by Ann Charles
“Because I made that cut.”
“So what?”
“Before you arrived in the catacomb, Gertrude told me that injuries from non-humans would heal very quickly.”
She let go of his arm, frowning at him. “Non-humans?”
“It’s a defense all Summoners have.” He squeezed the back of his neck. “I guess it’s what makes us so special.”
That and the ability to call forth unnatural creatures from the depths of the Maya Underworld.
She sucked air through her teeth. “This is crazy, Quint.”
“Welcome to my new altered reality.” He stood, draping his damp towel over his arm, shaving kit in hand. “Shall we go play show-and-tell with the others?”
“Let’s keep this between us.” She turned and led the way.
“You mean the bit about Gertrude?”
“And your scars.”
He matched his stride to hers. “What am I supposed to say if they ask me what I saw last night in my dreams?”
“Let me think about that. I’ll run the show in there. You sit next to me and listen unless I specifically ask you to explain something.”
“We can’t hide the truth about Gertrude.”
“We can until the federales come and take a look down in that catacomb.”
“The federales? Have you contacted them already?”
“Not yet, but I will after we finish our little meeting in the mess tent. I’ll have to let the crew in Chetumal know that I’m going to shut down the site early.”
“I take it this dig’s objectives are on hold for now?”
“Unfortunately. Dad and Fernando have been working on prepping the site for inactive status in case it came to that.” She frowned at him. “After talking to you, it has.”
“I’m sorry, Angélica.”
“It’s not your fault.”
What if it was? What if that beast had come at his unintentional bidding?
“We need to be careful for now so that our stories match,” she said more quietly as they neared the tents. “If Daisy or Maverick are interviewed by the federales and we all give conflicting stories, you and I could be even more on their radar as suspects tied to her disappearance.”
“You mean her death.”
She shushed him. “Trust me on this, Quint. I’ve dealt with the federales before. You don’t want to end up in a Mexican prison for a crime you didn’t commit.”
She had a good point. Mexican prisons weren’t known for their hospitality and soft beds. “My lips are sealed.”
They stopped by their tent long enough for him to drop off his shower things.
“You ready?” she whispered outside of the mess tent.
Not even close. “Following your lead.”
Maverick and Daisy looked up at him as he stepped inside.
Pedro was pouring coffee. “Hey, look who’s showed up for the fiesta.”
“Rip Van Winkle finally stirred,” Daisy said, her smile warm.
Maverick searched Quint’s face as he sat down at the table with them. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Hungover,” Quint answered truthfully, thanking Pedro when he sat a cup of coffee and a plate with a breakfast burrito on it down in front of him. “How about you?”
His partner in the scribehood shook his head. “That was some messed-up, crazy-ass shit last night.”
Quint grimaced. Maverick didn’t know the half of it.
Or did he?
* * *
Angélica sat cross-legged on the ground next to Rover, who was busy snarfling the tortillas she’d brought him after supper. She stroked the javelina’s bristly back, gazing out across the tree canopy at the rose-colored sky. The coo-cooing of mourning doves soothed her as much as the grunting troublemaker now sniffing around her hands for more treats.
Chuckling under her breath, she pulled another tortilla from her pocket, handing it over to the nosey javelina.
She’d escaped from the mess tent, needing a moment to breathe out in the open jungle, to soak up the smells of the grass and dirt, to feel the earth solid and sturdy beneath her … because her world was about to get really shaken up and messy.
A search team of Maya locals and nearby reserve federal agents would arrive tomorrow. Teodoro had used the satellite phone to contact the biosphere reserve next door, explaining that one of the dig site crew members had apparently wandered away during the night. The reserve agent he spoke to wasn’t surprised at the news. He told Teodoro that many hikers tended to overestimate their ability to trek alone through the jungle, not taking into account that this forest teemed with many dangers from both plants and animals. He also mentioned the few but perilous, inescapable cenote holes hidden throughout the reserve by deadfall. They’d lost many hikers from either falling into a cenote and dying upon impact with the water far below or drowning when they couldn’t climb back to the surface.
After hanging up, Teodoro and Angélica had agreed if Gertrude wasn’t found after the search team spent a few days scouring the jungle and dig site, it would be time to call in the federales. They both knew the chances of Gertrude being alive and well somewhere were very slim, but there were processes to follow. Processes that didn’t take into account that a supernatural Maya world could actually exist. That was an idea Angélica was still struggling to swallow herself.
In the meantime, Angélica planned on going through the paperwork Gertrude had submitted when she’d signed up with INAH to find out who the girl’s emergency contact was. Until all parties were satisfied everything had been done to find Gertrude, Angélica would have to play along without giving away anything that had happened in that catacomb, because at this time—to her knowledge—none of the procedures about losing an employee detailed what to do if decapitation by an Olmec were-jaguar god was the method of death. Nor was there documentation that explained why a body would shrivel and turn brown immediately after decapitation. On both those fronts, Angélica was flying blind.
She scratched Rover under his collar—one of his favorite spots. He lowered to the ground and rolled toward her, giving her access to another favorite—his belly.
Learning that Quint shared the same memories about Gertrude and the were-jaguar had doubled Angélica’s heartburn. Until she’d spoken with him at the showers this morning, she’d held onto the hope that she’d been delusional last night. That she’d been overtired, and after breathing in Teodoro’s incense, she had made up the conversation with her mother along with everything after. That she’d be able to bring back the rest of the crew and finish as planned.
It was going to take some time for her to accept all of the events as real and make peace with it. Especially the story Quint had told her about the site’s history. A story he swore Marianne told him before he’d joined Gertrude in the mine.
How was that even possible?
Even more impossible to believe was Quint and his bizarre ability to heal almost instantly. Her bruises from last night were still purplish blue and heading toward green, whereas the only evidence left of his bite wound were several small faded scars. Was there some truth to Gertrude’s tall tale about who Quint really was? How could … why didn’t … what the hell? Angélica shook her head, letting that one go for now.
Daisy and Maverick’s accounts of last night’s events hadn’t helped make any more sense of the mayhem. This morning, after Quint had joined Angélica, Daisy, Maverick, and Pedro in the mess tent, she had asked Daisy to tell them what she remembered from the night prior.
Daisy had prefaced her reply with the declaration that her memory was sketchy from when Maverick had collapsed until she’d woken up in her cot this morning. Several times during the night, she claimed to have had blackout periods. When she’d wake up from one, she’d find herself either holding something she had no recollection of picking up or standing in a different location from her previous waking moment.
The instances when Angélica suspected Daisy wasn’t really herself were these blacko
ut periods. For example, Daisy had no memory of leading Angélica to the mine. Nor did she recall showing Maverick where to find Angélica and Quint in the Chakmo’ol Temple.
After asking Daisy a few more questions regarding what she knew about Gertrude’s private life and family, Angélica had tried to smooth over the previous night by explaining that such chaotic and odd behavior was often experienced during Teodoro’s ceremonies. Pedro helped her out, telling Daisy a couple of stories about Juan’s wacky reactions to different drinks in the past. When he finished, Angélica had thanked Daisy and asked her to go pack up Jane’s and Bernard’s belongings.
That had left Maverick in the spotlight.
Quint stayed quiet while Angélica asked Maverick questions. He appeared to be focused on his breakfast burrito, but she caught him pausing mid-chew several times while Maverick spilled what he could recall after drinking from the gourd.
Maverick’s tale had its own dark twist. He told them his vision had started with him running through the jungle while being chased by a huge jaguar. Then he stood at the base of the Chakmo’ol Temple’s steps. His next memory was of being led up those steps while his wrists were tied with rope. He was laid out on an altar stone at the top and held in place by several men whose faces were painted to look like angry monkeys. A shaman or priest wearing the head and pelt of a jaguar then chanted strange words over him, lifted a sharp blade made of obsidian, and jammed it into Maverick’s heart. Throughout the whole nightmare, he fought to escape, gasping for air, kicking and struggling. In the end, they cut out his heart as he watched, taking his final breaths in between screams of pain. After that, the world had gone dark.
Then he woke up next to the fire secured to the stretcher with Daisy leaning over him. That was when she’d freed him, saying they needed to take a rope to the Chakmo’ol Temple.
When Angélica asked Maverick if he was sure there wasn’t more to tell, anything that might have happened after he was sacrificed, he shook his head slowly. “It was all pretty horrific from beginning to end.”
The same could be said of Quint’s night, which she’d found out later back in their tent. He’d filled her in on everything he could remember, starting with the part about her mom, adding in bits about Gertrude, and ending with what she already knew about the were-jaguar. Even though she’d witnessed the last part in person, his whole story was hard to swallow, especially the part about her mom. Could she really be here with them?
Quint’s story explained why Angélica hadn’t been able to find that damned stela with the warning glyphs her mom had written about in her notebook, solving that mystery finally. It also answered Angélica’s questions about the site’s multi-layered history as evident from the artifacts they’d found. But Angélica couldn’t wrap her mind around the colorful idea of ghosts and supernatural beings existing. They didn’t fit in her black and white world.
“Dr. García,” Teodoro said, pulling her away from her bewildering thoughts. He joined her and Rover in the grass and scratched the javelina behind the ear. “We’ll need more supplies for the search team,” he spoke in Spanish, their common ground.
After the mess tent meeting, Angélica had talked to Pedro about flying back to Chetumal in the morning to drop off Jane’s and Bernard’s things and pick up more food and gasoline. “Daisy said she’d like to stay and help María make tortillas and serve food to those who come to search.”
Teodoro nodded. “María would be thankful for her help.”
“Maverick is staying, too. He is going to join one of the search teams.”
“He is a good tracker. I will keep him close to me to make sure he stays safe.”
“Gracias.” She stared toward the eastern horizon, watching the rose-colored sky darken to violet. “Fernando and I will work on documenting the current status of the remaining dig site structures while Dad maps the buildings. We should be finished here in a week or so. When the search team wraps up, you and María can fly home.”
He frowned. “What are you going to do about your xtaabay?”
Angélica did a double take. Xtaabay? That was the Mayan word for … “My demon?”
“Sí, Señor Parker. He is from Xibalba.”
“You think Quint is a demon from the Maya Underworld?”
Teodoro nodded. “Last night during the ceremony, he called my spirit to the limestone mine. I was given no choice. That is why I collapsed. It was not in my plans for how the ritual would end.”
None of last night’s events were part of her plans.
“He also called for the jaguar demon to come.”
Summoner. She thought of the name Gertrude had used for Quint.
“He has more strength than he knows,” Teodoro continued.
“A demon? From the Underworld?” she shook her head in disbelief. “Quint would never harm anyone on purpose.” His penchant was more along the lines of covering mud puddles with his coat. “He’s a protector.”
Teodoro squeezed her shoulder. “There are many demons in Xibalba. Some are very bad. Others are good. The shaman at my childhood village would tell stories about bad demons. He said that when a bad demon escaped from Xibalba into the human world, a good demon would be sent by one of the death gods to capture or kill the tormentor. I believe Señor Parker comes from a long line of good demons who walk amongst us, sent to protect.”
Angélica’s jaw dropped. Teodoro could have reached out and pushed her over with a single finger. “A good demon?”
He squeezed her shoulder again. “Mating with him would be beneficial to the Maya people. His line needs to continue for our safety.” After a final pat on Rover’s head, Teodoro left her side.
A squawk burst from her chest. “Mating with a demon is a good thing now?” she asked Rover.
He rolled onto his belly, rested his snout on her knee, and sighed.
Criminy! This was too bizarre. Had her father put Teodoro up to this in his eternal quest for grandchildren? Her eyes narrowed. That was it. It made complete sense. Pedro was probably in on it. The two were always playing practical jokes.
But neither of them knew about the were-jaguar. She’d been careful to keep that between Teodoro and herself during the fallout from last night.
While the sky went from violet to midnight blue, Angélica sat with Rover, listening to the sounds of the jungle nightlife gearing up as she tried to make sense of what she’d experienced last night. In the light of day, she struggled with every part of what had happened, but as darkness fell, the area between logic and what she’d witnessed grew murky.
“Gatita!” her father called out in the twilight, bringing her out of her deliberation of reality versus temporary insanity.
She pushed Rover aside and stood, stretching. “Over here,” she shouted. “I’m visiting Rover.”
Her father’s mumbles about “that dang boot-eating pig” traveled quicker than he and his cane did.
“You’re going to hurt his feelings, you know,” she told her dad, putting Rover back inside the safety pen Teodoro had constructed for him. “Can’t you see he loves you so much he wants to eat your boot to get closer to you?”
Juan scoffed. “That’s not love. It’s an invitation to war.”
“Whatever.” She closed and latched the gate. “Did you put Teodoro up to trying to convince me to have kids with Quint?”
“No, but that’s a great idea. We should form a pro-Quint team, hit you from multiple angles.”
She crossed her arms. “You’d better not talk about this in front of Quint.”
“How else is the boy supposed to know his role in life as I see it if I don’t talk about it?”
She rolled her eyes. “There’s a little more to having kids than the creation part, you know.” Like taking into consideration that Teodoro believed Quint was some kind of emigrant from the Underworld, sent by the gods of death. Demon babies were notoriously difficult to raise. Things rarely ended well for the parents, let alone the rest of the world.
“I’m w
ell aware of the heartache and stress children can cause, gatita,” he said, chuckling as he put his arm around her shoulder. He let out an “Oof” when she playfully jabbed him in the ribs and released her. “Daisy says you’re going to let her stay for a few more days.”
“María can use her help when the search team gets here.” Angélica winced, preparing for his argument against letting the outsider stay.
“I’m glad she’s staying.”
“You are?”
“I like Daisy. There’s something about her that makes me smile.”
Angélica glanced at him from under her lashes, remembering her mom’s words about Daisy being an open channel. If there were such things as ghosts, and if the ghost of her mother was using Daisy as a megaphone, then it was no surprise Juan was drawn to the woman. Although to be fair, Daisy was warm and funny, and she loved all things Maya. Her father could be drawn to those elements of her personality alone.
For now, Angélica decided not to tell her dad about her experience with her mom’s ghost. She couldn’t think of any good that might come from that news.
She also wasn’t going to bring up much of anything that happened last night to anyone other than Teodoro and Quint. She’d only told Pedro about hearing her mom’s voice come from Daisy because he’d twisted her arm this morning—literally. The brat had noticed her tension when it came to talking about last night. He’d twisted her arm behind her back until she’d cried “Uncle” and tossed him a bone, telling him the bit about hearing from her mother. Being as superstitious as her father, Pedro wasn’t surprised at her admission, especially because he’d already formed his theory about her mom haunting Daisy.
“Have you talked to your boss at INAH?” her father interrupted her thoughts.
“I left a message.”
It had been a tough phone call to make, what with her career on the line due to Gertrude’s disappearance. She’d told INAH the situation and recommended they shut down the site a bit earlier than planned. She hoped the artifacts they found and the information, pictures, and data gathered over the last month would be enough to satisfy INAH for now.
