“This is so awesome! This is the real Mexico,” Lydia offered from the backseat of the rental car as they drove in to Playa del Carmen. Amanda sat shotgun and James drove. The road to Valladolid felt a world away from Cancún, where they had arrived to celebrate their engagement. Here, palm trees towered over dirt roads, thatched cabanas lined the beach, and small taco stands popped up on every corner. It had a sun-kissed, casual, irresistibly relaxing vibe.
It was two days before Amanda and James’s engagement party, and the three friends were headed for the cenotes: deep, natural sinkholes of limestone with freshwater ponds at the bottom. Once considered sacred by the Mayan civilization, they were now popular tourist attractions. They had decided on a longer trek, taking a picturesque detour via Playa del Carmen, before veering off to the old city of Valladolid and the nearby Cenote Samula.
“Let’s go for a taco crawl, girls,” James offered as they entered the city. He pulled up to the limited shade of an old colonial building flanked by yellow acacias. “I’m starving.”
“Yay!” said Lydia. “Me too.”
“Great idea,” Amanda agreed. It felt good to be away from the hustle and bustle of the city and not having to think about work—both the anesthesia resident kind of work and the Sentinel kind. But she had a mild case of car sickness, and thus was not very chatty. Stepping out of the car, she slowly breathed in and out, feeling the hot sun on her face. She usually got carsick unless she was the driver. She made a mental note to switch with James for the rest of their trip.
“Hey, baby . . .” Coming around, her fiancé carefully wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her in the soft heat of his body. “Are you okay? You’ve been quiet.”
Amanda sighed and returned his hug. She had no clear answer to his question, just let her head rest on his chest, while James slowly rocked her from side to side. “Better?” he asked, and she could hear the smile in his voice.
“Yes,” she replied, looking up into his eyes. “I’m okay; I’m just carsick. Mind if I drive the rest of the way?”
“Go ahead, any time.”
“Hey, lovebirds!” Lydia called out from a couple of yards away. Hands on her hips, she was grinning. “Hurry up, I’m starving!”
Hand in hand, Amanda and James strode along the street to catch up with Amanda’s best friend. Soon they were digging into fresh beef tacos. These were authentic Mexican street tacos, quite healthy, on a small corn tortilla, with onions and cilantro and a variety of tasty fillings. Some locals were out and about, but not too many. After eating, the trio strolled along, not a care in the world, breathing in the vibe of this beach town, discovering the Mexican architecture with its distinct Spanish colonial look. They stopped in front of a beautiful baroque church and got ready for some pictures. Its front entrance, the upper-level decorative columns, and the bell tower were covered in hand-painted ceramic tiles, bright blue, yellow, and red. At either side of the main portal were niches lined with the same tiny, multicolored ceramic squares behind religious statues. They took a few more pictures and decided to head back to the car.
Amanda got into the driver’s seat. They would see more of the town on their way back. Like a mysterious oasis in the July heat, the famous cenotes beckoned, and she was excited to finally see one.
When they arrived, they joined a small group of tourists who had gathered over the cenote entrance. From this vantage point, the sinkhole opening looked like a skull. She was just about to point it out to Lydia and James when the tour guide approached and said, “Hello, everyone. My name is Maria. Welcome to Cenote Samula, which, you may be able to guess by looking at it”—she waved her hand over the cenote— “is a semi-open type of cenote.”
“I was about to say it looked like a skull,” Lydia whispered. “Isn’t it weird?”
Amanda jabbed her with an elbow, nodding and mouthing, “Me too.” Then they giggled, provoking the guide to go silent.
“Sorry,” they said in unison.
The guide continued. “It’s sometimes called the magical cenote, and it’s the least-crowded swimming hole in the region.”
“I heard that’s because a lot of people died here,” said a middle-aged woman in the group. She was clutching the arm of a man who appeared to be her husband. They were both slightly rotund and wearing matching outfits: T-shirts, beige cargo shorts, and white socks under sandals. They looked like they had come on a tour from one of the larger cruise lines Amanda had seen docked in the harbor near Playa del Carmen.
“You can’t believe everything you read on the Internet, Shelly,” the man told her, then looked to the tour guide.
Shelly chimed in before Maria could continue. “I didn’t read it from the Internet, dear. Our captain told us about this last night over dinner. ‘An entrance to hell’ was what he called it.” That got a snicker from the group. She turned back to the tour guide. “I’m right, aren’t I?” she demanded, clutching the laminated cruise pass she wore on a lanyard around her neck, as if this gave her some kind of credibility.
Maria paused and bit her lip before responding. “Actually . . .”
“See! I told you, Brian, it’s not very safe.”
“Oh, honey, it’s fine,” Brian assured her in a distinctly weary tone.
Amanda regarded the older couple as they continued their banter. They seemed to be in their fifties; about the age her parents would be now, had they lived.
“It’s true,” Maria replied. “But first things first. Let me tell you about the cenotes. The most famous one is Chichen Itza’s Cenote Sagrado. It’s a volcanic hole, leading to an underground source of fresh water. That one was commonly called an entrance to the Mayan Underworld. The Maya said it was inhabited by the Chaak, a rain god that inhabited the Underworld. It is believed that some cenotes were the site of human sacrifice, but—”
Shelly gasped and yanked at her husband’s arm dramatically. “Look! What is that?” She pointed at what seemed like tendrils of fog rising up just outside the cenote, from a small fissure in the ground.
“It’s limestone fog,” the tour guide responded. “This cenote is a tall, beautiful cave, made out of limestone. The water at the bottom is fresh water, it accumulates from the rain as it seeps through the ground.”
Shelly would not settle. “So you basically admit that people did die here? We’re gonna be swimming in water with human bones at the bottom?”
“Wow, this lady is a downer,” Lydia muttered under her breath.
Maria held up a hand to finish. “A scuba expedition discovered a significant number of bones at the bottom of Cenote Sagrado.”
The group went quiet. Amanda wondered if Maria had known someone in that expedition. She almost wanted to ask, but Maria quickly concluded, “But no bones were found here, at this particular cenote.” A murmur of relief sounded from the group and she added, “Most cenotes are perfectly safe to swim in. No bones. No sacrifices.”
“So we are allowed to swim in there?” Lydia asked.
“Absolutely. The water is very nice and clean.”
Lydia made a “Told you so” face at Amanda, who shrugged and gave her a big grin back. When they’d met up at the hotel that morning, Lydia had proudly announced that she was wearing her bathing suit under her shorts, calling Amanda’s multicolored fringe dress impractical. Amanda really didn’t think they’d be allowed to swim in the cenotes. She reminded her that the tourists were no longer allowed to climb the Chichen Itza pyramid, not since 2011 or so. Plus, she imagined the water to be dark and cold.
Presently, as they began their descent into the cenote, she noted that this was a peaceful, shadowy place. Clear water trickled down the dark walls and vegetation hung in long, shaggy clumps from the central opening above. Light streamed down onto the dark-blue water at the pool’s center but didn’t quite reach the edges; there, by the thin crescent of sand, the water was black and immobile. A crude stone staircase hugged the cave wall, leading all the way down to the water and the shadowy beach.
The group descended the rough steps carved out of stone and slippery with moisture. Each stair was tall and wide, such that they had to clamber down one at a time. They passed the entrance to a side grotto, which opened up a little like a hallway. Something about it drew Amanda’s attention. It seemed like the light dimmed and flickered inside the grotto. Maybe there was an opening in its ceiling? She fixated on the light as the rest of the group filed past her.
When she realized she was getting an uneasy feeling about the spot, she turned on her receiving functions.
“What’s up?” James asked, backtracking to join her.
“Look at the light.” She gave him a quick glance before turning back to the grotto. “Something’s wrong there. I can feel it. Can you?”
“We’re on vacation, baby. We’re not supposed to be working.”
“Just turn on your receiving functions,” she insisted. “You’ll see what I mean.” She moved deeper into the grotto. “Can you feel it? It’s so weird in here.”
“Amanda,” James grumbled, but still complied. When he did, his demeanor changed. “Yeah, you’re right. There’s definitely active magic here. Really old. Ancient.”
Active magic? How was a Sentinel 9 picking up things she couldn’t?
“How can you tell?”
James continued to glance around the grotto. “Remember that extra refresher course Basil invited us to, in April? The one you ditched?”
“Because I had my big exam to prepare, remember? The nasty big exam we doctors have to take in our second year of training.”
He laughed and reached for her hand. “I didn’t say you didn’t have a good reason,” he teased, bringing her hand to his lips for a quick kiss.
She smiled but pulled her hand away. It annoyed her that James knew something she didn’t. She willed herself to act cool and playful. “So Basil let you in on some new secrets, huh?” she said, with a coquettish tilt of her chin.
“Yep. I even stayed behind and asked him for extra help. He spent a whole day training me. He brought an old manuscript from his library. It was a firsthand account from a Sentinel who lived in the sixteenth century and wrote down his sensations after encountering different types of rare, ancient magic.”
“Wow.”
Amanda wasn’t really jealous, but she was piqued. Annoyed. She tried to analyze why. Maybe it was because James seemed so happy, almost mischievous, about knowing something she didn’t. Sometimes she had a nagging intuition that he didn’t like her being more powerful than he was.
Brushing all other thoughts aside, she focused on the dark energy. She and James were now fully inside the grotto and the sounds of the group had receded. It was cool, damp, and gloomy in here, with no hanging vegetation or opening in the top to shed light. At the far end, something else drew Amanda’s attention. She had the distinct sense they were not alone.
Then she saw him—what could only be described as a shadow man: a black, opaque figure with the outline of a fedora on his head. Everything about him was utterly black; it was as if a hole in the shape of the man suddenly had suddenly been torn into space. It conveyed an impression of cold—surreal, menacing, like the inhuman emptiness of outer space. The figure flashed a large, carnivorous grin; its white teeth standing out against the darkness, in the absence of other facial features.
“That’s not magic,” Amanda commented, controlling her voice as her heart raced. She wasn’t exactly afraid: she knew she was much too powerful to be in real danger from the supernatural, but the evil emanating from the presence was highly disturbing. She could tell it wanted them to suffer an agonizing death on the floor of that cavern, slowly and painfully drying up until they resembled mummies. She didn’t know how she felt this, but she could also feel that the grinning man had begun its attack on them, searching relentlessly for an opening, a way to penetrate their brains and suck out their life force.
James gathered an energy pulse and used both arms to shoot it at the figure. When the pulse hit, the dark mass flickered slightly, but Shadow Man remained, along with its sinister grin.
“What in God’s name is that thing?” James muttered, taking a step back. “Did you see that? It didn’t flinch.”
How was this possible? Supernatural manifestations stood no chance against a Sentinel of any kind, much less a Sentinel 9. Amanda slowly raised her hands at chest level, her palms facing her, feeling the psychic energy pulsate and gather at her fingertips, itching to be free. Slowly, she rotated her palms outward and began a steady push.
A deep pulse of energy escaped from her fingers. The feeling of it, the tingly energy buildup and then the release, was deep and impactful like a rifle shot into water. Invisible when flying through air, her pulse energy would appear as blue sparkles once it hit a supernatural substrate. But that did not happen here.
Amanda could tell that she’d hit it, and that the thing felt something, but the blow was dampened in such a way as to be harmless. It was as if the grinning figure stood protected behind a hundred walls.
“Something’s not right,” she said, so puzzled that she could only state the obvious. Over the previous year, Amanda had grown accustomed to not feeling in danger from anything. She was strong, and she was beginning to trust her powers. But at the same time, she had to recognize an impossible situation when she saw one. “Nothing can resist us like this. We’d better get out, now. Let’s go.”
James didn’t argue. He grabbed her hand into his, and they turned toward the entrance. But when they did, they saw only the grotto wall. They had been sealed in.
