Chapter 8
TEQUILA AND THE UNDEAD
Artur
I had never been to Frida’s before. The establishment represented a part of the community where I had never been welcomed, and not wanting to stir up any issues or potential confrontations, I had kept my distance.
Of course, everyone knew about the place. How could you not?
The owner had been dead for years, yet he still sat in his chair, at his table, surrounded by patrons who had come and gone over the years. In fact, the bar served the largest number of undead customers – or so rumor had it – than any other watering hole in Puerto Vallarta.
It was said the dead came to whisper secrets and spread gossip.
Not unlike any of its patrons who were still alive, but when the dead whispered secrets, everyone seemed to pay more attention.
Like the dead knew something we didn’t.
I mean, it was possible. After all, they saw things we didn’t. They’ve passed through the veil and then been violently ripped back through it. That’s bound to have an impact.
Cesar tugged on my sleeve. “Come, Artur. You’re hesitating.”
“Yeah, there are reasons,” I said quietly, leaning close to the respected and well-known necromancer.
“They are wrong, and you’re making too much of it. Let’s grab a table.” Cesar pulled me into the bar, and as soon as I entered, the entire room went silent.
Dead quiet.
And yes, dead quiet is a thing, at least for those who are reanimated shortly after death.
The kind of necromancy and bone magic Cesar performed for Dia de Muertos was different.
Amazingly, once a fresh corpse was brought back to life, the shell stopped decomposing.
It turned into something paranormal, unreal, and the skin looked like it. The eyes too.
The hush made me instantly nervous, and Cesar picked up on it.
“Cesar!” A man at the head of one table stood with his arms outstretched.
“Where have you been? Emiliano, house tequila for —” The man stopped mid-sentence, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d lost his train of thought.
“—seven. Cesar and his companion, my friends and I, and that sad cretin in the corner.” The animated corpse who had shot out commands pointed to another patron in the corner who clearly was having a bad afternoon.
The bartender, who also had that same plasticine skin tone and shiny, glassy eyes that reflected ambient light in the weirdest way, poured shot glasses with clear liquid that promised a distinctive burn as it coated the esophagus.
As the shots were distributed, the man who had ordered them raised his glass. “To old friends, present or long gone, to the dead who still walk with us, the bitches who still live, and new acquaintances who will become old friends.”
The shots went back faster than lightning flashes in a tropical storm.
I hadn’t drunk mine, and Cesar elbowed me in the ribs.
I pounded it back, waiting for the inevitable revulsive taste and the fire that would chase the liquid down to my stomach.
But it didn’t come. Instead, a faint taste of caramel and pepper, laced with honey and a touch of lemon, washed through my mouth. There was a pleasant warming, no fiery hellish burn.
“Haha!” The old man laughed. “Good tequila, huh?”
“It was… delicious,” I smiled.
“Another, Emiliano!”
“Oh, gods, no—I’ll be drunk,” I argued.
“Nah, just a good afternoon buzz.” The old man winked. “My name is Tom.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m the owner of Fridas. Welcome to my house. You are welcome here, Artur Beaulieu.”
“You know who I am?” Heat flushed my cheeks.
“My son, everyone knows who you are.” Tom winked at me. “You’re a handsome fucker, but you keep your magic tucked inside. Don’t need no additional chaos let loose in here. We get enough as it is without any hoodoo.
“I’ve heard grumbles of your troubles and your wayward magic. That’s no matter in my bar. No spell casting though. Do that and you’re always welcome here, and if there are no seats available, there’s always my lap.”
“Tom!” Cesar chuckled.
“What? I was a stunner in my day. Old habits die hard, or in my case, just linger.”
“Don’t ever change,” Cesar laughed.
An orange-tinged imp with stringy black hair scampered across the bar, collecting the used shot glasses. He stayed far away from Tom. Another staff passed out the second round, to which only Tom, Cesar, and I were recipients.
“I hear there were explosions at your place earlier,” Tom stated bluntly.
“My gods, Tom. Nothing gets past you.”
“Well, when you’ve been around as long as I have, you tend to develop networks of spies. And the birdies tend to tell me things they shouldn’t.” He glanced over at his table and the gentlemen sitting around it. “Isn’t that right, Mike?”
“Right!”
“Mike tells me everything. Probably some things he shouldn’t. Now come over here, sit.” Tom directed us to a table near his dedicated spot in his bar. “I’m going to join you. I’ve heard things. I need to know if they are true.”
“We’re waiting for a friend,” Cesar said, glancing around.
“She’s not here yet. About a couple blocks away.” Tom winked again.
“You, old man, are treachery incarnate,” Cesar giggled.
“Spies and little birdies.” Tom smiled a yellow, toothy grin.
Within moments, Elena graced the doorway, spotted us, and joined our table. Tom signaled Emiliano to bring more tequila. The same imp scowled as he cleaned up round two of the shot glasses, then lumbered back to the bar as Mike delivered round three.
Tom pounded his back.
Cesar followed. “Come on, Elena, you need to catch up.”
“This is not good for me, and you know that.” She frowned at Cesar but tossed the smooth, white-fire liquid back.
I drank my third shot in ten minutes and already felt its effects. I swore my teeth had gone numb.
Cesar ordered a round of beers; at least that was more civilized.
“Okay, Cesar, all parties are accounted for and sufficiently liquored to tell the truth. What the fuck is going on?” Tom squinted as the eerie light in his eyes refracted in a way that made him look soulless.
“Okay, here it is. Everyone ready?” Cesar glanced around the table; he had the rapt attention of all. “Luana Hurtado has hired me to reanimate Mistress Magdalena for Dia de Muertos.”
Elena’s eyes nearly fell out of her head as her jaw slackened. Tom whistled.
“Mistress Magdalena? But she’s been gone for decades,” Elena stated the obvious.
“Yeah, well, I suggested that perhaps that wasn’t the Hurtados’ best selection, but she was adamant. Of course, with reanimating the dead, you need a memory anchor.”
Tom nodded and thumped his chest, “Got mine.”
Cesar smiled, “So I went to the night market in hopes of finding something suitable, and that’s when I stumbled onto Artur’s table.
Within minutes, he saved me from a roving pack of teens intent on cleaning out anything in their path.
Needless to say, I had Luana’s first installment still on me.
” Cesar looked at me and smiled. “A gesture I still haven’t repaid in full. ”
“No repayment needed,” I said, returning Cesar’s knowing smile.
“Ugh, you two,” Elena choked out.
“I like where this is going,” Tom said, glancing between Cesar and me.
“I bought a black tourmaline from Artur, thinking it might make a good memory anchor. But he had a visitor that night, requesting the stone back.” Cesar continued his recollection of recent events.
“The wight,” Tom said, no emotion crossing his face. “You do know who it is, yes?”
“You know all this already, don’t you?” Cesar cocked an eyebrow.
“Ha. Most of it. Keep going,” Tom begged, then took a sip of his drink. Oddly, no beer sat in front of him, just us, and I wasn’t sure where his high ball had come from.
“Yes, Artur had a most unusual and deadly visitor, one who is making a reappearance tonight. We need to give him what he wants.” Cesar nudged me until I clued in to what he wanted. I fished the stone out from my pocket.
But before I could lay it on the table, Tom placed his hand over top of mine. “Not here. Absolutely not. I can feel the taint, and I’m shocked you can’t.” Tom’s dead eyes glared at Cesar, then he shifted his focus to me. “You had this?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered, afraid of not complying with anything the owner of this establishment asked of me.
“You got it from where?”
“A box found near my doorstep.”
“Hmm. My dear boy, you’ve been set up.” Tom looked at me and Cesar. “You two are being tested by the Hurtados, or steered on a selected path. Nothing good will come of that. What happened next?”
“Artur came to find me and warn me that the wight was after the stone I had purchased from him.” Cesar took my hand and squeezed it. “And then we were testing the rock at my place when Artur acted on instinct, which caused an explosive reaction.”
Tom squinted at me. “I’m highly suspicious, boy. What did you do and why?”
“Well, I tossed the rock to the ground, and as I suspected, it reacted to save itself and punish the attempt to shatter it. White light erupted from the stone, but my reflexive reaction only made things worse.”
“Explain,” Tom demanded.
“I don’t know, exactly. I threw my hands out, and the air in front of me distorted until it merged with the light and hurtled Cesar into the wall—but I had visions.”
“Visions?” Tom and Elena said at the same time.
Elena took control of the conversation. “This is my area of expertise, Tom.” She laid a hand on top of the old man’s, but as soon as she touched the dead flesh, she jerked away. “Tell me, exactly what did you see?”
“Three things. A whole bunch of dead crawling out from the main cemetery., A bride in black dancing with a very handsome man, also dressed in black, but oddly, I knew his name: Efraim. The two danced together, but what should have been beautiful seemed eerie, creepy. It sent chills down my spine. And then I saw Cesar, in a mob of panicked people. There was blood everywhere, but he was trying to save people by ripping the memory anchors out from the undead.”