Silvia Moreno-Garcia

Do not sell him your soul and you’ll be fine,” he said laconically.

“That sounds simple,” she replied, with a tad of a bite to the words.

“It is,” he said, either not registering the sarcasm in her voice or not caring.

for it is difficult to be wise and young.

Heaven and hell both manifest in Mexico City, coexisting side by side.

for the reason for that lesson, because symmetry in everything is most pleasing, and since it seems Casiopea is poised to be Hun-Kamé’s champion, you will be mine. Cousin against cousin, brother against brother. I hope you can appreciate the symbolism

“It is easy to be unafraid if you are immortal,” she said. “Not if you are human.”

“Fear is generous and does not exclusively lodge in the hearts of mortals.”

Words are seeds, Casiopea. With words you embroider narratives, and the narratives breed myths, and there’s power in the myth. Yes, the things you name have power,” he said.

The things you name do grow in power, but others that are not ever whispered claw at one’s heart anyway, rip it to shreds even if a syllable does not escape the lips.

Why would you take me with you?” she asked.

“For a lark. Also, I can’t read a map to save my life. Can you read maps?”

“Of course,” she said. She had spent enough time contemplating Grandfather’s atlas and tracing routes with her fingertips.

“Good. I have no sense of direction.”

…want to go to New Orleans or Quebec?”

“I don’t know if I want to make up my mind now,” Casiopea said.

“Take it from me. Now is always the answer. Besides, do you have anything better to do? Mope around for a decade or two?”

Should you do that? Drive with one hand?” she asked, alarmed.

“I’m a demon, remember? Don’t worry,” he replied, tipping his head back.

“I know you’re a demon. That’s why I’m worried.”

“Oh, small potatoes. I won’t steal your soul, promise.”