Beautiful Sacrifice

turned her flashlight to find the figure of the priest-king and then followed his arm out to the hand, fingers gently splayed.
    There .
    She and Hunter both saw something in the space between the serpent and the man’s outstretched hand.
    “It looks like a small niche cut into the wall,” Lina said.
    Hunter followed her, keeping close.
    Flames or beams of radiance were painted around the niche, but they glowed a faint blue instead of red or orange or gold.
    “Lightning,” she said. “Another manifestation of Kawa’il.”
    Hunter played the thin beam over the niche. “Wonder what was in here. It can’t have been much more than fifteen inches long and maybe ten high, ten deep. Too small for a decent shrine.”
    She thought of the missing artifacts. “The obsidian mask wouldn’t fit there, not with its ceremonial feathers and fastenings. The opening’s not long enough for a scepter. A censer, maybe.”
    He went closer, ran a finger lightly over the ceiling of the niche. “No soot. No matter how magic the ventilation, burning enough copal leaves a residue.”
    “Okay, the niche didn’t hold a small censer. The god bundle would fit, but not its sacred box. A ceremonial knife isn’t compatible with the narrative.”
    “What narrative?”
    “The room is a story of the opening of a conduit between gods and man,” she said. “The giving or taking of knowledge.”
    “Knowledge? You mean like a book? A codex?”
    “Impossible,” she said instantly.
    “So is this room.”
    Shaking her head, Lina held up her hand. “Let me think.”
    Silently Hunter studied the glowing scales and eerie eyes of the massive serpent. No matter how often he told himself otherwise, the damned thing was alive. Not bad, not good, just unnervingly real .
    “Remember the wood piece in the museum?” Lina asked abruptly.
    Hunter thought back to the time before Jase had been shot. It seemed like a year rather than only days.
    “The plaque was a new piece that we had on loan,” she said. “It depicted a Kukulcán figure and another masked figure like this one, reaching to one another. There was something between them, but whatever it was had been broken off.”
    “Empty, like the niche.”
    “I studied the wood. I made sketches and took photos. The sketches are back in Houston. The photos are on my phone. Maybe they can give us an idea of what was in the niche—if the narratives are the same.”
    “Won’t know until we compare them,” Hunter said. “Is your phone in the backpack?”
    “No. It doesn’t work here, so I left it at home. I was expecting a little walk around my favorite ruins, not this. I don’t even have my camera.” The last was said in something close to a wail.
    His penlight clicked off and one of his arms went around her shoulders. “Easy, sweetheart. This has been here for centuries. It will be here when we get back with cameras and measuring tools and the whole dig thing.”
    Her head thumped against his shoulder. “All I was thinking about was getting you alone. I’m an idiot!”
    His other arm came around her and he held her close. “I like the way you’re thinking. And don’t call my favorite woman an idiot. You’re insulting my taste.”
    She banged her forehead against his chest. “You’re softer than a wall. Barely.”
    “Go lower. Things get harder.”
    He heard muffled laughter against his chest. Then, more clearly, she said, “I like you, Hunter Johnston. A lot. Only you could make me feel good about being so stupid as to leave the most basic work tools behind.”
    “Thank you. I think.”
    Her arms went around him as she stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips over his. The touch lingered, deepened, became a sensual mating of tongues. After a long time Lina lifted her head and sighed.
    “But I have my sketchbook in the backpack, and you to hold the flashlight,” she said.
    Hunter sensed some long hours ahead. The look on her face kept him from protesting.
    “Good thing you packed lots of food and water,” he said, sighing.
     
     
    “U H, SWEETHEART, UNLESS YOU BROUGHT MORE BATTERIES, it’s time to go,” Hunter said.
    Lina looked up, startled. “What time is it?”
    “Time to go.”
    Stretching her cramped fingers, she stood. And groaned. “Sorry. I forgot everything but sketching.”
    “I noticed,” he said, smiling.
    She blinked and looked around, reluctant to leave eventhough her flashlight was dead and his was losing intensity.
    “You owe me a big favor for