Page 5 of The Lost Guardian

Santiago was smart. He knew that. But his kind of smart didn’t translate to social situations. Upon receiving her compliment, Santi’s brain—which had never failed him in cataloging vast swathes of ancient art or drawing connections between anthropological asides dropped in some colonizer’s journal entry—short-circuited.

“So…you know a lot about Latin American history?” Ali tossed him a lifeline, and Santiago took a deep breath before responding.

“I do, but my specialty is the Inca Empire.”

“Oh,” Ali murmured, walking the exhibition. Her fingertips glided over the display cases. Her nails were red. Santiago liked red. Maybe he loved it. “That sounds impressive.”

He didn’t tell her not to touch the glass, even though there were signs warning against it. He only watched, enthralled, as her hands danced lightly above his treasured histories.

“My family background is Inca,” he added. He was proud of this, his connection to such a storied people. If Ali was interested in Latin American history, perhaps she’d be impressed by it, too.

The catlike woman tilted her chin, looking at a ceremonial golden knife. Her glasses slid down her nose as she did so, and Santiago watched in fascination as she gently nudged them back into place.

“That’s amazing,” she said, meeting his gaze through her lenses. She sounded like she really meant it.

Santiago couldn’t help it—for a moment, he got lost in a daydream. He imagined seeing Ali again and again, telling people how they’d met in the Pre-Columbian Wing of the Los Angeles Museum of Ancient Cultures.

“Mr. Rios?”

“Uh, sorry!” he said quickly, blinking rapidly. “What did you say?”

Take that ceremonial knife and put me out of my misery, please.

“This is a depiction of Inti, no?” Ali asked him, leaning forward to get a better look at the object. “The Inca sun god?”

Santiago’s heart fluttered in his chest. Beautiful and smart.

“Yes.” He nodded, a little breathless. “You like history?”

“You could say it’s a hobby of mine,” she answered.

“Me too,” he joked. He was pleased to see the side of her berry-colored lips quirk up at it.

She paused to glance at a carved stone cross, then back at him. “This looks interesting,” she said.

“It’s a chakana,” he explained. “Often called the Andean cross. People mistake it as a reference to Christianity. But the chakana predates contact with Western religions.”

He stepped closer to the stone, and Ali shifted to stand by his side.

“It represents the Southern Cross constellation,” he continued, jittery at the hundred-watt smile this comment elicited, but relieved that he knew what to say. “Each part of the symbol has a different meaning.”

She smells good, he thought. Like brown sugar and honey.

“It’s divided into four quadrants,” he continued, trying to keep his voice steady. “The four main points represent the four stars of the southern cross, but also north, south, east, and west.”

Her fingers reached out, as if to trace the stone through the glass. Santiago’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

“Also the elements earth, air, fire, water…” He knew he was babbling, but he couldn’t stop.

She was so close that he could count each individual eyelash framing her dark eyes.

“And the steps represent the pachas, or the different planes of existence, like Hanan Pacha.”

“The world of the gods,” Ali recited, and Santiago nodded. Without thinking, he took a step toward her. She smiled and looked at him expectantly.

“Uh, and Kay Pacha,” he continued.

“The world of the living, where we reside,” she answered. A strand of her hair had fallen in her face, and Santiago had the strongest urge to tuck it behind her ear.