Dark Truth

by Lindsay McKenna

  Suddenly, Ana felt cold and filled with terror. She had to walk through that door. She had to ask questions. Such trepidation built within her that she wanted to remain in Mace’s sunny presence just a few moments longer. But she forced herself to climb out of the Land Rover and wave goodbye.

  A cool breeze moved by her, giving her goose bumps. Heaving an inner sigh, the knots in her stomach now fist size, Ana stared at the daunting wooden door that held all the secrets of her young life behind it. Was she ready for this?

  Mouth dry, her heart pounding in her chest, she gripped her briefcase and luggage and stepped forward.

  Chapter 2

  Victor Carancho Guerra cooed softly as his wife, Fidelia, handed him their one-month-old daughter, Abegail. Spanish names had meaning, and his newborn’s meant “father rejoices.” Indeed, Victor did rejoice when his second daughter was born.

  “Look at you, my precious baby girl,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her smooth forehead. He turned to give his wife a warm look as he sat behind the counter of his curio shop in Aguas Calientes.

  “Abegail has the eyes of an eagle,” he said.

  His young wife grinned and blushed. Fidelia was a local beauty who had come from a very poor background. It had been easy to court her. She went from abject poverty to riches simply by saying, “I do.” Yet Victor knew she truly did love him as much as she admired him. He was a great man, widely known and respected by all. And Victor liked the fact his wife’s name meant “faithful.” It carried full weight with him, because his first marriage had ended tragically for all concerned. Victor demanded loyalty from those who wanted the powerful, world-altering secrets he carried.

  “We live only to bring a smile to your face, my dear husband.” Fidelia folded the soft pink alpaca blanket around the tiny bundle in Victor’s arms. “I’ve got to continue getting desayuno ready for us,” she whispered, placing a chaste kiss on Victor’s bearded cheek.

  Lifting his nose to sniff the air, Victor nodded. “Smells good,” he said. “I’ll take care of our little one here in the meantime.”

  “Papa…Papa…”

  Victor looked down to see his son tugging on his shirt. Marcial was ten years old, Victor’s first child with Fidelia. He had named the boy after the Roman god of war. The child was tall and gangly like Victor, his thick black hair bowl shaped around his long, lean face.

  “Eh, Marcial?”

  Abegail cooed, her tiny hands reaching up to tangle in Victor’s neatly trimmed black-and-silver beard.

  “Papa, may I help put the price tags on the dolls that arrived yesterday?” Marcial pointed to a new shipment of handmade Peruvian dolls.

  “Of course, son. You know where the black felt-tip pen is.” Victor gestured to a small drawer behind the glass counter. “They are each twenty dollars U.S.”

  The boy grinned happily and charged down the counter, his shoes thunking on the aging wooden floors. The massive glass-encased display case stretched like a fat anaconda from the door of the shop to the back wall, a good thirty feet long and chock-full of items tourists drooled over.

  Victor chuckled and returned his attention to their newest addition. Abegail had her mother’s beautiful full features, he thought. But all babies were round and plump-cheeked at first. Gently, he stroked a finger through his daughter’s thin black hair. Abegail was only a month old and already the pride of his life. Cradling her on one arm, Victor rocked her and made cooing sounds. Soon Abegail’s bow shaped mouth stretched into a wide smile.

  Her fingers were so precious, so tiny. Victor always marveled at the birthing process and how innocent and beautiful a baby was when it came out of its mother. Abegail’s eyes were lively, and he knew they would take on a cinnamon color in time. They were slightly slanted, and again reminded Victor that she took strongly after her mother, who also had slightly tilted eyes. They gave her an exotic look that Victor loved. He glanced over at his hyperactive son, then took a moment to look fondly around the quiet shop. In a couple hours he would open the doors of El Condor Curio Shoppe, which sat at the top of the hill on Aguas Calientes’s main street. The tourists would bustle off the Cuzco train and scurry into town to buy his special curios for friends and family. Victor expected a busy day in his store. He’d chanted a money spell earlier to attract much energy and monetary exchange.

  To ensure good business, Victor regularly used his paranormal knowledge. Daily he would cast a spell that would quite literally draw people into his shop. Tourists would need to come to El Condor and not know why.

  Laughing softly, he tickled Abegail’s tiny neck with the end of his goatee. The baby gurgled pleasantly, her hands opening and closing with delight. Victor had nothing but love for his new daughter. How long he’d pined for a little girl! Frowning, he recalled his unhappy past—a painful, terrible memory. He’d been duped by his first wife, who had lied to him about everything. Even now, twenty-eight years later, he felt rage, along with a pain in his chest.

  “Papa? Can I put a spell on each doll now? I put the price tags on them already.” Marcial held up one of the handmade dolls. It was of a Peruvian girl with a black felt bowler hat on her head. The doll wore a typical highlands costume consisting of a long, colorful skirt and white blouse.

  “Of course,” Victor exclaimed. “I’ve taught you how to sit quietly. You know how to cast a circle of salt, place the doll within it and then send in your intent—that it be bought by a turista.”

  Marcial giggled. “This is so much fun, Papa!” He bent over a lower drawer and opened it. The boy took out a large piece of brown paper and carefully laid it on the clean floor behind the counter. He then removed a plastic bag containing sea salt.

  “Now, slow down,” Victor advised. “Slow down, take your time and focus, Marcial. Focus is everything in our business.”

  “Yes, Papa.” The boy drew three deep breaths in succession and gave his father a winning smile. Then he placed all the dolls on the floor next to the paper, which stretched from the wall to the counter. Victor watched as his son knelt down upon it, opened the plastic bag and, in a clockwise direction, dribbled salt from his closed hand. In no time he had created a circle a little larger than each doll.

  “Excellent,” Victor declared. Marcial glowed at the praise. The boy set the bag of salt aside and gently placed the first doll within the circle. He then took his wand, which Victor had made for him from the branch of a mahogany tree, and began to trace the outer circle while he mumbled the spell that would cause a shopper to spontaneously buy the doll.

  Victor was pleased to see his son’s attention to detail. To work in the metaphysical arts, one had to be grounded, intent and focused. At ten years old, Marcial was finally realizing all these things must be in place to create the proper energy around a thing he wished to change.

  And of course, the boy received a bit of money with each enchanted object that sold. Victor knew money was the ultimate power in this three-dimensional world, routinely turning would-be saints into sinners. Victor could prove it over and over again. Marcial should learn about the power and effects of money not only on himself, but how it influenced others. To learn sorcery was to be aware of each human being’s weaknesses, as well as his or her strengths. A good sorcerer knew how to exploit both. And his son would begin to see how money itself could be used as a spell of sorts, manipulating a person to do what he wanted.

  Sunlight was just beginning to peek into the large picture windows at the front of his store. Victor always enjoyed the weak rays that found their way through the perennial clouds hovering over the forested valley. He loved this place, loved the power and majesty of the tall peaks that towered like kindly guardians above Aguas Calientes. Yes, life was good. Because of the spells he placed on all the goods in his shop, they sold briskly and quickly. He was the richest man in town and that made him feel warm in his heart. He would always have money to provide for his growing family, and that was important to him. In two years, he would send Marcial away for special mil
itary schooling in Lima, to a boys’ academy, so that his son would get the very best and most disciplined education possible.

  Victor saw one of his students, Ramiro, walk up to the door of his shop and knock. Victor liked what his name stood for: wise and famous. It gave the lad something to aspire to.

  “Come in,” Victor called.

  The bell over the door tinkled as Ramiro entered and then closed it behind him.

  “Good morning, maestro,” the twenty-year-old murmured as he walked to the counter. He lifted his hand and said hello to Marcial, who did not respond, as he was focused on his spells.

  Victor smiled at the short, heavily muscled young man. Ramiro came from a poor family in Aguas Calientes. He worked carrying tourists’ baggage from the train, across the deadly Urubamba tributary to the fancy hotels on the other side. Every day, Ramiro risked his life. He had come to Victor many years ago asking for a safety amulet to keep him from falling and drowning in the angry rapids. Ten young men had lost their lives so far, and he didn’t want to be another one. His wages kept his parents and five siblings from starving to death. He could not afford to die, for they, too, would certainly die from lack of food. There was a bridge that tourists used and hired help was not allowed to access it. They were forced to take the bags across the rapids, instead.

  Victor had cast a spell into a black river stone the young Quero carried on his person. It ensured that Ramiro could safely cross on the wet, slippery boulders, avoiding the cold, swiftly moving waters that spilled down the slope to the mighty Urubamba River. One slip and Ramiro could be swept away, since he didn’t know how to swim. As well, the glacier-fed waters that roared unchecked down from the Andes were so cold that a person would freeze within minutes of falling in.

  Victor met the young man’s dark brown eyes. “And how are you this morning, my boy? You look very happy. What has happened?”

  Ramiro’s smile revealed his upper front teeth were missing, because of a nasty fight years earlier. “I’m very happy, maestro! I just had to come and tell you that the spell you gave me to get the attention of Lucinda is working!” He rubbed his hands together, his voice rising in excitement. “I know you are truly a master of the metaphysical arts, maestro, and I have studied many years with you. But when Lucinda came from Cuzco to teach at the local school here, I fell blindly in love with her. She would not have much to do with me, a poor man from Aguas Calientes.” He shook his head. “But the spell you gave me last week, it has worked, maestro! I am floating above the clouds.”

  Victor grinned. “Indeed? That is very good news, Ramiro.” He saw the happiness shining in the man’s dark brown eyes. Ramiro was plain looking and his hair needed trimming. His clothes mirrored his station in life: the white peasant shirt he wore was thin with age, though spotless; the brown wool trousers had patches sewn here and there. Still, Ramiro was clean shaven and washed nightly. One of the many things Victor instilled in his students was a sense of pride and neatness in their appearance. A positive presentation was vital if they were to be successful when they went out on their own and opened up their own metaphysical business.

  Under ordinary circumstances, an educated woman such as Lucinda would snub a country bumpkin like Ramiro, Victor knew. But he had tricks that could turn the tide.

  Laughing almost giddily, Ramiro said, “I sneaked the crystal amulet to Lucinda. I hung it on a silver chain and presented it to her as a gift—a pretty pendant she could wear.” His eyes widened in wonder. “The very next day, she met me at the plaza while I was buying vegetables for my poor, sick mother. She invited me to have tea with her this afternoon.”

  “And was she wearing the crystal necklace at that time?” Victor asked.

  “Yes, yes, she was.” Ramiro reached across the counter and gripped his mentor’s shoulder. “I have so much to thank you for, maestro. Truly, you are the magician of the world, as they say you are. Long ago, before I became your student, I had heard that you made and sold spells, but now I see that your power is incredible. Thank you so much. This woman holds my heart in her hands. I love her, and you have helped make my dream come true, señor.”

  “Ah, you see, Ramiro, when one’s intent is harnessed with one’s desire, it always yields such possibilities. Well, go to tea with the beautiful Lucinda this afternoon. You might bring her flowers, eh? Women always like flowers. And perhaps, a little box of chocolates? You will impress her with your continued thoughtfulness. It sends the right message, that you care about her and want to forge a continuing relationship with her. Flowers and candies cast a magical spell of their own.”

  “Yes, maestro.” Ramiro laughed again and stuck his hands into the pockets of his baggy trousers. “You are such a wise person. I am humbled to remain your loyal servant and student.”

  “As I am humbled that you wish to learn from me,” Victor murmured. He kissed his daughter’s head, her fine, dark hair tickling his nose. Straightening, he said, “And don’t forget, two days from now we will have another class. There will be about one hundred of my students from Peru, some from Norteamérica and others from Europe and Asia who come for their next training session with me. We will meet up on Machu Picchu, as usual, where magic lives even on our three-dimensional plane.”

  Rubbing his hands together once more, Ramiro said, “I have my calendar marked, maestro. I would never miss one of your wonderful classes. I wish you held them more often than every three months. But I am in a hurry, and you have always said that learning the metaphysical arts is not for the impatient, but for the plodding.” He lifted his hand. “I must go to work. I just wanted to come by and thank you from my heart for all your help and kindness.”

  Victor smiled. “You’re welcome, my young friend. I will see you in a few days.”

  The door closed. Fidelia poked her head out from behind the dark blue curtain between the shop and their living quarters. “Mi querido, desayuno is ready,” she sang out.

  What a sweet voice his wife possessed. Victor nodded and gazed at their daughter. “My joy, it is time for your father to eat. Are you not happy?” He smiled down at his child. Abegail gurgled contentedly and waved her arms in response.

  Lifting his daughter, Victor felt pleasure ripple through him as he saw the chocolate colored birthmark that represented the Tupay symbol on her. She had a circle with a dot in the center on the back of her tiny, wrinkled neck. Yes, one day his daughter would learn all about the metaphysical arts. He was already passing on his knowledge to his son, and when she was seven years old, Abegail would start training, just as Marcial had.

  “Coming,” he called to his wife.

  But just as Victor placed his daughter in the bassinet near the table, he felt a powerful disturbance in the energy within the room. He tucked the blanket around his daughter and straightened. What had happened? Everything looked normal. Fidelia was placing pink linen napkins beside their plates and preparing to sit down.

  And yet, the power of the unseen wave felt like a shattering tsunami. He gasped in surprise.

  “What, darling?” Fidelia asked as she poured them coffee. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Victor muttered. He suddenly moved past the table. “I’m going to my office, querida. I don’t know when I’ll be back. I just sensed something and need to check it out right away.”

  Fidelia seemed alarmed but said nothing. “Of course, my husband.”

  Of all things! Victor hurried to the rear of the two-story building and down the steps to his inner sanctum, the place where he practiced his metaphysical arts. With his key, the only one that existed, he opened the heavy wooden door, quietly shut and locked it behind him and switched on the light. Victor felt a thrumming sense of urgency he hadn’t felt in a long time. But he clearly recognized what the energy was all about.

  He sat down in the overstuffed chair at his desk and quickly closed his eyes. Grounding himself, he relaxed and folded his hands in his lap. He knew he had to get a steely control over his stunned emotions.

&n
bsp; She was here! His estranged daughter, born twenty-seven years ago, was somewhere in Peru. Victor couldn’t believe it. Suddenly, he felt both giddy and anxious. His long-lost daughter had finally come home. Ana. That was the name his wife had given the baby she’d carried before she died. It was a name he would always remember.

  Victor had to be careful what he chose to do now. Being a master sorcerer, he knew that not all energies or spirit beings in the other dimensions were necessarily friendly toward him.

  Those who traveled in what was commonly known as the Other Worlds, and who knew what they were doing, always cloaked the “light”—the aura—that emanated around them. Denizens of the lower realms were always interested in light, since they had so little of their own. Once these roving astral entities found an uncloaked being, they would try and latch on to the aura, much like sucker fish attach themselves to the underbelly of a shark. Though Victor considered them garbage, they were very real and could drain anyone ignorantly traveling through the Other Worlds. And right now, he needed to do that. His long-lost daughter by his first marriage had just arrived unexpectedly in Peru. She might come looking for him.

  Victor didn’t know if she was trained in the metaphysical arts or not. If she was, he didn’t want to give away his presence just yet, and cloaking was an essential defense against a possible enemy.

  Controlling his breathing, he quickly shifted into what shamans and sorcerers referred to as “nonordinary reality.” Being a master sorcerer, he could accomplish the same thing any well-trained shaman could: easily shift into the Other Worlds.

  Instantly, Victor found himself hovering above his body. Turning, he saw his force of spirit guides waiting for orders from him.

  Let’s track down the source of my daughter’s energy, he told them via mental telepathy. His black stallion, a mighty spirit being from the other dimensions, leaped forward, ready for Victor to alight upon his wide, massive back. Once astride, Victor gripped the fiery animal’s mane and clapped his heels to the horse’s flanks. Instantly, they flew through the darkness of the fourth dimension, no longer constrained by the physical laws of the third. Time and space did not exist here. Instead, he would find his estranged daughter’s location in the blink of an eye.