Brooks tugged my arm. “You shouldn’t listen, Zane. Isn’t that, like, sacrilegious or bad luck or something?”
“Definitely bad luck,” Ren said. “I heard about a guy who erased people’s prayers from the book of intentions and got cursed for it.”
“Cursed?” I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“He went bald, like overnight,” Ren said. “And he was only eighteen.”
I ran my hands over my hair. Ren and Brooks were right. Listening to even pieces of people’s prayers felt wrong. Plus, I really wasn’t in the market for bad luck or curses.
“Zane, we have to go,” Quinn warned. “Fausto’s not exactly patient.”
I was about to ask who Fausto was, when Hondo and Rosie burst into the church. Hondo held out a dozen half-wrapped churros and smiled. “For the win, right?”
We all took one. Even cranky Quinn. Rosie got four.
Before we left, I struck a match, lit an unused candle, and said a silent prayer. Please help me find the godborns and save my dad and, oh yeah, please don’t let me go bald or have some other horrific curse fall on my head or anyone else’s. Okay? Uh, thanks.
Exiting the back of the church, we found ourselves on a narrow cobblestone street lined with tightly packed houses. The rising moon cast a cool glow over the yellow, red, and blue facades. Bougainvillea spilled over the rooftops and garnished the carved wooden gates of each house.
Every few feet, Quinn would stop and press her hand on one of the gates. Some had angel stone reliefs hanging above them and others had lion-head knockers. “Where is that door?” she muttered. “I’m sure it’s here. Or over there? He probably moved it again. Uggh! Not funny.”
I’d never seen Quinn so flustered. I mean, she’d been completely cool and in control when we’d flown over the Old World together, hunting the god of death. But now? You’d think she was getting ready to sing at the Super Bowl halftime show.
“Maybe if you tell us what you’re looking for we can help,” Brooks said impatiently.
“Finally!” Quinn smiled (shocking, I know), stopping in front of a brown puerta in a wall in front of a house. She traced her fingers over the wood panels. Two painted words materialized on the wood: EL GRITO.
“Cool trick.” Hondo licked some sugar off his fingertips. “But why would anyone name their house the Scream?” He shot me a wary look.
Ren whispered, “Because people scream a lot in there?”
My stomach turned in on itself as I stepped closer. I saw that the gate had eight panels and inside each one was a carving I was sure hadn’t been there before: a round face with a wide-open mouth and terrified eyes. Perfect.
Brooks scowled, shouldering past me. “I don’t like this. I thought we were here to…” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully, especially with Rosie there. “We only need to make Zane kind of D-E-A-D, Quinn,” she said in a low voice as if I wasn’t standing right next to her.
Quinn knocked twice on three different panels, like some kind of code, and said, “We are here to make Zane D-E-A-D.”
“Fake D-E-A-D,” I reminded her.
Quinn ignored me. “Brooks, did you think I was going to smother him with a pillow? This is a precise art. One wrong move and it’s lights-out forever. And now we’re late!”
“Whoa!” I held my hand up in protest. “What do you mean, ‘lights-out forever’? Ixtab said there were side effects, but she didn’t say anything about me actually dying in the process!”
“I say we take our chances with the gods.” Ren elbowed me. “If they find us, I bet we could outrun them.”
Hondo shook his head. “As crazy as it sounds, this is the better strategy to give you the best chance of survival, Zane. But whoever is doing this”—his dark eyes met Quinn’s—“they better be a pro.”
Quinn sighed. “It’s not like I’m bringing him to some street vendor selling dark magic. Puh-lease! Fausto’s the best. Obnoxious, but the best.”
Leaning closer to Brooks, I muttered, “Street vendors sell dark magic?”
She gave me a light shrug and twisted her hair around her pinkie, which was never a good sign. I hated when she was nervous, because it usually meant I should be freaking out.
I felt slightly dizzy as the gate clicked and opened slowly like it was automated. I looked from worried face to worried face. A cool breeze drifted from the courtyard inside, but it was too dark to make anything out.
Just as my foot crossed the threshold, a shrill scream pierced the air. We all jumped back. Everyone except Quinn. “Sorry,” she said. “I forgot to tell you about that little welcome. It’s just a recording. Part of the stupid ambience.”
“Any other stupid surprises?” Brooks asked.