The bottle of muscle relaxant was still at the very bottom of the pack, though her need for the medication had long passed. For once she had reason to be glad of her pack-rat tendencies—inherited from Homer, no doubt.
She nodded in satisfaction and went back to the tent, tossing the plastic bottle in her hand. She waved reassuringly at Fernando, who waited outside the tent, and went inside.
“This should do the trick,” she told Liam.
He opened one eye and then the other, looking none too welcoming. She pulled the chair up beside the bed and dropped two pills into the palm of her hand. Not too much, in case he’d really gotten some sort of minor concussion. “Take these, and you’re not going to feel much pain for a while, at least.”
“What are they?”
“Medication. Muscle relaxants.”
“From… the future?”
She ignored his barb. “Yes.”
“And why should I trust you?”
“You think I plan to drug you or something? That maybe I have evil designs on your body?”
“It depends on what evil designs you mean.”
“You’re a very sick man, O’Shea. You’d better take these pills.”
He hesitated, but only for a moment. And as he took the pills—dry, she noted—he held her gaze without blinking. A challenge and a question. She didn’t even know the answers herself.
She rose and pushed the chair back against the desk. “Maybe I can give Fernando a hand. He and I do pretty well, together, all things considered.”
“I can only hope he stays in his right mind.” Liam folded his arms and made all the appropriate motions of someone preparing to sleep.
A victory, of sorts, in their little skirmish of wills; he’d be out soon enough. She made a strategic retreat. Fernando was still waiting outside. He gestured for her to come near.
“Señorita,” he said. “We talk.”
It was probably more English than she’d heard him speak to date, but she was willing to give it a try. He walked to the champas, well out of earshot of the tent, and she followed.
“Two things I tell you,” he said, searching for each word with grave concentration. “Uno… The señor is un hombre orgulloso. He walks alone. He does not… like taking help from people. Needing una mujer, not good for his pride. Makes him weak. He must be strong. Others need him.”
Mac listened carefully to his earnest statements, piecing them together. She repeated it back to Fernando. “Liam is a proud man, a loner who doesn’t like to take help from people, especially not women. It makes him feel weak, and he has to feel strong, to know others need him.”
“Bien. Understand.” Fernando smiled with that same grave mien. “He likes you, señorita. You like him.”
That nonplussed Mac too much to summon an immediate response. If Fernando knew that much about Liam O’Shea, they must have been together a long time indeed.
“You are mujer muy valiente,” Fernando said into the gap. “Like the señor.” He put his two hands together, interlacing his fingers. “Good thing. But he needs more than he say.”
Does he? Mac rolled these observations around in her mind, her heart beating a little harder than it should. After all, why should it matter to her?
“There is more, señorita.”
Mac focused on Fernando again. “Yes?”
“You came here from very far.”
She went still. “Yes.”
“And you want to get back. But the way is not easy.”
Shivers had begun racing up and down Mac’s spine. “What do you mean?”
“I know the sacred place. I know la Have. The key. It has been broken. Only when it is entero, whole, can the way open again.
“Only then can you return.”
Chapter Eight
Thus we play the fools with
the time, and the spirits
of the wise sit in the
clouds and mock us.
—William Shakespeare
“RETURN?” MAC CROAKED.
“By the path through Xibalba. The way you came.”
Xibalba. The Maya Otherworld, which the ancient Maya had believed could be reached through the mouths of caves—or the entrances to the temples they had built to their gods.
And broken keys. Mac remembered to breathe again. Keys—the two halves of the pendant. The ones she’d lost coming through, on the other side. The keys that had opened a tunnel through time.