Beautiful Sacrifice

pleasing whole. Crushed limestone paths connected outlying buildings to the main house. Gardens thrived with native and imported plants. The blended perfumes of flowers were a silent welcome and an invitation to stay and enjoy. Fountains splashed invisibly, joining all sounds into a gentle music. Native palms and imported bougainvillea interrupted the stucco and tile of the buildings. Sweeping balconies anchored cascades of flowering vines.
    “This is what Crutchfeldt was trying for with his monstrosity,” Hunter said in a low voice. “But nothing beats oldmoney and roots that have grown through the centuries.” His eyes adjusted to the darkness, revealing more and more detail. He let out a soft whistle. “I knew the Reyes Balam name went back a long way,” he said, speaking as much to himself as to her, “but it’s beginning to sink in that you were born on an estate the size of Rhode Island. Must have been interesting.”
    Lina saw enjoyment rather than envy in his expression. So different from Mercurio. Hunter appreciated the age of the combined Reyes Balam family lines, but he felt no need to been seen as an aristocrat in the eyes of his fellow man. Nor did he feel somehow inferior for being “common.”
    She leaned closer, brushing her cheek against his arm for an instant. She had been looking for a man like him for a long time—confident rather than arrogant.
    “I like the main kitchen and Abuelita’s family table,” Lina said. “The rest of it is simply there. When I was a child, most of the house was off-limits. After I was four, I rarely spent more than a few days at a time in the house. The rest of the time I was shuttled between digs and galleries until I told my mother that I was old enough to live on my own, with my own rules.”
    “I’d like to have heard that conversation,” Hunter said with a slight smile.
    All Lina said was “I think of the estate as belonging to others, not to me. Which is accurate. I may be the only pure Reyes Balam descendant, but I’m female. The lands and estate aren’t mine and never will be. If I happen to produce a son, everything will pass to him. If I have daughters, it will be held in trust until their first son inherits.”
    “Your family didn’t follow the Spanish custom of dividing land among sons and money among daughters?”
    “I guess the Maya model held, though most grandsons of Maya rulers inherited nothing but death. Usurpers took theprevious king’s name or began their own dynasty, celebrated their own name.” She looked at the flowers and the jungle surrounding everything. “I never really thought about all of this. All I cared about was being allowed to dig in the family ruins.”
    “So who owns it all now?” Hunter asked.
    “Abuelita’s name is on the deed. She came into it by inheritance. Funny thing is, she lived out in a village called Ixúmel most of her life.”
    “Is there a lot of the Balam family left?” Hunter asked.
    “Not many. The mainline Balams are all but gone. The ‘cousins’ want nothing to do with Tulum. Even Carlos lives in Houston and only visits here.”
    “Interesting. Aside from the weird shrines and some scary dude called El Maya,” Hunter said, “I like Tulum. But then I’ve always liked the Yucatan.”
    “Well, for Mexicans, being from Tulum is like being from…”
    “Brownsville?” Hunter asked, smiling. “Barely a step above Hicksville?”
    “Pretty much.”
    A lone figure came out of the front door of the main house, backlit by a hallway of brilliant chandeliers. The porch lights flooded on, revealing Celia Reyes Balam.
    As always, Lina was struck by what a beautiful woman her mother was. She looked every bit the aristocrat that her birthright pronounced her. Tonight she was wearing exquisitely fitted black slacks and black heels with more height than leather. An emerald-green silk scarf embroidered in gold thread with Maya glyphs lay softly about her shoulders, partially covering a black silk blouse that had been created to highlight her assets in a sleek and stylish manner. A large, emerald-embeddedgold cross hung between her breasts. The gold chain holding the cross was twenty-two carats, gleaming like a well-loved dream.
    Even in her five-inch heels, Celia was inches shorter than her daughter.
    That’s how she gets away with it, Lina realized all over again. Someone that tiny and voluptuous is always underestimated. Men never get past that “Pocket Venus” thing.
    Celia paused at