Page 24 of The Lost Guardian

“I’m sorry,” Santiago told her quietly. “You’ve got the wrong guy.”

And he stepped out into the night.

7

Brooke was not far behind him.

Santiago had no idea where he was. Neon lights flickered in and out from the convenience store they stood in front of. That, along with the smell of gasoline and garbage, was making his head hurt. Somewhere, a television was blaring a telenovela.

Santiago’s feet were cold, and he could feel the texture of the ground beneath them. That was odd. Dimly, in a detached sort of way, he realized he was only wearing socks. He blinked down at them in confusion.

“Santi,” Brooke started.

“I know what you’re going to say, Lake,” he answered, shaking his head. “But the answer is no.”

“I wasn’t going to try and convince you to go to Peru,” she argued. Santiago swung his head around to look pointedly at her.

“Okay.” She shrugged. “Maybe eventually. But, Santi.” She reached for his hand. “You just found out that your grandfather was murdered.”

The panic that had snatched him like an undercurrent earlier threatened to topple him once again.

Santiago sucked in a deep breath between his teeth.

“There were men with guns in your apartment earlier,” she continued. “You could have been killed, too.”

Santiago’s eyelid twitched.

“There’s clearly something bigger going on here,” Brooke insisted. “And I don’t think it’ll stop just because you step aside.”

“It’s all just a little far-fetched, don’t you think?” Santiago asked her. “Secret societies, hidden maps, and lost treasures?” He shook his head. “Those things aren’t real.” As much as he used to dream they’d be.

“Isn’t that what archeology is?” Brooke demanded. “Finding lost temples and tombs and treasures?”

“Maybe for some people.” He sighed. “I’m just a PhD student!”

“And maybe you’re also a Guardian of the Tomb of Attawally,” she suggested.

“Atahualpa,” he corrected.

“Right, exactly!” Brooke said.

Santiago crossed to a bus stop, sinking heavily onto the bench. He leaned forward, letting his elbows rest over his knees. Then he dropped his head into his hands. He hated that he’d started to believe it himself. Not fully, of course. He didn’t believe in magic tombs that knew when someone died. But maybe, just maybe, his family really was a part of a line of people privileged to know the location of Atahualpa’s lost tomb. It was possible. Wasn’t it?

“If it were true, why wouldn’t my father tell me?” he said, his words muffled by his hands.

“Maybe he wanted to protect you,” Brooke said softly, sitting beside him. “I know how much he wanted you to fit in here, in this country. Maybe he thought the connection to your past would keep you tethered to Peru, rather than giving you the freedom to create your own life here.”

Santiago had to admit that did sound like his father. He was quiet for a while, and Brooke followed his lead, letting him sort through his thoughts.

“If any of this is true, then there’s no way my mom didn’t know about it.” He sat up with the realization.

Brooke straightened with him. “So true,” she said, snapping her fingers. “I’ve never seen two people more in love than your parents. It was weird, honestly.”

Santiago glared at her, and she raised her hands.

“I’m just saying,” she continued. “You’re right—your dad must have told her about it at some point.”

Santiago nodded. “It wouldn’t hurt to talk to her.”