mouth of a huge serpent. The man is astride its jaws, forcing it open from within. Instead of being consumed by the knowledge, he is escaping with it, returning to his people to share the teachings of the gods.”
Hunter unfocused his eyes just slightly, imagined light from fire rather than electricity…and felt his skin ripple in primal response.
“Now look below the escaping man,” she said, her voice low. “Look where his face is watching. His mouth is open and he’s speaking.”
With a frown, Jase tried to see Lina’s words in the artifact. He looked sideways at Hunter. His friend was rapt, intent, a predator scenting game.
“See the masked figure?” she asked, tapping lightly on the case over the glyph. “He is himself emerging from the ground like a flower, legs as roots in the soil below. He seems to be looking up. His face is covered in an elaborate and—to modern eyes—terrifying mask, with something like wings flaring out from the sides, displaying fantastic feathers. There is even a marking that seems to indicate light coming from this mask, subtle rays, almost like a reflection.”
“Is it the mask shining?” Hunter asked. “Or is something shining on him?”
“Professionally, I can’t be certain.”
“What about your instincts?”
She hesitated, then said, “I think the mask is made of something reflective.”
“Gold?” Jase asked instantly.
“Not even silver,” she said. “Wrong time, wrong place, wrong material. In fact, the more I look at it, the more I believe it represents something translucent enough to be shining from within.” She laughed. “Never mind. That’s my fancy, not my training. The point is, I think the wood might have originally been carved in Tulum, near our estates. There’s something about the style of the glyphs.”
“Where did you get it?” Jase asked.
“On loan from Mexico’s Museum of Anthropology. We’re dating it.”
Silently Hunter studied the piece, then tapped lightly on the case. “What is this? The man the snake is swallowing?”
“I think that figure emerging from the snake is handing his bestowed wisdom to the figure below,” she said. “My guess is it’s a priest of Kawa’il passing something to man.”
“The man with the mask and his feet in the underworld?” he asked, shifting his position, watching the wood.
“Yes. Look between the figures, where the wood is cracked.” She indicated a place where there was a wedge of wood missing, but pointed at a spot on the high side of it. “If you study this area, you can see the hint of something. Like a section of zigzag line.”
“So?” Jase asked.
“It’s not a glyph I recognize—too many straight lines. But it seems to represent something being passed from one side to another. Those kinds of transactions only go one way,” she said. “Gods to man.”
“The break looks very recent,” Hunter said. “The wood along the edges hasn’t had time to age. Did you use it for dating?”
“You have a good eye,” she said. “No, we didn’t—wouldn’t—break the wood. It came to us in that condition.”
Slowly Hunter nodded. “Wonder what’s on the missing piece.”
“Whatever was passing from the priest-king to his people,” she said. “Probably instructions on how to perform certain rituals.”
“Verbal?” he asked.
“Not according to the narrative I see. No smoke coming from his mouth or any common sign of speech.”
“Moses and the stone tablets,” Hunter murmured. “Could he be passing on written commands? Like a codex?”
“It would have to be one that postdates Bishop Landa, after the Spanish conquest.”
“Surviving that would be worth commemorating,” Hunter said.
Silently he and Lina stared at the wooden piece, awed by something Jase didn’t see.
“Okay. Shining mask and all the rest,” Jase said. “How does this get us closer to finding the artifacts?”
Lina frowned. “I guess it doesn’t. Not directly. I’m just trying to give you an idea of how profoundly rare something like the mask is. If the other artifacts you’re looking for were associated with the mask, then it’s the equivalent of someone sacking a great church and stealing the most sacred of religious objects.”
“Makes sense, if you’re trying to get a new religion off the ground,” Hunter said.
“Are you talking about another Maya revolt, like in the twentieth century?” she asked. “That didn’t end well for the natives.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time blood, politics, and religion mixed it up.” He turned to Jase. “I haven’t heard about anything beyond the usual millennial garbage. Have you?”
“I have a friend or two in Special Investigations. If this is real, it’d be special. I’ll make some calls.”
Lina looked at her watch. “I think Mr. Beaumont—”
“Jase,” he cut in.
“—Jase, needs to understand what’s available on the high end of the Maya artifact market in Houston today,” she said. “Without that understanding, it’s easy to miss something important.”
Jase grunted. “That’s why we’re here.”
“Sometimes knowledge is emotional,” Lina said. “I’m not always with you. And frankly, you have no particular feel for the artifacts you’re chasing. They transcend the word
“She’s got you there,” Hunter said.
Jase sighed but didn’t argue. He looked at Lina. “I don’t have time to get a Ph.D. You got a quick fix in mind?”
“Sort of. Pre-Columbian Dreams is open. It’s a gallery just across from Shandy’s.”
“Legitimate?” Jase asked. “The gallery, not the restaurant.”
Lina shrugged. “The owner says she can provide papers for anything in the front or back of the gallery.”
“Is the ink dry?” Hunter asked.
“So far, so good.”
Jase smiled. “Sounds like an interesting place.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Lina said quickly. “I have an academic prejudice against places that sell artifacts, but there has never been a verified incident of anything illegal in Pre-Columbian Dreams.”
“Gotcha,” Jase said. “I’ll leave the cuffs in the car.”
“Drop Lina and me off at the apartment so I can pick up my Jeep,” Hunter said. “I’ll take her out to Shandy’s after we see the gallery.”
“The lack of an invitation to dinner with you is making me bleed,” Jase said.
“You have a hot meal waiting for you at home.”
Jase’s smile widened. “And I’m a man with a real big hunger. Let’s do this gallery so I can get on home and…eat.”
CHAPTER TEN
PURPLE DUSK WAS SLIDING OVER THE LAST ORANGE LIGHT of day, but the parking structure still felt like a three-story oven as Hunter parked his Jeep. Jase’s white minivan idled by, looking for an empty space in the gloom.
Hunter and Lina got out and stood near the Jeep, waiting for Jase. Even after he went by, she kept looking around, checking out the cars coming in. Hunter was doing the same thing, but it was a survival habit he had picked up on the job. Like most animals, he had a sixth sense that told him when he was being watched. Every time he was around Lina, the prickly warnings would go off, a constant stretch of nerves that had nothing to do with sexual attraction.
“Do you have an ex who is a stalker?” Hunter asked Lina.
She blinked. “What?”
