"You don’t remember what you said just now? About the blood of Christ and someone stealing his head?" I glanced up at the religious holo above the door. Aside from the clothes on her back, it was the only personal item she’d brought with her on the long journey from the Yucatán to Seattle. What was Mama G doing with a portrait of Jesus anyhow? I thought Catholicism was banned in Aztlan. The thing was creepy, with its puncture wounds and moving trickles of blood. No wonder it was giving Mama G waking nightmares.