Mercedes sprinted away ready to strike if necessary. The machete master turned treasure hunter appeared by her side. “Is okay now.” She liked that he hadn’t made the comment into a question.
Remy held a box and popped the lid. Rainbow colored gems sparkled. He walked out clutching the ancient chest as if it held the Holy Grail. She discovered niches near the entrance holding gourds, tools for weaving and oxidized metal objects purpose unknown. When she approached the largest pots, her heart thudded. Even in the dim light they danced with color. Whatever bloodthirsty deities Teodoro’s people favored, they had mastered the art of decoration.
Teodoro stumbled into her presence. When José, her protector pal, disappeared she did not know. Alone, she stared at the sorcerer having a private vision. “What did you find?” she whispered. He didn’t answer. Whatever it was, he’d wrapped it in cloth and cradled it. Please, she prayed, don’t let it be an infant.
He tucked the artifact inside his vest. A moan escaped. His features had sharpened. One thought captured her—he looked like a bat. Teodoro wandered out leaving her where she stood.
She ditched the bandanna and got out before Remy returned. No sooner had she entered camp when Procteur crossed her path headed in for more. “Teodoro’s gone freaky. Soon I’ll be in charge. Haven’t had this much fun since I found gold coins off North Carolina.”
Mercedes gave him a course correction. “The crew said you stole them. Like you’re doing now. Different pieces, same thief.”
“Maybe I’ll seal your body in the rat hole. That’ll go a big way to help me forget your crap.”
As soon as the spoils lay grouped according to type under her guidance, Remy practically pounded his chest. “We’ve outdone ourselves.” He looked at his watch. “What’s keeping them?”
“Who’s coming?”
No answer. She sat among killers, had no way out and Diego was every day weaker.
Teodoro settled for a spot under a tree bearing droopy dark green leaves. He cradled the mystery parcel and stared at something that required a lot more than twenty-twenty vision. His headband tilted toward his right temple. The cobwebs had disappeared.
Mercedes settled by Diego and whispered. “Sweetheart, wake up.”
He opened his eyes and rolled on his side.
She hugged him. José observed but stayed by the artifacts. He pointed to the collection.
“Mucho dinero.”
Mercedes indicated the treasure. “Illegal.” His smile vanished. She held Diego’s hand. “I have something to tell you.”
“What?”
“We found swords.”
“Where are they?”
“There,” she pointed, “in front of the ollas.” Diego walked to the display. José retreated heading for the perimeter of camp. Remy counted gems, but he nodded to his gun as a warning. Diego flicked a sword into the air.
“Artisans forged the weapon. The blade still balances easily in my hand.” Then he held the other.
“Where did you find them?”
Mercedes described the tomb. “Be careful. The place is a trap.” She wanted to stop him, but how do you restrain a man, a vampire, hunting for the remains of his brother?
Diego planted the swords in the earth and entered the tomb.
When he reappeared at the entrance she raced to him. Dust coated his hair and clothes.
“What did you find?”
“Nothing.” With grief shrouding his ebony eyes, Diego walked into the forest. This time he limped. Sleep would no longer heal him.
Remy’s belligerence went into high gear. “Pack the artifacts, bitch.” As always, he became braver with Diego’s absence.
“The pieces are fragile. What am I supposed to use to cushion them in the cartons?”
“The stuff from the mummy.”
“That would be a desecration. And Teodoro’ll never let me touch them.”
“Do it or I’ll shoot you.” His finger tightened on the trigger.
So many threats, yet they hadn’t lost their power. Defeated, she walked toward the mummies that had their backs to her. These were women who used to eat and laugh and cry. They held no magic or power. They stirred up feelings of sadness and a desire to protect them.
Someone had removed the precious metal cocooning their bodies. The pectoral jewelry had disappeared too. She was surprised Remy wasn’t wearing it.
She touched the fabric and waited for the sorcerer to pounce. He didn’t. Physically, he remained in the mummies’ presence. Mentally, he was gone, very gone. Still he hugged his precious artifact. What was it? Would he use it against Diego?
“Stop stalling!” Remy shouted.
She reached deeper into the woven threads. The material melted like warm cheese. She offered a piece to Remy. Now the gun pointed to her temple. The fabric collapsed on her fingers coating them in sticky goo.
She wiped the mess on her slacks where it mingled with jungle dirt. “Is this what you want me to use?”
“Okay, so we pack ‘em as they are.”
The land shifted. José struggled to keep the artifacts in proper order, but they danced like a Broadway chorus line. She spread her legs for balance but within seconds joined José and Remy on the ground.
Teodoro tightened his headband then kissed the shifting earth. Did he understand they were having an aftershock? Like a drunken man, he wove past the toppled mummies and headed for the tomb. He placed his secret object, now less bundled, onto the entrance slab.
The tremor stopped.
Would the slab become an altar? Diego, the sacrifice? She rushed to Teodoro. “You’ve angered the deities that’s why they sent earthquakes. We’ve got to make amends.” He merely stared into the tomb. “Teodoro! We need forgiveness.”
“We?”
“You made me a tomb robber. I don’t want to die with a guilty conscience.” She chose her words to sound like his. She’d chant if she had to. “Ma’ta’s life involved magic like yours. I don’t want his spirit or those mummies hunting me in the afterlife.” She forced herself to stay close to him. “How can I purify myself?”
“Too late.”
“What’s in the bundle?” She edged closer. “What’re you going to do?”
Ever so slowly he removed the clay-stained cloth.
She stared at a knife. Blood-red stones clustered around the gold hilt.
Teodoro caressed the handle. “It carries the gift of eternal life.”
Sweat ran down her temples. “Coming from you, that sounds bad.”
“Many deaths will follow.”
She yanked the knife out of his hand. “Not this year!” His shrieks startled Remy but he was too far away to grab her. She tossed the dagger inside the tomb aiming for the black recesses.
Teodoro dove after it.
She hung onto his narrow ankle. He kicked at her, but she wouldn’t let go. When she moved to get a better grip, he slammed his hand into her chest like a quarterback avoiding a tackle, knocking the breath out of her and sending her tumbling backwards. Still shrieking he disappeared into the darkness of the tomb.
The earth shuddered. Debris shot from the entrance choking her. Inside, the freshly hewn poles crashed. Remy stood over her twirling his gun until Diego whisked her away from the debris. Fresh air burned as it entered her lungs and she rubbed her chest trying to ease the pain. When her breath normalized, she clung to Diego. He felt colder than the metal that had just been in her hand.
“I only meant to get rid of the thing. I didn’t know he’d go after it. I thought he planned to stab you.” Diego smoothed her hair, but she couldn’t stay still. “We can’t leave him in there. He could still be alive.” She stared at Diego. His skin had a greenish tint like the flesh of a corpse. “You haven’t eaten.”
Remy cocked his gun. “I want that knife.”
She turned on him. “Shut up! I’m so tired of you. I’m getting food for Diego. Shoot me if you want, but Diego won’t get the knife if you kill me. And let’s face the truth--w
eak as he is, he’s the only man still strong enough to do the job.” As long as he has food.
Remy lowered his favorite toy.
She handed Diego a can from her waist pack. Tension vanished from the muscles of his face. She patted his cheek. “Yeah, I know it’s not soup.”
“Please, do not watch.”
Mercedes whispered. “Just drink it.”
“Look away.”
She focused on her battered boots. From Jose’s scream and Remy’s pallor when she raised her eyes, she knew Diego had transformed. She watched as he retreated into the forest. When he returned his skin hovered near light gray, a good sign.
Diego hurled chunks of stone away from the entrance. Mercedes joined him until her wrists ached from the weight of the rubble. José crept closer.
“I help?”
Mercedes wiped her hands on her slacks. “Your boss doesn’t care who does the work as long as it’s not him.” She turned her attention to the entrance and shouted hoping for an answer. “Teodoro! Can you hear us?”
He couldn’t or he couldn’t answer.
Upon removing the last chunks of granite clogging the foyer, Diego slipped inside.
* * *
He gripped Teodoro by his shirt and tugged his inert body into the green overcast of camp. Why? Because madness gripped the sorcerer, because Mercedes would blame herself for his death, because their captor had knowledge his beloved needed and because he would not deliberately let someone die.
“He is still alive.”
Mercedes wrung her hands. “What can we do?”
“His ribs are crushed, internal bleeding. He does not have long.” Diego inched his arm under Teodoro’s neck to ease his breathing.
José studied the sorcerer. “Is dead?”
Remy swore before he could answer. “Castilla, you’re an idiot. Where’s the knife?”
“I grabbed his body not the weapon.”
Like a child, Procteur stomped his foot. “I wanted the knife.”
Teodoro gasped. Diego thought he intended to speak, but his fingers darted under his encrusted vest. In a frenzied moment he coughed then sliced his neck with the ancient blade. To Diego’s horror the dying man gripped the knife Diego had last seen in the hands of the sorcerer’s ancestor Ma’ta. The knife present at Diego’s sacrifice, that Ma’ta dipped into Diego’s vampire father’s blood.
And now it hastened another death. Teodoro’s blood smelled rich. Diego withdrew. “Mercedes, you will have to search him.”
She shook her head. “I can’t do it.”
Diego held her gaze. “You must. We need the antidote.”
She started to cry and he hated himself. But if not on his person then where?
“I’m in charge now,” Procteur said. “Hand everything to me beginning with the pouches on his neck.”
She passed the necklaces. Remy opened the sacks. “Pathetic. Tiny bones and black dust.” Still, Procteur shoved them into a net bag.
Mercedes reached into the pockets of the cargo pants. “I found something. Feels like a bottle.”
She glanced at Diego and he understood they had the same thought. It must be the antidote.
“Let me have it,” Remy ordered.
Her fingers were reluctant, but Remy, still armed, stuck out his hand. He glanced at the label. “A prescription. I’ll keep it. Now give me the knife. It’s sitting there like a big dinosaur.”
“I’m not touching it.”
Neither could Diego.
José approached. In his hand he held a large leaf. He took the knife, wrapped it then offered it to Remy.
Procteur smiled. “I know a European collector who’ll pay extra for the gems.”
Diego wanted Ma’ta’s knife destroyed. Mercedes rose and José handed her leaves to clean herself. Water from his canteen removed the rest. She linked her arm with Diego’s. Remy laughed.
“A real bonding moment, but time’s up.”
“Are you leaving the body of your partner exposed? His followers might object.” The thought had not occurred to the great treasure hunter for he looked at Diego with surprise.
Remy spoke to José. “Bury him in the jungle, but check his knapsack.”
As they watched José discovered a notebook and pen. Both found their way into the pockets of Remy’s khakis. Then he had José toss Teodoro’s empty pack on the fire.
Procteur pointed the gun at Diego’s chest. Diego lunged for him. “Mercedes, run!”
Chapter 17
Remy never fired. Diego’s hands tightened on his neck and he struggled to speak dropping the gun next to Teodoro’s battered body.
“Behind. . . you. My men.”
Diego shot a glance over his shoulder. Troops in camo flashing automatic rifles stepped out of the jungle. Diego jerked Remy against his body as he turned to face them. If they fired, Procteur would perish first. Diego would be gravely injured, but unless his enemies performed other procedures to end his existence, he would recover if the metal were removed. Under his knuckles he felt the heat of Remy’s flesh. His fangs descended. Procteur struggled against him.
“Don’t. . . fire,” he squawked, more frightened of their guns than of Diego. Weapons still raised, the soldiers spread along the camp perimeter and waited. Battles often came down to this pause. Diego accepted the weight of their gaze. He stood in the attitude of the warrior he had been so many times without fangs. No one flinched. Yet the blanched faces showed they were as terrified of Diego as Mercedes had been revolted.
His plan? Occupy the soldiers giving Mercedes time to reach a river. Instead, she screamed.
A gash marred her cheek and a knife hovered at her neck. The mercenary who pushed her into their war circle stared into Diego’s eyes, daring him to take the next step.
“Let me go,” Remy ordered, “or she’s dust.”
Diego gave him his freedom. He scrambled for the gun, opened the chamber. “Say bye-bye.”
He aimed. Suddenly the soldier threatening Mercedes collapsed--a two-foot arrow protruding from his chest. Men with stained cheeks and black powder sprinkled on their greased bodies surrounded Remy’s pals.
Stalemate.
The mercenaries looked from one another and made a decision. They lowered their weapons.
Teodoro’s features repeated themselves in the faces of the new arrivals. Their long, notched arrows changed direction and pointed to Diego’s chest. Mercedes swayed, shaken by events.
A bowman marched to Teodoro’s corpse. He poked the remains with his foot. No response. He tossed the body over his shoulder as Diego had seen firemen do on the news and vanished with it into the jungle. Another tribesman approached Remy and jabbed at his legs until Procteur moved into the jungle joined by the rest of the archers.
Mercedes and Diego faced the armed squad. A mercenary with the posture of a colonel issued a command. In unison, the soldiers turned their weapons toward the jungle.
And they waited.
Raucous blue-headed parrots flew overhead. Procteur reappeared wearing black dust. He looked scared. Diego had the sense that neither group offered friendship. The “colonel” confronted him in a harsh whisper. Remy dripped sweat that made rivulets in the dust covering his skin. Mercedes slipped into Diego’s arms and they, like the rest of the camp, watched Remy and the “colonel” in silence.
Procteur ended the chat by addressing them. “We stay in camp. It’s not safe to enter the jungle now. We’re on the tribe’s boundary and they need time to adjust.” The “colonel” spat on Remy’s boot. Procteur flinched but let it slide.
Perhaps his enemies could be Diego’s friends.
Remy surveyed Mercedes and him. “You have a reprieve.” He rubbed his neck and regarded Diego with hate-filled eyes. Their unfinished business and their last breaths delayed.
With a nod from their self-appointed leader, the soldiers lowered their rifles. Some entered the forest with machetes and returned with palm thatch and saplings. Wielding their steel blades as well as he a
nd Rodrigo had swung their swords, they built lean-tos.
Mercedes squeezed his arm. “Why aren’t we dead?”
“Someone Procteur fears wants us alive. The ‘colonel’ is harder to read.”
“What colonel?”
He explained.
“He doesn’t look merciful.”
“He is not.”
Her eyes widened. “How do you know? Did you read his mind?”
“That skill vanished when I began a jungle diet.” He squeezed her hand. “You must rest.”
“Maybe my body’s had enough antidote. Maybe I’m cured.”
“I still think you must rest.”
“If I don’t make it,” her voice thickened with emotion, “save my family and Dave. Make certain Remy gets what he deserves and rescue the artifacts.”
“Is that all?”
She smiled. “Pretty much.”
Procteur approached and nodded to Mercedes. “We need you to pack.”
She folded her arms. “The mummies can’t travel exposed. It rains here, you know. And if they’re shipped as is by helicopter, you’ll lose them to vibration. No one’s going to buy dust.”
The colonel entered their small group. “Woman right. Momias protection.” His voice held substance equal to his manner.
Procteur took the comment like a blow to the solar plexus. He might be a treasure hunter, but his opinions mattered little to Mercedes or the tribesmen or the colonel or Diego. As Luz would say Remy had no street cred.
“Okay, señorita, what your idea?”
“Crate them.”
“How?”
“Use the forest.”
* * *
Watched by the mercenaries his love photographed which artifacts went into what box. The colonel arranged torches to give her more light. Several of the soldiers tested the cardboard cartons and adjusted the freshly-made twine that would bind them. The tension eased in Mercedes’ face as she lifted the last of the painted bowls and set it carefully in its cubbyhole. She took a moment to review the photos.
Born Into Love Page 19