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The yacht was nearly to the island. He’d been there multiple times, of course. It was an uninhabited island where the Mexican military had practiced bombing techniques. They’d inadvertently created an inland beach, inaccessible by land. It was called Hidden Beach—or Lover’s Beach, depending on why it was sought out. Surrounded by cliffs and jungle, the beach was the ultimate private retreat. The Mexican government banned tourists from going there because of environmental concerns, but in truth Jacob was the reason for the ban. He’d decided to keep it for himself. He owned the Punta Mita peninsula. The luxury hotels paid him to lease the land for their hotels and comforts. And the island, which he also owned, was only a fifteen-minute ride from the hub of resorts.
Angélica sat up as the yacht began to slow. In the past, the area had been overcrowded with tourists coming to visit the pristine waters. Without them, the area had begun to heal, the aquatic life reviving.
The captain of the yacht maneuvered to the right spot on the rocky cliff before killing the engine. There was no beach there—it was hidden within the island.
Then the captain killed the engine. “We’re here, jefe.”
Jacob walked to the edge of the yacht. He removed his shirt and tossed it aside. Angélica slipped out of her sheer beach robe, revealing the bikini beneath. Together, they jumped off the yacht into the warm, fragrant waters of the ocean.
“Hold on to my fin,” he told her and then used the magic to transform into a dolphin. She hooked her hand on the dorsal fin, and he swept through the waters. The beach was only accessible during low tide. It was a short swim, even shorter for a dolphin. The opening between the rock and the water was barely six feet during low tide. During high tide, the beach was flooded.
Passing beneath the jagged rocks, they entered the secret cove. Jacob transformed back into a man again, and they walked together up the beach. The white sand stretched for hundreds of yards in a circle. The blue-green water of the sea came lapping or crashing up onto it according to the rhythm of the tide. In the cliffs above, they could see the verdant brush of the jungle.
“This is . . . this is so beautiful!” Angélica said, walking around in a full circle. It was just the two of them. No one else.
“This is my gift to you.” He clasped her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Hidden Beach belongs to you. So does the Punta Mita peninsula. They’re yours.”
Her eyes widened with shock.
“A queen has her own lands. Her own domains. Cozumel is mine. The Isla Mujeres I already gave you. And this I give you too. Our secret place.”
“I’m . . . I’m overwhelmed,” she said. She looked so beautiful in that moment he wanted to give her everything.
“I almost lost you, cariño,” he whispered huskily. “I want each moment with you to matter.” He extended his arms. “No technology here. No spy satellites. I’ve seen to it that we’re safe from prying eyes.”
Her mouth parted, the excited smile on her face showing him he’d pleased her with this gift. She was grateful. She was always so grateful.
“Thank you,” she said, coming close and kissing him. “Thank you for this.”
“You asked me how I was going to kill the American president. I would not speak of it on the boat. As much as I trust el capitán, it is not wise to share secrets too loosely.”
“So you will tell me?” she asked eagerly.
“Tell me what you know of Huracán.”
“He was the rival of Kukulkán of course.”
“Indeed he was. The two were great rivals in those days. What was Huracán known for?”
“He was the god of jaguars. Your priesthood comes from him,” she said.
“How was he depicted?”
She blinked, thinking quickly. “I don’t remember.”
“I take away your computer and you forget?” he teased. She always accepted his teasing. He liked that too. “Huracán was one of the creation gods. He was master of wind, fire, and storm.”
“Yes!” she said, sighing. “Now I remember. And his foot.”
“Some believe he lost it battling a monster. But that’s not true. He is depicted with an obsidian mirror on his foot or his chest because he knew the magic of the smoking mirror. He is the god of the night sky, the hurricane, hostility, discord, rulership, temptation, jaguars, divination, sorcery, beauty, war, and conflict.”
Her eyes sparkled more with each term he said. She wanted to learn the magic of the kem äm so she could levitate objects. Control people and things. He could tell she was a little jealous that he’d begun teaching Mr. Roth’s daughter, Suki, the secrets of sorcery. Although she’d feigned concern about the price the “innocent” child would have to pay to fully harness the power, he knew it was at least in part because she wished for the magic herself.
“Huracán is mighty,” Angélica said.
“Strong enough to defeat Kukulkán, certainly,” Jacob agreed. “To rule all these lands. The magic of the smoking mirror bestows the ability to travel between mirrors. Years ago, the Mexican government gave certain relics as gifts to the Americans, the British, the Germans, and other powerful nations. The Maya made mirrors out of obsidian. A jaguar priest can walk from mirror to mirror. And there is one inside the White House.”
She had a look of wonder as she whispered, “You already have a way inside?”
