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Tlaloci motioned for his god to follow him a little away from me. I think they were whispering things they didn’t want me to know. Why did it matter if I overheard them or not? What could they possibly be talking about that they needed to hide from me? They’d cheerfully told me they were going to kill me. It wasn’t like they were trying to protect my feelings. So what was going on?

The Red Woman’s Husband unfastened the necklace of tongues and handed it to the priest. He took off the steel breastplate and one of the skin guys came and took it from him, kneeling in front of him. He took off the skirt of intestines, and another skin guy hurried forward to take it. The “god” never asked them to help him, just sort of assumed that someone would be there to help. He was almost perfectly arrogant, but his ego was fragile, an arrogance that had never been tested in the outer world. He was like one of those fairy tale princesses that had been raised in an ivory tower with only people who told them how beautiful they were, how smart, how good, until the witch comes and lays her curse. Maybe I could be the witch, though truthfully I wouldn’t have known a curse if it bit me on the butt. Maybe I could be the prince that comes and takes him away. At this point I wasn’t picky.

The “god” was wearing a maxilatl like everyone at the Obsidian Butterfly had worn. But this one was black with a heavy fringe of golden thread hanging in front. He wore black sandals set with turquoise, which strangely I hadn’t noticed when he was wearing all the severed body parts. Funny how you don’t concentrate on the small details when you’re scared.

He walked towards me, confidence showing in every step. The maxilatl left his lower body bare on the sides from waist to sandals. It was a nice length of thigh, but you know what they say. Pretty is as pretty does.

“Is this better?” he asked, his voice light, almost teasing, his eyes back to that peaceful contentment, as if things had always gone his way, and he didn’t see why now should be different. Itzpapalotl had been arrogant, but not peaceful.

“Much better,” I said. I thought about remarking on how much I liked seeing nearly naked men, but didn’t want to take it to such an obviously sexual tone unless I ran out of other options.

He came to stand beside me again. The eyelids were still on his arms, blinking at me like the winking lights of fireflies, random, and alien.

“It’s a big improvement,” I said. “You can’t do anything about the eyes on your arms, can you?”

He frowned again. “They are part of me.”

“I see that,” I said.

“But they are nothing to fear.”

“If you say so.”

“I want you to know me, Anita.” It was the first time he’d used my name. I hadn’t thought he knew it, until then. Of course, Paulina had known who I was. The Red Woman’s Husband reached down to my right wrist, and he undid that little piece of metal that held the manacle closed.

The skinned man who was still standing on the other side of the stone took a step forward, hand on the knife at his belt. I froze, not sure if I was really going to be allowed to have my hand free.

The “god” lifted my hand free of the chain and laid his lips on the back of my hand. “Touch them. See that they are nothing to fear.” It took me a second to figure out that “them” meant the eyes on his arms. I was relieved to realize he didn’t mean anything below his waist, and so not happy that he meant all those eyes. I did not want to touch them. I wanted nothing to do with anything that had been carved off of a dead body, especially while that person had still been alive.

He held my wrist and tried to bring my hand over his arm, but I kept a tight fist. “Touch them, Anita, gently. They will not harm you.” He began to pry my fingers open, and I couldn’t fight him. I could have fought harder, maybe make him break a finger or two, to persuade me, but in the end I was going to lose this wrestling match, so I just let him spread my hand open. I didn’t want anything broken if I could avoid