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“Bueno, ya,” he said to steer them away from the topic. “Let’s talk about something else, okay?”

“Okay, okay!” she said, but he could hear the good-natured humor in her voice.

It wasn’t like Santiago didn’t want to find love. He just wanted one like theirs. He’d never met anyone he…admired and adored the way that his father had loved his mother. He hoped he would, though.

Santiago took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure how to bring up the Guardianes de la Tumba. Some days, there was nothing Mami loved more than to talk about her late husband. They would drag out old photo albums, laughing and crying at the same stories they’d told countless times before. Other days, the mere mention of his father’s name made her retreat inward, dragging up Santi’s own grief with it.

“Mami,” he ventured tentatively. “What did Papá and Abuelo Manco fight about?”

His mother made a strained, surprised little sound, and Santiago immediately regretted it. After a moment, though, she chuckled a little.

“That’s a strange question,” she murmured. “It was so long ago. Why do you ask now?”

“Well,” he answered tentatively, “you know I’ve always wanted to take a trip to Peru, and I’ve been thinking about it more recently—”

“Ah, claro,” his mother interrupted. “That would make you remember things, of course.”

“Do you know why they fought?” he asked again. “After Abuelo came to visit?”

“Por supuesto!” his mother answered. “You don’t think your father could keep something like that from me, do you? Ese hombre no podía ocultarme nada.”

His father really had told his mother everything.

Santiago smiled, but his body felt like a taut rubber band. About to snap.

“I suppose you’re old enough to know,” she said. Her voice dropped, as if she was afraid someone would overhear, though she lived alone. “Your abuelo, well, he was mixed up in some dangerous stuff.”

Santiago’s heart tripped in his chest. “Dangerous?” he asked.

“Ignacio didn’t like to go into detail. He knew he didn’t want to be a part of that life. I thought that meant he was involved in a gang or something, but no. Manco was part of a group who claimed to preserve history. He swore it was real and that the secrets they kept were dangerous. Manco once said they were ‘soldiers of antiquity.’ Ignacio called them ‘Quijotes,’ chasing after windmills.” She laughed, warm nostalgia tingeing her voice.

Santiago’s palms began to sweat.

“Was Papá a part of the group as well?” he asked, not sure what answer he wanted.

“I think he was at first, when he was younger, but then he wanted nothing to do with them.” Her tone became very serious. “He said it was what got his mother killed.”

“Abuela Rosa was killed?” Santiago gasped. He had never met his grandmother, and his father never talked about how she’d passed. Santiago always assumed it was due to illness or age.

But killed? he thought. Just like Abuelo Manco?

His mother hmmed. “I’m afraid so, mijo. We were going to tell you when you were older, of course, but then…” Her voice trailed off. “Maybe I should have told you all this in person,” she added.

“No, Ma, I asked.”

“I suppose.” She sounded doubtful.

“So Papá left Peru and that group behind,” he said, not wanting her to stop talking.

“Sí. We left Peru right after we were married, to start our lives away from Manco’s trouble. To have a safer life for you, whenever you came around.” He heard the smile in her voice.

“Ignacio missed his Papá, and he wanted you to know him,” his mother continued. “But the last time Manco visited, they fought about it again. A big one this time.”

Guilt flared in Santiago’s chest, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I don’t know why it was so important to Manco. More important to him than his own family. I’m not sure it wasn’t a gang, actually. They even called themselves something silly that sounded like a gang name.”

“What name?” Santiago asked. His voice sounded strained, and he realized that he had clenched his teeth together. Deliberately, he forced his muscles to relax. “Do you remember the name of the society?”