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She was something he hadn’t expected. Not only was she brave, and capable, and strong, but she was funny and thoughtful. Her cleverness and curiosity had made their desperate trek across the mountains almost fun.

But it was all a lie. A ruse.

Ali had never really cared for him or about him. She had listened because it served her purpose to do so. Had she only slept with him to finish wrapping Santi around her finger? To make him trust her without hesitation?

The question made him so violently ill that he almost couldn’t bear to think it.

No. He remembered that night. How their bodies and souls had clamored for each other. They had both wanted everything that happened between them in that tent.

Santiago expected the tears to come then. And there, in the middle of the Peruvian Andes, with no one but his ancestors to see him, he would have allowed himself to weep. But his eyes remained dry, like a withered husk of corn, no longer capable of feeling anything but empty.

Just how foolish had he been? How many signs had he ignored? What else had he missed?

Santiago wanted to go home.

He wanted to return to his simple life. To show up at the museum and digitize every artifact in the pre-Columbian wing, spend his evenings with Brooke, and visit his mother on the weekends. Who was he to explore ancient sites or find lost treasures?

How had he ever convinced himself that he could find a hidden tomb or stop an ancient curse?

What curse?

The thought hit him like a punch in the gut.

Was Professor Fernandez against him, too?

What if José Fernandez was a Huáscaro, as well? What if the professor and Ali and Bernardo Torres had been in league the entire time, and the “curse” was just another way to control Santiago, to force him to act on their timeline?

Santiago was so trusting, and he admired José. He would have allowed himself to be misled. You’re such a kid, Santi. Are you ever going to grow up? There are no such things as curses.

He clung to the thought like a lifeline. If there was no curse, then Santiago could spread his grandfather’s ashes here and now and be done with it. He could go home.

But what if it is true? he thought to himself. I can’t believe that José would be willing to sell our history to the highest bidder. Hasn’t he spent a whole career proving the opposite?

And if the professor wasn’t in league with Torres and Ali, then he would’ve had no reason to lie about the words that Santiago couldn’t translate back in his office.

Between the sleep deprivation, the hunger, the heartbreak, and the heat…Santi wasn’t sure what was real. He chided himself for believing, even for a moment, that he might be special. Magical.

But didn’t I see the Guardianes’ magic in action?

He couldn’t rationalize away the spirits that had attacked José, keeping him from joining them.

What if there really is a curse, and by not finding Atahualpa’s last resting place, I’m dooming all of Latin America?

Santiago groaned. He didn’t know who to trust or what to believe. He had seen phantom soldiers at Cumbemayo. One had passed right through him. Did that make it more real? Or less?

It doesn’t matter. The voice in his head came strong and unbidden. You’ll die here either way.

It shouldn’t have been a comforting thought. And yet, Santiago tilted his head back against the tree and closed his eyes.

42

He must have slept, because it was almost dawn when Santiago opened his eyes once more.

It’s Inti Raymi today, he thought. The last chance to lay Abuelo Manco to rest in Atahualpa’s tomb.

If the fallen Guardian is not laid with Atahualpa by the time the sun god Inti reaches his zenith on the holy day of Inti Raymi, it will mean that the line of Guardians has fallen, and a curse shall be unleashed upon the land. He heard José Fernandez’s voice in his head.

Had that moment in the professor’s office really been less than a week ago?