It started to rain again. Hard.
She swore, not quietly, and scanned the area for any kind of shelter. Closest was a house, a rundown prefab white house with a neat little garden, cement steps, and a dirt yard that was rapidly dissolving into mud. It had a rusted swing that hung from a tree and a beat-up pickup truck on the side. “All right. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to ask the people in that house if we can crash at their place, and we’re going to hope they’re not murderers, rapists, or drug dealers who think we’d make excellent hostages.”
In the yard, a dog barked. It was tied to a stake in the ground.
“Come on. Let’s get away from the road.” She helped Daniel to his feet. He swayed. “Oh, no, you don’t. No falling down.” She put his arm over her shoulder and half carried, half walked with him toward the house. He stumbled once, slamming down on his knee and nearly knocking her to the muddy ground. Bracing herself, she pulled him back up. His knees were coated in mud.
Rain fell faster and faster. She blinked, trying to see. Using her mind, she knocked the drops away from her face. The house, which she’d sworn was close, looked like a smudge, and Daniel leaned heavily on her, slowing her even more.
At last, she got him to the gate.
Yapping, the dog was turning itself in circles by the time they reached the door. Batting away the rain, she saw the door swing open and a man without a shirt come out, holding a rifle.
Kayla froze and let the rain crash down on her like normal. Oh, God, maybe they should have stayed by the road. Spending the night in a ditch didn’t seem so bad now. She tried to retreat, but Daniel slumped to the ground, unconscious.
“Come on, wake up.” She pulled at his arm. “Danny-boy, we have to get out of here.”
Leaving his gun on the porch, the man jogged through the rain toward them. He kicked the dog out of the way, hard enough to scoot the animal away from the gate but not hard enough to hurt it. Snarling, the dog cracked its jaws together but didn’t move.
Opening the gate, the man said something in Spanish.
“I’m sorry,” Kayla said. “No hablo español. ¿Habla inglés?” She wished Selena were here. Selena was fluent, at her mother’s insistence—she had to be able to talk with her grandparents. Kayla only knew bits and pieces of what she’d learned in school. She could ask where the bathroom was and how to find a shoe-store, but she didn’t know the word for “help.” She did remember “please.” “¿Por favor?”
The man hooked an arm under Daniel’s other arm, and together they half carried and half dragged him across the muddy lawn. At the porch, they lowered Daniel onto a chair. The dog yapped around them. Kayla held out her hand, palm flat toward the dog, and the dog subsided, stopping barking long enough to sniff her. The man nodded approvingly at her and then bellowed at the house. More Spanish.
A woman and two children crowded at the door. “Díos mio!” the woman said—Kayla caught the meaning of that just fine—and the woman bustled out. While the children watched, the man and woman carried Daniel inside and laid him on the couch.
“He’ll be okay,” Kayla said. “He just needs to rest.” The woman began to efficiently pull Daniel’s soaked clothes off him as the man brought towels and blankets. She stripped him to his underwear and then bundled him up as if she were swaddling a baby.
The two children watched with owl-wide eyes. Kayla tried not to notice Daniel had very nice muscles. She looked at the kids instead. She guessed the boy was around two or three and the girl was four or five. Both had thick black hair, brown skin, and wide black eyes. The girl wore a blue summer dress, and the boy was in shorts and a white T-shirt. The boy had his thumb stuck in his mouth. Kayla smiled at them. The boy scooted behind his sister.
The woman felt Daniel’s forehead and clucked her tongue. She then bustled toward Kayla, who retreated. Stopping, the woman made gestures toward her clothes and the rain outside, and then she pointed toward a closed door.
“You’re right,” Kayla said. “It would be great to be out of these wet clothes. At least I assume that’s what we’re talking about?” She followed the woman into a bedroom. Glancing back, she reassured herself that Daniel was safe. The two kids had crept closer to Daniel and plopped themselves on the rug to stare at him. The father was outside again.
The bedroom was tiny and cramped. A double bed mattress on a frame was jammed next to another mattress on the floor, presumably for the kids. Both beds were made up neatly, with hospital corners. Several crocheted animals were displayed on the pillow of the kids’ bed. A crucifix was nailed above the man and woman’s bed, and a box of tissues was encased in a crocheted doily on the windowsill.
The woman pulled a skirt and blouse out of a tiny closet and handed them to Kayla, then left her alone. Kayla changed quickly, drying herself with a towel. She took the various items out of her pockets, including the photo of her parents and Daniel’s mother—it was damp but thankfully not ruined. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she studied their faces, so open and carefree. Kayla wondered if Moonbeam missed being the girl in this photo. She wondered if she remembered her or ever thought about her. Right now, Moonbeam was most likely freaking out. And her freak-out was only going to get worse. Judging by last time, Daniel wouldn’t wake until morning. Kayla stowed the photo and her other belongings in the pocket of her borrowed skirt. She also checked her phone. It turned on fine. No coverage, of course.
A few seconds later, the woman scurried in and scooped up the wet clothes. Kayla trailed after her to the main room, where Daniel lay asleep and shivering on the couch, and to the other side, which housed a flimsy table, an old stove, and an ancient refrigerator. The woman turned the oven on and shoved Kayla’s and Daniel’s wet clothes and sneakers inside.
The woman spoke again, too rapid for Kayla to even guess what she said, and then she began to bustle around the kitchen: fetching a pot, filling it with water, pouring rice into it. Kayla mimed an offer to help, and the woman pointed to the children and made shooing motions with her fingers.
“You want me to play with them?” Kayla asked. “Okay, I can do that.” She knelt down on the frayed carpet with the two kids. She smiled brightly at them. “¡Hola!” She pointed to herself. “Me llamo Kayla.”
The kids stared at her.
She’d never spent much time with little kids, at least not since she’d been one. She glanced at the floor to see what they’d been playing before she arrived. They had a newspaper, in Spanish of course, and a pair of blunt preschool scissors in front of them, as well as a few broken crayons. As Kayla reached for the newspaper, the little girl clutched a clump of paper that had been scribbled on with green crayon. Kayla hesitated and then pointed to a piece of newspaper that hadn’t been used. The girl didn’t move as Kayla picked it and the scissors up. She waited for the kids to object. When they didn’t speak or move, she began to cut a rough shape of a man out of the paper. She laid the paper man next to the boy and then began to cut out a girl. Pressing closer, the kids watched her as if she were making magic.
The man came back inside, the door banging behind him. He took off his shoes and squeezed out his socks. His feet were a darker brown than the rest of him, as if they’d been deeply stained by mud. He had thick muscles in his arms and a tattoo of Christ on a cross on his biceps. There were crosses around the house too, as well as several bouquets of plastic flowers. Pulling on a dry shirt, the man headed to the refrigerator and helped his wife prepare food while Kayla played with the children on the floor. The man kissed the woman on the top of her head, and they spoke together as they cooked.
It was so domestic that Kayla felt she’d dropped into the middle of a TV show. She wished there were subtitles.
The kids crept closer as she cut out more dolls. She picked up one of the paper dolls and made it dance. The children howled with delight. They joined in, and together they made the paper dolls dance in a performance across the rug and over the couch.
This is what families without
magic—and without constant fear—do, she thought. It was … nice. Really nice.
By the time dinner was ready, the kids were climbing on her as if she were their best friend. She was reasonably sure that the girl was named Lucia. She wasn’t sure about the boy.
She ate with the family, one of the best meals that she’d ever had, even though it was only rice and beans. The woman set aside some for Daniel to eat, pointing at the food and at him, and put it in the refrigerator for later, slapping her husband’s wrist lightly when he tried to scoop more for himself. Kayla kept saying muchas gracias over and over.
She wished this were her family. This was what it should be like, what she could have had, if her father hadn’t destroyed her family.
The woman tried to insist that Kayla take their bed for the night, but Kayla refused. Instead, she chose the mattress with the children. They wedged themselves around her, clutching their paper dolls, and she fell asleep to the sound of their breathing. It was the best sleep she’d ever had. She felt completely and overwhelmingly safe.
She woke in the predawn, the first to wake. Worming out of the tangle of children’s limbs, she went out to the living room to find Daniel groggy but awake.
“You saved me again.” His voice sounded rusty. He swallowed.
“These people did. They’re amazing.” The word didn’t go far enough. They’d welcomed Kayla into their home, into their family. She went to the fridge and pulled out the leftovers that the woman had so carefully saved for Daniel. He ate them cold for breakfast while Kayla found their clothes. They were dry and folded neatly. The woman had even ironed them. Kayla and Daniel dressed silently.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Almost.” Kayla dug through her pockets to see if she had anything to leave them. Not much in the shorts. But in the hoodie, she found a few rumpled bills … and the diamond ring. She left the ring on top of the money in the middle of the table with a note that said “Muchas gracias.” “Now I’m ready.”
The bedroom door squeaked, and Kayla looked over. One of the kids—the girl, Lucia—stared at them from the doorway. Her eyes were wide. She still held the paper doll.
For an instant, Kayla wished she could stay and she wished she were home with Moonbeam, both at the same time.
Kayla winked at her as Daniel put his hand on her shoulder, and they vanished from the kitchen. They reappeared on the side of the road by the rock, and then continued on.
Three jumps left … An empty field.
Two jumps … A crowded street market.
One jump … A city.
They appeared in the middle of a street as an ambulance screamed past them. Yanking Daniel backward, Kayla tripped over the curb and landed smack on the sidewalk. Daniel crashed down beside her. Sirens wailed. Noise hammered at her ears: the blare of music; the screams of children; the revving of motors from cars, trucks, buses, and taxis.
Kayla jumped to her feet. She spun in a circle. A group of men, construction workers with hard hats and equipment, had noticed them. They were shouting as they pointed at Kayla and Daniel. “Daniel, I think we need to leave.”
“Can’t,” he said. “That was the last jump. It’s here.”
She glanced at the falling-down houses around them, the closed stores with graffiti on the garage doors, and the shiny new apartment building half built across the street. Certainly nothing looked like it had been built in AD 700. She didn’t see any temples, tombs, or anything. “I don’t think so. I don’t think it’s been here for a long time.”
One of the workers, with a lug wrench over his shoulder, headed toward them.
Kayla grabbed Daniel’s arm. “They saw us. We need to go now.”
Pulling away from her, Daniel stared at a new half-built skyscraper, at a leaning house with a corrugated tin roof, at a pile of garbage waiting to be picked up while flies circled around it. Cars and motorbikes roared past on the street, and the air smelled like exhaust and sweat and sour food and rotting meat.
“Daniel, it’s not here! And we need to leave.” There was nothing here older than fifty years. It was a city, with skyscrapers and streets and sewers, maybe subways. Hazy smog obscured the tops of the skyscrapers and smudged the view of the sun. The whole place felt wrapped in yellow.
The construction worker shouted to them, again in Spanish.
At last, Daniel seemed to hear him—and to hear Kayla. He grabbed her arm, and the world flashed around them, yellow then green. When her vision steadied, she saw they were on the sidewalk outside Kayla’s house, near the garden gate. Daniel swayed as if he was going to faint. She grabbed his arm before he fell against the hedges. “Daniel, are you all right?”
“That was the last jump.”
“I know. It’s okay.”
He glared at her. “It’s not okay! How is it okay?”
“We knew one of the trails would fail. One of the stones was obviously found, or it wouldn’t have ended up in my father’s hands. We just have to try the third trail. But first you need to rest. Got it? Rest.”
“My mother could be dead by now. She could—”
“Are you listening to me? There’s a third chance! We’ll try again, as soon as you’ve rested. We’ll find it! It will be at the end of the third trail.”
He leaned forward and, without warning, kissed her. She pulled away, and then she changed her mind and kissed him back. She let herself melt into the kiss and every thought faded. Reluctantly, she stepped away. She glanced at the red gate. She hadn’t planned to return here, not yet. But they couldn’t continue, not with him as drained as he looked. “Go home,” Kayla ordered him. “Sleep.”
He nodded. And then he vanished.
Kayla breathed in. Her lips still tingled from the taste of his. She wasn’t quite sure why she’d done that. She was sure she did not want to walk through that garden gate and see Moonbeam.
So much for her grand plan to capture her father and come back all victorious. Now what was she supposed to do? It was one thing to be away from Moonbeam when she was convinced she’d be returning with good news and a full explanation. But this?
She thought of the family who had helped them, the way the kids’ eyes lit up when she’d played with them, the way the little girl had looked at her when they left. She wished her family was like that.
Taking a deep breath, Kayla pushed through the gate and went into the garden.
Chapter 16
Moonbeam’s garden was a mess.
Her garden was never a mess.
Kayla picked her way over the flower beds. Weeds had been pulled and then left in piles to rot. The hedges had been half pruned and then abandoned, sticks and leaves strewn over the lawn. One of the garden gnomes had toppled over. A wind chime had twisted into a mass of snarled string. Kayla jogged toward the house. Please be okay, please be here, please … She flung open the door. “Moonbeam? Moonbeam, are you home?”
Inside was worse. Dishes were piled up in the sink. All the tidy piles of books and supplies had fallen over and against each other until the floor looked like a sea of junk. Kayla waded through it. “Moonbeam? Are you here? Moonbeam, I’m home!” She didn’t know why she was shouting. It was a one-room cottage. If Moonbeam were here, she’d see her.
Going to her corner of the cottage, Kayla pulled open the scarf divider. Her corner was exactly as she’d left it. Her last outfit was strewn beside the bed. Moonbeam hadn’t picked it up, not even to leave it displayed as an object lesson as she usually did. A book Kayla had been reading on the floor, a ribbon used as a bookmark—on a normal day, Moonbeam would have put it on a shelf.
She’d been taken.
Or she’d fled.
Or both, fled then been taken.
Had she packed anything? That would tell Kayla which. She sprinted to the bathroom. Both toothbrushes were still there. Hairbrush. Deodorant. Body wash. Vitamins, an entire alphabet’s worth.
If Moonbeam had fled quickly, she might have left it all behind—but she wouldn’t have le
ft Kayla. Not willingly. She would have stayed until Kayla was back and then they’d have fled together. And Dad could have found her, waiting for Kayla …
She told herself to quit jumping to conclusions. Just because the house was a mess didn’t mean anything terrible had happened. Maybe Moonbeam had overslept and been late for work. Maybe she simply hadn’t felt like cleaning.
Kayla pulled out her phone. Hands shaking, she dialed her mother’s work number. She crossed to her futon and sat on the edge as the phone rang.
“Envision Crystal and Candles. How may I help you?” Moonbeam.
Kayla choked back a sob. Her mother was okay. She was here. She hadn’t been taken. Dad hadn’t found them. “When I saw the garden and the house, I thought … Mom, I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Kayla? Kayla, you’re home! Are you all right? Don’t leave. Stay there. I’m coming home. Promise me you won’t leave. Stay right where you are until I get there.”
“I’ll be here,” Kayla promised.
The phone clicked off, and Kayla stared at it for a moment. Now that she knew her mother was okay, she wished she hadn’t called. In about seven minutes, Moonbeam would barrel through the door and demand an explanation. Kayla wasn’t sure she had the energy to lie. But she knew she didn’t have the strength to tell the truth. She flopped onto her futon, put her hands over her face, and groaned out loud.
Moonbeam made it home in six minutes. She burst through the door and leaped over the heaps of books and crystals and bags of herbs. As Kayla pushed herself up to sitting, Moonbeam threw herself onto the futon and hugged her. Moonbeam didn’t say anything. Just held Kayla tight. Kayla squeezed her eyes shut, suddenly wanting to cry.
Eventually, Moonbeam let go. Kayla drew in a deep breath.
Moonbeam looked at her as if examining her for a medical study. She checked her eyes, brushed the hair from her forehead, cupped her chin in her hands, and stared at her. “You nearly killed me.”
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