Beautiful Sacrifice

constantly.
    “Each artifact I receive is thoroughly documented, with proper export papers, and all fees and taxes duly paid,” Celia said as though reciting from memory. “What other shipments have you received in the last few weeks?”
    “It would be faster if you tell me what you’re looking for. Then I can tell you if I have it.”
    “There are rumors. Many rumors.”
    Lina waited.
    “The rumors whisper of an obsidian mask carved from a single piece of stone, a god bundle never opened, a sacred scepter with obsidian teeth, a foot-long jade Chacmool, an exquisitely made obsidian knife created solely to let the blood of kings. Even an unknown codex. All and more, of the very highest quality, appearing and then disappearing again, like ghost smoke.”
    Mind ablaze with possibilities, Lina could hardly speak.
    “Separate artifacts?” she managed finally.
    “Yes.”
    “That’s…impossible.”
    Celia laughed. “Not impossible. But very, very expensive. You’ve heard nothing?”
    “No. Even one of those artifacts would create a sensation in the archaeological world. All of them together? A dream. Just a dream.”
    “If you hear of anything, you will call, yes?”
    “Call? I’d scream it from the rooftops.”
    “No! You would keep it very, very quiet and call me.”
    For a moment Lina didn’t say anything. She was remembering the feeling of being watched. Followed. Perhaps her mother wasn’t the only one who thought Lina had an entrée to some incredible black-market Maya finds.
    “I’ll show you everything in the museum,” Lina said. “You’ll see that there’s nothing like what you’ve described. Please tell everyone you know.”
    “Nothing at all?”
    “Not one thing,” Lina said distinctly.
    “Then I won’t waste any more time. I have other sources to check, but you were my best hope. Promise you won’t miss Abuelita’s birthday. Only a few days.”
    “Four.”
    “Promise.”
    “Yes, I’ll be there,” Lina said. “I can’t stay long because I have a lot of work to—”
    “So do I,” Celia interrupted. “Good-bye, see you soon.”
    The line went dead.
    Lina laughed in the empty car. Celia in pursuit of exceptional artifacts was a force of nature.
    After a glance around the parking lot—still alone—Lina popped the locks and got out of the car. Beginning a class at seven in the morning wasn’t Lina’s first choice, but many of her students worked for a living. The museum scheduled its classes accordingly.
    Lina locked the car and headed quickly for the staff entrance. As she walked, she looked over her shoulder.
    Twice.
    There was nothing to see in the shadows and early sunlight, no visible reason for the haunted, hunted feeling that made the skin on the back of her neck prickle. There was no one behind her, no one on either side, nothing but a hot, lazy wind stirred on the grounds.
    Maybe I’m getting paranoid, like my father.
    But Lina didn’t feel crazy. She felt watched.
    Hurriedly she entered the code on the electronic pad beside the staff door. It clicked open, a loud sound in the hushed acreage surrounding the museum’s ziggurat building. Such land was very expensive in metropolitan Houston, but the Reyes Balam family was nothing if not smart about where to put its money for maximum business impact.
    She walked quickly through the open door and closed it firmly behind her. The second security door ahead of her was heavy glass, reflecting a young woman of medium height, dark hair, large dark eyes, full lips, and a black silk business suit that struggled to hide her curves.
    Lina barely noticed her reflection. She had accepted long ago that she would never be tall, skinny, and blond. She punched in a different sequence on the number pad beside the glass door. It opened softly, closed with a solid sound behind her.
    Slowly she let out a long breath. She didn’t feel as watched now. Or maybe it was just the two security doors between her and the city outside.
    The inside air was cool, dry, comfortable for humans, and excellent for the artifacts that were the heart and soul of the museum. She glanced at her watch. She would be barely on time. She hurried toward the small wing that held meeting rooms and a cramped lecture hall.
    She told herself that her bubbling impatience had nothing to do with the chance of seeing Hunter Johnston again, thenadmitted that it had everything to do with hurrying. The man was both fascinating and exasperating. In the past few months