The Copper Egg

by Catherine Friend

  Nancho ducked his head, as if caught doing something wrong. “You hear the voices of the dead. Everyone is excited to meet you. They are wondering…” He shot her an apologetic look. “They are wondering if you will hear the voice of Mardonio tonight.”

  “Nancho, I’m so sorry, but it never worked that way.”

  “That’s okay. They are still glad you are here.”

  The room quickly heated up from all the bodies. The crowd overflowed into the kitchen, hallway, and out the front door. Claire bent her head during the prayers, and the many “amens.” When the Catholic rituals were done, Nancho led her to a chair, where his family joined them. Carmen and the children sat on the floor as all the chairs were taken. Then a woman passed through the packed room with a huge basket of coca leaves. Claire watched as the others each took a handful of leaves, stuffed them into their mouths, and began to chew.

  The Incas had used coca leaves to fortify themselves during long days of hard work. Today, the natives did the same, as well as to combat altitude sickness in the mountains and to regulate blood pressure. She knew all this, but had never actually tried coca. It wasn’t cocaine—the leaves needed to be processed to become the drug, but she was still nervous.

  Claire took a few leaves, smiling at the woman with the basket, then popped them into her mouth and began to chew. It tasted like she was, well, chewing leaves. Then a man began circulating the room pouring a clear liquid into a communal shot glass. When it was Claire’s turn, she had no choice but to accept the glass and toss back the liquid. She coughed as her eyes watered. The short, stocky man grinned and served Nancho.

  “Cana andino,” Nancho said. Moonshine.

  “Very good,” Claire rasped. Nancho explained that they believe the soul of the deceased was present at the vuelario and might grab on to someone and upset them. The coca and cana were both meant to protect the visitors from this happening. It also helped that most of the people in the room believed that if Mardonio’s soul was going to latch on to anyone, it would be Claire.

  The multiple conversations around her all concerned Mardonio’s death. From the bits she picked up, many believed that Higuchi murdered Mardonio to get back at a business rival. A shiver ran through her. Not to make everything all about her, but Mardonio had made ten successful trips before this one. And now, when Higuchi was lashing out at Claire, the poor boy—connected to her through Nancho—was killed. She hoped it was a coincidence, but then scoffed at her own naiveté.

  Claire began to feel lightheaded from the moonshine. To anchor herself, she clutched the copper egg in her pocket, immediately regretting it.

  Ixchel’s heart ached with deep sadness as she leaned over her uncle. He lay on his pallet, coughing so hard Ixchel could feel it through her feet on the floor. Uncle was smaller now, mostly bone as he wasted away from sickness. “You still have the egg?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  Uncle coughed harshly.

  “Uncle, please save your breath.”

  “Your father died last year.”

  Ixchel gasped.

  “We did not want to tell you, since you have such hope that he will come one day. He couldn’t, you know. They would have followed him. That was why he made the egg for you. He said the egg will save you.”

  “From what, Uncle? I do not understand.”

  Uncle and Auntie nodded to each other. “It is time,” he said. They explained that Ixchel was to be sacrificed at age five when King Chaco supposedly died from a terrible illness. Atl hid her in a basket and fled. They walked to the city where Uncle and Auntie lived.

  But Chaco did not die, and administrators were furious that Ixchel was gone. One of them vowed he would find her and make sure, when the time came, that she was sacrificed. Atl was assigned to build Chaco’s great tomb. Not only were his skills in adobe, metalworking, and construction beyond all others, but this way the administrator could keep watch over Atl. This was why Atl never came to visit Ixchel. He could not risk her discovery.

  Auntie touched Ixchel’s arm. “Chaco is truly dead this time. That administrator was here before. He will come looking for you.”

  Uncle grabbed her arm, weak as a child. “You must leave.”

  “But I cannot. You are very ill.”

  “I’m dying. Nothing you can do about that. You must find a place in which to disappear.”

  Ixchel clung to Auntie. “I will go to—”

  “Do not tell us or that evil administrator may force the truth from our lips. Go, now!”

  Ixchel nodded. Tears streamed down her face and burned her eyes. She put on some of Uncle’s clothes. She tucked her hair into the neck of the shirt. She would go to Cualli and Tochi. They loved her. They would hide her. All she had to do was get inside their compound, which had only one, well-guarded entrance.

  “Mrs. Claire? Mrs. Claire?”

  When Claire opened her eyes, everyone in the room was staring at her. A few of the older women made the sign of the cross. She shook her head, still groggy. Where the hell did Ixchel live? She wasn’t in King Chaco’s city, but somewhere else. Claire tried to shake off her disappointment for Nancho’s sake. “Oh, sorry. I’m fine. Just zoned out for a second.”

  They all nodded politely, but their faces said Mardonio had you in his clutches.

  And then the event was over. They all stood and began filing out into the yard. As a space cleared in front of her, Claire looked across it and found herself staring straight at the native man, wearing a black shirt, who’d been following her. She began weaving her way toward him, but he saw her coming and disappeared around the corner of a shed. She moved fast, apologizing as she bumped into mourners.

  Two men stood alongside the shed. Claire ignored the guy in the white T-shirt, instead grabbing the black shirt and swinging him back against the wall. “You!” she growled.

  She stopped. This wasn’t the guy. This man was built just like him, and his face was almost as chiseled as the other man’s, but it wasn’t him.

  She let go of the man’s shirt. “I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

  He smirked. “I can be anyone you want me to be, baby.”

  “I don’t suppose you have a twin brother,” she said weakly.

  “No, but I have way too many cousins.” He shifted his stance, hands on his hips. “But I am the best of all of them. I can show you—”

  “Mrs. Claire, please, no.” Nancho plucked nervously at her sleeve. “It is time for us to go.”

  Ignoring the man’s leer, Claire turned and followed Nancho toward the car.

  “Please, Mrs. Claire, you must stay away from Nopa. He is bad news. Very bad news.”

  “Let me guess. He’s one of your thousands of cousins.”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  She asked about the other man, the one who’d disappeared. “Is he one of your cousins as well?”

  “I do not know who you speak of. Come, children, into the car.”

  Claire followed, but felt sad. For the first time, Claire’s trusted driver and friend had lied to her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Sochi

  Tuesday, April 4

  Sochi woke with an anguished gasp to find herself twisted up in her damp sheets like a mummy, cupping herself. One touch and she finished what her dream had started, moaning into her pillow.

  Gods, what a nightmare. First, Claire came back to Peru, invading her space. Now she was invading her dreams. Damn it. Sochi sat up, rubbing her forehead to erase the stupid dream. Life was cruel. She stood but was so swollen that she took two steps and climaxed again. She bent over, palms on her knees. “Claire Adams,” she muttered. “May you roast in hell.”

  Two more steps and she cried out again, this time collapsing against the wall and sliding down to the floor. Her cheek rested against the floor tile, cool against her skin. She closed her eyes. Quite a life you’ve carved out for yourself, Xochiquetzal Castillo.

  She’d had a few sexual dreams starring Claire in
the past, but since that day when they’d nearly ran into each other in the dark church hallway, she almost hated going to bed at night because that was when Claire had begun stalking her dreams.

  She stared at the opposite wall. Sochi loved her compact adobe home with its tiny inner courtyard, uneven tile floors, and brightly painted walls. A reproduction of her favorite artifact—a Tumi knife—hung there, something many Peruvians had in their homes for good luck. Her knife handle was a stout man with a large head wearing a headdress; the blade ended in a sharp semicircle. While the Mochi and Chimú had used Tumi knives, it had been the Paracas who’d used the knife to treat diseases of the brain. They’d cut the cranium with the Tumi knife, let out blood to relieve the “disturbance,” then cover the hole with a gold plate. For Sochi, the Tumi knife represented the strange mix of smart and gruesome that characterized Peru’s early cultures.

  After ten minutes on the floor, Sochi finally rose and staggered into the shower. She would give anything to be able to travel six years back in time and make sure she’d never laid eyes on Claire. They’d spent three years together and three years apart. Three years of heaven. Three years of hell. Since Claire had returned, Sochi was finding it harder to remember the hell.

  When Claire appeared in Sochi’s office later that morning, Sochi couldn’t help the hot flush that crept up her neck and spread across her face. Thank the gods people’s dreams weren’t available for public viewing.

  “Could we talk?”

  When Sochi nodded, Claire closed the door behind her and took the chair nearest Sochi’s desk. “Because you have, not surprisingly, some trust issues with me, I wanted to tell you everything that’s going on with me. I no longer hear voices.”

  “I’m sure that’s a relief.”

  “It is. But I’d counted on the voices to help me find King Chaco’s tomb, so fifteen days ago Hudson and I took San Pedro again.”

  Sochi felt the beginnings of a headache taking up residence behind her eyes. She massaged her eyebrows. “Interesting choice.”

  “I know. But it worked, sort of. I no longer hear voices, but I’m having visions.”

  Attentive now, Sochi listened as Claire explained all about the eggs—how they were sent to her, the visions with the copper egg, her attempts to gather clues from the visions, how she was trying to see the Carina Nebula, how people were following her.

  “May I see the eggs?” Sochi asked.

  Claire was clearly reluctant, but she handed them over. Sochi rolled them around in her palm. “What are these shallower scratches?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Sochi scowled. “Claire, these are ancient artifacts. They belong in a museum, not in the pocket of a nearly-worn out pair of cargo pants.”

  “I was hoping no one would notice the state of my pants.”

  Sochi flushed again, uncomfortable to be talking about Claire’s pants.

  “I’m aware these eggs are valuable,” Claire continued, “and that they’re not mine. I’m being very careful with them. But please don’t ask me to turn them over to the CNTP, at least not yet. I just wanted you to know everything, in the interest of building trust, before you heard the story from someone else.”

  Sochi knew Claire wanted her to feel safer around her, but she wondered—despite the erotic dream this morning—if the scar tissue from their breakup was just too thick to ever disappear.

  Sochi briefly considered turning hard-core CNTP-enforcer and taking possession of the eggs, but what would be the point? Claire wasn’t the type to steal. Sochi’s gut clenched. She, of course, was. If Claire were ever to find out that Sochi was La Bruja, that would be the end of their fragile trust.

  “One more thing,” Claire said. “The other day you showed me a photo of you and a woman at Huanchaco Beach.”

  Sochi nodded. Was Claire jealous?

  “That woman is one of the people who’ve been following me.”

  Sochi’s mouth fell open. “What? That’s crazy. Maria Menendez is a regional director for the CNTP. She doesn’t have time to follow you around.” But then she remembered Maria had been vague about when she might be returning to Lima.

  Claire shrugged. “She’s the woman.” She told her about having to rescue Maria from the surf one evening.

  “There must be a good explanation. Perhaps it’s someone else.”

  “Have you taken a good look at her? She’s gorgeous. I don’t get beautiful women confused.”

  Sochi’s phone chimed a reminder. She stood. “I’m really sorry, but I have a meeting.”

  Claire gave her a piercing look. “Let’s keep talking, okay?”

  “Sure, fine.” This was damned awkward. After years of despising Claire, Sochi didn’t want to keep talking. She wanted to do more than talk, and hated herself because of it.

  *

  Sochi glared at Denis when he opened his front door. She refused his offer to join him in the sitting room. “I’m just here to say it’s time to put our plan in motion.” She handed him a piece of paper. “Photos and information on the four artifacts we’ll be using to track Higuchi. I didn’t want this online in case someone’s watching our emails.”

  Denis whistled softly. “These look amazing.”

  “I have your daughter to thank for that. But now I need you to put out the word that La Bruja found Chaco’s tomb and that you will soon be taking possession of these four items.”

  Denis folded the sheet and tucked it into his shirt pocket. “People know that Claire has been searching for the tomb. I will not help you unless you guarantee Claire’s safety.”

  “This sting operation has nothing to do with Claire.”

  “What if she tangles with La Bruja or her men?”

  “She won’t. I’m the one who’ll pack up the artifacts. I have a driver who’ll bring the van here to your house. He’ll leave it to come inside, which is when we expect Higuchi’s men to steal the artifacts. Then I’ll be the one tracking Higuchi.”

  Denis folded his meaty arms across his broad chest. “You and I both share a passion for the past cultures of this country. We also share a great and deep affection for Claire. I will not help unless La Bruja promises no harm will come—”

  “I will see what—”

  “No. Now. I want your assurance now.”

  Sochi inhaled then froze, forgetting to breathe. Gods. He knew. Denis knew. They exchanged a look that sent a shiver of fear through her. She considered her options and realized there was only one. “No harm will come to Claire Adams from La Bruja or her men. And I, Sochi Castillo, will keep her safe from Higuchi.”

  Denis’s gaze softened, but Sochi still struggled to breathe normally. “Don’t let Claire search for the tomb,” he said. “Higuchi’s men might still be following her.”

  “I’ll keep her safe.”

  He sent a brief text. A reply chimed back, which he read. He nodded. “Okay, it has begun. The word is out. In a few days, Higuchi will be mad with greed to possess your artifacts.”

  Sochi licked her lips. “Thank you.” She headed to her car on wobbly knees. She’d always been so careful to never contact Denis directly, but only through Rigo.

  “Sochi.”

  She turned. “Yes?”

  “Tell La Bruja it’s time to retire.”

  Sochi exhaled loudly. “It’s already done.”

  *

  Claire’s sweet almond shampoo filled Sochi’s head as she applied the piece of transparent NanoTrax along the backflap handle. The warmed NanoTrax felt like thick pudding as Sochi pressed it against the gold. Claire stood close—too close—watching. All Sochi had to do was turn her head and their lips would touch, but Claire radiated tension. Sochi had been tense herself since her meeting with Denis.

  “Careful,” Claire said. “It’s going on thicker in that spot.”

  Sochi applied more pressure so the material retreated deeper into the seam along the backflap’s handle. “There. Now for the pectoral.” Denis had been right. Claire had insisted on b
eing involved. Since Manuel was too busy with his drones, and Aurelio wanted to keep his hands clean, Sochi was grateful for Claire’s help.

  They agreed on where the NanoTrax would best “disappear,” then Sochi repeated the procedure, her confidence growing as the liquid plastic began to feel more familiar beneath her fingertip.

  She put the last of the material on the remaining two artifacts.

  “What if the items are separated?” Claire asked.

  “I was told that when they are close together, the receiver will register them as one dot. If they are separated by more than three meters, they will each have their own dot. Now the stuff must dry for forty-eight hours.”

  Sochi leaned back, feeling Claire at her shoulder. She turned to say something, then realized Claire was going to kiss her. In a panic, Sochi leapt up and washed her hands at the kitchen sink while she thought. Did she want to kiss Claire?

  No. That would be stupid. Claire would be leaving Peru again. Claire would hurt her, yet again.

  “So we’re on for two nights from now, right?” Claire said. “What time are we leaving?”

  “We?”

  Claire indicated the two of them. “Us. You and me. I’m coming along.”

  “Sorry, I already have help for that night, and the fewer people involved, the better.”

  “But—”

  “Thanks for your help.” Sochi marched to the front door, opened it, and stood waiting.

  “But I can help—”

  “—by leaving.” Sochi wasn’t even close to weakening. Denis wasn’t the only one who wanted to keep Claire safe.

  Claire’s jaw tightened, but she left.

  Sochi closed the door and leaned against it. Gods, she was confused.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Claire

  Wednesday, April 5

  A few days after Mardonio’s wake, Claire realized that something inside her had shifted. She found herself thinking less and less about King Chaco’s tomb—filled with gold and silver and mystery—and more and more about Sochi. Not to get all mushy and overly romantic, but the thought did occur: Sochi was more of a treasure than anything Claire would ever find in Chaco’s tomb. How ironic that she—who prided herself on being a fairly competent treasure hunter—had let go of the best treasure ever three years ago. Even though she suspected Hudson had created the rift, Claire had allowed it to widen by refusing to contact Sochi all that time.