends towards the altar.

We both follow the line of it, looking for what he’s showing us, but in one blink, the room has transformed again.

We’re in some kitchen beneath fluorescent lights. There are men, arguing.

Liam grips my arm hard. He’s got me so tight it hurts, and I put my hand over his, trying to calm him.

“There,” he whispers. “That’s Jem.”

His eyes are sharp, scanning all of it, every detail of the men before us, not just the one he names. The one who, unmistakably, is his brother. I recognise the face from the hospital. But in all the blooming colour of life, I also recognise Liam in him. The same hair. The same lips. The same height. And given how long ago he lost him, probably close to the same age.

A shot rings out, and Jem drops. There’s blood everywhere. Blood and brains.

My immediate urge is to shield Liam through it. Hide him from this horror. But when I reach an arm around him, he pushes it down gently. Even as tears stream down his face, he stays locked on, saying, “It’s okay. I think I must need to see this.”

I cannot imagine why. Because from there it devolves. From there we see the men who shot him laugh. Have to listen to them discuss what to do with him. Have to hear the sound of a knife being freed from the block, the decision having been made to strip him, burn his clothes, and cut him up right there on the floor, so he’s easier to dispose of.

“Liam, come away.” I pull at his arm.

“No.” He refuses it, gripping me with a fist of steel as I try to shift him.

“Please, Liam, this can’t—”

“Look.” Fingernails in my skin, he moves closer to the vision, trying to get into the kitchen, trying to see over the shoulders of the men.

I’m half terrified of what he might witness, more scared he’s going to fall down the very real hole in my attic floor, so I try one last time to pull him back. Yet he stops dead of his own accord. Stops dead as the men fall back from the body, all of them stilling in perfect silence, just like Liam did. Then they stare at one another, as if they’re just realising the awful thing they’ve done.

But when I follow their gaze, I can see… it’s not that at all.

Right there on the floor, to the left of Jem’s head, is what looks like… an earpiece.

It must have been knocked out when he fell. Just a small, black, electronic device, lying there, these killers staring at it.