Quinn twisted her mouth, and in this dim light, she looked like Brooks minus the nose freckles. “Nope. I think that’s the only one,” she said. “But who knows with Fausto. He thinks he’s funny, but he’s totally not.”
“Who is this Fausto dude, anyway?” I asked, not sure I even wanted to meet the guy.
“An expert death magician, among other things.” Quinn walked through the gate.
Great! My executioner was a prankster mago?
Hondo hooked his arm around my neck, tightening his grip. “Don’t worry, kid. No one’s going to do any death-magic-mojo-kung-fu on you unless it feels right.”
Brooks took my hand. You don’t have to do this.
For once Brooks was wrong. Too many people were counting on me. I had to follow through.
I stepped inside El Grito.
We entered a narrow outdoor passage where moonlight spilled between the trellises above. It led to a shadowed garden with a grove of purple-flowered trees.
“Are those heads hanging from the trees?” Ren asked with horror.
Good thing I could see so clearly through the dark or I might have lost it. “They’re masks,” I said. Every branch was filled with them, dangling by what looked like fishing wire and twisting in the breeze. Beyond the garden was a big stone house with at least four stories. Thorny vines climbed the walls.
“Whoa!” Hondo breathed. “This place is like…king status. But the masks? No me gustan.”
“I don’t like them, either,” I muttered. Rosie grunted in agreement.
Ren had already headed over to examine one of them. She tapped a flesh-colored mask that had slits for eyes and a gaping hole for a mouth. “These could be alien faces, if you ask me.”
I went over to get a better look. All the masks were different. Some were jade mosaics, others were painted papier-mâché with horns and pointed eyebrows, and the rest were made of wood and stone. But all of them were in the middle of a scream. Even the wolves, lions, and jaguars.
I was so focused on the masks, I almost didn’t notice the guy step out from between the trees. He was about Hondo’s age, had shoulder-length blondish hair, a pierced nose and eyebrow, and his arms were covered in tattoos—mostly knives, dragons, and broken hearts. He wore jeans, a gray tank top, and an apron splattered with paint.
“Hey, Fausto,” Quinn said, barely looking at the guy. “Is everything ready?”
Fausto came over and gave Quinn a giant hug. She stiffened.
“Man, what’s it been, like a year?” he said. “I hope you’re staying awhile this time.”
Quinn blushed. Yeah, you read that right. The cranky ice queen blushed.
Hondo cleared his throat and stood taller. His head whacked a wolf mask. “We’re not staying.”
Fausto snapped his attention to Hondo. A slow smile crept up. “I wasn’t asking you, was I?”
I could tell Hondo wanted to deck the guy, but before he could say anything, Quinn stepped between them and said, “Fausto, you know why we’re here.”
Brooks added, “And we’re sort of in a hurry. We’ve got places to be.”
Right. Like New Mexico. My plan was to get to the godborns first. My dad had three days before he was transferred. The godborns might not have three hours, and like Ixtab had said, who knew how they were being treated—or if they were already hurt.
Rosie yawned and collapsed under a tree. I was about to die and all she could think about was sleep?
Fausto wiped his paint-stained fingers on his apron and scanned each of us. “So, who’s the lucky victim?”
I half raised a hand. “Uh…that would be me.”
Fausto studied me. “Nice spear,” he said, glancing down at Fuego, which was still in cane mode, so how did he know? Must’ve had something to do with him being a mago.
“Thanks,” I said, keeping my eye on Ren, who had wandered away, still checking out the masks. Moon shadows rose up from the ground, surrounding her like a blanket. I wondered why they had been MIA in Xib’alb’a.