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could easily spend at least another hour digging and still not even have got to half of the skeleton.
    But there was more to do!
    A feeling of intense rage flooded over him. Why was he so angry at himself? Something was wrong. He really should go. Go now. Wrapping the new finds in the duster, along with the original bracelet, Gabe wondered how much all seven pieces would be worth.
    Again a blast of anger hit him. These things were special! The knife wasn’t just antique, it was ancient! And, like the crucifix, it was sacred – he knew that, he had seen the knife being used. He’d held it in his own hands. How could he think of these things in terms of money? How could he?
    Now he wasn’t so totally focused on digging things up, Gabe was more aware of his surroundings. Once again on high alert, he stayed still and quiet, closing his eyes and listening for the whisper of wings orthe near-silent pad of coyote paws. But there was nothing to hear.
    And then there was.
    Something …
in his head.
    A murmur of voices, or maybe just one single voice – he couldn’t be sure. The sound echoed, bringing memories of his nightmare back into sharp focus. The sound of the voice rooted Gabe to the spot. It was bad enough recalling dark, blood-soaked dreams, but so much worse to be pulled back into them in broad daylight. Then a high-pitched whine set up, rising to a screech that felt as if it was trying to cut straight through his brain. Gabe clapped his hands to his ears in a vain attempt to shut out the noise.
    A feeling of cold dread took over and blanked out everything else. Fear made him want to run, just abandon ship and take the quickest route out of the arroyo, but he had enough self-control left to start scrambling back up to get his bike instead.
    Grabbing at anything to help him get up the slope, Gabe was shocked to see his fingers were bleeding when he got to the top. It took a moment before he realized there were no cuts anywhere on his hands,that the blood was just smeared. He slowly raised his hands to his ears and touched them, fingers coming away daubed with red. His
ears
were bleeding? Gabe stood on the pathway, shaking and staring at his hands, unable to take in what had happened, half believing he was seeing things, dimly aware that the screeching in his head had stopped.

Chapter Eight
    Gabe pulled off his backpack, tore open one of the zipped compartments and pulled out the roughly knotted cloth. He stood, weighing the gold trove in his hand. Long seconds ticked by, time seeming to stretch.
    Choices.
    He hated choices, always sure he was bound to make the wrong one.
    But here and now it was so simple: keep the gold, or forget he’d ever found the damned stuff.
    Because he couldn’t ignore the obvious truth that there was more,
so
much more, to these things he’d dug up than what they appeared to be on the surface. It was so … the only word he could think of was
possessive
, but that was ridiculous. People possessed objects, not the other way round. Didn’t they? He hated himself for even thinking this could be otherwise, didn’t want to act like some kind ofstupid, scared kid who believed in ghosts and ghouls and all that fairy-tale shit. But he couldn’t help it. His
ears
were bleeding ferchrissake!
    Gabe stared down at the bundle. He so wanted to throw it back down the arroyo, yet also desperately needed to keep the gold. The confusion was dizzying. Throw away or keep… Keep or sell and get the money? He could feel himself being ripped apart by the conflict battling it out inside him. The pressure inside his skull had reached migraine levels, the muscles in his arm were stretched to breaking point, vibrating with the strain of waiting to be told what to do, waiting to see which side in this messed-up duel finally won the day.
    And it was a close-run thing.
    The primal forces, fear of the unknown and superstition put up a fierce struggle against the voices of reason and logic. Not to mention what his old