Crystal Prophecy Excerpt

A hard sting hit my elbow and I slapped the mosquito, then glared at Mom.

She currently argued with a three-man boat crew at the business end of a flimsy wooden dock. We lurked at the edge of civilization, sweltering under a tropical sun that threatened my will to live. Lucky for me, I had a full tank of resentment to keep my spine intact. Why couldn’t things ever be normal?

Because I was born a Masters, and in this family, Jungles-R-Us. I’m the unfortunate offspring of a couple globe-trotting explorers who never once considered raising me in what my grandma called a stable lifestyle.

I’d long ago accepted that fact, but this unexpected trip cost me big. I wanted to shake my fist at the heavens and scream at the unfairness, but it wouldn’t help. Nothing budged Mom on a mission, a discouraging fact that our guides didn’t know.

I should tell them. We’ve been baking in this equatorial heat over twenty minutes as she argued over something as trivial as rose-scented lotion.

“Lacey,” Dad said wearily. “Let it go.”

“Not even.” Mom crossed her arms and tapped a hiking boot in irritation against the well-trodden dock. “Cosmetics are currency. We need the bargaining power they’ll provide.”

True enough, but this trip was different. For the first time ever, we had two medical volunteers along for the ride. Mom’s employer went all out, and while that was curious, we had bigger problems.

Afternoon storm clouds currently blocked a merciless sun, something I’d normally be grateful for, but a beam of golden light escaped and shot directly onto the large wooden crate holding Mom’s contraband.

The etched logo of a lady’s face burnt into the wood stood out in 3D, and the weirdness pushed our local guides over the edge. They declared it a bad omen and flat refused to load it onto the boat, no matter how hard Mom pushed.

It was a bit freaky, not that she cared. Relentless had nothing on Mrs. Masters.

The captain and crew cared. They stared at her in bewilderment, like she challenged every reasonable law known to the people of the Amazon. Which, of course, she did.

I sighed at the inevitability and climbed off my perch of supply crates and tightly rolled hammocks, then strolled over to play referee.

“The crate is bad luck, Mom.” I stated the obvious, pointing my finger at the lady’s face awash in golden color. “They won’t let it onboard the Ellioso.”

“Utter nonsense.” Her reply gave no quarter. “I won’t cave to ridiculous superstition.”

She meant business. There’s zero chance she’ll leave the goods behind. Bribery was the secret to her phenomenal success in the field – the more remote the territory, the more womenfolk craved girly stuff. A fact she shamelessly exploited to get her way.

This time, though, stubborn insistence battled irrational fear.

I had to act. It was past time to get on that boat. Yeah, I’d fought like a demon against this trip, but that was yesterday. Today, I discover a tall, gorgeous, and close to my own age, medical volunteer. That’s so rare an occurrence (as in never) that I’m contemplating letting go of my well-deserved resentment at being here.

“Maybe take a few out and leave the crate?” I ventured.

Her eyes narrowed in outrage.

I powered on before the inevitable explosion. “Isn’t it more important to transport the medical team?” Mom’s girly stuff was critical to our mission. I knew this. But shock and anticipation made one say crazy things.

“Jenna Evangeline Masters,” she began with a sharpness that signaled a full-blown lecture. “You’ve enjoyed a privileged life. Carefree and easy. Those women labor from dawn to dusk and deserve something special in their lives.”

Well, that was a bit harsh. Sure, I enjoyed modern conveniences, but there was nothing easy about being a Masters.

“You’ve seen their faces the first time they try scented lotion,” Mom continued with an accusing glare aimed my direction. “We take it for granted, but to them it’s something precious. I’m not leaving it behind.”

She’d played the sympathy card.

I hated when she did that, but she wasn’t wrong.

“It’s a small riverboat, Lacey,” Dad continued. “Space is limited. They need medicines more than feel-good products.”

He had the right of it, but Mom scored the point.

I eyed the bulky crate sitting by itself on the wooden dock, like some kind of outcast in our Wild Botany Tour. Maybe my world was privileged; maybe it wasn’t. None of that mattered when the only available bathwater on this trip came from the murky Amazon River. Add Scott Henley, a heart-stopping addition to our trip who’d be slinging his hammock within smelling distance of mine, and I’m moving into mom’s camp for this one.

I turned to Dad. “Ask if we can remove the contents. Leave the crate on the dock.” I hoped he’d put his camera down long enough to translate, because his Portuguese was way better than mine, despite five trips to Brazil.

Dad complied. “Esvazie a caixa em uma outra caixa?”

I crossed my fingers, but Captain Jorge, a hardened man with leathery skin, scruffy beard and aviator sunglasses, began shaking his head and sounding off in denial. My hopes plummeted as I picked up words that either meant “wicked” or “doomed.” Neither sounded promising.

What was the Portuguese word for crazy? Iouco. Honestly, there isn’t a single horror flick I know of that used rose-scented lotion as the conduit for a curse.

Things were rapidly deteriorating. Our medical doctor frowned in annoyed disapproval, Captain Jorge stared at the crate like it held the Dark Lord of the Underworld, and my parents were back to arguing. Scott Henley just perched atop a stack of metal equipment containers watching it all go down, looking every bit like he’d walked off an Indiana Jones movie set.

He even had the hat.

We weren’t going anywhere at this rate.

Out of desperation, I did the only rational thing left. I raked my hair into its usual ponytail, marched over to a bundle of farm implements waiting to load, and grabbed a sturdy hoe. Then bee-lined for the crate.

Before anyone could stop me, I pried the cursed box wide open. The wooden lid flipped onto the dock with a meaty thud and one of the boat crew gasped, Paulo, I think. Then he crossed himself against the evil lurking in the box.

I almost snorted.

Instead, I shoved aside shredded cardboard filler and pulled out a fragrant bottle of lotion. I made a big deal out of unscrewing the top, inhaling the soft floral bouquet, and releasing a heartfelt sigh of appreciation. It truly did smell nice.

Captain Jorge stared at me like I’d lost my mind.

I totally had. Why else would I be fighting to set sail for the Jurua Tributary? It flowed as far from civilization as you could possibly get on this planet. Yet despite the enormous fit I’d pitched over the timing of this trip, I actually wanted to get going. At least the Ellioso had a shaded bow, and powering upstream promised cooler airflow.

I stepped closer to the captain and held the fearsome bottle out for him to try.

He nearly fell backward to get away from the terror I offered. I did snort this time and grabbed his hand, dropping the lotion into his palm. Then searched for the words to say his wife will love him for it.

“A esposa amará,” I said in halting Portuguese.

His eyebrows shot up and he glanced at the bottle with a wary eye. After I gave him a bright smile and nod of encouragement, he lifted the lotion to his nose for a quick sniff.

His eyes widened, and pleasure softened his gruff features.

I smelled victory. “Good, yes?”

“Sim,” he hesitantly agreed and sniffed again.

High on success, I pulled a couple more bottles out of the crate and handed them to the other two crewmen. Paulo glanced to the Captain for permission, but Miguel just grinned and promptly did his own sniffing.

“Excelente, Jenna dear.” Mom had stepped up behind me and probably would have hugged me if she hadn’t been so focused on the results of the big smell-fest.

This suited me just fine because Mr. Cute-Guy-Volunteer stared at me with a measure of respect that made me feel strangely warm all the way down to my toes.

Amidst all the smiles and laughter, Mom and Dad took advantage of the crew’s goodwill and began unloading the crate into bags, boxes, anything handy.

Soaring high with an unexpected sense of anticipation, I snagged a bottle and slipped it into the pocket of my cargo shorts.

I’d earned at least one for saving the day.