by Meg Cowley
“Why?” I shook my head. My brows furrowed. I just didn’t understand why anyone did this.
“I do not know why. I don’t know what it means. These people are evil. Come.” Juan moved away with hunched shoulders and his head down, as if he could not bear to see any more. As we moved behind a tumbled wall, he tugged a necklace out of his shirt. I had noticed the worn leather thong hung about his neck when we met, but he had kept the pendant hidden.
“Look. Here is a replica of the beauty of Mayan art; a pale imitation. This is what our ancestors were capable of.” He showed me a circular silver pendant carved in circular patterns with a face in the centre. As I glanced closer, I stilled, for on the surface were runes — magic runes — faded and sleeping.
I glanced at him, my eyes keen and sharp, and he bore the scrutiny. Understanding flickered between us. Wordlessly, I held out my own bracelet and Juan smiled a tight-lipped smile of relief.
“I’m Magicai, too,” he said, though I needed no confirmation. “I requested your help specifically, having heard tell of your prowess and your powers, but I was not sure if the latter were true. No one else knows.”
He would live the same as I, I knew: with his magic a secret.
“Thank you. Tell me, what do I seek for you?”
He looked around as if to ensure we would not be overheard, but we could see no one through the thick jungle. “I bring you to recover the Kukulkan Skull, an artefact of great power. I must see it returned to the care of the Secretaria. We cannot afford for this to be lost. In the wrong hands, it could be used for great evil.”
“Tell me everything you know.”
“It is said to be the skull of the mighty Kukulkan himself, the feathered serpent god of the Mayans. It is said he set foot on the earth and ruled Chichén Itzá for a time in the ninth and tenth centuries. Mayan civilisation flourished under his rule, but when the civilisation fell... The skull was lost only to the tales spoken from grandfather to father to son. Some said it did not exist and had never existed.
“But it seems the skull did exist, for we found one here akin to nothing we had seen before; like the fanged skull of a serpent, but so huge it was of no snake we know. It was shaped so strangely we did not recognise it at first, almost as if, at one time, it had feathers attached. And something else, too… it bore carvings in the Mayan way, and I could sense a trace of magic in the runes, as if some power still lingered there, perhaps fading, or perhaps dormant.”
Shivers crawled up my spine at his words; a tingle of something deeper than gut instinct, something magical. I recalled hazily my dream from the previous night, of the skeletal Juan leading me to the dark altar. The cold I felt seeped deep into my bones, as if my very body banished the heat of the tropical day.
“That is what I fear: that the power within it could be as great as the old tales say.”
“Which is?” I had to know what we faced.
“The power of the god himself: life and death. It is said that on the Day of the Dead, whoever holds Kukulkan’s skull holds the power between life and death; they can deal death or even reverse it. Think, a city of people killed in one moment… or brought back to life. It is wrong.” He looked reviled.
I did not answer for a moment, lost in my thoughts. “In the wrong hands, it could be used for devastation.”
“Yes. I fear if we lose it forever, we may lose more than just an artefact. If it is allowed to leave Mexico, we may never find it again. It may already have gone. Certainly, it will be in the hands of the black market already.”
“Where do we begin?” I cast my hands up and spread them wide. The jungle was big — it seemed infinitely huge to me — and, for the most part, uninhabited. Needle in a haystack multiplied.
“With the knowledge we have.” Juan strode back to the main site and the people now accumulating around it: his colleagues and more guards. He pulled one aside for a quiet talk, and introduced me as I approached.
“Zoe, Officer Diaz was here on the night in question, about to report in for his shift. He saw the truck the huecheros used. They drove east… to where, though?” He fired off a rapid babble of Spanish to Diaz, who replied.
“Diaz has contacts in Playa del Carmen — a tourist resort on the coast.” Juan shook his head. “The vehicle was found burnt out. Why would they go to Carmen? Surely… It doesn’t make sense. There’s nothing there except tourists. Better to go to the jungle, underground.”
I nodded. I’d have done exactly the same: conceal myself off the beaten track.
Juan’s eyes clouded as he mulled it over, staring into nothingness. “They must be meeting someone, a rendezvous, but who?” He sighed and scowled. “I don’t know, but we’re running out of time. Gracias, Diaz.”
Juan stormed off with me in tow. “We’re going to have to pay a visit to Playa del Carmen, chica. We need the next step in the puzzle.” I followed him. This was starting to annoy me. Usually, I took charge, but here, I seemed to be a fish out of water and a step behind Juan in everything. The language barrier was proving tiresome, to say the least.
“Get it together, Stark,” I muttered to myself and stormed after him. “The burnout isn’t an accident.” I volunteered my opinion.
“I don’t think so.”
“Why would they burn a car out if they had nowhere to go? They could have been switching vehicles or making a drop. Does Playa del Carmen have CCTV?”
“Mmm...” Juan looked doubtful. “We’ll have to check. I have a contact there who may know something.”
My ears pricked. Contacts were always good. “What are we waiting for, then? Come on! It’s hours to the coast, right?”
“Yeah.” Juan did not seem too enthused about the long drive. Neither was I, but perhaps at the end of it, we would have answers. Who had stolen Kukulkan’s skull? Where were they? And most importantly, where was the skull?
Chapter Four
A police cordon met us when we reached Playa del Carmen. The town centre was in lockdown. A shooting had occurred that day. Juan raised his hand to acknowledge the officer, and swung a U-turn to head away.
“Don’t worry, I know another way.”
“Is this connected?”
“I’d say without a doubt. My contact will know.”
“Who is this contact?” I was betting not a legal one.
“They call him Araña — the spider. He works underground, and has many useful ‘friends’.” Juan noticed my raised eyebrow and laughed. “Me? I’m not in the black market. I use him to reclaim artefacts for the government, no questions asked. Of course, he doesn’t mind because we pay him well for this information.”
“These people have their uses, but they’re still scum.” I couldn’t decide which was worse: batting for the wrong team, or turning coat for both.
“Do not say that to his face,” Juan said jokingly, but with a hint of warning in his tone. Juan feared this Araña, I realised. He took out his phone, dialled, and once more spoke in Spanish, a rapid tirade down the phone. After a few minutes, he hung up and immediately changed course. “Araña will see us, but with so many police here today, he’s laying low.”
‘Laying low’ turned out to be right. In the back of a warehouse that stunk of fish, a dark figure skulked. His voice was gravelly and menacing as he greeted us.
“Hola, Señor Araña. English, please, for my chica.”
Araña stepped forward into the dim light cast from fractures in the corrugated roof. “Hola, Señorita.” His black eyes did not leave mine.
“Hola, Señor,” I said. It was only polite to greet him, too. Already, I could see why Juan feared him. This man had had a dark life. Scars rippled across his tanned and wrinkled skin, pale tears and puckers that would never heal. “We come for information. Can you help us?” I stepped forward. Juan placed a warning touch on my wrist, the smallest graze of his fingertips, and stepped forward to shield me.
Araña turned to Juan, and I saw the glint of a gun at his waist. “The usual arrangement,” Ju
an said. “Payment now. Doubled on verification of information.” I had not seen this side to Juan. He stood erect and stiff, asserting his strength across the space to Araña… But I could see the almost imperceptible quiver of fear he tried so hard to mask with his raised chin and his puffed chest.
“What do you want to know?” said Araña. His accent was strong, and I could barely make it out, but at least I could understand. His eyes flicked back to me, glinting with curiosity. It was clear I was to take no part in this conversation; I knew the rules in places like this. Women were chattel, not players. But I never played their game. Part shielded by Juan, I called the magic of my bracelet forth. Runes activated; their glow hidden behind my back, as I passed my hand over them. Runes that sought answers, cooperation, and truths. I focused their energies towards Araña, hidden under concealments so he could not see them.
I hoped he was an Ordinary who would not sense it, but I could not take any chances. I leeched the magic from the bracelet in the smallest dribs and drabs so he would not notice it even if he were Magicai. This was part of my track record; this was why I was so successful. I always got answers and I made sure they were the truth.
“The looting of the Mayan dig site near Chichén Itzá. I know you know of it,” said Juan. Araña’s eyes betrayed nothing, and yet everything in his lack of surprise. “I want to know where the huecheros are now. Why is their car burnt out? Where are the artefacts they stole? I want to know everything. I need those pieces back before they leave the country.”
Araña twitched, as if subconsciously. He fought my magic and, for a moment, I thought we had failed and he would tell us to leave or worse, for his hands flexed perilously close to his gun. “Juan, I tell you this because I know you’re good for the dollars, and you’re not so bent as the rest of them. You should back off. This is bigger than you know. You’ll get yourself killed.”
Juan said nothing, but his fist clenched.
Araña shrugged. “Your funeral. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. The huecheros are dead. Two. One shot his partner in the truck, burnt it out. The other? Someone shot him. Don’t ask me who; I don’t know, and you don’t pay me enough to find out. What they stole is long gone. The only lead was a truck. White. No branding. Registration ‘Delta Oscar Delta eight three seven Charlie’. Quintana Roo plates. Follow that if you want more.”
I knew I’d be able to run the plates through a contact back home if Juan couldn’t. We’d be able to track the vehicle from that, I hoped. I had one more idea to get quicker answers, though. It was a path I hated to tread, but needs must with the Day of the Dead beckoning.
“Where are the huecheros’ bodies?” I asked.
Araña raised his eyebrows at me.
I held back a sigh. Yes, the pretty girl was asking about the dead bodies. Why did it seem so implausible to men like this that I actually might be able to hold my own amongst them? Idiots.
“The morgue,” he said at last. His narrow eyes stared me out. I refused to break.
“Gracias.” Juan pulled a wad of notes from his pocket and handed them over. “I’ll find you with the rest if your leads pay off.”
Araña flicked through the bundle, already counting it. “They will,” he said offhandedly.
“Come,” muttered Juan. He backed away and I followed suit, running my hand over my bracelet to send the runes to slumber.
“You enjoy working with people like that?” I asked incredulously when we were back outside under the baking sun and in the blissfully clean, non-fishy air.
“What do you think, chica?” Juan’s face was grim. “I don’t want to know what he does; it would give me nightmares. He’s a means to an end. I pay him, I get state property back; I reclaim our history, our assets. Why did you want to know where the bodies were?”
I pulled a grim face. “You can run the plates, right?”
“Of course. I just texted my colleague.”
“Well, I want to go talk to the huecheros in the meantime. They know everything.”
Juan blanched and he turned to me wide-eyed. “No, you don’t mean—”
“Yes,” I cut across him forcefully. “I mean to call them.”
Not on the telephone. I meant to call their spirits back from the dead; not to life, but to this side of the veil, so I could commune with them. Dealing with the dead was something only Magicai who could be called out crudely as witches or wizards did. I hated doing it. It was against all my principles. I’d learned the hard way how bad it was for your own soul, too. I didn’t try to commune with Emily anymore, that was for sure. But I left my principles and my own dark experiences at the door when I started a job. I’d do what it took to see it through.
Juan knew exactly what I meant. “You can’t,” he whispered, aghast.
“I can, and I will. Something’s not right. If these huecheros were connected to the person, or gang, which now has the artefacts, why are they dead? Why burn out the car? Why dump it at all? Why turn on each other? No, there’s more to this, and I want to find out from the only two people who can tell us. They might be dead, but that doesn’t stop them from talking.” My tone brooked no argument, and Juan subsided, though his frown betrayed his unease.
“Okay, chica. You’re here to help, and... I trust you.”
I flashed him a smile for that. “Gracias, amigo.” He flicked me a small grin at my halting Spanish. “Trust me. I get the job done. C’mon. Let’s go.”
Juan secured our access to the morgue with ease. I realised that although I knew his department, I didn’t know exactly what he did. Curator? Architect? Undercover cop? He seemed to fit all three and more. The morgue staff didn’t get in his way, for he flashed them a pass I could not see and they parted before him. We strode into the refrigerated room, where innocuous, small doors lined the walls. I knew what would be behind them. Juan kept going, following the morgue doctor into the freezer room where our huecheros would be kept, awaiting identification.
“Gracias, puedes irte ahora,” Juan said, and the man looked nervously between us before he retreated, dismissed. The door closed with a snap behind us, leaving us and our misted breath hanging in the air alone. “It’s all yours, chica.” I couldn’t tell whether it was the dim, discoloured light, but Juan looked nauseous. I suppose I hid it better. He opened the two doors where our huecheros rested, and I swallowed, steeling my stomach. This was the worst part. My hands found my bracelet before I had time to think anymore, and rapidly unlocked the runes I needed to call forth the remnants of their spirits.
“Back,” I spat, throwing out an arm to catch Juan straight in the chest, and pushed him behind me to the other end of the small room. Out of the corner of my eye, as he moved, I saw his hand around his pendant. Rays of light burst through the cracks in his fingers. “I need you to translate.” I realised almost too late, and a sigh of relief hissed through my lips.
“Spirits of the deceased, I call you forth from your eternal rest. Commune with me.” I pushed the magic towards them as Juan repeated my words in Spanish.
Their spirits emerged from the cupboards, exactly as most people imagine ghosts. Pale, translucent; a faded imitation of their living selves at the moment of death. I averted my gaze. It was always respectful to do so, but it served another purpose. One was disfigured by flames, and the other by a gunshot wound to the head. I didn’t need to see that.
“I ask of your deaths. Tell me how you died.” My fingers caressed my charms, strengthening the magic.
“Dos ojos... Dos caras…” Their disembodied voices arose around us in a pale moan.
“Two eyes, two faces?” Juan muttered in my ear. I could hear the confusion in his voice.
“What do you mean?”
Juan relayed my question after a moment.
“Dos ojos... Dos caras…”
“Who killed you?” I strengthened the magic again. It filled the room with energy; surely, now they would have enough to speak with us.
“Dos ojos… Dos caras…”
&nbs
p; “Why did you die?”
“Dos ojos… Dos caras…”
I shared a look with Juan, shaking my head. “I don’t understand. They will not answer at all. Who has bought their silence even after death? Who has cursed them with eternal binding?” The answer hit me even as I asked. “Whoever is behind it all,” I answered my own question dully. I turned my attention back to the huecheros. We would gain nothing from them.
“Gracias,” I said. “Return to your rest.” I let the magic fade away. As it did, their spirits disappeared, too, fading into nothing until all that remained was the two of us, our misted breath, and the silence of the dead.
~
“Two eyes, two faces? What does that mean?” I asked Juan as the sunshine welcomed us back into the land of the living.
“I don’t know, chica.” Juan was subdued. I assumed from what he had just witnessed and the lack of information we had.
“Hey, it was worth a shot.”
“You’re… unusual,” was all he could say.
I laughed and it broke the wall between us. “Oh, you only just realised? You haven’t met anyone like me, I guarantee it. Don’t worry, we’ll get to the bottom of it. We still have the plates to run. That’ll give us a starting point. Wait…” I stopped and he almost bumped into me.
“What is it, Zoe?”
“Two eyes, two faces… the graffiti on the statue.”
“The stela? Yes, dos ojos, dos caras. I don’t know what it means, though.”
“Neither do I,” I said slowly. “But it must be a clue. Otherwise, why graffiti it? And why carry it to beyond the grave? It must be important.”
Juan’s phone rang and he took the call at once. “The plates,” he mouthed to me. “Hola?”
I waited anxiously. It was quick, and his phone pinged as he hung up. He scrolled to the message.
