Chapter Four

Muriah closed the final set of shutters and went to double check the deadbolt and security chain on her front door. Satisfied she was safe from prying eyes, she ran her fingers along the underside of her dining room table, freeing the wooden slide on the hidden drawer. The box lowered into her hand, and she carefully placed it on top of the table.

The tattered bark cloth sat nestled in the cedar drawer. Neatly drawn Mayan glyphs covered the front page. The ornate pictures, depicting eagles, jaguars, and snakes meant nothing to her. But Richard had died because of these ancient pages.

Why?

Muriah swallowed the lump in her throat. She’d located the twenty-page relic a few days ago, but she hadn’t told Richard yet. At the time, she thought she’d tell him when she saw him on her birthday.

Too late.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, preparing herself for the onslaught of visions that would assault her the moment she touched the codex. Her fingers trembled as she reached out to clasp the folded bark cloth.

The safety of her condo vanished. Instead, a thick jungle surrounded her. Oppressive heat suffocated her while she watched two Mayan scholars at a stone table bent over the pages, drawing and painting their story. The scenery shifted. Muriah’s stomach clenched, pain shooting through her head as the mental vise tightened.

Sunset. Hot rain pelted the dark man at the top of the pyramid. Darkness and shadows spread across the jungle as he stood, alone, his arms raised toward the heavens. Water ran down his tanned skin, and for a moment, she understood his language. He was singing—no, chanting, something about a dream. No, a prophecy. A child of night.

Immortal.

He turned his attention from the sky to meet her gaze. Raw pain etched his facial features, although his body was free of any wounds. In fact, his broad shoulders and chiseled arms showed no hint of weakness. His injuries were buried. Hidden.

Except from her.

The surroundings faded, her psychic vision wavering until she found herself in the middle of a lightning storm. The same dark-skinned man sat crumpled beside an altar. In the flashes of light, she noticed his hand covered in blood. It dripped from his fingertips. Another flash and his dark gaze cut to her face.

Muriah gasped, dropping the book into the drawer. Her stomach roiled. The psychic gift enabled her to see back through time, but it always came with a price. She stood from her chair, dizzy and light-headed. Stumbling to the kitchen sink on rubbery legs, she caught the edge of the counter to keep from tumbling onto the floor.

Blood dripped onto the white sink basin. Shit. She’d touched the relic for too long. Wetting a dish towel, she wiped the blood from her nose and rinsed it out again before wiping the rest of her face.

This was the relic the man with the strange snake tattoo was after. He wanted the prophecy. How did he know Richard had been looking for it? He said he couldn’t get inside her head. Maybe he’d gotten into Richard’s.

If she had told Richard about her find earlier…

It could have been her torn into pieces.

After a glass of water, she sat at the table again, staring at the codex. The vision of the dark man standing in the rain haunted her. His song still echoed in her mind. The Mayans believed spirits spoke to the living through echoes.

What was this man trying to tell her?

She shoved the drawer aside and rested her elbows on the table, waiting for her head to stop throbbing. Over the years, she kept her visions to a minimum. Latex gloves protected her skin from coming in contact with the ancient merchandise unless it became imperative to verify the authenticity of an item.

This had been a special case from the beginning. That was part of the reason she enjoyed it.

Richard told her he’d heard of a lost Mayan codex. Rumor among the black market treasure hunters was that the book had originally been discovered in the 1930s when the Mexican government found the inner pyramid underneath El Castillo in Chichen Itza. For centuries, the codex had remained untouched, protected from mass burnings by the Spanish priests.

But the codex never made it to a museum.

With only those details, she had hopped a plane for Mexico, met with a few of her contacts, and exchanged currency for a private viewing of some of the inner-chamber relics that never reached government hands. Alone, with a bottle of prescription strength Motrin in her pocket, Muriah held a few items in her hands until she caught a vision of the book and a man in a 1930s-era suit holding the codex. He could’ve been the original archeologist who discovered the codex or a private buyer. Either way, she was one step closer.

A few sketches and scribbled notes later, she had a lead on another independent artifact dealer.

The hunt was her favorite part.

During her search, it never crossed her mind why Richard wanted this codex. Had he known about the prophecy?

She doubted it. Richard was always on the lookout to turn a profit. The rare items brought in a faster, more lucrative sale. He wouldn’t have cared what the book said, only how quickly he could cash in.

Down the hall, Toto popped out of the Wizard of Oz cuckoo clock and barked five times, pulling her back to the present. No place like home.

And right now there was one person in her hometown who might be able to translate the glyphs. Gretchen. She was one of the leaders in the field at deciphering the Mayan written language. That was what brought Lukas to her door in the first place.

And unlike Lukas, Gretchen would be able to help her while the sun was still up.

Her head swam when she stood, but she made it to the kitchen counter where she found the number Lukas gave her. After a quick call, she had the address to a swanky house in La Jolla. Muriah glanced down at her cut-off denim shorts and white T-shirt. Her ensemble screamed Pacific Beach.

For a moment, she was tempted to change clothes, but dismissed it. She wasn’t there to impress anyone anyway.

She plucked a Trader Joe’s grocery tote from under the sink and grabbed a pair of latex gloves. If she never had to touch that codex again, it would be too soon. After wrapping the book in a clean dishtowel, she slid it into the bag.

Stepping into her flip-flop sandals, she tossed the tote over her shoulder. The sooner she found out what the weird tattoo guy was after, the better.

…

Issa quietly exited the plane, walking up the ramp and into the Lindbergh Field terminal. The evening air in San Diego felt dry compared to the rainforest of the Yucatan. The cool ocean breeze lifted his dark hair from his collar. Zafrina must’ve anticipated his primitive state, because when he reached the airport in Cancun, a crew member from the private jet company met him with a new ensemble of dark slacks and a light gray, button-down dress shirt.

The fabric was soft against his skin, masking the animal inside as if he could be tamed through civilized clothing.

He scanned the airport until he noticed Zafrina lingering near an exit door. If she had been wearing sunglasses, he wouldn’t have recognized her. Her light brown, almost orange eyes were impossible to forget.

She straightened when their eyes met. Issa made his way toward her through the sea of mortals hovering around the baggage claim.

“Welcome to San Diego.” Zafrina glanced down at his empty hands. “No bags?”

“No.” Did she expect he would bring tailored suits? “You insisted I get on the plane. I did. Tell me what is going on.”

Zafrina turned, walking toward an escalator. “You stand still and the steps move…”

“I know what an escalator is.” His temper was short, but she should be grateful he came to San Diego at all. He made no apologies for his behavior.

The rest of the walk to the car remained silent. A driver stepped up and opened the back door for them. Zafrina climbed in, and he followed her into the cavernous black sedan. With a push of a button, a glass divider slid up between their seat and the driver.

“Gretchen weakens every day.” Zafrina stared at her hands.

Issa wasn’t sure what she expected him to do with that information. “You told me the mortal woman needed protection, not a doctor.”

“Her name is—”

“Her name is of little importance.” Issa crossed his arms. If he didn’t loathe flying so much, he’d turn around and go back to the jungle right now.

Zafrina hissed, flipping her long black hair over her shoulder. “I am aware you do not want to be here. Do you need to make this more difficult?”

“I only want to know why it was so important that I come. Who is threatening the child?”

“I have not seen him.” Her gaze narrowed before he could reply. “But he is not one of us.”

“How can you be certain if you have never seen him?” Anger burned in his gut. “Do you have any idea how much I loathe flying? I never should have come here.”

“You know I can sense the blood lust in our kind. It is not blood this one yearns for.” She snatched his wrist, gripping it so tightly that pain ran up his arm. “By the time we see him, it may be too late.”

…

Muriah marched up the steps and rang the bell of the large, hacienda-style beach house, fighting the urge to tug down on the legs of her battered cut-off shorts. Now that the sun had set, the sea breeze carried a chill. In her rush for answers, she’d forgotten to grab a sweatshirt. Too late now.

A woman opened the door. Her blond, ponytailed hair matched the buoyancy of the smile on her face. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Gretchen.”

Another voice called from inside. “Who is it, Edie?”

“Someone is looking for Gretchen.” She pressed her lips together and lowered her voice. “I think Lori’s coming to help you.”

A fiery redhead took over possession of the door. “Hi, I’m Lori, the co-director of Foundation Arts. Who were you looking for?”

Muriah tugged the strap of her bag farther up her shoulder. “I’m here to see Gretchen.”

Lori shook her head. “You must have the wrong address.”

She retrieved the folded paper from her pocket and checked it against the number on the house. “Nope. This is the address she gave me when I called.” The redhead still didn’t budge. Muriah groaned. “Look, I just talked to her on the phone. Do you want to check the log on my cell phone?”

“It’s okay, Lori.” Behind her, a familiar face approached. “I invited Muriah over. I should have told you.” Gretchen smiled. “Sorry about that.”

The foundation co-director—aka pit bull—moved aside, and Muriah stepped into the foyer, grateful to be out of the chilly wind as the sun set over the ocean. “What’s with all the security?”

“Edie and Lori work for Calisto’s foundation now. Lori’s just doing her job.”

The other two women disappeared down the hall into an office. “If she’s in charge of security, she rocks.” Muriah followed Gretchen into the large living room. A huge grand piano sat in the corner of the whitewashed room. The vaulted ceiling made for keen acoustics. The snap of Muriah’s flip-flop sandals echoed across the tile floor.

Gretchen sat on a sofa and gestured for Muriah to join her. “It’s good to see you again. What can I help you with?”

Muriah sat down and opened her bag, carefully lifting the ancient contents and placing it on the glass coffee table. “I think Lukas told you I locate out-of-print books and historical manuscripts for some of my customers, right?”

The corner of Gretchen’s mouth twitched like she might smile. “That’s not exactly how he put it, but I know you find…things.”

Something about her seemed…different. Muriah had only met her once before, but Gretchen’s face seemed more pale, thinner than Muriah remembered, worry lines marking the corners of her eyes.

Muriah pushed the thoughts away. She didn’t know Gretchen well enough to ask. Instead, she reached over to unwrap the codex. Before she could pull the towel back, Lukas stepped through the door. Gretchen was off the sofa and in his arms, leaving Muriah to stand up and feel even more uncomfortable.

Lukas held Gretchen, his eyes closed, nose buried in her hair. Almost like he was relieved to see her. He pulled back and finally noticed Muriah. His smile faltered, and he came over to the sofa. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah,” Muriah nodded. “I brought something over to see if Gretchen could translate it for me.”

He glanced at the package on the table. “No sign of the guy with the tattoos?”

“Not yet.”

The front door opened again, prompting Muriah to scoop up the dishtowel-wrapped codex and put it back in her bag. It was one thing to show it to Gretchen for a translation, another to let strangers see the priceless artifact currently hiding inside her kitchen towel.

Lukas turned at the sound. “Zafrina, where have you—” He was in front of Gretchen before Muriah realized he was moving. “Issa. You’re back.”

Muriah hooked her bag over her shoulder. She shouldn’t have come here. It was like she stumbled into some sort of Night Walker homecoming party.

She turned to excuse herself when she noticed the tall, broad-shouldered man filling the doorway. His gaze slid over her face, and her breath caught in her throat. Her earlier vision flashed through her mind. She recognized the hard angle of his jaw, the noble brow, the pain lurking in the depths of his dark eyes. The image of him screaming up into the rain, his hand drenched in blood, filled her thoughts.

He wasn’t a long dead memory from the codex. He was still alive, a Night Walker. Immortal.

Struggling to hold herself together, Muriah fought to steady her breathing and smooth her expression. Hopefully, she hadn’t tipped her hand that she recognized him.

“I didn’t realize you were expecting guests.” Muriah made her way past Lukas and Gretchen, keeping her gaze on her feet, every step closer to the door. “I’ll just come back some other time.”

“You’re not interrupting anything.” Gretchen took a step toward her. “You don’t have to go.” She glanced at the late arrivals. “Zafrina and Issa can read your glyphs better than I could anyway.”

“Is this Lukas’s friend who had the visitor?” The other woman spoke, drawing Muriah’s gaze to her smooth caramel skin and bright, almost orange, eyes.

“Yes.” Lukas nodded slowly. “Muriah, this is Zafrina and Issa. They’re Night Walkers, too.”

His obvious caution around these two left Muriah jumpy and on edge. She kept her hands on her bag. If they could read the long dead Mayan language, there was a good chance they were much older than Lukas, and judging by his actions, he didn’t trust them.

So neither did she.

Muriah glanced their way. “Nice to meet you.”

Zafrina and Issa came inside, closing the door behind them. The woman with the copper eyes nodded toward Muriah. “I have been looking forward to meeting you.” She briefly met Lukas’s gaze before focusing her attention on Muriah again. “There is a prophecy we need to find. Lukas tells me you are the best in this world at locating artifacts.”

Muriah shook her head. “It’s not that I don’t want to help you, but my hands are full right now. I can email you some recommendations of a couple others who can probably help.”

The tall, dark, and tortured Night Walker from her vision stepped forward. “Show me what you brought.” The deep timbre of his voice demanded obedience, and at the same time, made her pulse race. “I will translate for you, and then you will find the codex we require.”

Muriah crossed her arms, her hip jutting to the side while she denied her heart’s reaction to the sound of his voice. It was the words he spoke that chafed her.

If he thought he could order her around, he’d better think again.