Chapter Fifteen #2
She looked at Quint. “Why?”
“He knew you’d want us to wait,” her father answered for him.
“But I convinced him that if we opened it immediately, we’d be helping you by saving a day’s time, because we’d know what structural support supplies to take to the location tomorrow.
Plus, you’d be able to go inside the cavity that much sooner. ”
“I also didn’t want you or Fernel to risk a limb and open it on your own,” Quint said. To Angélica, he added, “It was clear they were going to try to move the slab whether I was on board or not.”
“That’s true,” Juan said, nodding.
Quint chuckled. “They were like kids in a candy store, peering through the glass at a big swirly lollipop.”
“True again. I really wanted that lollipop.” Her father laughed, but then quickly sobered.
“Thinking back, I knew waiting would be more logical, but I had this driving need to see what was on the other side of that door slab. The hunger for discovery after so many days of frustration had me practically drooling about what we might find.”
“But you didn’t feel as strongly about opening it up?” she asked Quint.
He shook his head. “I was worried we might run into another den of snakes, and I’d had enough excitement of the slithering kind at the last site.”
Hmm. The adventure bug had bitten her father, whose levelheadedness she’d counted on many times in the past when it came to potentially important discoveries, but not Quint, who Angélica would think might be more interested in “the big find” for his article.
“Did you feel that same hunger when it came to exploring the structural ruins?” she asked her dad.
“Not really. Just the usual curiosity with a good dose of caution since the peril due to structural deterioration was clearly evident.”
Angélica watched a pair of bats dart and swoop over the road in front of them, catching their evening meal. The sight of the night fliers spurred another question. “Were there butterflies at the ruins—the structure you’d set out to find?”
Her father shook his head. “Not that I saw. Did you see any, Junior Mint?”
Quint grimaced slightly. “Only an orange one.”
“Gatita, did you see the vultures circling today?”
“Yep.” All twelve of them.
So had KuTu, who’d pulled her aside in the midst of her stone rubbings to ask if she’d noticed that their numbers continued to increase with each day that Quint was on site.
However, she wasn’t going to tell her father that.
Nor was now the time to tell Quint that KuTu claimed the additional number of vultures was clearly a sign that they were in more danger than before, especially her good demon.
When she’d asked KuTu if this increased danger was due to their continued digging around the site or caused by something else, he’d shrugged and said that only the gods of the Underworld would know that answer.
He’d started to walk away but turned back to add that reincarnation might play a role in the vultures’ purpose, but that time would show them the true reason.
His cryptic forecast had left her temporarily stunned, with her charcoal and rice paper in hand. A reincarnation of what? Or should she say of whom? Quint? Or some spirit trapped here from long ago?
Shit. Archaeology was easier when she only saw things in black and white. This gray color of the supernatural world left her with a headache instead of answers.
“Have you smelled anything dead at the site?” her father asked her, pointing toward the darkening sky. “Anything that would be attracting so many eaters of the dead?”
Eaters of the … She did a double-take that ended with a scowl. Oh, he meant the vultures. “Why do you have to say it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Eaters of the dead,” she repeated in a deep, growly voice. “Next you’ll start going on about ancient curses again.”
“It was just a turn of phrase, gatita.” He directed a narrowed gaze her way. “Why are you so touchy about it? Do you know something we don’t about this site? Something more … spooky?”
Yes, she did, dammit, but she wasn’t going to go there with her father because he’d jump on her bandwagon and race off into the sunset with his usual curse mumbo-jumbo.
That in turn would scare the hell out of Esteban, who shared her father’s habit of dallying in superstitions, and maybe several others.
For now, everyone needed to stay on task and leave the nail-biting to her.
Without looking at Quint, she lied, “No. But you tend to get a superstitious idea in your head and there’s no talking sense to you.”
“I always listen to sense.”
“Then why did you make Quint move that door slab?”
Quint opened his mouth to speak, but she tightened her grip on his hand, shaking her head.
Her dad had acted out of character, and she wondered if there was more to it than just the hunger for adventure that he’d claimed.
Something to do with the vultures, the “good” demon standing next to her, and some unnatural pull that may or may not have to do with an actual curse.
“I didn’t make him,” her dad defended.
“You manipulated Quint, knowing he’d want to help me however possible.”
“I didn’t …” Her dad started to argue, but then stopped. After a few more steps along the road, he sighed. “You’re right, gatita. I was wrong to push him and was not thinking rationally at the time. I’m sorry, Quint.”
“You don’t need to apologize. I’m a big boy. I could have walked away.”
“Dad, I’m more concerned with the why part than right or wrong here. It’s not like you to charge forth—that’s my approach. Typically, in these circumstances, you’re the one holding me back.”
Angélica led them off the sacbe onto the trail leading the short distance to camp.
“I don’t know why, gatita,” her dad said as they shifted to single-file mode with him trailing behind her and Quint bringing up the rear. “I just really wanted that slab moved.” He yawned. “The ghosts of the Maya ancestors must have been whispering in my ear to let them fly free.”
Or the ghosts had a message for one of the Underworld’s good demons and didn’t want to wait another day to deliver it.
Angélica glanced over her shoulder at Quint. He stared back at her, a frown lining his face. She couldn’t tell if he was sharing her worries about what the hell was going on under the surface at the site or was just hot and tired from another long, hard day of jungle clearing.
Her father, on the other hand, was visibly worn out. Rather than prod him anymore about the “why” behind his actions, she switched to a more productive subject. “What sort of stabilizing supplies do we need to take to the mound tomorrow in order to further investigate and possibly excavate?”
Her father started listing off some possibilities for ways to make the entrance more sturdy as they weaved along the tree-lined path toward camp.
Quint remained quiet for the short remainder of the walk, his brow continually furrowed.
Back at camp, they split up. Her father headed for the mess tent for a cup of coffee. Quint followed, wanting to refill his canteen.
Angélica made a beeline for their tent to grab some clean clothes and supplies, then she hurried to the makeshift camp shower.
She wanted to wash off the day’s sweat and dirt before enjoying what smelled like barbecued chicken covered in achiote paste.
Her stomach growled as she rinsed off the result of her struggles inside the curtained shower tent.
She hoped her sniffer was right, because María’s pollo pibil was one of her favorite Maya dishes.
It was dark by the time she was mostly dried—one never fully aired out in the jungle at this time of year. Dressed in the lightweight linen shirt and matching pants that she preferred while resting back in camp, she started toward her tent to drop off her dirty clothes.
Midway there, as she skirted the communications tent, she glanced over to where Teodoro had a fire going in the pit. Along with the wood smoke, she could smell the citrusy scent of the citronella oil he used to help keep mosquitoes and other bugs away from the camp.
The sight of Daisy standing next to the fire with her hands held palms out toward the flames slowed Angélica in her tracks.
What was she doing? It was still plenty hot out. The fire’s main purpose was bug control, not warmth.
Angélica switched tracks and walked toward Daisy. As she neared, she expected the older woman to turn and greet her, but Daisy continued to stare down at the flames, her fingers spread wide over them.
“Daisy?” Angélica stopped a short distance away to avoid the heat. “What’s going on? You need some marshmallows?”
“No, Pik,” Daisy said without looking up.
Angélica’s breath caught.
Pik? As in the Mayan word for bedbug? The nickname her mom had used ever since Angélica would climb into her parents’ bed in the middle of the night?
No, she must have heard her wrong.
Angélica eased closer to the popping flames, noticing the goosebumps on Daisy’s forearms in the firelight. “Are you okay, Daisy?”
The other woman continued to hold her hands out to the fire, flexing her fingers slightly in the flickering light. “It is always cold here,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible above the chirps and trills coming from the surrounding trees. “I miss the warmth of a fire, Pik.”
Angélica’s heart went into hopscotch mode, skipping about erratically. Her fingertips tingled as she reached up to touch the heart locket on her necklace.
“Mom?” she whispered. “Is that you?”
“Yes, it is I,” Daisy said, her voice deep and scratchy, edging on eerie. “Your long-dead mother.”
Angélica frowned at Daisy’s profile. “If you’re Marianne García, why are you talking like that?”
If this was some kind of practical joke, it wasn’t funny, especially after the long, exhausting day she’d had and her worries after KuTu’s warning about those damned vultures.