“But you can’t reveal your secrets, correct? The magicians’ code?” Cam asked.
“I don’t think I rank among official magicians, but yes. Even the instruction book in my little child's kit said never to tell how a trick is done.”
“Smoke and mirrors.” Cam checked around an outcropping.
“Well, yes, actually. A huge part of magic is distraction. You get the audience to focus over here.” She danced the beam of the flashlight across the cave wall. “While you do magic over here.” She held up his watch.
Cam grabbed her wrist. “That's not magic; it's pickpocketing. That I know how to do.” He held up his other hand, her small card wallet between two fingers.
“You distracted me.” She glanced at his strong hand gently circling her wrist, then met his gaze. “Did I reveal my secret?”
Cam spoke softly. “Don’t worry. It's safe with me.”
The following night they found the remnants of another marker. Cam guessed they had been halfway around the mountain, but this was in a cave close to where they had started their search. The small pile of rocks had fallen—by Evan's estimation, almost immediately after being stacked. Two stones were in place; the third leaned against them like a snowman that had lost its head. But there, buried under the second rock, were two gold links.
Evan looked up to him with unbridled enthusiasm. “Isn’t this exciting?”
Cam shrugged. “It's a rock blob, and less gold than my abuela has in her teeth.”
Evan sighed. “My mentor, Doctor Emberton, was on a dig in Syria where the team found a clay pot. That's it. Just a modestly decorated pot. It was cracked, and a shard had broken off.”
“Does the story end with the pot being filled with diamonds?” he asked.
Evan frowned. “No.”
Cam stuck a little flag in the marker as she had shown him. “Not interested.”
“Miguel, that pot proved the existence of an entire tribe of people we knew nothing about. It's in the Natural History Museum in London. Isn’t that fascinating?”
Cam was fascinated. Giving a name and a history to an entire civilization was… noble. He scanned the area around the marker, impassive.
“Treasure is fascinating,” he replied.
“I agree. We just have different definitions of treasure.”
“Maybe it's a language barrier.” Cam grinned.
She shook her head, fighting a smile. “Come on. Let's get back. I’ll add this little marker to my notes.”
Cam led her back through the maze, shielding her from sharp rocks and protecting her head from low ceilings. He fought a laugh as she stumbled, then did a little hop to cover her clumsiness. Everything about her pulled him. She was like this beautiful human tractor beam.
Yes, they did have different definitions of treasure.
Cam walked home along the path through the high grass. Low mountains loomed behind him, the calm sea in the distance. It was still dark, but the clouded moonlight provided a gentle glow. He already felt her absence. He didn’t know what it was about Evan, but he craved her the way one craves a missing piece of their soul.
Poets and songwriters describe this feeling like weightlessness, like floating. For Cam, it was the opposite. Evan made him feel grounded, like his feet were finally planted on the ground after years adrift. She felt like his gravity.
He didn’t feel that zing his father talked about, but how could he with this lie between them. Evan didn’t know the thoughtful, diligent sailor, Camilo Canto. She knew the greedy, sketchy security guard, Miguel Ramirez. Miguel could never feel a zing or a jolt or a fizzle or a pop because he was numb. Cam felt something, though.
And it terrified and exhilarated him in equal measure.