The large butterfly flexed its stripe-patterned wings up anddown several times, giving Quint a nice view of shimmering blue and orange dots near its tail. Then the beauty took flight. It circled his head once before meandering toward the trees, which had done a damned good job filling up the interior area of Site 5 without bothersome human interruption for centuries.
Before disappearing under the shadow-filled tree canopy, the butterfly detoured slightly, fluttering around the trio of archaeologists—Angélica, Juan, and Fernel, who were supposedly trying to make sense of the vegetation-covered mounds in front of them. For the last fifteen minutes, Quint had watched each of them take a turn with the slick, new-fangled computer tablet the geoarchaeologist had brought along for today’s ground-truthing adventure. One after the other would stare at the tablet’s screen, circling slowly. They would stop mid-spin to point at something on the screen and then peer over the top at the actual landform in front of them.
Meanwhile, off to Quint’s left, Fernando and Raul were having a subdued discussion in Spanish. Quint was able to understand enough of their conversation to figure out that Fernando was explaining to Raul how they would likely go about cataloguing and then clearing the rubble from the crumbling structure abutting the wall over the next few days—if that was what Angélica wanted.
A shadow fell over Quint and his notebook. The familiar scent of lemon eucalyptus oil gave away the identity of his visitor before she spoke.
“ ‘Bad Thoughts from a Good Demon,’ ” Daisy Walker read aloud from his notes. She sat down on the next stone over. “Sounds like the name of a funny book.”
Quint casually closed his notebook and set it aside, hoping she hadn’t read anything else.
The theory on Fernel’s degree of madness was his alone at this point. It was based mostly on a couple of short conversations with the guy at supper and this morning during breakfast where it was obvious he was hyper-focused on Site 5’s hidden bits, followed by a covert observation near the shower last night when Quint stumbled upon the geoarchaeologist pacing back and forth while having an animated exchange with nobody—at least not a living person that he could see. Quint didn’t kick aside the idea of Fernel beinghaunted—again, his own past experiences opened up a lot of possibilities both natural and supernatural.
He still couldn’t place where he’d seen Fernel before. It would probably come to him when it didn’t matter anymore.
“What do you think of Site 5 so far, Daisy?”
“It’s groovy, baby!” Her blue eyes were bright, but her smile was even sunnier.
Quint smiled back. He couldn’t help it. Daisy’s sunshine was infectious. It was no wonder Juan found her dreamy—literally. Last night Quint had woken to the sound of Angélica’s father laughing. When he’d shined his flashlight on Juan, he had muttered with his eyes closed, “I need to speak with Daisy, she’ll know,” before turning on his side, his back to Quint.
Angélica had slept through her dad’s late-night talk show, her head probably full of happy-go-lucky dreams starring Maya king skeletons dancing in some creepy, claustrophobic tomb tucked away under a vegetation-covered structure at Site 5. She’d certainly woken this morning with the gumption of a woman ready to fight off the Spanish conquistadors and their disease-ridden armies as soon as she’d finished María’s hearty breakfast of eggs, potatoes, strips of chicken, avocados, and homemade tortillas all covered in fresh salsa.
Quint’s stomach growled at the memory of breakfast alone. María and her cooking at least made their time served in this jungle hell tolerable.
“How are things with the boss lady?” Daisy asked, staring toward the trio of wannabe cartographers.
He hesitated, wondering if Daisy was the one asking that question or if the ghost of Marianne, who’d used Daisy as a human walkie-talkie at the last site, was checking in. “Things are mostly good.”
Her smile held steady. “Only ‘mostly’?”
“Well, Dr. García can’t seem to control her crazy need to dig up the past, including the people who lived it. I’m not sure if I should be concerned about that or not.”
Daisy’s laughter was light and airy, like a breeze cutting through the sweltering humidity.
“You think there’s a name for that sickness?” he asked.
“Well, there is necrophilia.”
“Angélica doesn’t want to have sex with the dead, thank the Maya gods, just study them in their graves and figure out their life stories.”
“Oh, I know the name for that malady.” Daisy brushed some dust off her pant leg. “It’s called archaeology.”
“That’s it. Too bad there isn’t a way to touch a skeleton and be able to see flashes of what the individual’s life was like way back when.”
“There is a field of paranormal studies called psychometry.”
“That sounds familiar.” He dodged a passing fly. “Remind me of what it is.”
“I saw a documentary on it once. If I remember right, it’s where you can obtain information about someone simply by touching them or something that belonged to them, like a treasured object, or even their clothing.”
“How can you learn information from an object?”
She stole his pencil, holding it up to the sky. “The belief is that all objects have energy fields. For example, this pencil would have the energy of what was written with it.”
That sounded a little out there. “You’re shitting me.”
“I’m not. The Maya believed that all objects and creatures have a spirit or soul.”
