“And the second envelope?”
“The second envelope, of course, I keep in the safe. Now, I’ll ask you both to excuse me while I go upstairs to get it.”
As Susannah disappears up the marble staircase, I turn to Ixchel. Her hair, swept back in that neat ponytail, gives her an air of smugness that I’m only now noticing.
“What’s up with you?”
Ixchel frowns.
“You’re being weird,” I continue. “Don’t you like her?”
“It’s not that,” Ixchel says. “But this is all so … bizarre. Being here. Her. The way she seems to think she knows your family. Is this what you expected?”
I have to admit honestly that it isn’t.
Susannah returns with a long white envelope. On the front, in capital letters, is written:
FOR JOSH GARCIA—DO NOT OPEN UNTIL YOU LEAVE TOWN.
She hands it to me with just a hint of hesitation.
“This is yours, I believe.” I take it from her hands, watching as her eyes glaze over with sadness, glistening with tears. She sniffs, pulls out a Kleenex from a pocket in her dress, and presses the tissue to her eyes. “Mercy, I didn’t expect this.” She tries to smile, which seems quite an effort. “Kids, I’m sorry. Guess it’s been a long wait. It’s just a little sad to let go of this famous message, this message I’ve waited most of my life to deliver.”
My fingers play with the envelope, resisting the urge to tear it open.
“Now fold it,” Susannah says with a nod, blowing her nose. “And put it into your front pocket. That’s it.”
There’s a knock at the door. Susannah looks surprised.
“Seems a little early for the bridge club.” She walks toward the door.
Ixchel and I stare at each other. Ixchel whispers, “How did ‘Arcadio’ know you would even exist? How can he predict the future? Is he some sort of prophet?”
It’s tough not to be able to talk about what Montoyo and I discussed about the Ix Codex. I feel like it’s getting to be too much to ask of Ixchel, to keep her so much in the dark. But how can I even suggest time travel without talking about the Ix Codex?
From the entrance hall, we hear Susannah talking softly in Spanish. She keeps saying “Yes, Father,” and “Well, of course, Father, I’d be delighted to help.” And in between, there’s a man speaking Spanish in a low, rapid voice. I put a finger to my lips, signaling to Ixchel to be quiet. I grab her hand and sidle cautiously toward the opposite end of the room, where french doors open onto a tiny walled garden, walls of deep blue lined with pink bougainvillea. The garden is no more than two yards across. Opposite is a carved oak door.
“What is it?” Ixchel whispers.
“I’m not sure,” I say. “Something feels wrong.”
I try the handle of the french door. It’s open, sliding smoothly on oiled runners.
Susannah and the man at the door are coming into the main part of the house. At first glance, I’m relieved—it’s only the Dominican priest we saw in the central plaza. But the second he yanks his sunglasses off, I stop being distracted by the white-and-black habit.
Facing me, with a hard gaze of triumph, is Simon Madison.
35
I don’t stop to return Madison’s stare, or to answer Susannah’s astonished cry of “Hey! What’s going on?!” I don’t think for a millisecond about fighting him. Grabbing Ixchel, I’m through the open door, across the patio, and through the oak door in the garden wall.
Susannah tries to stop him, but Madison grabs her arm and flings her aside. But she delays him for a few, crucial seconds. We spill out into the street, another cobbled alleyway just as empty as the last. Running, I hunt desperately for anywhere we could hide. There’s nothing in this street, so I make a sharp turn into a crossing alleyway. Ahead I see a handwritten sign outside one of the houses: MINI-ZOOLOGICO DE TLACOTALPAN.
And more importantly, an open door. We dive in. There’s no way Madison could have seen us yet—he hasn’t made it to the intersection in Susannah’s street.
Ixchel and I bolt into the house. We dash through corridors lined with faded photos, handicrafts, rifles, old military uniforms; the tiny museum all passes in a blur.
And then we’re in a huge patio crammed with low palm trees. Creeping plants cut out the sunlight, casting a forest gloom. On the right-hand side is a collection of cages, like you’d find at a zoo. From somewhere in the dense foliage of the trees, parrots squawk. An enormous golden eagle peers down at us from a perch on the roof, where it looms, wings tightly folded. A stork wanders right up to me, looks me up and down. For a second I think it’s about to peck at my hands.