The Wager Chapter 19
Story Summary: Another Day of the Dead is finally here. La Muerte goes to the land of the living and is shocked to see Maria, the jewel of the town, unsatisfied with her marriage with Manolo. Another wager is struck and La Muerte finds herself falling hard for a human. 1 year after movie! Main ship: Maria X La Muerte (kind of slow burn) but there is another :)
Chapter Title: Hey There Stranger!
Coffee?
Manolo and Joaquin were returning from their date when Chuy ran into them. In Joaquin’s case, quite literally. The soldier fell back on his butt, opening his mouth to yell at Chuy to get off him. Manolo had his mouth open too but only to laugh. Both men’s mouths snapped quickly when they noticed that Chuy’s eyes were huge and he was squealing. They never heard Chuy sound so much like a pig until now and it chilled them to the bone.
Chuy jumped off Joaquin and ran in a tight circle, his squealing turning into frantic beying. He stopped running and jutted his snout in the direction of the mansion, giving two short beys. Joaquin and Manolo gave each other one glance before bolting towards the house. Chuy kept up with the two as best as he could, but soon he fell away.
Joaquin was the first to the mansion and he slammed his shoulder into the front door. It crashed open with a loud bang and slumped awkwardly, its top hinges having been ripped out of the wall. His hands grabbed at the hilts of his swords, pulling them out of their scabbards with practiced ease.
By that time, Manolo had ran up beside him. Without a word passing between them, Joaquin handed Manolo one of his blades. The two walked into the foyer much quieter than their entrance, their eyes scanning their surroundings constantly.
“Where’s Maria?” Joaquin whispered furiously to his boyfriend.
“I don’t know,” Manolo murmured back. The two men were climbing up the stairs, their ears straining to hear anything amiss.
Soon, they were in front of Maria’s room. The door was shut, a now common sight, and Manolo and Joaquin nodded silently. Joaquin stood in front of the door with Manolo beside him, the sword raised. Joaquin counted down from three and turned the doorknob as quickly and quietly as he could. He threw open the door and the two dashed inside.
The room was empty.
Cursing, Joaquin and Manolo went back outside.
Chuy had finally caught up with the two. He was in the foyer, beying loudly. Joaquin and Manolo ran towards the sound and found Chuy pointing with his snout towards the library. The three walked to the library, Chuy leading. Now that he was back at the mansion, the pig had calmed somewhat but there was still a nervous speed to his step.
The library’s doors were wide open, which struck the two men as odd. Maria had always made sure the doors were closed. The three went inside and found Maria in the middle of the floor. The woman was out cold, an arm curled protectively around a book as her hair spilled over her shoulders and covered most of her face. Manolo handed Joaquin back his sword and carefully took the book from the sleeping Maria. Maria gave a grumbling protest in her sleep but she did not wake up. Manolo looked at the cover and saw that it was Moby Dick. He could have sworn Maria had thrown the novel away when she found out Mary as really La Muerte in disguise.
“Here,” Manolo said, handing Joaquin the book so he could see the cover as well. He saw Chuy give a sad bey and walk closer to Maria. The pig sniffed at her face, screwing up his snout at the scent he found. He nosed at her hair, causing the woman to grumble again and squirm slightly on the floor, but her eyes still did not open.
Finally, his wet nose made Maria turn in her sleep. Her hair moved only a bit away from her neck and Manolo and Joaquin frowned in confusion. Chuy looked at them expectantly as he waited for the dots to connect in their minds. Slowly so as to not awake Maria, Manolo knelt. Manolo brushed back Maria’s hair from her neck and the two men cursed under their breaths.
There was a bruise forming around her neck like a hand had curled its fingers right around it. The fingers were extremely thin and long and neither men knew who the hand could have belonged to. Chuy nosed the shoulder strap of Maria’s dress, pulling it away to reveal another bruise. This one had four scrabs as if the fingernails had pierced Maria’s skin. Manolo and Joaquin looked at each other, both men unsure of what to do now.
Manolo was the one who acted first. He lifted a hand to grab Maria’s shoulder to wake her but he glanced at the bruise. His hand fell on her waist and he shook her once gently. Maria muttered something under her breath and the two men caught a whiff of alcohol. He shook her more incessantly, murmuring her name at the same time.
“Wha?” Maria grumbled as her eyes lazily opened. They were unfocused and the men knew it was from more than sleep. They were red and blinked wearily up at Joaquin and Manolo. She sat up and rubbed at her eyes. “What’s going on?” Maria asked.
“We want to ask you the same thing,” Manolo said softly. He nodded down to Chuy who laid his head in Maria’s lap, gazing up at the woman. “He came and led us to you.” Manolo gestured towards Maria’s neck. Too late the young woman tried to hide the bruise with her hand, only able to cover it partially. “What happened?” He could not hide the edge in his voice. Manolo looked up at Joaquin and saw the same hardness in his eye. Whoever had done this will pay.
Maria looked away from the two and her eyes fell on the book still being held in Joaquin’s hand. She then saw the swords out and sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters,” Joaquin said a bit too harshly. “Someone hurt you.” He grabbed back his sword from Manolo after placing the book unceremoniously on a nearby table. Sheathing the blades, he bent down to help Maria back to her feet. He didn’t like the way she stumbled. “Who did this?”
Maria shook her head. “Like I said, it doesn’t matter.”
“Yes it does,” Manolo countered, getting up on his feet as well. He held out his hands in case Maria stumbled again. “Whoever hurt you could hurt someone else.”
“He won’t.” Without any other explanation, Maria walked out of the library, presumably towards her room.
Joaquin and Manolo could only watch her go. They didn’t know what else to say. “Do you know who did this?” Joaquin asked Chuy. The pig gave a sad grunt and shook his head.
Manolo frowned to himself. There was something he was missing, something that should be obvious. He could feel it tickling the back of his brain. It was at the tip of his tongue but the word, or name, alluded him. Manolo trusted that Maria was telling the truth about the person not hurting anyone else. But that didn’t mean whoever did this wouldn’t hurt her again. “We need to watch over her.”
Joaquin responded with a solemn nod of his head. “You need to help too,” he told Chuy. “You’ll walk her to and from the orphanage and Manolo and I will walk with her whenever she leaves the house.” He shuddered at the thought of telling Maria this plan.
Surprising, and worrying, them, Maria was silent the morning after as Manolo and Joaquin told her what they intended to do. She simply shrugged and moved the eggs around on her plate.
Her attitude did not improve for the entire week that followed. There were no more incidents but Joaquin and Manolo were no closer at figuring out who had hurt Maria in the first place. Joaquin had the brigade do double shifts and he took to strolling the streets for most of the night. Manolo would train and perform for the town’s people as usual, but he searched the crowds for an unfamiliar or unfriendly face and found the usual people cheering him and the bull on. Even Chuy was walking through the town, sniffing here and there to catch a stranger’s scent to no avail. They did not try to press on Maria too much, each time they asked she became even quieter than usual. The last time, Joaquin had suggested that a new group of banditos had come to San Angel, Maria took her plate of barely eaten food and went to her room alone.
Now Maria was asleep and Joaquin and Manolo were in their room, their voices hushed even though they sound proofed the room months prior.
“What were you thinking?” Manolo asked Joaquin. “We need to be subtle about this.” He was sitting on their bed, watching Joaquin pace back and forth in front of him.
“I’m tired of being subtle, Manolo!” Joaquin groaned. “We need to find out who hurt Maria and we need to find out now!” He waved a hand towards the window and into the streets. “I can’t keep forcing my men to chase after a ghost. We can’t keep chasing after a ghost.” Joaquin had scarcely slept this past week, as well as Manolo. “That bull almost hurt you today.”
It was true, Manolo couldn’t deny it. As the week went on, his reflexes dulled and his steps started to become sloppy. This morning during a practice routine, he was almost impaled by the bull’s horns. Manolo would have been if the bull hadn’t yanked his head to the side at the last second during the charge. He still barreled into the matador and Manolo suffered a new bruise on his side as well as aching bones, but he was alive.
“Then what do you suggest we do?” Manolo asked, at his wits end. “Maria won’t tell us who hurt her and we can’t find the fucker!” He jumped off his bed, his fingers curled into fists.
Joaquin shook his head in despair, having no answer. “We can’t keep doing this.”
“Then what!?” Manolo yelled. He marched up to his boyfriend and waved a hand wildly at the window. “Someone hurt Maria! Someone might have wanted to kill her!”
That broke the dam inside Joaquin. “I know!” He roared back. Joaquin and Manolo weren’t ignorant, only someone who wanted to kill would have left such a mark on Maria’s neck. Something must have stopped the attempt, maybe a civilian happened to pass near them. If that was the case however, that civilian would have gone to the brigade or Joaquin himself. Maybe Maria fought back? Joaquin and Manolo had already dispelled that idea. There were no signs of struggle, no bruised knuckles if she punched or skin under her nails. Joaquin and Manolo were at a dead end. “I know Maria could have been killed,” he whispered, his shoulders deflating. He was the town’s hero, why couldn’t he protect his family? His eye stared imploringly at Manolo. “I don’t know what else we can do if Maria won’t talk to us.”
Manolo had no response to that. He pulled Joaquin into a tight hug. With a start, he realized that Joaquin’s shoulders were shaking and there was something wet dripping onto his neck where Joaquin buried his head. Manolo rubbed at Joaquin’s back, his own frustrated tears spilling out. “We’ll figure something out,” he said to both of them. His eyes widened when he saw his breath. When had it gotten so cold?
Joaquin must have felt it too. He pulled away from the embrace, his eye roaming throughout their room.
“Are you done?”
Manolo and Joaquin whirled around towards the voice. Xibalba was standing in the darkest corner of the room. The god took a step forward and the candles around the room snuffed out. He cast an eerie green glow but Manolo could not find himself to be frightened. There was something stiff and sluggish in the way Xibalba moved, like he didn’t have full control of his limbs. His wings were constantly twitching and a feather would fall every once in a while. Manolo felt a strange sense of pity for the god and a look to Joaquin showed that the hero felt the same.
“Why are you here?” Joaquin meant to make his voice demanding but it was a difficult task to accomplish with one of his cheek wet from his tears.
Still, Xibalba answered. “It’s my, it is La Muerte.” His voice was strained and gravely, like he was only gaining his voice back after losing it. “And Maria.” Xibalba’s eyes were slightly glazed over. “How is she?”
The question put the final pieces together. The marks on Maria’s neck and shoulder. They were made by very slim fingers. Manolo glanced at the hand that was clutching the purple staff. “You,” he whispered, too low for anyone to hear. Xibalba had found out about his wife’s and Maria’s relationship. He hurt Maria. He tried to kill Maria! “You,” Manolo said again, louder.
Joaquin seemed confused but he caught a flash of guilt in Xibalba’s eyes and his nod. He clenched his teeth and reached for his swords. “You-”
Whatever insult Joaquin was about to make was drowned out by Manolo’s bellow. “YOU!” Manolo snatched one of Joaquin’s swords from its scabbard and practically threw himself at Xibalba, Joaquin close behind. He managed to jab the sword at Xibalba’s neck but in his rage he was off target.
The sharp edge cut into Xibalba’s neck but it was little more than a graze. Green blood oozed out of the wound and when it touched the metal, it bubbled as the blood ate away at the steel. Xibalba snapped his fingers and the two men froze, Manolo in mid air, his arm thrust out and his mouth open into a snarl. Joaquin’s face was expressionless but his eye was feral with its hatred.
“Enough,” Xibalba said casually, flicking his wrist. Manolo and Joaquin were thrown to the back wall by an unseen force and were unable to move no matter how hard they struggled. Xibalba glanced down at where Manolo had dropped the sword during his push back. The bubbles spread through the metal and soon there was only a puddle of silvery green metal. He lifted a finger to wipe away the blood on his neck, the wound had already closed. “I did not come here to fight, fools.” He allowed the men to slump down on the ground, their backs still pressed against the wall. “I need your help.” It was obvious that Xibalba was loath to admit it.
“You bastard!” Joaquin yelled.
“I’ll kill you!” Manolo shouted.
Xibalba’s wings twitched behind him even more. “You may not have to.” His words gave Manolo and Joaquin pause and Xibalba was quick to talk in that moment of silence. “The Land of the Remembered is dying.” He waited a few seconds for the words to be processed in their heads. The fight went out of them soon enough. “La Muerte is neglecting her realm.”
“Why do you care?” Manolo asked, genuinely curious. From his perspective, Xibalba should be delighted that La Muerte is allowing her realm to fall into ruin.
“Balance,” Xibalba answered. He held up a hand and Manolo and Joaquin could see the fingers quiver uncontrollably. “The Land of the Remembered and the Land of the Forgotten are on a scale the likes you could not even begin to comprehend. If the two realms are not balanced, everything falls apart, including gods.”
Manolo and Joaquin shared a concerned look. They had the same thought: if a god like Xibalba was this effected, what about their families in the Land of the Remembered? “How can we fix this?” Manolo despised Xibalba but he was wise enough to know that he couldn’t let his feelings get in the way. If what he was saying was true, and he didn’t doubt it, then his family was in danger.
“La Muerte must be happy,” Xibalba looked as if he had to force the words out. “If Maria does that then so be it.”
“Wait,” Joaquin held his hands up like he could physically halt the conversation. “You want your wife to get back with Maria?”
Xibalba nodded although the pain was clear in his eyes. “Yes. La Muerte is happy with Maria so she needs her.” For a moment he looked almost human with his shoulders slumped and his hands gripping onto his staff like an old man to a cane. “I want her to be happy and if that’s with Maria instead,” he took a deep breath, “instead of me then so be it.”
Manolo and Joaquin could only stare at him for a few moments. Manolo glanced at the closed door and for an absurd instant he wondered how Maria and Chuy hadn’t heard them. “Do you have an idea?” he asked Xibalba.
“Yes.” Xibalba’s fingers nervously tapped on his staff. “I know how to get La Muerte to meet me at the tree outside San Angel. It’s, it’s where we first met.” He took a swallow to fruitlessly get rid of the lump in his throat. “You two will get Maria to go there tomorrow.”
The two men looked at the puddle that used to be one of Joaquin’s swords and nodded to the god. At once they were alone in their room. “How did we get ourselves into this mess?” Joaquin asked.
“I don’t know,” Manolo said. “But we have to try. For Maria.”
“For Maria,” Joaquin agreed.
