by Unknown
Maybe it was vintage whiskey. Aged hooch? What luck. Right now, she could use a stiff drink.
She picked up the bottle but it was very light. No liquid in it. Evaporated most likely. Bummer. Just her luck.
But as she was about to toss the bottle into a corner, she realized there was something inside of it after all and held it up to the light. It was a rolled up piece of paper. Message in a bottle? Maybe not as good as whiskey, but interesting nonetheless. Her hair fell across her face, and she flipped it back over her shoulder. She was going to need something to pry the cork from the end of the bottle.
Taking care to skirt the iffy boards, Zoey eased back outside to retrieve the utility knife from her backpack. The late afternoon sun had brought a cool breeze with it. She slipped on her hooded sweatshirt and as she zipped it up, she heard a crinkle of paper in the pocket. She stuck her hand inside to investigate and pulled out the letter to Cupid she’d written the night before. It reminded her of Jericho. Would they be able to straighten things out between them? Pocketing the letter, she hoped so.
The cork quality had deteriorated over the years so there was no using the corkscrew. She had to dig it out with the knife blade, which seemed to take forever. By the time she freed the scroll of paper, flecks of musky-smelling cork littered her clothing.
The paper was yellowed and brittle. It took a great deal of care to unroll the paper without breaking off pieces of it. The first thing she saw was a date at the top of the page. A hundred years ago to the exact month and year.
Below the date was a chemical symbol much like the one in August McCleary’s formulary, but this one was slightly different. Beside the symbol was the drawing of a plant in bloom. It looked just like the plant on the beaded medallion Granny Helen had given Jericho and the one sewn into the medicine bundle.
Zoey sucked in her breath.
This was an illustration of the Golden Flame agave.
Underneath the sketch of the plant was a third drawing that appeared to be a map of Widow’s Peak Mountain with X marking a spot not far from the north face of the pinnacle.
Scrawled at the bottom of the page was another date—of the current month and year.
Zoey’s mind whirled, playing with patterns, conjuring up what ifs, filtering through everything she’d learned and discovered over the past few weeks. Suddenly, she knew without a shred of doubt that this was the real formula Great-Great-Uncle August had used to cure the Spanish flu, with the Golden Flame agave as the key ingredient, and that if she followed the map it would lead her to the location of the century plant.
Her cousin Lace had been correct in her calculations. The rare agave did indeed exist, and according to this piece of paper, it could bloom at any moment.
Chapter 22
Rescue archaeology: The swift excavation and collection of artifacts at sites in immediate danger of destruction.
GOBSMACKED, Zoey staggered from the cabin. It was four-thirty. Sunset was around nine o’clock. If she tried to find the Golden Flame today, she’d end up stuck on the mountain overnight. No way was she dumb enough to hike down in the dark.
She shouldered her backpack, looked to the peak, and then back at the cabin, then down the mountain she would have to traverse, and then back to the peak again. Hmm, what to do? Too bad her cell phone didn’t work out here or she’d call and tell Jericho what she was up to.
Jericho.
Could she still just pick up the phone and call him the way she used to do? Was that lost to her forever?
Zoey gulped. She couldn’t think about that now. Feeling like Scarlett letting Rhett go until tomorrow, she raised her chin and squared her shoulders. You’ve come this far, might as well commit all the way.
“Golden Flame, here I come,” she sang out and struck out for her goal.
The spot on the map wasn’t all that far from the cabin, but it was over especially rugged terrain—the climb was steeper, the rocks craggier, and the vegetation rougher. It was downright chilly too. Wind gusted against her, whipped her hair into her face with stinging lashes. She zipped her sweatshirt all the way up to her neck, pulled up her hoodie, and tied the string.
At some point, she heard more rustling behind her, but she was on too precarious of a rocky perch to look around. What if it was a javelina? How high up in the mountains did javelinas range? She should have paid more attention when people tried to tell her naturey stuff like this. Please don’t let it be a javelina. Please don’t let it be a javelina. Um, what if it was a mountain lion? Or even a wolf?
“Please let it be another armadillo, please let it be another armadillo,” she chanted.
To kept from freaking herself out, she started singing Kelly Clarkson’s “Stronger,” but then belatedly she realized it wasn’t just about being tough, but about being tough after a breakup and that made her think of Jericho and damn if she didn’t get something in her eyes. Plus her nose was stuffy too. Must be allergic to some damn pollen up here.
Focus. Keep going.
It took almost an hour to reach her destination. An area flanked by thick rows with prickly pear cactus. Zoey glanced toward the sky. “Seriously, it had to be prickly pears?”
Don’t be a whiner. It’s better than rattlesnakes.
Point taken.
Okay. She rubbed her palms together to warm them. Where was this Golden Flame thingamajig growing? Somewhere in the midst of rocks and prickly pears? The crumbly limestone outcropping she treaded was no more than four feet wide.
Gingerly, she high-stepped her way over the paddle-shaped cacti with three-inch-long thorns sticking out of them. Sharp tips caught her here, there, everywhere as if a tiny Zorro was making his mark on her skin. Okay, seriously, clomping around knee-deep in prickly pears atop an unreliable rock ledge really should qualify as some level of Dante’s Hell. Maybe Inferno the prologue?
Keeping her gaze on the ground—both to prevent herself from turning into a human pincushion and to search for the agave—she tramped around the side of another rocky protuberance and then another; it was beginning to look like a rock maze with a prickly pear carpet. She slipped around one more tall slender rock shaped like a shoulder blade and boom!
There it was.
The Golden Flame.
Blooming like a son of a bitch.
Blue-green, spiky, tonguelike blades, which resembled the leaves of most other species of agave, jutted skyward. From the center of the leaves grew a thick butter-colored stalk about the width and sturdiness of a broom handle, rising six feet into the air. On the end of the stalk proliferated a single lemon yellow head that was flush with fuzzy flowers, giving it the appearance of an oversized bottlebrush.
Holy macaroni and Yankee Doodle hoo-ha! She had found it!
Lace would pee herself over this. Zoey wasn’t a botanist and she was pretty darn impressed. Speechless, she reached around for her backpack, to pluck out her camera and get a picture of this sucker before the light was gone, when she heard the snap of a twig on the ridge above her.
She froze, her blood running cold; two words branded the inside of her forehead so that she could read them like a movie marquis—“MOUNTAIN LION.”
Slowly, she turned her head, terrified that she was going to find a very big cat lounging overhead. When she saw the man, she was almost relieved. Except the pistol in his hand caused a ripple of concern to spread through her stomach. She recognized him. He was Marcus Winz-Smith’s bodyguard.
“Hi!” she said inanely, as if she did not see the gun pointed straight at her. “Are you lost?”
“On the contrary,” said a voice from behind the back of the freezer-sized bodyguard. “Hallelujah, we’re found.” Winz-Smith, still managing to look quite dapper in hiking gear instead of his tailored suit, stepped into view.
Huh?
Slowly, Winz-Smith started clapping his hands in that way people do when they’re applauding sarcastically. Clap. Clap. Clap. The punitive sound echoed down the valley. “Aren’t you a smart little thing, Cou
sin Zoey? They all underestimated you, but not me. I knew you’d find the Golden Flame, but you know what they say.” He clucked his tongue. “Curiosity killed the cat.”
Zoey wasn’t sure what was going on here, but the hairs on the back of her neck were standing out stiff as the thorns on the prickly pear cactus surrounding her.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Winz-Smith said. “Adrian—“
“Who’s that?”
The bodyguard grunted.
“Don’t interrupt,” Winz-Smith said. “Adrian here is going to throw down a rope to you and you’re going to use it to climb up here with us.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then I’ll tell Adrian to shoot you.”
Obligingly, Adrian aimed the gun directly at her head.
“Rope it is then,” she said.
Winz-Smith handed the bodyguard a rope. Adrian looped one end around the trunk of an aspen, tied it securely and tossed the other end down to her. It dangled like a snake in front of her face. Her upper body strength wasn’t all that hot, but if she couldn’t pull herself up to the ledge where Winz-Smith and Adrian were standing, she’d fall back into a heinous bed of prickly pear and probably get shot to boot for her troubles.
The rope stung her hands, but failure wasn’t an option. Winz-Smith and Adrian both were leaning over watching her climb up. Directly behind and straight up above them, the top of Widow’s Peak narrowed to a point.
The aspen bent against her weight. They were not thick trees. Good thing she was small. She moved one hand over the other, grasped, tugged, moved the next hand up, grasped and tugged.
“You’re getting there,” Winz-Smith said. “Don’t look down.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
“Hey, I do what I can.”
Her mind galloped. What was he doing here and why was he having his goon aim a firearm at her? Clearly, he was after the Golden Flame, but why did he have to be all gangsta about it?
When she was almost up to the ledge where they were standing, Adrian reached down, grabbed her by the scruff of her hoodie, and lugged her the rest of the way up. He deposited her in front of Winz-Smith, who was now holding the bodyguard’s gun, took hold of the rope, and started rappelling down it with the ease of Spider-Man riding a web in spite of the groaning aspen.
“Impressive,” she said.
“He used to work for Blackwater. Just FYI,” Winz-Smith commented.
“Is that supposed to scare me?”
“You’re stupid if it doesn’t.”
“Alrighty then.” Zoey huddled inside her sweatshirt. The wind was a killer up here and she didn’t really know what she was supposed to do now. What was the protocol when dealing with a distant cousin who was holding you at gunpoint? Surely small talk was neither expected nor required.
She couldn’t resist peering over the edge to see what Adrian was up to. He plowed through the prickly pears like he was walking through cotton balls. He pulled some kind of container from the black flak vest he wore, opened it up, and started pouring liquid all over the Golden Flame. The scent drifted up, assailed her nose.
Gasoline.
The hairs on the nape of her neck were ice picks now, frozen cold and razor-sharp. She spun back around to face Winz-Smith. “He’s going to burn the Golden Flame?”
“You are a bright little thing, aren’t you?”
She blinked. “Bu-but why? It’s got the power to cure the flu!”
“Precisely.” Winz-Smith nodded.
“I …” She shook her head vigorously. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m in the business of manufacturing Flugon. The medication shortens the duration of the flu, but doesn’t cure it. Therefore when people get the flu the first thing they do is run to their doctor for a prescription of Flugon. If we cure the flu, then poof …” He snapped his fingers. “My empire goes up in smoke as quickly as that plant Adrian is setting fire to.”
She hazarded another glance down at Adrian, who was putting flame to gasoline.
A loud whoosh ignited. Heat blistered all the way up to where they were standing. Mr. Badass Bodyguard had sidestepped just far enough away to keep from being singed. Clearly, he’d done this before.
Zoey drank in a sense of loss so strong it flooded her entire body. The precious Golden Flame would soon be completely destroyed. The elixir that Little Wolf and Clarissa had died for would be no more.
“How did you know about the Golden Flame?” she asked as her mind scrambled for some way out of this. Behind her was a drop-off, Adrian, a fire, and prickly pear cactus. To the right was another drop-off. Winz-Smith was standing to her left, and straight head of her was the sheer cliff to the top.
“It’s the dark family secret.” Winz-Smith’s grim smile stretched tight across his teeth. “As you found out.”
“Who in the family knows?” she exclaimed.
“Not many are privy to the knowledge that Zachariah McCleary stole the Golden Flame from the Keepers of the Flame and allowed them to die from the flu his people brought into their midst. Zach was a heartless son of a bitch, I’ll give him that. Usually only the most alpha of the McCleary males are brought in on the secret. In fact, until you, dear cousin, I must say it’s been something of a boys’ club. Currently, I’m the only living male in possession of this secret. Me and that crazy old Comanche woman in the nursing home that no one listened to in the first place.”
“I listened!”
“Yes, you did. To my gain and your detriment, I might add.”
Uneasy fear burrowed deep under her skin, and she cast another glance down at Adrian, who stood with his arms folded over his chest watching the plant burn. Tears came to her eyes. She couldn’t believe this was happening.
“So Walker doesn’t know either?” She coughed against the acrid air. Gray smoke drifted up from Adrian’s fire below.
Winz-Smith shook his head. “If Walker had known he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to write a book about August, and now he’s gone and drummed up movie interest. He caused me one helluva headache. All it would take was for some movie crew to come here and start poking around in the past to dig up trouble. I was wracking my brain trying to think how I could throw a monkey wrench into Walker’s movie deal and then, as if by Providence, you and your boyfriend, Dr. Chance, show up practically begging me to let you excavate Triangle Mount. I admit it took me a few minutes to figure out how to use you to my advantage.”
“I am confused why you would allow us on Triangle Mount if you know there was a chance we could stumble across the McCleary secret.”
He waggled his index finger at her. “If you’d stayed on Triangle Mount per the contract, it wouldn’t have been a problem, but you’ve got the mind of a magpie. Can’t live well enough alone, can you? Of course, that’s what I was counting on.”
“What are you talking about? Why let us on the land in the first place? If you’re trying to hide a big secret?”
He smiled that strange smile again. “Because I had no idea where the Golden Flame was. I had both of August McCleary’s formularies of course, so I knew it was the essential healing ingredient in the compound; the rest of the formula, the one that’s on display in the museum, is nothing but Flugon, give or take a few ingredients. I’d actually soothed myself with the idea that the Golden Flame was indeed extinct and I had nothing to worry about—”
“And then you read Lace’s article,” she said, remembering the day she’d met him at the museum and he’d had American Journal of Botany rolled up and sticking out of his jacket pocket.
“I realized she was right. That the Golden Flame was still around and the reason no other McClearys had come across it besides August was that it was a true century plant and it was due to bloom in my lifetime.” He shrugged. “Adrian and I tried to find it on our own. We traversed up and down this mountain and couldn’t identify it. Turns out the Golden Flame looks like any other damn agave until it blooms. So I took a gamble. Figured why not let you excavat
e Triangle Mount. I had the contract. I could control you and shut down the dig if you wandered off the mountain. If you found something, fine. If you didn’t that was fine too, it would keep out those nut jobs who think Triangle Mount is a pyramid. Of course, I had to put a spy in your camp. Had to know what was going on.”
“Catrina,” Zoey said.
“Catrina.” He confirmed with a nod of his head.
“You had her pretend there was a man in black on the mountain, playing off the local lore of el hombre vestido de negro.”
“Actually, that was Adrian. He makes a pretty good spook, don’t you think?”
“He filed the ladder down, scattered out the tools.”
“All a part of the ghostly apparitions. You were finding out too much about the Keepers of the Flame. We needed to scare you off at that point. It worked too. A third of your crew quit. Although we didn’t mean for that young man to get an ice pick through his foot. Must admit it made the story juicier.”
“You stole the medicine bundle,” she accused.
“Catrina did the lifting.”
“Under your orders.”
“She does work for me. She also broke into Lace Bettingfield’s lab and stole the seeds she’d extracted from the medicine bundle.”
“The botanicals are all gone?” Zoey’s heart fell to the ground.
“Indeed. Once Adrian has pulled up those roots and burned them as well, that’s the end of the Golden Flame that sweet Clarissa and her lover Little Wolf planted the night before Zachariah chased them off the mountain.”
“You got Jericho fired.”
“Oh no, no. You can’t lay that off on me. You violated the contract fair and square. I was holding my breath hoping you’d revert to type so I could use it as an excuse to close the dig when I was ready and you did not let me down, dear cousin.”
“I’m not your dear anything,” Zoey spat.
“It’s a pity I have to dispose of you.” He gave her a sorrowful look that lowered her body temperature twenty degrees.
