Look What the Wind Blew In (13 page)

“I can’t help the feelings I still have for you, Angélica.”

Oh, please. “You never loved me.” He’d been more interested in having her dressed to the nines and hanging on his arm like a trophy. “What are you really doing here on my dig site?”

“Deciding your father’s chance at further funding from the university, something you would be wise to remember in the future when I tell you I need to speak with you.”

There he was, the controlling Jared she’d known during their brief marriage, peeking out from behind that fake smile that barely made it to the corners of his mouth.

“Ah ha.” She nodded slowly. “I had a feeling this would come down to a desperate game of blackmail at some point. I just didn’t think you’d play your trump card so soon.” After all of these years, he was still finding ways to play on her weakness—her love for her parents. “So, what’s the price, Jared? What do I have to do to get your go-ahead for more funding for Dad? What’s the going rate now for extortion by an ex-husband? A hand-job? Sex?”

His nostrils flared at her blatant crassness. “As tempting as you can be when you aren’t covered in filth and sweat, darling, I’m not sure what you offer in bed is an equivalent exchange for my professional blessing.”

Prick!
“What then? A public ass-kissing in front of my crew?”

“For starters, get rid of Quint Parker.”

* * *

Early the next morning, Angélica was still clenching her fists about her run-in with Jared outside her tent. After he had spelled out what he wanted, she’d walked away without a backwards glance in spite of his demanding she return and finish their conversation. She’d made a beeline for the shower, the one place she knew she’d find solace, and had scrubbed her hair with a vengeance. By the time she’d cooled off enough to pay her father a visit without letting him see any evidence of her agitation, it was well past his normal bedtime. So, she’d decided to show up on his doorstep first thing before they headed to breakfast.

And here she was, still wide-eyed and bushy-tailed about Jared. “Dad, I need to talk to you.”

Juan unzipped the tent flap. He waved her inside to wait while he finished putting on his socks and boots.

“I have a solution to our problem with the curse,” he said from where he sat on his cot.

“What?”

“ A
Lolcatali
ceremony.”

“Absolutely not!” She wouldn’t give it a second thought. “Like I told Teodoro, there has to be some other way.”

He frowned “I don’t understand why you’re so adamant about this. What harm could it cause?”

She couldn’t believe he was considering it. “Don’t you see? By allowing the ceremony, I’m acknowledging to my crew that this curse exists.”

“Maybe, sort of, I guess, but if it calms them down—”

“It’s not going to calm them down, only open the door for more accidents to be blamed on the curse.” She could imagine how far some of the men would take it. “I don’t need this to be blown out of proportion any more than it already has been.” She thought of Jared’s veiled threats. “Neither do you.”

Her father waved her worry away. “If you’re referring to Jared, don’t sweat it. He already knows about the curse and doesn’t give it any merit. I doubt how we handle this situation will play a role in his or the university’s decision about funding my future projects.”

After facing off with her ex-husband last night, she had a different take on that. “I don’t give a fucking shit about that damned university!” Her frustration slipped out before she could catch it by the collar.

“
Gatita
! Such language. Your grandmother just rolled over in her grave.”

She scrubbed both hands down her face, and then sighed, regaining control. “Sorry, Dad.” She looked up at the tent ceiling. “
Lo siento, abuela
.”

His brow knitted. “Are you okay?”

She smiled—or at least tried to produce a facial movement that resembled one. She didn’t want him stressing about her. Jared wasn’t the only one who’d noticed her father’s haggardness this dig season. Something was weighing on him, something he denied whenever she prodded.

“I was actually referring to your reputation in the archaeology community, not what my ex-husband thinks about the curse. What do you think your peers would say if they heard we were having exorcisms down here to cleanse the place of evil spirits? You’d be the joke of the year.”

She’d already gone through her mother becoming a laughing stock with her “wild” theory. She didn’t think she could stomach watching the same thing happen to her father’s career, not when she had the means to prevent it.

He nodded, but she knew by the way he was chewing on his lower lip that he wasn’t fully convinced.

“And what about Quint’s article?” She continued. “Can you imagine the fun the press would have after his story comes out in
American Archaeology Today
? I can see the headline now, ‘Archaeologists Ask the Dead for Help!’”

Juan chuckled, but still didn’t agree with her.

She pressed on. “Then there’s the Mexican government to consider. With all of the bad press, they’d kick me out of the country without even a
vaya con dios
.”

Running out of convincing reasons, she reached for his heartstrings. “And how are we supposed to prove Mom’s theory and clear her reputation if we’re banned from coming down here to work anymore?”

“All right, you win,
gatita
. The
Lolcatali
isn’t such a great idea, but we have to do something.”

Yes, they did. “Maybe if you’d talk to the crew …”

He shook his head and lay back on his cot. “No amount of talking is going to work. You know how they are when it comes to this supernatural stuff.”

“Okay.” She rocked back on her heels. “Think, think, think.” Maybe Teodoro could help somehow.

Then it hit her. “A
Chachac
ceremony!”

“What?” Juan looked doubtful. “It’s too early. They usually hold those later in the season.”

“I know, but it never hurts to have a little rain.”

He still didn’t look convinced. “And how will this ease their fears about the curse?”

“By distracting them. A little bit of feasting and a lot of drinking will take their minds off the curse for a few days. Help it to begin fading from their memories.”

Juan nodded slowly. “That might work. Can you convince Teodoro to perform this ceremony tomorrow? Is there enough time for him to prepare?”

“I’ll talk to him after breakfast. I’m pretty sure we already have most of the food and supplies here. He can ride into the village and bring back whatever else we need this afternoon. There shouldn’t be any problem fitting the rest on the back of the bike.”

“Remind him to check for any mail for Quint.”

She still wondered what could be so important Quint needed to have his mail forwarded down there.

“Okay. When Teodoro returns he can grab a couple of the men and head into the forest to hunt for a deer to use in the ritual. Tomorrow, with their help he can finish preparations. We’ll plan to start it in the afternoon.”

This would work out perfectly. After her crew heard the news, excitement would replace their fears. “I’ll announce the ceremony at supper this evening,” she told him, clapping her hands together. Done deal. Problem solved. Back to the business of digging up the past.

“I thought it took four days to make
balche
,” Juan said.

“Teodoro always has some made up. He doesn’t like to be caught without ceremonial wine on hand.”

“Okay,
maybe
that will work.” The twinkle in his eyes eased her worries for the moment. “But what about Jared?”

“I was thinking we could stuff an apple in his mouth, mount him on a spit, and roast him over the campfire.”

Juan laughed. That made her relax even more. But as his laughter quieted, concern tightened his forehead again. “Has he cornered you yet?”

She kneeled down to tighten the strings on her hiking boots, worried he might see something in her face that would give away her secret. “Why would he want to talk to me? It’s you that he’s here to see.”

“No. I’m just an excuse. He’s here for you.”

If that were the case, he’d have chosen sex last night in exchange for his blessing.

“The way he’s constantly watching you, I think he’s still in love with you.”

A harsh laugh burst from her throat as she stood. “Please, Dad. Jared’s only ever been in love with Jared.”

He sat up, lowering his feet to the floor. “We’ll see.” He reached for his work boots. “But I bet if you asked, he’d go to the ends of the earth for you still.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she smirked at her dad. “But would he promise to stay there?”

* * *

As far as Saturdays went, the day had gone like every other one in this steaming, bug-infested overgrown greenhouse. But tonight Quint was in for a treat according to Juan. After almost getting bit by a venomous coral snake this afternoon while paying a visit to the latrine, he could use a little pick-me-up.

“How long will Teodoro go on like this?” Quint asked as he lowered himself into a dilapidated lawn chair that looked like it had been rescued from a junkyard compactor at the last minute. Teodoro had been chanting for several hours already according to Juan.

“Throughout the night,” the older Dr. García answered, and then took a long hit from his cigar. “The
Chachac
ceremony is used to ask the saints and the
Chacob
—the Rain gods—to bring the rains.”

Across the sunburned grass, Teodoro sat behind a small, narrow table made of saplings and cluttered with bowls and cups carved from green, orange, and yellow gourds. Over his head was an arch made of tree branches covered with leaves.

Juan had set up chairs for the two of them about thirty feet from the main attraction. Smoke from musky-scented incense filled the twilight, adding a surreal fog to the purple-tinged sky. The smell of baked corn cakes tickled Quint’s taste buds as drafts of heat wafted their way from the underground pits dug earlier that morning.

Several of Angélica’s crew sat scattered around on the grass. A few of them, including Fernando, had dragged pieces of firewood over and were using them as makeshift benches.

As Quint’s gaze drifted from face to face, he nodded at those he’d worked with at the Owl Temple over the last couple of days.

Esteban lifted a hand in return, waving as he dropped into his chair with a full gourd cup, and then somehow managed to overbalance, falling ass-over-teakettle onto the ground. His cup landed on his shirt, upside down.

Quint looked away, choking back a chuckle. “What’s in the gourds?”

“
Saca
,” Angélica answered from behind him. She came around and graced him with a quick smile. “How’s it going here?” She squeezed her father’s shoulder.

Juan patted her hand. “You made a good decision.”

“I hope so.”

Quint watched as she settled in at her father’s feet, catching a whiff of citrus. She sat cross-legged, looking relaxed with her hair unbraided and tumbling down over her shoulders, her brow smooth in the flickering firelight. Something settled inside of him, something that made him feel content in spite of the mystery he’d yet to solve. “What’s
saca
?”

“Maize gruel.” Juan absently stroked his daughter’s hair, as he probably had since she was a child. “
Gatita
, have you seen Jared?”

“He’s back in his tent, fighting a migraine. He says it happens when he experiences a climate change, which was news to me.” She looked up at Quint. “How’s your arm?”

He held his arm out for her to inspect. She leaned closer, running her fingers alongside the faint scar that remained, tickling his skin. Goosebumps rippled clear up to his shoulder.

“It looks great.”

“Teodoro says I’m mostly healed. That green jelly is some kind of miracle medicine.” He sat back in his chair, his arm still tingling from her touch. Focusing on Teodoro, he reminded himself of the reasons he needed to steer clear of the siren sitting near his feet. “What’s he singing?”

Juan crushed his cigar out on the chair arm. “Rosaries. It’s all part of calling the
Chacob
and asking for rain.”

“Do we need rain? I thought the dry weather was normal for this time of year.” At least that’s what the guidebook had said.

“It wouldn’t hurt. They’ll plant corn in their
milpas
—their fields—in another month or so. If the rains don’t follow soon, the crops will fail.”

A young man with a pencil-thin mustache, who Quint was pretty sure had helped dig the holes for the ovens this afternoon, began handing out gourd cups to several members of the group. Quint watched as each one took a drink and then passed it to another. Just then, the youth noticed Angélica had joined the group and brought her a gourd cup filled to the rim. The liquid splashed over the sides as he carried it.

Quint opened his mouth to ask, but Angélica beat him to it. “Jorge is passing
balche
.” She took the cup from Jorge and thanked him. “It’s a ceremonial wine Teodoro made from the bark of the
balche
tree. He mixes honey from his own hives with it and ferments it.”

She took a sip and held it in her mouth a couple of seconds, closing her eyes. Then she swallowed and sighed in pleasure. Eyes open again, she held the cup out to Quint. “Try some. It’s one of Teodoro’s specialties.”

Juan reared away from the cup as Quint grabbed it. “Be careful with that stuff.”

Quint hesitated with the cup halfway to his lips. The look on Juan’s face was almost comical.

Angélica laughed low and velvety. “Don’t listen to him. The last time he drank too much
balche
, he shaved a strip of hair off the top of his head, duct-taped crow feathers to his chest, and tried to pierce his ear with a pocket knife.”

“I was trying to reenact an ancient Maya rain dance, thank you very much. And those jade ear plugs just wouldn’t fit in the hole Teodoro made with the bobby-pin.”

Quint grinned, picturing the scene.

Angélica nodded at the cup. “Go on, try a sip. It will spark a fire in your belly.”

Like he needed any more heat on top of the warm blasts drifting around him, making him sweat in his T-shirt and khakis. He took a sip expecting it to be bitter. But the lukewarm liquid coated the inside of his mouth with a sweet honey taste, leaving a warm trail as it slipped down his throat.