Sacred Fires

By Catherine Greenfeder

When Casey Mc Conoughy, a magazine news reporter, and Miguel Stephens, a rogue U.S. Customs Bureau agent, unite to uncover the mystery behind a rash of bazaar cult murders connected to the theft of antiquities from Mexico they get more than they bargained for.

While Miguel’s hidden agenda is to uncover the cult leader responsible for human sacrifices including that of his step-brother, Casey’s is to get over her former fiancé, a lawyer with unsavory clients and to prove her worth as a news reporter. What they both discover is that they had been together in another lifetime in Aztec Mexico. Unlike then, however, this time, they have the law on their side and a love so strong it is sacred.

From modern day Mexico City to the tropical splendor of Acapulco, Sacred Fires paints a story of greed, betrayal, revenge, and love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Catherine Greenfeder
• Release date: Feb 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005839864

Catherine Greenfeder

I am a retired language arts teacher and have written and published five books including two young adult and three romance novels. Angels Among Us is my first published romance novel and is set in New Jersey.I am a member of the Write Group, Liberty State Fiction Writers, and Romance Writers of America.Currently I am writing a young adult and a historical woman's fiction novel.

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Sacred Fires, © Copyright 2012 Catherine Greenfeder

Published by Catherine Greenfeder

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For more information on the author and her works, please see http://catherinegreenfeder.com

ISBN: 979898571106

Dedication

To my soul mate, Wayne, with love

In remembrance of mis abuelas, my grandmothers

Prologue

Tenochtitlan, Mexico—1414 A.D.

Huitzilihuitl will send his men. If they find you, they will kill you. Worry creased the copper-toned features of the elderly woman who gripped her by the wrist. Please, my child, do not go out there. You have so much to lose and nothing to gain. Stay and be the wife of the chief. You will have all wealth and possession, power, and children to put on the throne.

I want none of it. And you are wrong. I have much to gain. Amid tears of frustration, Anacaona fought the clutches of her beloved mentor, I will go to him.

Ah, my child, neither I nor the gods can stop someone so headstrong and foolish! Teotalco let go of her hold and turned from Anacaona as her frail body wracked with heavy sobs.

I am sorry. Anacaona touched the old woman’s shoulders. We will come for you when the time is right. With that the dark-skinned beauty let go of the one person who had taken her in when others shunned the three-year old captive girl who had been plucked from her village after a brutal raid on her people, raised her, and taught her the ways of the priestesses. She had learned much in her fourteen years with Teotalco—the use of herbs for healing, how to build the sacred fires and the reverence for the ceremonies made to appease the gods. Neither Teotalco nor Anacaona could foresee the royal decree from Huitzilihuitl, lord and ruler of all Aztecs, the girl would be asked to sacrifice more than she ever did for gods or goddesses. Issued upon her seventeenth year, the decree ordered Anacaona to become the ninth concubine of his lordship. Equally, neither Teotalco nor Anacaona foresaw the coming of a handsome young warrior, Mazatl, to their doorstep, wounded from a battle. Neither royal decree nor Teotalco’s pleas prevented Anacaona from secretly caring for the warrior. She could not resist bathing his injured body in the sacred streams, applying the salves, and ministering to his every cry for help.

He is not one of your stray animals, my child, but a man, Teotalco warned.

We cannot let him die, Anacaona rebuffed and continued to heal and nurture him through the weeks he hid in the walls of their hut. Teotalco’s warnings fell upon deaf ears. The old woman knew once the two young people met, they could not be easily parted for greater than any herbs and incantations, one balm eased both body and soul—love. As Mazatl grew stronger, so did the flame of passion between the lovers. With his health restored and no real need to linger, the young warrior left with the promise to return and free her at the full moon.

The night came at last. I must go, Anacaona said as she stepped away from Teotalco. Mazatl waits for me on the other side. She moved from the security of the older woman’s arms and pressed ahead through the jungle, past the marshes and deeper into the thicket. Tall reeds and thorny vines scratched her bare legs.

Anacaona! a strong male voice called from behind a tree. Her pulse quickened with anticipation. Nothing could prevent their reunion, nothing, not even the threat of death. Come here, he called and stepped from the shadows.

Mazatl, my love. She collapsed into the fold of his arms. It was not easy, but I came.

Moonlight illuminated their path. It is meant to be. Take my hand, my love, and run with me. His eyes glowed amber like a cat’s, and he moved with the swift, deliberate action of the jaguar.

If my lord catches us he will surely take vengeance. I am promised.

You are enslaved, my sweet. I will set you free. His hands came down upon her shoulders, and his lips coursed through her thick black hair.

She leaned into him and heard his racing heart beat or was it hers? Oh, my love, it has been so long. She tasted the salt of her tears. In his arms, however, her fear evaporated like the rainwater which washed over them. Then they ran, hands entwined, and found shelter beneath a grove of palm trees. Mazatl found a dry spot for them to lie upon, and soon starlight twinkled overhead.

Look over there. Anacaona pointed to a shooting star and made a sign across her chest.

A message from Mextli… We must not do this… not tonight. They peered at the crimson moon through the palm leaves. It made her shiver and seek warmth in his embrace. Neither moon nor sun can stop our love, he reassured as he kissed her brow. We have plenty of time… lifetimes. A rustle in the grasses disturbed their peace as three armed warriors and a chief priest approached.

It is a crime, punishable by death, the chief priest said, to bed the woman intended for our lord. It is a crime to disobey his divine lord. You both must die. The warriors led Mazatl and Anacaona off to their lord and master for retribution.

Sacred fires burned high in the evening sky the following night. Under a blood red moon the lovers met once more to ascend the steps of the ziggurat. Their lordship needed to set an example to others who dared to disobey, to rebel from his rule, and to seek the forbidden. It is not enough the woman disobeys, Huitzilihuitl told the audience of priests, warriors, servants, and slaves. But she does so with my finest eagle knight warrior. Your blood will appease the gods.

But our love will never die, Anacaona whispered beneath her mask to Mazatl and tried to reach for his hand only to be jerked away and her own hands bound. Forced a distance from him, she felt the weight of the clay mask and listened to the drone of the chief priests who intoned prayers and incantations. Despite the jewel encrusted masks, the garments of corn husks which itched their skin, and the threats of the by-standers, Anacaona and Mazatl remained with gazes locked. Eyes shone bright with all the love which burned in their hearts.

A guard pushed Mazatl forward. He could no longer see his beloved’s bitter tears. Pulled to a stone altar, he struggled only briefly beneath the clutches of the men who held him down. Before he had time to cry out, an obsidian blade flashed in the air and pierced open his chest.

No! Anacaona’s scream echoed along the blood-splattered temple grounds. With it still beating, the high priest lifted Mazatl’s heart from the chest and tasted it. Another priest tossed the body down the chute to feed the waiting vultures. Frozen in shock Anacaona stood immobile and helpless until strong, brutal hands pushed her toward the altar. She spun around and stared at the gilded throne of his lordship. Kill me! You will never kill my love!

Pushed down by brutish hands onto the stone, her last glimpse filled with the sight of the moon glistening through the hollowed eyes of a crystal skull, the treasure stolen from her people, and the flames of the sacred fires licking the night air. Pain ripped through her. Blackness fell.

Chapter One

San Diego, California

Son of a bitch! How could this have happened?

Like a left hook to the jaw, the content of the letter struck Miguel Stephens with its intensity. He could still see the handsome twenty-two year old Paolo preparing for a dive from the cliffs off La Quebrada. Paolo lived life to the fullest, working his way through school as a lifeguard. Under Miguel’s fraternal advice, Paulo left the gangs, returned to complete school, and attended the University of Mexico City as a pre-med student. His plan to attend medical school now shattered forever. Only the devastating earthquake which hit Mexico City and claimed the life of their mother years before hurt more than this loss of his beloved step-brother. Now, all those plans washed away like the tide which carried Paolo’s body to Acapulco Bay.

As Miguel stared out the window of his office in San Diego, he sensed with bitterness the irony in how his mother worried about him. His adolescent time with the gangs in the barrios changed after she died. Both he and his step-brother who had miraculously survived the quake had to be split up. His maternal aunt could not take both boys having her own brood of children. So, Miguel at the age of fifteen went to live with his step-father, Dan Stephens, in Los Angeles. The intervention of his step-father prevented him from succumbing to the same gangs which lured him in the barrios. Dan Stephens, a private investigator for the county, kept a hawk-like eye on his boy and sent him to a private high school. Miguel’s athletic prowess helped him secure a scholarship for UCLA, and he followed his step-father into law enforcement.

Miguel went to the shelf on the wall and peered down at the row of pottery jars, replicas of ancient Mayan artifacts, and his gaze rested on the photograph of his mother, step-brother, and himself. Both boys inherited the dark handsome features of their mother, but Miguel had his father’s eyes… deep blue and lit with fury as he felt all the emotions warring inside himself. How could this happen? he asked the wall. His hand crashed against the oak desk scattering a pile of papers to the floor.

He looked at the other photograph, the one taken only five years earlier. It had been of a reunion of the brothers in Acapulco. They had gone to celebrate their grandmother’s seventy-fifth birthday. Miguel’s abuela smiled at the camera, and Paola held up his first diving medal while Miguel spread his arms about the shoulders of both. How he missed his abuela! Grandmother told him tales of the old ways, stories of the ancient ones, and inspired him to start his collection of Mexican relics, sculpture, and pottery. A mid-wife and a local healer, she practiced a mix of pagan and Christian beliefs. More than an abuela, she acted like his madre, a mother dear to his heart. I must go to her. He had time coming to him. He needed to see her, to return to his roots and the comfort of familia. His sole interest, his work, robbed him of a sense of family. Despite the ribbing of his fellow agents and attempts to match him up with women of all sorts, Miguel remained detached and uninterested. At thirty-six, he meant to keep it that way.

Miguel lifted up a sculpture, a toothy figure holding a head in its hands. One of his dates found it repulsive and questioned why a grown man collected replicas of Mayan and Aztec sacrifice objects. You’re not one of those serial killers living a double-life? the attractive blonde asked when he had invited her to his office to see the collection.

No, I only use them on friends, he replied in jest. Obviously, she didn’t get the joke, and he never saw her afterward. Long hours, little vacation time, and the sense of futility whenever he did meet a woman kept him from settling down.

Mike?

Miguel almost dropped the sculpture. He put it back on the shelf and stared at the bald-headed man who entered his office. Tom Gillan acted as a supervisor and a mentor.

Pain creased Tom’s face as he walked up to Miguel. It’s about your step-brother, isn’t it?

Paolo, yes it is. Who told you?

Tom sat in the swivel chair opposite Miguel. I don’t know how to tell you this.

Go on. Miguel sat down.

You know how he died?

Miguel nodded. He dove and hit his head on rocks at the bottom.

I’m sorry to tell you this, but we received a report from central office. Paola died before he collided with the rocks. A lab report revealed two bullet wounds. We also learned he had something to do with a smuggling operation in Mexico City.

No, not Paolo, a pre-med student. Why?

Gillan looked Miguel in the eyes. Money! Why else? Oh, and one other thing… he paused and touched the sculpture of the tribal chief holding the head. Paola’s body had an awful gash… in the chest cavity. It didn’t come from the falls or the gunshot. It looked too much like a ritual. Maybe it’s gang related.

Paolo was too damned smart to be mixed up in smuggling or gangs. He had everything going for him, and he promised me when I left Mexico to stay away from trouble. He couldn’t get involved. Miguel grabbed the sculpture from Gillan’s hands and flung it against the wall.

Gillan clapped Miguel on the shoulder. Look, take some time off. This has to be pretty tough on you. We’ll send our special agents down to check this out. It’s sure to involve IFAR and the federal bureau. When we know more, we’ll contact you.

No, I’m going down to Mexico City. I have to see my family, and I can find out about Paolo.

You can, but you are off the case. It’s too personal. It’s against regulations.

Regulations be damned. Miguel picked up the shards of pottery, cutting his fingers in the process. Gillan handed him a handkerchief.

Thanks, Miguel mopped the blood from his fingertips and then licked the wound. Paola was family. I need to find out what the hell happened.

Gillan covered his ears. I don’t want to hear this. You’re too emotionally involved. It’s too dangerous. He walked to the door. Go take your vacation time, and come back when your heart has had a chance to heal. You’ve earned a month off.

This smuggling ring, what are they accused of?

One of the Embassy’s attaches had a lot of pre-Columbian art which he got from a dealer down in Mexico City. There could be larger ramifications to this than we think.

Miguel sat down on the edge of his desk and leaned forward with interest. Such as?

Look, I shouldn’t even be telling you this, Gillan paused.

But you will?

Gillan heaved a sigh. Don’t do anything foolish, Miguel. You’re like a son to me.

I need to know, Tom, please go on.

A senatorial candidate’s son is a lawyer who made frequent visits to Mexico at the time when the artifacts were stolen.

So?

There is to be a banquet in New York City next week. His guest list includes some unsavory characters.

Like who?

I’m telling you too much, Miguel, but if you need to know, it could implicate your brother with the notorious Coppotelli family.

Miguel jumped off the desk and went to his calendar. "I’ve got enough time. I think I’ll take a trip east before I visit my abuela."

Not a good idea! Go south of the border, but don’t get further involved.

Paola was killed. I am involved. Anyway, I do have a friend from college who had invited me to his home on Long Island. What a coincidence, no?

Gillan shook his fist. "You stay out of trouble. Go visit your alumni friends and your familia, but stay the hell out of this investigation."

Miguel waited until Gillan left, and then he turned on his laptop and booked his trips, one for the coast and one for home. He e-mailed the frat brother and said he’d come to the fundraiser after all. When he finished he held up the photograph of his mother and step-brother. "Vaya con Dios, mi hermano. Your death will not go unpunished."

* * *

In a cramped cubicle on Manhattan’s West Side, Casey McConaughey sat hunched over her computer keyboard typing the report on the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s latest exhibit of Mayan art and artifacts. One coincided with her own interest in the ancient Mexican beliefs and customs. Ready to wrap up the piece, she took a sip of coffee and glanced at the instant message from her boss.

Donnelly - Go to Mexico!