Chapter Two

Chapter Two

T

he night was loud. Mammals, reptiles, and insects yawned themselves awake and then began their rituals. Crickets rubbed their thighs together to announce their availability. Birds flapped their wings as they sang night songs. Howler monkeys justified their names and bellowed to one another across the branches.

Down below the night’s activity, an anteater crossed my path, stopped, and turned to stare at me where I hid in a crouch. He licked at the mud on my boots but, finding no ants, kept going. He wasn’t my only visitor. The animals of this lush forest hadn’t seen humans in a millennium. They’d forgotten how to be afraid.

I climbed up the tree trunk to avoid the further attention of the ground dwellers and to get a better vantage point. A sloth swung by and crawled over to the branch next to me. Its arms and legs held on to the branch, and it looked at me upside down. We eyed each other for a few moments. I lost the staring contest and giggled at the serious expression on its smooshed face.

The snick of a branch cracking in the distance brought my attention back to the matter at hand. Turning my head, I started at the sight of two of the lieutenant’s soldiers. I recognized them from camp. Apparently, the lieutenant had heeded my warning. Unfortunately for him, it was too late.

The soldiers kept their eyes on the horizon, their gazes fixed on where the sun had set. Something told me to look up toward the new moon. I saw the raiders then. Heart pounding, I counted three of them moving through the treetops above me.

Dammit.

I’d known they were coming, but I’d hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. They moved through the rainforest canopy like wraiths, silent enough that any sounds they made blended with the noises of the other animals flitting from branch to branch. If not for my gut instinct, I never would have noticed them.

Tensing my body, I kept as quiet and still as I could and studied them. Two of the raiders were locals. I could tell by the way they moved lithely through the dark. The third, the leader, was a foreigner. He was likely a young man studied in the new-age art of parkour. But tree branches were not like rooftops or concrete half-pipes, and he lagged. It wasn’t long before he slipped. The branch beneath him, too slight to hold his weight, cracked.

I watched with bated breath as the man grabbed hold of the tree trunk. From yards away, I saw his fingers turn pale as they held fast. His lips moved rapidly, probably praying to whatever god he believed in that nobody would see him. Or, if he was smart, that he wouldn’t fall.

The branch snapped. The break was clean. The thick piece of bark turned over, top to bottom, on its way down. Its young leaves were stripped of twigs as the branch fell.

But it was the only thing that fell. The man had managed to wrap his legs around another branch and was now holding on to the tree trunk with his fingernails and feet crossed at the ankles. Much like my sloth companion.

The branch hit the ground with a heavy thud, and one of the soldiers was instantly alerted. He looked left and right. Thankfully for the parkourist, the soldier didn’t look up.

The soldier peered around for another minute but then turned and marched away. His thunderous steps cleared the animals from his path, making way for the thieves in the night. The tree climbers pulled out anaconda-thick ropes and began quietly rappelling their way to the ground. When they hit the terrain floor, they crept toward the dig site.

I rose from my crouch in the trees, bidding farewell to the staring sloth before swan-diving straight off the branch. The wind whistled past my ears as I tucked my body into a double flip, then landed soundlessly with sure feet on the damp rainforest floor. Not that my silent landing did me any good.

Straightening, I found myself face to face with one of the soldiers. My heart jumped into my throat. His eyes immediately went wide with terror. The sweat that broke out on his temples had nothing to do with the ever-present humidity.

“

El espíritu

,” he whispered, stumbling backward. “

El espíritu

!”

His frightened shout echoed through the trees, and I sighed. My cover was blown. I’d traded in my jeans and linen blouse for a dark tunic that covered my legs and torso. The head covering that masked my face did a decent job of hiding my identity. With the ornamental design on the strap of the bush sword hanging over my shoulder, I supposed I did look like a vengeful Mayan goddess.

The second soldier came running into the clearing, gun already drawn. He stopped short at the sight of me. In the near distance, the raider and his cronies paused to watch the commotion.

“I wouldn’t do that—” I began as the soldier raised his shaking gun at me, but he didn’t listen.

He squeezed off two shots in succession, one flying wide, the other winging straight for me despite his terrible aim. I deflected that one easily with my blade, but his third shot was steadier. It hit the leather strap of my sword case; the strap snapped in two, and my bag fell to the ground.

Anger ripped through me, and I sucked in a deep breath as I brushed the residual metal scraps off my top. Dirt, I could get out. But the torn fabric where the bullet hole had bounced off my skin was another matter. The soldier tried to squeeze off another shot, but I closed the distance in less than a second. My fingers dug into his neck as I picked him up off the ground.

Gritting my teeth, I slammed him against the tree trunk. His head knocked against the bark with a satisfying thunk, and his eyes rolled back into his head as he immediately passed out. Curling my lip, I released him. His body slumped to the ground like a broken doll, gun hanging uselessly at his side.

But at least he’d live.

I turned toward the second soldier, but he was already gone, crashing through the bushes as he sprinted away. Two of the raiders were right behind him, flitting through the trees as if their lives depended on it. But the parkourist had gone ahead while I’d been distracted. Through the clearing, I watched him race off into the ruins.

I sighed and headed off in his direction at no great rush. Even though we were out in the open, there was only one way in and out of the area, and he was running straight into the out door. I was never one to sneer during a horror movie when the villain or the monster strolled after the distressed, erratically running damsel or clumsy dumb dude. They always ran into the trap.

But then, I heard a crash and the splintering sound of a thousand years’ worth of knowledge being smashed. The raider, who’d tripped over a carefully plotted, roped-off area of the dig, was straightening from his face-plant.

Seriously? I’d encountered rhinoceroses more graceful than this guy. My heart turned to stone as I zeroed in on the remains of a vase shattered in the dirt. I took off after him, my powerful legs eating up the ground much faster than any human runner could manage. Hell, I’d even outrun cheetahs once. I was on him before he took his next breath.

With one hand, I grabbed him, then tossed him into an unmarked section of the grass. He landed with an even louder thud than the branch he’d snapped. By the time his eyes blinked open, my foot was pressed into his chest.

“Do you have any idea of the value of what you just destroyed?” I demanded.

He sputtered, his eyes bugging out, and I knew he was seeing the same vengeful spirit the others had.

“The knowledge we would have gained from that single unbroken piece could have filled an entire volume.

Would have filled

,” I added with a snarl, “if you hadn’t just destroyed it with your clumsy footwork.”

I eased up on his throat a bit so he could whine and beg. But he only stared up at me in muted confusion. I began to snap at him again, but I suddenly realized I had spoken to him in my native tongue, which was older than English or Spanish. Older than Latin, Hebrew, or any other language still spoken today.

“W-what are you?” he stammered.

The way his lower lip trembled made him look like a damn kid. Unfortunately for him, my sympathy meter was low. I felt more for the broken vase than I did for this petulant child.

“A-are you really a vengeful spirit?” He covered his face with trembling hands. “Oh, God.”

The stench of urine laced the air, and I curled my lip at him.

He pulled his hands away from his face. “This is your tomb, isn’t it? And now you’re going to curse me for trying to steal your treasures!”

“Sure,” I said dryly, easing back a little. “We can go with that.”

I took a moment to study the man-child who’d somehow grown enough balls to try to rob this dig site. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. Probably watched

Indiana Jones

as a kid, played

Assassin’s Creed

as a teen. He was likely an adrenaline junkie looking to make a quick buck.

An idea popped into my head, and my lips curved into a wicked smile. I could make use of this guy. “The curse is upon you,” I said, filling my voice with Spanish flair even though the ancient people who lived here a millennium ago had never met a Spaniard. “If you want to break the curse and curry my favor, you’ll do as I wish … or your family will perish.”

“Yes,” he immediately agreed, his voice filled with a combination of fear and eagerness. “I understand.”

I stepped back and let him up. He rose on wobbly legs. His hands went to cover the wet spot of his cargo pants.

“My people have long been hidden,” I intoned in a grave, ancient voice. “It is past time for the world to know about us. You shall be the one to tell them. Follow me.”

I turned on my heel without another word. He scrambled after me like an eager puppy, but I could tell he was being careful not to crush any more artifacts.

I led him further into the tomb, to the artifact that had first caught my eye when I came here. It was a clay tablet with writings etched into it that predated the Mayan script. I’d already started translating the tablet. It told a different story than the Maya and their descendants told.

According to the writings, these two cultures had met. The Maya had learned much from this older, more learned culture. I knew that if I left the tablet here the Honduran government would steal it away and bury it so their dirty secret wouldn’t get out. But I couldn’t let them do that. This tablet was bigger than their need for tourism. On it were clues as to why this civilization fell. It was likely because the people turned on their gods, which was a common reason.

Gently, I plucked the tablet from its perch. After wrapping it in a protective cloth, I handed it to my delivery boy along with a business card.

“Take my story to this address,” I said. “And handle it with care.”

The raider took the tablet and cradled it in his arms. He stuffed the business card into his pocket. If he wondered how a millennia-old goddess happened to be in possession of a business card with a Washington, D.C. address, he didn’t mention it.

Looking him squarely in the eye, I warned, “If you betray me, I will find you.”

I took a step forward, and he gulped when I patted his cheek.

“Be careful,” I said softly. “The next time you plan to raid a tomb, the god you find inside may not be as kind.”

Nodding, he took off like a rocket. As I watched him sprint out of the tomb, I prayed he was better at escaping than he was at breaking and entering.