“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Did he come here? To see you?”
I knew the answer before she said anything, because her whole face lit up. “Yes, he came to see me, and also to deliver this.” She reached into my top dresser drawer and pulled out something—something I never thought I’d see again.
I blinked in astonishment. “Is that…?”
She held up Fuego—perfectly restored, shining, blue-glowing Fuego! I patted the pocket where I’d been keeping the jade handle. It was empty. How in the heck had Hurakan snatched it? So my dad was a pickpocket, too?
I grabbed the cane/spear from her, smiling so wide my cheeks hurt, turning it in my hands like glass that would break if I held it too tight.
“Hurakan did say to be careful,” Mom said. “This is the two-point-oh version, whatever that means.”
After Mom left my room, I inspected Fuego. It looked the same but felt different, like the power that pulsed in it was greater, stronger. I wondered if the letter-opener feature was still a thing. The second I tried it out—poof! the cane disappeared. I looked around frantically, patting my chest, my jean pockets. Nothing. And then I noticed the back of my hand: there was a quarter-size tattoo of a jaguar profile, black with golden eyes.
“Fuego?”
With a single thought, the cane appeared back in my hand and the tattoo was gone. “Okay, then,” I exhaled slowly, and smiled. “Totally better than a letter opener. Thanks, Dad.”
I couldn’t wait to try out Fuego’s power, but I needed a wide-open space so I didn’t incinerate anything.
Quickly, I opened the box on my bed and found six gold-wrapped chocolate bars and a stack of plain w
hite paper with a note that read:
Zane,
A deal is a deal. This is storytelling paper. A story isn’t over until it’s been told. And don’t try and skimp on the details—the paper won’t let you. But it will allow you to make the words your own. Make them count.
See you in the Tree,
Itzamna.
P.S. The bars are from Ixkakaw. She said every writer needs divine chocolate.
Great! While everyone else was going to be learning warfare and other cool stuff, I was going to be taking writing lessons. Ugh!
* * *
Before dinner, I found Quinn walking the shore alone. I still had a big unanswered question for her. I didn’t think she would give me a straight answer, her being a spy and all, but I had to try.
“You said the Sparkstriker sent you undercover to the underworld,” I said. “Why?”
Quinn tossed a twig into the oncoming waves, and just when I thought she was going to say, That’s none of your business, Obispo, she said, “The Sparkstriker saw something evil in her lightning pool, something that scared her. I’ve never seen her frightened. She said the seeds of this evil could only be discovered in the underworld.”
“What do you mean, ‘seeds’?”
“She didn’t tell me, just said to keep my eyes open. But maybe it was Camazotz, since he’s from there, or…”
“Or maybe Ixtab has more secrets we don’t know about.”
Quinn let out a light laugh. “Oh, you can bet on that. Come on. I’m starving!”
* * *
We all sat on the back patio—Mom, Hondo, Brooks, Quinn, Ren, Ren’s abuelo, and me—telling stories over pepperoni pizza. I watched as Brooks and Quinn spoke to each other in low whispers, and wished I knew what they were saying. Mostly because Brooks’s face was filled with worry—but about what?