Jessica Andersen - Storm Kissed

She flipped him a salute, and made do with a waffle piled with enough whipped cream and syrupy strawberries to make him wince.

Breakfast was a brief but lively meal, with Jade and Natalie joining in halfway through. Dez caught the researchers up on the battle preparations, including the welcome news that Rabbit had gotten in contact with an older brother of his makol-abducted friend, Cheech. The older brother, who worked in Mexico City and was far more mainstream than his relatives, had heard about the village and was frantic for his family. When Rabbit, posing as a member of a secret U.S. government agency, had “recruited” him as a local asset to help locate the guerilla group responsible for the village raids, he had jumped at the chance. With the help of several trusted friends, he was redistributing the magic sensors throughout Mexico City; built atop the Aztec’s capital city, the backfilled lake region was where Iago typically hung out. “It won’t give us much warning,” Dez finished, “but that’s better than none.”

Reese squelched her instinctive bristle, well aware that her pissiness wasn’t aimed at him. She hated that the patterns weren’t coming this time, when it mattered so damn much. When they figured out the connection between the serpents and the Xibalbans, she had been so sure it would point them toward Iago’s hideout. And maybe it would, but not fast enough . . . and they were running out of time.

Lucius outlined what they had so far, finishing with, “If Strike could ’port us—”

“He can’t,” Dez said flatly. “As it is, Rabbit’s going to have to ride shotgun inside his head to get us down south when we figure out where we need to be.” He said “when” but Reese heard “if.”

“Then I should get back to work on this.” Lucius tapped the codex he’d been translating. “We need our teleporter back in action.”

“We need to find the mountain,” Dez corrected.

“Exactly,” Reese agreed, chasing a last forkful of waffle. “Which means that we need to get some magi down to the potential sites to sniff around.”

But as Lucius moved to the other end of the table, where he’d been working, Dez said, “No, I mean that I need you to stop dividing your efforts and focus on the mountain. Not Lord Vulture, the serpents, or Strike’s illness. Find. Me. That. Mountain.”

Reese’s stomach knotted and the breath backed up in her lungs. His eyes held regret . . . but she thought she saw something else there too, something hard and implacable, almost daring her to argue, as if he would welcome the fight, the excuse to push her away. She knew that look, though she hadn’t seen it in a long time. Don’t overreact, she told herself. You’re tired and frustrated. What was more, like a cheater’s wife imagining another woman’s perfume or a junkie’s mother searching her kid’s room, she was primed to see problems where they may not exist. “We need Strike’s help,” she said carefully. “He’s our best bet of narrowing down the search.”

Dez shook his head. “Find another way.” Impatience tightened his face. “There’s a difference between exploring all the avenues and getting stuck in a dead end. And—” He broke off. “Shit. Sorry.” He leaned back, exhaling. “This sucks. I hate having to make this call, but someone has to. We need that mountain, guys. We’ve got to get to Iago before he activates the serpent staff.”

It was a good apology, good logic. But was it the whole story or only the tip of a lurking iceberg? Stop it, she told herself.

“You’re right.” Lucius sat heavily. “I know you’re right. It’s just . . . Shit.” He scrubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “No. You’re right. I’ll stop buzzing around. Damn it to hell.” He hadn’t said it, but Reese knew he was hoping that curing Strike might somehow help Anna, who still lay unconscious—not getting any worse, but not getting better, either.

Dez nodded. “Thanks. I hate having to make the call, but . . . thanks.” He paused. “We okay?” He directed the question at both of them, but he was looking at Reese.

She hesitated, then nodded. “We’re okay,” she said softly, and told herself to believe it. But as he collected the trash and cooler—leaving the soda and brownies behind—and headed out, her stomach stayed uneasy, her instincts prickling.

Ten minutes after he left, though, they got the break they needed.

“Got it,” Lucius hissed triumphantly, eyes gleaming. “I’ve fucking got it.”

Reese’s heart jolted. She had been running scenarios while waiting on hold for the past ten minutes—way longer than it should have taken her contact to check an order for the one rare ingredient found in the makol amulet: a certain type of snub-nosed snake. Now she hung up and crowded in beside him as relief spiraled through her. “Show me.”

His laptop showed a photo of an ancient ruined city with a main street, offshoots, a shit ton of building footprints, a few more complete structures, and two huge rubble mounds that had been partly restored back to pyramids. A modern suburb sprawled in the near distance—was that a Wal-Mart behind the pyramid?—and mountains loomed in the background.

“That’s Mexico City,” he said. “And this”—he indicated the ruin—“is Teotihuacan. It’s not Aztec or Maya, which is why it wasn’t a primary focus of our search. It was a sort of spiritual tourist attraction for the Aztec, though, kind of the way we treat their ruins now. And you see these mountains?” He highlighted the distant peaks. “Moctezuma built temples on them. When you draw lines connecting the temples with the pyramids of Teotihuacan, it measures out the Long Count.”

“Aztec temples that refer to the Mayan calendar predicting the end date.” Reese nodded. “That fits with what we’re looking for.”

“So does this.” Lucius did the tap-tap thing and brought up a line drawing of a temple made of upright pillars carved into gape-mouthed serpents. “Got this from a Spanish missionary’s journal. These are the same three mountains back in the mid–fifteen hundreds.” When he zoomed out, the temple was shown located atop the middle of three mountains, with other temples hinted at on the other two, a ruin roughed into the foreground. “This,” he said, “is the one on the left in close to real time.” He tapped and the line drawing was replaced by a bird’s-eye photograph of sparse tree cover and a jumbled ruin. Tap. “The one on the right.” Another greened-out photo, another temple footprint. Tap. “The middle.” Green. But no ruin, not even a shadowy depression or some broken rock to mark where one might have been. “Lower down, sure, the forests can grow over anything in zero time flat. But up there? We should see something . . . unless it’s been deliberately hidden. Like on another plane.”

Reese nodded, pulse upping a notch. “Works for me. Let’s—” Her phone rang with a digital bleat; it was the snake guy. She answered, “Montana here.”

“Got the info here,” he said in accented English. “The guy’s name was M. Zuma, and they were shipped to a cantina in Pachuca.” He rattled off the address. “That help?”

“It does. I’ll put a thank-you in the mail tomorrow.”

“I take PayPal.”

“Of course you do.” What self-respecting black marketer didn’t these days? She wrote down the info, shaking her head, but as she hung up, she shot a hard-edged grin at Lucius. “M. Zuma bought three of those snub-nosed snakes last week, and has bought a couple of dozen over the past few months, all for delivery to a bar in Pachuca. How close is that to your mountain?”

“Damn close.”

“Okay, let’s pull together all the info we can find on this thing, and I’ll take it to Dez while you get back to work on that codex. And let’s not tell Dez he was right, okay?” But she was grinning as she said it, because what mattered was that they had found Coatepec Mountain . . . and they might have a fighting chance after all.