by Ann Charles
“The key word is rogue, child. There is no telling what or who is its next prey. Jane, Daisy, and you are all smaller than a full-grown female jaguar, which it managed to tear in half.” He leaned forward. “Did you hear what I just said? Tear in half. That’s like rogue on PCP.”
“I know, but between Pedro’s shotgun and the Glock 9mm pistol he keeps stowed away in his helicopter, plus all of our machetes, we have some solid defensive power.”
Pedro had a Glock stowed away? Since when? At the last dig site he’d only had a flare gun. Then again, look what had happened at the last site. A 9mm, huh? Why hadn’t he gotten it out last night? He must have figured the shotgun was plenty of firepower. Quint wasn’t so sure.
“Guns and knives?” Juan smirked at Quint. “She thinks she’s a female Rambo.”
“Well, she does have an incredible set of guns on her.”
“Parker!” Her cheeks turned rosy.
“What?” He chuckled. “I’m talking about your impressive arms from all of that machete swinging. What did you think I was referring to, sweetheart?” He played innocent while picturing her guns and much more sans clothing.
“Anyway,” she continued, “I’m going to call a meeting, explain the situation to the crew, and offer to have Pedro fly anybody who wants to leave over to Chetumal. They’ve earned a couple of days’ leave.”
“Can you afford that with the budget INAH gave us?”
If not, Quint doubted INAH was going to be interested in footing that additional bill, so she must be planning on covering the crew’s room and board out of her own savings.
“I think so.” She scraped at something on the table. “I’d like you to go with them, Dad.”
“I’m not a babysitter.”
“I didn’t say you had to monitor them. They’re all adults.”
“Then why should I go?”
“Because you’re easy bait with your leg in that cast.”
“So I’m supposed to go enjoy some sunshine on the beach while you stay here and what? Get eaten?”
“Hunt down the rogue cat.”
He laughed with disbelief. “You? A hunter? You don’t even like to step on tarantulas.”
“That’s because they’re gentle giants. This is different. Besides, I won’t be alone.” She cast a glance in Quint’s direction. “Parker here already informed me that he’s going to stick around and keep an eye on me.”
“Both eyes,” Quint told her with a wink. “And maybe a hand or two.”
Juan’s mouth twitched at the corners. “What does Teodoro have to say about this?”
“He wants to try something tonight with those of us who stay behind.”
Quint waited for her to share the news about the sacrifice with her father. He was still curious to hear exactly what Teodoro planned to offer up to the gods.
“Try what?” Juan’s suspicion was clear in his tone.
“He wants to have another protection ceremony.”
“Another Lolcatali ceremony? We just had one.”
“No, a different kind of ritual. He said his grandfather performed it when Teodoro was young to protect their household from a mountain lion that had killed several small children in his village.”
“Different how?”
She chewed on her lower lip. “It includes a sacrifice.”
“A sacrifice?” Juan’s eyebrows climbed high on his forehead. “Please tell me he’s thinking about offering up a certain javelina that keeps eating my boot.”
“That’s not funny, Dad.”
“None of this is funny, gatita.”
“Also, Teodoro is going to make a special drink.”
“Oh no, not another one of his secret potions,” Juan groaned. “I absolutely refuse to drink it.”
“You don’t need to refuse it because you’re going to be in Chetumal.”
“I’m not leaving here without you.”
“Damn it, Dad, you—”
“What’s in this secret special drink?” Quint asked, running interference.
“I asked him that once about another one of his secret potions,” Juan said. “His answer was that if he told me it wouldn’t be a secret anymore.”
“Anyway,” Angélica interrupted, “Teodoro said that those of us who stay behind will need the help of an alux to find the rogue animal. Offerings need to be made.”
“Alux?” Quint scratched his jaw. “That’s a forest spirit, right?”
“Of sorts, yes,” Angélica answered. “Most down here usually refer to them as spirits of the land. Some Maya believe they are the spirits of their ancestors.”
“They are usually invisible,” Juan explained, “but when they want to communicate, they take the form of miniature Maya people dressed in traditional clothing.”
“Are they good spirits or bad spirits?” Quint asked.
“That depends.” Angélica stole his canteen and took a drink. “Farmers will make offerings to an alux in exchange for help with their crops. If treated with respect, an alux is said to be able to protect you from thieves and bring good luck.” She took another sip.
“However,” Juan chimed in, “if an alux asks for an offering from a farmer—or a traveler—and is refused for whatever reason, the alux will often spread illness and wreak havoc.”
“Sounds like they can be tricky little bastards.” Quint took the canteen Angélica held out to him, capping it.
This all seemed so bizarre, like something out of one of Maverick’s books. Weeks ago, Quint was freezing his ass off while watching polar bears play in the snow. Now he was about to witness a ceremony where some sort of sacrifice was going to be made to Maya spirits who looked like tiny people. Didn’t anybody else see this solution as a bit loco?
“Is Teodoro sure it’s not a uay?” Juan asked.
Uay … what had Angélica told him that meant? Something about an evil sorcerer pretending to be an animal, wasn’t it?
“He’s not sure of anything at this point, Dad, but he says it feels more like the work of an offended alux.”
Damn. Those Maya had a lot of time on their hands to think up all of these gods and tricksters.
“So, what’s he going to sacrifice this time?” Juan asked Angélica. “Please tell me it’s one of those rattlesnakes.”
“The sacrifice does not require a life, just blood.”
“What do you mean, ‘just blood’?”
“Teodoro said he needs the blood of two crew members.”
“That is different than any he’s done before.” Juan stroked his chin. “Any two in particular?”
“Well, yes.” She grimaced at Quint. “Two scribes.”
It took a couple of blinks for her words to reach the core of his brain. “He needs Maverick’s and my blood?”
Juan slapped the table. “I get it.”
“Get what?” Quint was still processing that it wasn’t going to be a chicken or a snake or a javelina that was going on the chopping block, it was him.
“He’s going to try to put an end to that curse.”
“To the warning. It’s not a curse.” Angélica reached across the table and squeezed Quint’s hand. Her palm was damp. “There’s more. Maverick and you are the only two who will be drinking during the ritual.”
This was beginning to sound like a fraternity initiation. What was next? Togas and beer pong? “So the rest of you sit around and watch Maverick and me drink Teodoro’s special potion?”
“Something like that.”
“And then what?”
“According to Teodoro, you’ll have a vision.”
Christ, what kind of hallucinogens was he going to mix into the drink? “Come on, Angélica. You of all people don’t believe in any of this, do you?”
She hesitated. “Yes and no. I believe that Teodoro knows the Maya religion well, and I trust that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt you two.”
“That’s not really an ‘I’m a Believer’ answer.”
She let go of his hand and laced
her fingers together. “I don’t know what to think right now, Quint. But I do know that Teodoro is scared of what took down that jaguar. I can see it in his eyes.”
“That’s not good,” Juan said.
“I also know that if I don’t let him do what he feels necessary to protect us, he will take María and leave on that helicopter.”
“We definitely don’t want him to take María away,” Juan said, butting in again. “We’ll starve in no time. Angélica is a lousy cook.”
“If Teodoro leaves,” she continued after a quick frown at her father, “then I’m up shit creek. This place is too dangerous without his knowledge of botanical medicines and first-aid skills.”
Ahhhh, everything clicked together for Quint—her fidgeting, lack of eye contact, hesitation. Her future at this site depended on Maverick and him agreeing to be Teodoro’s guinea pigs. No wonder she’d been acting so antsy since joining him in the mess tent.
“You think Maverick will actually agree to this?” he asked.
“He already did. Teodoro talked to him about it on their way back to the tents after finding the jaguar’s remains.”
“What?”
“He thinks it’s a good research opportunity for a future book.”
Damned fiction authors! They were always game to try asinine shit for research.
“Which leaves you,” Juan said, crossing his arms. “You have the ability to shut ‘er down, son, and send us all home alive and breathing.”
Angélica poked her dad in the shoulder and then implored Quint with a pleading look. “Or you could play along tonight and help us stay here a little longer so we can figure out what happened to the people who died at this site.”
In other words, what happened to her mother.
If they stayed and anything happened to Angélica or anyone else, it was his fault.
If they left and Angélica didn’t find the answers to her mother’s death, it was his fault.
Fuck. Talk about a rock and hard place.
“So, if I agree to play along, Maverick and I donate blood and get drunk enough to have visions. Then what?”
“Teodoro says you’ll receive instructions on what to do to protect us in your visions.”
“What if nothing happens? What if I drink the Kool-Aid and instead of receiving visions I pass out stone-cold drunk?”
“That’s a good question,” Juan said. “What then, gatita? Do we evacuate?”
She shrugged, fidgeting again. “All I know is that I need to protect my crew, which includes keeping my shaman happy.”
Quint covered her hands with one of his, stopping her fidgeting. “This isn’t some diabolical plan of yours to pay me back for losing your number in the North Atlantic, is it?”
“No.”
He leaned closer, whispering, “Are we talking about poking my unmentionables with a stingray spine?”
She turned her hands over, wrapping them around his. “As tempting as that sounded weeks ago, Parker, I don’t want to harm your unmentionables. Teodoro said a drop of blood from your finger will do.”
He blew out a breath. “That’s a relief.”
“But I reserve the right to change my mind about harming your unmentionables should you go incommunicado again in the future.”
“Got it. What do you think?” he asked Juan.
“I think that my daughter has you by the balls right now.”
“Dad!”
“What? The boy asked.” He shook his head at Quint. “I understand your position, son. I was there a few times myself with her mother. But know that if anything happens to my daughter because of your decision, I may take aim at your unmentionables with Pedro’s shotgun.”
“Understood.”
“And,” Juan continued, “I think that if this secret potion is anything close to what Teodoro has had me swallow before, you’ll get drunk, take off your clothes, think grand thoughts, and believe you’ve turned into an animal of some sort. By the time the drink wears off, you’ll definitely have dreamed up something.”
Quint frowned at Angélica. “Do I have to get naked?”
“Of course not, Parker.”
“You don’t have to,” Juan butted in again, “but you might want to in order to achieve your true token-animal self. I’ve stripped down multiple times while under Teodoro’s influence. Let’s see,” he said, holding up his fingers, ticking them off, one by one. “I’ve been a frog, a Quetzalcoatl, a chameleon, and what was I that time up by Uxmal? Oh yeah, a pink—”
“Dad.” Angélica shot him a zip-it glare. “You’re not helping.” Turning back to Quint, she focused on him. “Quint, I need your help here. Will you allow Teodoro to work his magic tonight?”
He’d taken bullets for her last time.
Hell, what could a little bloodletting hurt?
Chapter Twenty-One
Xtabay: Means “female ensnarer” in Mayan.
A beautiful Mesoamerican demon who snares and kills.
“White sandy beaches, ample supplies of alcohol, and indoor plumbing. What more could you want?” Quint asked Angélica that evening as they waited inside of their tent for a summons from Teodoro.
The scribe ceremony was supposedly under way, but the sounds of the jungle drowned out any chanting that might have been going on around the altar Teodoro and Fernando had constructed earlier. Quint lay in his hammock, his legs crossed at the ankles as Angélica leaned against the center pole, keeping him company. In the next tent over, Juan waited with Maverick for the same reason.
What were the chances of two writers visiting a site with an old prophecy that warned about two scribes inspiring the return of Yum Cimil?
“Apparently,” Angélica said, “the idea of Maverick and you making blood offerings is more appealing than a weekend full of sunshine and debauchery.”
Quint had expected everyone but Juan, Pedro, and maybe Fernando to jump on Angélica’s offer for a break from the bugs and soupy humidity. Make that he’d hoped they would take her up on leaving the site, not relishing an audience for this show. But lo and behold, once Angélica explained the situation with the possible rogue cat and mentioned Teodoro would be performing a protection ceremony come evening, they all wanted to stick around and witness it. They’d paid money to come and bury themselves in Maya history. A ceremony involving bloodletting was a bonus.
He glanced over at her. The camp light left her half shadowed. “Did you and your dad make up?”
“For the most part. We agreed to focus on keeping everyone safe tonight during the ceremony.”
They’d locked horns again about Angélica allowing the crew to stick around for the ceremony. Juan petitioned for a mandatory leave, but Angélica refused, based on the idea of safety in numbers. Everyone staying put meant having more bodies to help with guard duty during the night, especially if Quint and Maverick were out of commission after the ceremony. She was currently of the belief that they were dealing with a rogue cat making its rounds through the biosphere reserve, of course, since it was the most logical answer.
Quint fanned his shirt, wondering how much longer they’d have to wait here. He didn’t think any good was going to come of this experiment, but if it would help Angélica calm Teodoro enough to stay, then he’d do his part.
“Are you nervous?” she asked.
“Wouldn’t you be?” He preferred a position behind the camera lens, not in front of it.
She nodded. “It will only be a little prick.”
“It’s not really the bloodletting that has me sweating.”
“What then? The drink?”
“No, it’s the possibility of being incapacitated in the middle of the night, unable to help you if that thing decides it’s hungry for something with more marbled meat.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you.” She moved in the shadows, standing over him, running the back of her fingers along his jawline. “Trust me.”
“I’m not worried about me, Angélica.” He snagged her fingers. “If
that thing can tear apart a jaguar, think of what it could do to you.”
“I’ll be fine. Remember my incredible set of guns?” She flexed her bicep.
“Bring those guns here.” He tugged on her hand. “I’ve been curious if this hammock will fit two people.”
She climbed in on top of him, almost tipping them twice in the process. When she stopped giggling, she stretched along his length, her soft curves pressing into him. “Thank you, Quint.”
“For what? Sharing my hammock?”
“Agreeing to do this. You’re coming to my rescue again.”
“I’m not trying to play hero.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
“Because I’m smitten.”
She nuzzled his neck. “Smitten, huh?”
“One hundred percent.”
She wiggled up the hammock until her mouth hovered over his. “Smitten with whom?”
“Your father. Those brown eyes of his are like warm chocolate.”
She laughed. The deep, throaty sound was soothing.
Cupping her face, he kissed her until his anxiety was forgotten. She tasted sweet, like the jamaica drink she’d nursed during supper. It was too bad they couldn’t shut out the world for a few hours and give the hammock a thorough test run.
“Promise me something,” he whispered against her lips.
She pulled back, her eyes dark pools. “What?”
“If I do all of this ritual stuff and tomorrow morning we’re still in the same boat, promise me you’ll seriously consider walking away from this site and continue digging into your mom’s death from the safety of your place in Cancun.”
She was quiet for several heartbeats. “I promise.”
He kissed her again, savoring this moment alone. His hands slid over her hips, pulling her closer. Hell, this hammock would work slicker than the cot. They just needed a few less clothes and no pending stingray spines.
She shifted against him, her curves enticing further exploration. “Quint.” She pulled back again. “I want you to promise me something now.” When he waited, she continued, “If you see some odd creature after you drink Teodoro’s special brew, promise me you’ll run away from it and not toward it.”