Born Into Love (26 page)

“Hands off. I’d rather land in a nest of cobras then get help from you.”

“Wrong continent.”

Teodoro wheeled around in the claustrophobic foyer. “Silence!”

Mercedes shrank back. The sorcerer’s voice pierced her chest. Was he gaining power? Thick webs now stuck to his headband adding an extra coating of eeriness. She checked her clothes. If she saw a creature, she’d bolt.

“Be careful,” Teodoro advised, “the walls still want to collapse.”

Obviously, he was the only one allowed to speak. Sweat rolled down her neck onto her collar. What if Teodoro and Remy sealed her in the tomb? Not going to happen. A good mantra even if mantras also originated on another continent. Teodoro stopped. She braced.

“Look,” he whispered. “The foyer ends.”

Mercedes, with Remy breathing down her neck, waited. “Am I allowed to comment?”

“Yes.”

“The tomb slants down and then spreads out on either side.” Although the light did not penetrate too deeply, suddenly she understood. “I think it’s zoomorphic.”

Teodoro rocked on his heels. “Yes! It has shape! Wings!”

“The foyer could be the head. We’re walking through a bat-shaped tomb or something close to it. Probably looked better a few hundred years ago.”

“A most holy place to me,” announced Teodoro.

Procteur’s voice echoed his frustration. “What are you talking about?”

The sorcerer gazed at the ceiling. Mercedes did the same. “Look at the drawings.”

“They’re peeling,” Remy said.

She zeroed in on the most complete sketch. “What do you see?”

Remy wasn’t too excited. “Rows and rows of bats. Large bats. Small bats. Big deal. Let’s get to the treasure.”

“And the streaks on the walls?” Teodoro asked.

Mercedes sighed in relief. “Pretend blood. Thank goodness.”

“Exactly,” the sorcerer said approval in his voice. “Mercedes, I am glad you came with us.”

“Uh huh.” She extended her hand against the wall for support. On the weird-o-meter, this field trip hit a solid twenty out of ten. Pebbles slipped from under her fingers and poured onto the floor. Whatever wood lined the walls had been eaten long ago.

“Okay,” Remy said, “we’re here. Which way?”

“Left.”

“What about the niches along the entrance. They could have good stuff.”

“No, we do as I say.” Crouching against the low ceiling dripping with more webs, the sorcerer escorted her and Remy into the dark space. With the placement of a few lanterns objects glittered.

“Beautiful.” Desire rang in Teodoro’s voice. She peeked around him. Three mummies sat bundled on cedar litters. Each wore a hammered gold mantle. Pectoral shields had been added. They were filled with gems that glimmered like cats’ eyes.

Her pulse raced. “Emeralds and fire opals. Jade.”

Procteur reached for the closest. Teodoro whacked his wrist with the river rock. “They must be handled with care.”

“Let me draw them in place,” Mercedes suggested. “It would be to your benefit. Collectors will want to know about their location, see them in situ.” And she thought, the sketches’d be evidence and invaluable to archaeologists should they get out of the jungle alive.

“Sorry,” Remy said. “We’re out of art supplies. I have a better idea.” He produced a digital camera. “Take pictures.”

Good, she thought. How reassuring. Greedy and stupid. The police would have a field day.

“Your thoughts are so obvious. Forget the police. I’ll reclaim the camera when we break camp.”

She turned to the ancient souls whose breasts now existed only as lines and dots sculpted into metal and began to shoot. When Teodoro bent to examine the closest, her interest peaked. “How is she wrapped?” Mercedes asked.

“Yards of woven cloth.”

Procteur rested his lantern on the uneven floor and rubbed his hands together. “We’ll find artifacts in the folds. Be worth a fortune.”

Mercedes calculated some of the necessities the women would have taken into eternity: combs, food and drinking vessels, favorite household objects; all probably scattered around the floor and too precious to land in Remy’s lap.

Procteur shoved in front of her. Another piece of the wall dislodged. “Let’s get the bundles before this hole kills us.”

Teodoro shook his head. “First, I pay homage.”

Remy swore. “Hurry.”

The sorcerer knelt and communed with his ancestors. Mercedes snapped pictures. When Teodoro stood she backed away to give them room to carry the mummies and found herself at the entrance to the right chamber.

“No!” shrieked Teodoro. Photograph only the left wing.”

“Okay. Not a problem.”

Remy tucked his flashlight in a pocket. He spoke to Teodoro. “I’ll carry the mummy, you guide me.”

The sorcerer nodded.

As soon as her captors crossed the entrance threshold, Mercedes scanned the floor of the right wing for a weapon. Pebbles from a cave-in crunched under foot. Fearing she might step on something precious or fanged, she crouched low but kept her hands inches from the river rocks and coating of pebbles. A handle glinted. Anxious for a weapon, she skimmed her fingers over the artifact. “A sword.” The whisper had come naturally. She tried to lift it, and discovered a second. She raised one waist high. Her arm trembled from the strain.

Voices. She settled the weapon back onto the rocks and dashed into the left chamber where she waited silently like a good photographer as the thieves stole the second ancestor. José entered waving a light stick about his head. His eyes glistened
, alive with treasure fever.

“Get out of the way,” ordered Remy. The man ducked out of sight. She maintained silence as they removed the last mummy.

Alone again, she sprang for the right wing. Just as she spied a row of stone jars Remy loomed out of the foyer.

“What’re you hiding?” he demanded. He shoved a lantern in her face.

“Nothing. I’ve only got two hands. I’m holding the camera and a spare flashlight.”

Teodoro stormed in. “Get out, Mercedes. I sensed you had trespassed. I search this section.” He addressed Remy. “Keep her by the entrance. Touch nothing else.”

Remy scowled. “We haven’t finished with the left chamber. I thought we were in this together. You’re looking for something specific. What?”

“Do as I say. Without me, you would have no treasure and no way to pay your debts.”

Procteur shrugged.

She’d welcome fresh air, but Remy needed to gloat. He shoved her in front and noisily sniffed her neck. “You stink.”

She spun around. “We all stink.”

Remy snickered. “Not me. Not Teodoro. We’ve taken potions.”

“Ever think that stuff could be a carcinogen?”

He moved to strike, but stopped. He dropped the lantern and forced her against the wall. She freed her hands and gripped his wrists, but he pinned her against a freshly cut pole. “Be a good girl or I’ll stuff that handkerchief down your throat.” He leaned in. His foot connected with metal. He kicked again and let her go. “What have we here?”

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?”