by Ann Charles
“So, how do we Summoners go about our summoning business? Do we use really big magnets to draw in our objectives? Or do we rely on our incredible charm to woo them closer?”
She glanced back at the tunnel leading in from the mine again, listening for a moment, and then turned back to him. “There is nothing charming about a Summoner, especially if an Executioner lies in wait. Your ability to beckon has more to do with your mental strength.”
“Summoners are superintelligent, then?”
“Intelligence and mental strength are not the same.”
He rubbed his jaw. “So how does one become a Summoner?”
“You tell me, Beschwörer.”
“I won my mask and cape in a drunken card game. What’s the usual route into the trade?”
“Your bloodline is the only way. That is why I asked you if you had relatives in the Black Forest region.”
“I’m not following how the two are linked.”
“Centuries ago, there were several of your kind in the Black Forest, along with as many Executioners.” She grabbed his left hand and lifted it, palm up. Her fingers were icy cold as she traced the lines on his hand. The lines glowed for a moment before fading away.
He watched her trace his palm, mesmerized. “Why were there so many Summoners and Executioners in one place?”
“A rebellion was on the rise. It was a caste war, actually, spurred by a handful of rogue demons and their guardians. The rebels had grown tired of hiding amongst the growing population of humans. They slaughtered thousands of people throughout the Black Forest region, aiming to rule the Earth again, but their time had not yet come. Executioners were hailed from all over, hired to eliminate the key troublemakers and suppress the rebellion. However, the rebels were not easy to find. They traversed between levels much easier than most of the Executioners. In order to lure the rebels from hiding, Summoners were called in to work with the Executioners. They were used as bait for the hunts.”
He looked up into her snake eyes. “I changed my mind. Being a Summoner is far shittier than an Executioner.”
Her smile was brief. “Tonight, you’ll experience what your ancestors faced.” Before he could ask what she meant, he felt a slice of pain in his palm.
“Ouch!” He tried to pull free, but her big hand was steely gripped. “What are you doing?”
“Hold still.” She reached down to grab a skull from the floor. “You’ll heal fast.”
How did she know he healed quickly? His mother had always credited his ability to heal faster than normal to the herbal, meat-free diet she followed while pregnant with him, but Gertrude wouldn’t know … oh yeah. This was all in his head.
The pain in his hand felt real enough.
She smashed the skull against the wall twice, breaking it in half. Holding the top of the cranium under his hand, she squeezed his blood into the makeshift bowl, just as Teodoro had back at the fire.
She released him and took the cranium bowl to the exit tunnel. Quint cupped his throbbing hand, watching as she used his blood to smear a symbol on the floor in front of the tunnel. She lifted the black obsidian statue off the shelf and set it in the center of the symbol she’d made.
“There,” she said, tossing the bowl aside. “The beast will now know where to find you. After you are eliminated, your beacon will call to it no more, and the beast will return to its normal hunting grounds. The rest of us will be safe until the next Summoner arrives.”
“Or,” Quint said, “we could get the hell off this dig site, call 1-800-Execute, and come back when we have a killer in our ranks.”
That sounded like a fine solution to present to Teodoro when Quint awoke from this nightmare. They’d hire a hunter to take down the rogue cat.
When he headed for the tunnel, aiming to get the hell out of the catacomb, she blocked his path. He tried to nudge her aside, but she didn’t budge, shoving back instead.
“There is no time for your plan. The beast is already hunting on this plane again. If you leave, it will follow you, killing many innocent humans.”
“So then I lead it right to an Executioner.”
She cocked her head to the side, listening through the tunnel. “I hear it coming.”
Quint frowned down at the Maya glyph–like symbol she’d made with his blood. It sort of looked like the sun-skull tattoo on her neck. This whole scene wasn’t really jiving with what Juan had predicted. Somewhere in the story, Quint’s imagination had taken a wrong turn. “Aren’t I supposed to morph into a totem animal now in my dream?” An eagle or monkey, maybe? Hell, even a serpent. Anything but some mythical Summoner to be used as bait.
“You are der Beschwörer. This is not a dream.”
He checked his palm and did a double take. The bleeding had stopped, the cut in his hand appearing to mend before his eyes. “If this isn’t a dream, how do you explain this?” He held his palm out for her.
“Injuries from non-humans heal quickly for a Summoner. It’s one of your key defenses.”
A shuffling sound in the tunnel behind them made them both turn.
“It’s here,” Gertrude whispered, hiding behind Quint. She clung to his arm as they backed up in tandem, bones crunching under their feet.
From out of the dark tunnel, a head appeared.
A machete slid out next.
Angélica frowned up at him. “You two play a hell of a game of hide-and-seek.” She looked at the black statue in front of her. “Oh, that’s definitely Olmec. They sure had a big crush on their were-jaguar god.” Carefully, she moved it aside and frowned at the symbol Gertrude had made with his blood. “Is that the tattoo we saw on the scribe?” She stood, not waiting for an answer. Her machete was at the ready as she eyed Gertrude. “Are you okay, Parker?”
“At the moment.” He pulled free of Gertrude’s clutches and stepped away, needing to touch Angélica, craving the familiarity she offered. Her cheeks were warm as he cupped them, her lips soft under his quick kiss. She felt and tasted like the boss lady. His imagination had managed not to bugger up this part. “I’ve been having one hell of a bizarre vision so far, though.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “What do you mean you’ve been having—”
“You shouldn’t be here, Dr. García,” Gertrude interrupted, shooting a worried glance at the tunnel Angélica had come through. “It’s too dangerous.”
Angélica stepped away from Quint, gripping her machete. “I won’t let you sacrifice him, Gertrude. You need to shake off this absurd notion and return to the fire.”
“There’s no other way to stop the beast.” The girl backed farther from the tunnel opening, stumbling on a pile of broken bones. “Besides, I’ve already made the offering.”
“It’s a rogue cat, Gertrude. That’s all. You’re overacting.”
“No!”
“You probably caught a good whiff of Teodoro’s incense,” Angélica continued, slowly moving toward the girl. “I did, too, and it’s twisting our sense of reality. Trust me, I understand what’s going on. I’ve seen some pretty strange shit tonight since getting high on whatever weed he was burning. We just need to get you back to the others and try to calm you down.”
“You are not high, Dr. García.” She pointed at Quint. “And you are not hallucinating, Beschwörer.”
“What did she call you?” Angélica asked Quint out of the side of her mouth, her focus still locked on Gertrude.
“It means ‘Summoner’ in German.”
“Summoner? Sounds like I interrupted a game of Dungeons and Dragons.”
Quint chuckled. “It’s her game, I’m just making this madness up as I float along through my purple haze.”
“What’s with her eyes?”
“You see them, too?” How could she … oh, yeah. It was his dream. He was controlling what Angélica saw and said.
“You can’t miss them. Were you trying to turn into a snake and screwed up your totem morphing process, looping Gertrude in somehow?”
“Dr. García, you
must leave.” Gertrude took a step toward them. “I was warned not to let anything happen to you after the incident with your mother.”
The machete lowered slowly. “What do you know about my mother? Did you kill her? Sacrifice her like you’re trying with Quint?”
“No. I was not here then.” Gertrude paused, her eyes on the tunnel as she listened for a few seconds before continuing. “My predecessor became overzealous.”
“Your predecessor killed her?” Angélica’s tone was low, threatening.
Gertrude nodded frantically, licking her lips. “He felt it was necessary to keep this place secret. Much work had gone into sealing off the entrances to the other plane after the last attack. We could not risk your mother’s knowledge leaving with her.”
“Knowledge about what?” Quint asked. What could Marianne have found out that was worth being sentenced to death?
“The beast. Her ability to so quickly interpret the symbols and read the glyphs on the warning stela surprised the council. The decision was made to stop your mother uncovering long-buried secrets. My predecessor decided the only way to remove the danger of her knowledge spreading was to eliminate her. He devised a helicopter crash involving a renowned foreign scientist to embarrass the Mexican government. They would hesitate to send in others.”
“Your predecessor killed her,” Angélica repeated, the machete listing.
Quint stepped forward and took the blade from her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.
“He was punished thoroughly for acting without the council’s permission,” Gertrude told Angélica. “Banished and forced to serve a long, pain-filled sentence.”
“Good,” Angélica said, sniffing. “In which Mexican prison can I find him holed up? I’d like to deliver a little pain myself.” She took her machete back from Quint.
“Your mother was a brilliant puzzle solver, Dr. García,” Gertrude said, holding out her hands as if to block potential blows. “You follow closely in her steps, discovering secrets in the ruins about forces that even the oldest on the council doesn’t remember. This is why I have been instructed to protect you at all costs.”
“Protect me, but not Quint?”
“The Summoner was a surprise. They travel undetected until they exert their strength and summon an enemy. Trust me, sacrificing him to the beast is the only way to send it away again.”
“Why not kill it?”
“There is no way, not without der Scharfrichter.”
“Without what?” Angélica aimed her raised brow at Quint.
“An Executioner,” Quint told her, grimacing. “My imagination tonight has gotten a little out of hand with this vision business. I blame all of those science fiction and fantasy novels I read growing up.”
Her eyes narrowed, her expression more confused than suspicious. “But this isn’t your vision, Parker. It’s mine. I breathed in Teodoro’s incense and then my mom’s voice started coming out of Daisy’s mouth.”
“If it’s your vision, did you see me with your mom at the Chakmo’ol Temple?”
“No.”
“Marianne told me the story of what happened to those twin scribes in the past. Did she tell you about them?”
She slowly shook her head. “She didn’t waste time with stories. She dragged me here and told me I had to save you from being sacrificed.”
He smiled. “Your mom must like me.”
“Quint, this doesn’t make any—”
“Listen!” Gertrude interrupted.
Click-clack. Click-clack. Click-clack.
The sound came through the tunnel opening. It sounded far away, somewhere out in the mine’s main adit.
“That’s probably Teodoro,” Angélica said. “I left him out by the cave drawings.”
“It is not Teodoro,” Gertrude said, plastering herself against the wall. “It’s the beast.”
“The rogue cat?” Angélica raised her machete.
“Gertrude is using my blood to summon it,” Quint explained, grabbing Angélica to pull her away from the tunnel.
Angélica shook off Quint’s grasp. “And once it has found Quint, then what?” she asked Gertrude.
“The beast apparently eats me,” he answered.
Angélica looked up at Quint, her eyes wide. “And you’re okay with this?”
“Hell, no. I offered another solution, but Gertrude is set on me being dinner. I’m just hoping I wake up before we reach the actual biting part of this vision.”
“There’s another solution,” Angélica said, turning back to Gertrude. She held her hands out as if talking her down off a ledge. “We can catch the cat with a cage. That way nobody gets hurt.”
The click-clack click-clack was growing louder, the sound of heavy breathing mixed in with it. Quint stared at the tunnel opening, half expecting a bulldog in tap shoes to appear at any moment. He tried to remember in which cartoon he’d seen a bulldog tap-dancing.
“I don’t think you understand what you’re dealing with here, Dr. García.” Gertrude’s voice was high pitched, fluttery. Her eyes darted around the chamber, panic clearly edging closer.
“It’s probably just a big cat infected with rabies.” Angélica’s voice was level, her machete steady.
“I’ve only seen drawings,” Gertrude continued. “Heard stories.”
The odor of rotting flesh seeped into the room, making Quint’s eyes water. He gagged, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.
“What in the hell …” Angélica’s voice trailed off.
A dark fur-covered arm reached out of the tunnel’s black mouth. Long sharp claws extended from thick finger-like paws. One claw scratched across the blood smear on the floor. The arm disappeared back into the tunnel.
In the silence of their held breaths, Quint heard a sniffing sound. Jesus, was it smelling his blood?
A deep rumble filled the chamber.
Gertrude let out a squeak, covering her mouth too late.
A snout appeared out of the shadows, sniffing again.
The beast squeezed out of the narrow tunnel, its long muscled body stretching upright on its hind legs. Its spotted fur-covered head almost touched the ceiling. Sharp canine teeth reminded Quint of a saber-toothed tiger of old, but the cat-like resemblance ended at its head and claws. Its body had the physique of a hairy human, with a broad chest, narrow waist, and heavily muscled legs.
“What the fuck,” Angélica whispered, her machete held out between her and the beast.
“That’s no rogue cat,” Quint told her, grabbing her by the shirt and shoving her behind him.
“It’s a were-jaguar.” She sounded awed by the beast about to eat him for dinner. “Now I know I’m high.”
Drool hung in long strands from its canines. Its yellow eyes moved from Gertrude to Quint. There was a light of intelligence behind them that gave Quint a jolt. They weren’t dealing with some mere rabid beast here. This thing was built to kill. Pitchforks and torches weren’t going to cut it. Where in the hell had his imagination come up with this monster?
The beast sniffed in his direction, its yellow eyes narrowing in recognition.
“Shit,” Quint said, finally understanding what this vision had been trying to show him all along since choking down Teodoro’s drink. “I have an idea,” he told Angélica and Gertrude.
The beast dropped onto all fours, preparing to pounce.
A roar filled the chamber, rattling Quint clear to his toes.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jaguar: One of the most feared beasts in Mesoamerica.
For many years, scholars believed the Olmec civilization had only one major deity—the were-jaguar.
“Whatever your idea is, Parker, you need to act fast.” Angélica switched her machete to her left hand for a second to dry her sweaty right palm on her pants. Her eyes stayed locked on the were-jaguar. This was the last time she let Teodoro get her high. Why couldn’t she be seeing dogs chasing butterflies instead of an Olmec god nightmare? Was this supposed to be some k
ind of test of her mental prowess?
“Gertrude is right,” Quint said.
“Right about what?” Angélica gripped the machete, stepping out from behind Quint.
She sized up their adversary. Jaguars were cautious hunters, stalking their prey, analyzing the layout of the killing field, waiting for the right moment to pounce. If the three of them spread out and surrounded it, maybe they could confuse it. Then she could find an opportunity to slice the tendons on one of its legs and hobble it, giving them a chance to outrun it. But first, she needed to shift it away from the tunnel leading back into the mine.
“I need to be sacrificed,” Quint told her.
“Wrong answer.” Angélica inched away from him. She swung the machete in front of her, drawing a figure eight in the air, seeing if she could attract the were-jaguar’s attention.
Its golden eyes darted her way and then to Gertrude, who had picked up two broken femurs, holding the ragged ends out toward the beast.
“This is only a vision, Angélica. I have a gut feeling that once I get bit, it’ll all be over, and I’ll wake up with one hell of a hangover.”
“What if it’s not a vision?” She whispered the thought that had been scratching at her since leaving her mom at the mine’s entrance.
“There’s no way this shit can be real,” Quint said, still standing next to the hole in the wall. “Just play along with me so I can finish my vision.”
But it’s my hallucination, Angélica thought.
“Gertrude,” Quint said, “when the twin scribes were sacrificed by the great white priest, did he allow Yum Cimil to kill them? Or did the priest actually sacrifice them himself and leave their bodies in the feeding tank for the beast?”
Angélica frowned. Feeding tank? Great white priest? “What in God’s name are you talking about, Quint?”
How was she supposed to play along with his vision when she was supposed to be hallucinating this story? Something wasn’t making sense—besides her mom returning as a ghost and the were-jaguar snarling at them.
“Your mom told me a story about how they got rid of this nasty bastard when the two scribes were here last time.”