Born Into Love (19 page)

“I hope to remember the soil and a glowing mountain.”

“In the jungle? Nothing will be the same, not with earthquakes, mudslides. The rainforest doesn’t stop growing.”

“Now you are scaring me.”

* * *

Diego’s plan to live an outwardly normal life had failed. If Remy exposed him and Luz, it would be more difficult to vanish given present technology, but it would be possible. They could do it again, but Mercedes and her sister would not be with them.

From his seat near the pilot’s cabin, Teodoro’s eyes bored into
Diego. “This time you will perish for good in the New World.”

Mercedes shivered. “He’s killed before.”

“Yes.”

The sorcerer reached for an aluminum briefcase. “I want you to see the tablets.”

“Ingots.”

“Call them what you will.”

Remy and Diego joined the sorcerer at a customized rosewood table where he donned white cotton gloves. “I’ve had the tablets cleaned.” He rested the gold ingots on a thick white cloth and pointed to another pair of gloves.

Rodrigo
would have enjoyed the moment for the tension and drama.

“When did you last see these?”

“Doesn’t the oral history of your people tell you that?”

“No.”

His brother had danced in firelight from torches anticipating their reward for returning Marta. “We’ll be rich. We’ll transport our gold by river.” He had forgotten that they knew dangerously little of the terrain, and that riverine tribes would have them at their mercy. That is the message of the ingots. Without a clear starting point, the lines and waves were useless. Rodrigo never anticipated dying; never considered that later on even he might need at least one specific detail on his map. Diego saw no need to tell this to their captors.

Like a black caiman in muddy water, the memory of
their betrayal surfaced slowly. Diego had felt dizzy from the excitement of their arrival and exhausted from cutting the trail. Marta spent days telling them `just a bit farther.’ Rodrigo carried the funeral bundle on his back much like one would carry an aryballo.

They
arrived at dusk and laid down their weapons. The tribe welcomed them, but averted their gaze. At the time Diego wondered if they thought them demons or perhaps avoiding direct eye contact might be part of their culture.

Her people painted themselves with black dye. Some wore a band of bats dotted across their cheeks, others, bat skulls around their necks.

In celebration of Marta’s return they roasted a large four-legged animal foreign to him and his brother. Even her mummified ancestor attended the feast. They drank a bitter liquid from a gourd.

Remy jabbed me in the side. “What’re you doing?”

“Thinking.” Reliving. If only Rodrigo had not followed him to the New World.

Teodoro pointed to scrawled lines. “Put on the gloves. After you saw the sunrise where did you go?”

“Downhill from the Mouth of the Sun. Until I am at the location, I cannot identify the precise route after several lifetimes.”

Teodoro pounded the table. “What rivers did you cross?”

“Do you think we knew their names?” Diego removed the gloves and strode back to his seat. To bring them to the village he would have to depend upon the soil. As for finding the cure for Mercedes, he needed a miracle.

Teodoro shut
off the overhead lights. He withdrew a woolen blanket from a concealed drawer and ordered Remy to do the same.

Diego
sank into the leather seat. From the rise and fall of Mercedes chest he understood she had fallen asleep. He covered her with a blanket and settled back to study Teodoro. Even in repose he exuded a strange power.

The veins in
his limbs ached and were tightened by hunger. Soon he would have to feed.

* * *

How much she slept after the transfer to the small plane in Lima, Mercedes wasn’t sure, but her neck
was sore and needed rubbing. She peered out the window as they cleared the mountains. “There’s a city below.”

“What you see is nothing like the city I remember, but the mountains are still majestic.”

“Dreading the memories?”

“Well, I do not return by choice. We must be careful. Teodoro is insane. That is what you need to remember. He might separate us. As long as you are on the ground, I can find you.”

“How?”

“We made love. Your scent is not one I can forget.”

“I suppose you were the creature in the museum?”

“Yes.”

Mercedes tightened her seat belt. “I hope we get out of this alive.”

“I wish to have that in common with you.”

* * *

Upon landing Teodoro spoke to the authorities who then scattered. Mercedes staggered into a waiting taxi. Her head pounded like a demon wanted to break out of her skull. She gripped her stomach. “I’m going to be sick.”

The sorcerer turned around from the front seat. “Take deep breaths. It’s the altitude. You’re close to twelve thousand feet.”

Remy groaned. “My head’s killing me too.”

Teodoro’s eyes hardened. “From alcohol.”

She hoped if the nausea won, she’d remember to aim for Teodoro. Diego cradled her. Her instinct screamed to pull away, but his chest made too good a pillow.

Teodoro’s indifference surfaced. “My dear, don’t worry. You will not die in this city.”

She forced herself to speak. “I hope I can’t say the same about you.” The taxi hooked a tight turn and her stomach cramped. “I need to lie down.” The tires skidded and the vehicle slid into a parking area. She covered her mouth with her hand.

Teodoro, unmoved and unhurried, fixed his gaze on Diego. “Recognize anything?”

Mercedes groaned.

Diego patted her back like her mother used to. “Nothing is familiar except the narrow streets. I saw storefronts--cafes, restaurants, clubs and a post office. Presently the city caters to tourists.”

She climbed out of the taxi, but refused Teodoro’s hand, preferring to steady herself on a fender. “I want a bed, right away.”

Diego carried her into a building that looked more like a fortress than a small hotel--away from the hustle of the plaza and located on a street so narrow every footfall echoed. The foyer needed chandeliers to brighten the mood or maybe she saw everything muted. A concierge bowed to Teodoro.

“Give them the second floor. My associate and I will take the first.”

As the importer spoke, an unsmiling man wearing a tight black suit and a red tee assumed a
guard position at the entrance. Farther down the hall, his twin leaned against a bright blue door and met her gaze. Even if she could stand without her head exploding, she wouldn’t get far.

Remy and Teodoro escorted them to their room. “I’ll have
a special tea sent. There are no locks on the doors, but the staff will respect your privacy. If you want anything else, ask.” Teodoro cast a cold glance at Diego. “You’ll have to satisfy your own needs.”

* * *

Diego felt the hunger growing, but Mercedes came first. Two cups of the strong brew chased
away her headache. Chicken broth with a corn dumpling took care of her hunger. “The food will rest easy on your stomach. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“So you say.” She closed her eyes. “There’s another problem. I don’t want to be in the same room with you.”

“I know.”

“But I’ll play along.” She drifted to sleep.

Again he blanketed her. He searched out Teodoro. “How will the altitude affect the poison?”

“Altitude increases
the potency. The sooner we get to the jungle, the slower the poison travels.” He started to close his door. “By the way, transporting her vampire style could cause untold damage. It would bring an ugly death full of spasms and vomit.”

Back in the room
he drew apart the drapes. Two windows faced a narrow alley, one of the
callejones
that formed the network of streets that residents traveled every day on the way to the plaza or markets.

Mercedes raised her head. “You’re going out?”

“Yes. To feed and explore alternatives.”

She fell back on the mattress.
Diego dressed in olive cargo pants and a long sleeve tee shirt of the same color. Clothes that would call no attention. Before he left, he listened to Mercedes breathe finding that her respiration offered hope.

He
shifted to the cobblestone street and walked to the plaza. Partygoers, mostly knapsack-carrying trekkers, attempted to wrap him in their midst. He lost them to a corner café offering fusion drinks.

Modern Ciud’Ak appeared nothing like the city
that he had helped to conquer. What did he remember? The site had been planned in the shape of a hummingbird. That information was not useful. He crossed the area now called the Plaza de la Luna, and noted the impossibility of reconciling a former mental map with the present day center. From somewhere issued the odor of brewed coffee and fresh baked bread. To enjoy them again would be worth a king’s treasure.

He
walked to the outskirts. A granite valley, the quarry that had fed the ancient structures, gaped below; the nearby walls caught the shadows of buildings. Below, the river still flowed rapidly; creating white water that yielded to gentler stretches. Switchback paths crisscrossed the rising peaks. Several llamas that had wandered to an unpopulated area stirred as he landed. He waited for a challenge that never came.

He
drank his fill, but small quantities from each animal. The blood was thin and his body unaccustomed to the gamey taste.

Back in the city the wide streets in the newest section offered pizza, hamburgers, computer access and mixed cuisines. An elderly vendor supplied directions to an herbalist.
Diego entered a street so dark and narrow from towering high walls that lanterns lit several windows although the sun had not set.

At the end of the passage, bound by more
mortar-less Inca walls, he found the woman in her storefront shop. He assigned her otherworldly appearance to the preponderance of the color red in her skirt and blouse coupled with the glow of an oil lantern.

Seated on a low stool, the woman, skin wizened by the sun and dry air, studied
him. Her dark eyes, barren of welcome, scanned his features. She drank coffee from a vessel that looked old enough to be a museum piece.

Their
gazes locked. Her stained fingers pointed to the dried herbs and minerals in small open sacks encircling her feet in the form of a crescent. She lit a small bowl with a long wooden match. When it burned, the substance curled like incense. She used her hand to send the rising puffs toward him. Suddenly, she drew back, almost falling off her battered three-legged stool.

In Spanish
he told her that he needed information about plants. He could not tell if she understood.

Her Spanish words, when they came, were heavily accented, barely comprehensible. The second time she spoke,
he froze.

“
Usted no es humano
.”

She knew. “Who am I?”
he asked wanting to hear the condemnation. Perhaps punishing himself because he sensed what she would answer.

She tossed grains that resembled rice at
his face. “
Vampiro
.”

He
coughed hoping to convince her that the smoke or the rice pellets affected him. “I am trapped in this state,” he explained. “Although I cannot save myself, I hope to save another. Who can help me? Who reads the plants?”

She swayed and seemed to search the hard-packed dirt floor. Whispering words that
he could not comprehend, she pulled a battered map of the city off the unpainted wall. Her trembling finger slid along the soiled paper and stabbed at a nearby street. “
Museo
.”

A museum?
He reached into her mind and held her in place long enough to wipe his presence from her memory.

She disappeared behind a thick wooden door leaving
him with nothing but the crunch of grains underfoot. The map disappeared with her. But the museum would have to wait. Mercedes, sick and tormented, had been alone too long.

He
leaned against the cold stone wall of the ancient street and willed the shouts and cries from his past to silence. Memories, his restive enemies, gathered.

* * *

Mercedes toweled herself dry. Although still not acclimated, her nausea had lessened and taking breaths had gotten easier.

She tugged on panties and a bra, a pair of jeans and a tee. It disgusted her that Teodoro or Remy had been through her duffel, but she had to wear something.