by SL Hulen
It had not been that way for her. Victoria remembered a dorm-room bed, and Mike, a boy her family would have liked. He had shaggy brown hair, an unshaven chin, and superhero boxers, and she had thought of their lovemaking as nothing more than another step on the road to adulthood—a painful, awkward, bloody step.
“So much for my pathetic attempt at discretion.”
“It doesn’t suit you anyway,” Khara asserted, and drew a breath filled with yearning. “And by the way, you look like a crocodile dragged you under.”
Until he cleared his throat, they had forgotten about Ben. Now he scattered the dirt map he had drawn with his boot, his cheeks reddened. “This is where I must leave you. Travel safely.” He smiled and took Khara’s hand. “I will ask the great spirits to help you find your way home.” Then he offered them a bleak smile and strolled away, the spurs on his boots making cheerful clinking sounds.
Crossing her left arm over her chest, she nodded, and then turned to Victoria. “Against his better judgment, Ben showed me the way to Urraca Mesa.”
“All it took was a little Kharissima. Have you discussed this with Oliver?”
“No.”
“Why not? And speaking of Oliver, where is he?”
“I left him sleeping in the forest.” She turned, looking into the trees behind her as if she expected him to appear. They waited for a moment, listening to the happily chirping birds, and then Khara turned to face Victoria. “It is time I went home.”
“All right, but let’s go check on Celeste and pick up our things. Why are you in such a hurry? And how can you think about leaving without saying goodbye?”
“After last night, how can I?” Her expression was one Victoria had never seen before—simultaneously bereft and blissful.
“You’re going to break his heart.”
“One half of his heart is already breaking.”
“But Khara, don’t you love him?”
“With all that I am or will ever be.” Suddenly, it seemed as though she didn’t know where to look. “I should already have left.”
Adopting the most naïve expression she could muster, Victoria said nothing. “You know it as well as I, the truth is too hard for him to comprehend.”
Men are different about these things. It may take him longer, but he’ll come around.”
“Have you forgotten the way he looked at me when we tried to explain? I prefer that he remember me the way we were last night. Give me your word,” Khara pressed, pulling on Victoria’s sleeve until they were head to head and she was forced to see the tempest in her soul. “You must not tell him where I’ve gone. I must have your solemn promise.”
An eon of silence passed between them.
“Whatever.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I’ll keep your promise, though you’re leaving me to do your dirty work.”
Khara let go of her sleeve. Taking a step back, she searched for something in Victoria’s expression. Satisfaction perhaps, for when she found it, she said, almost mechanically. “Good. The horse trail is a bit rough in some places, but the distance is walkable. Perhaps it would be better if you stayed. You’re still so pale—”
“Everyone will be heading back to town soon. Couldn’t we wait and hitch a ride back?”
“Stay if you like, but I’m going.”
“And leave me here to face him when he finds out you’ve deserted him? No way. I think he deserves better from you.”
“He does.”
“You’ll never forgive yourself for leaving like this.”
“Please, Victoria. Just this once, let it be.”
“It seems so unfair—”
Khara spun around, all the softness of a moment ago gone. “What a ridiculous word it is, this ‘fair’ you’re always preaching about.” Her usual restraint had vanished. “You place such absurd importance on it. In my experience, nothing about the world is as we wish it to be. Was it fair that my father was murdered by the hand of his own child? Or that you were orphaned on the banks of a river, never knowing what became of your mother? And yet you persist in trying to find fairness in this world. You astound me. When will you concede that sometimes—most of the time—there is nothing fair or unfair. There is only what must be done! Do you think I don’t know that for every joy there is a price to be paid? I accept that Ben’s words will come to pass, though nothing would please me more than for them to be wrong. In the end, it comes to this: Oliver belongs here, and I do not. Now,” she concluded in a voice heavy with resignation, “what can possibly be left to discuss?”
Victoria could only marvel at how she’d kept the desolation on her face from creeping into her voice.
A few rays of sunlight had begun to streak a lavender sky as the two slipped away. Victoria wondered if the sun would come out or if the day would remain as dull and cold as it was now. Mist rose from the floor of the forest, enveloping them in a silent haze of gray and green. Dark, unsettling spots shaped like human eyes marked the chalky-white bark of the aspen trees and seemed to follow their every step.
If only she would say something, Victoria thought as they marched along at a pace that suggested infantry training. Anything would be better than walking next to this silent shell. The breeze, cool and smelling of creosote, seemed to blow right through Khara. If not for the ache in her heart, which she wore like a giant stone around her neck, she might have blown away. Victoria witnessed the young woman in love arguing valiantly against the steadfast monarch she had not yet become.
What a precious gift Khara’s twin had wasted! If only she could penetrate Khara’s consciousness the way Menefra had been able to do. Victoria tried, concentrating as hard as her she could. You have a choice!
Khara paused, and for the briefest of moments Victoria thought she might have gotten through to her. But then, as straight and unyielding as stone, she drew herself up and pushed on.
“How much farther?” Victoria whined. “I could really use a tall glass of ice water. And a hot shower. And aspirin. I’m in absolute, desperate need of an aspirin.”
Surveying their surroundings, Khara glanced at her watch. “We should arrive in seven minutes.”
“And I astound you?” Victoria huffed as she toyed with the idea of slowing her pace just enough to prove Khara’s calculation wrong—not by a lot, just a minute or two. Anything to distract her.
She fantasized about the claw-footed bathtub in the cabin, the French-milled soap, and the bubble bath that would scent the steam with gardenias and restore her.
It was just then that screaming sirens tore through the air.
They ran until they reached the hill above Celeste’s farm where simultaneously, they froze. Two squad cars, lights flashing, had pulled carelessly alongside the main house. Instinctively, Victoria started down the hill, when Khara grabbed her by the arm, pulling her into the obscurity of a nearby stand of aspens. “Shh,” she hissed.
“We’ve got to go down there!” Victoria protested.
The futility with which Khara shook her head immobilized Victoria. With a growing sense of hopelessness, the two watched as an ambulance, silent and in no apparent hurry, approach the Square-4 through a blanket of dust. Two men emerged, unloaded a stretcher and pushed it inside without missing so much as a word of their conversation.
Soon, a bagged form was wheeled from the house. Numb, Victoria could only think how small it was. Chris walked behind the EMTs, weeping openly. Lila stopped the gurney, unzipped the bag, and took Celeste’s stiff hand. She kissed it, tucked it away, and then ran back inside.
A commotion turned her attention from the ambulance; a policeman leading a handcuffed man from the back of the house. Even with his head down, she knew him. Victoria fought the bile rising in her throat as, with a single fluid movement, her uncle sidestepped the officer’s attempt to assist him and lowered himself into the squad car. The officer shoved Elias over in the seat before slamming the rear door closed.
Her knees
buckled and she would have fallen had Khara not been there to steady her, cover her mouth, and lead her further into the shadows. With the squad car no longer in view, Victoria grew desperate. She observed with growing alarm, the officer take down the license plate number of Bea’s car and make notes. When he had finished, he slipped his pen into his uniform pocket and proceeded to the cruiser where he spoke into the radio.
Throughout the afternoon, Khara made sure they stayed out of sight while men came and went. A middle-aged cowboy walked to his pickup with a particularly eager expression, obviously thrilled to work a homicide. A man wearing a bolo tie and corduroy jacket got out of a car with a camera.
Just a few hours ago, Celeste had filled the wickiup with her impish smile and crazy stories. How could she be dead?
And Elias was responsible. Victoria was unable to do anything but lean against a tree and watch as the crime scene was processed. Leaves shook like gold coins in the sunlight. Insects crept in and around the moist leaves littering the ground, and envy surged through Victoria at the calm predictability of their tiny lives. A familiar conversation crept steadily to the door of her consciousness.
You shouldn’t have trusted anyone with the bracelets.
It wasn’t anyone, it was Elias. Elias! How could I have known?
The signs were there. Remember his expression when he first saw them?
Elias wouldn’t hurt anyone.
But there is another side to him—one that’s fooled you since you were a child.
Celeste would still be alive if not for you.
At last, she was able to speak. “I can’t stand it anymore. I have to see for myself.”
“I know. But let them all leave first. Even Lila and Chris must not see us.”
“Why not?”
“It is less dangerous for them if they know nothing about us now. I am still unsure about the relationship between your uncle and Mieley, though I fear that when he informed you of their partnership, he spoke the truth.”
A fresh wave of worry engulfed her. Bea was the only one who knew where they had gone. Victoria clutched at the small cross around her neck and squeezed her eyes shut.
Hey! Remember me? Yup, the girl you left in the middle of the Rio Grande. I haven’t asked you for anything since that day, have I? Hell no, I haven’t. But I’m asking for your help now, and you’d better be listening. Please keep Bea and her children safe. You owe me that much.
As afternoon bled into evening, vehicles began to depart. Victoria’s eyes followed her uncle until the police car disappeared. The two sheriffs came out last. The taller one, a man with prominent cheekbones and a scar of a mouth, removed a paper bag from the truck. Pulling out a roll of neon yellow tape, he cordoned off the front door and windows and proceeded around the back of the house. Shortly afterward, he and his companion loaded the pickup with several black cases and drove away.
Shadows, small at first, crept away from the forest and attached themselves to the house. Soon Celeste’s farm was cloaked in the gloom of evening. Eventually Lila and Chris arrived, his red pickup backfiring as they parked. He went through the evening chores—gathering and filling small bowls, feeding the fish, geese, and cats—as though nothing had happened. Lila sat on the porch of the guest house, her shaking hands struggling to light her first cigarette. After her third one, she got up and opened the cabin door. Shamrock bounded toward the main house, her limp miraculously gone.
Her injury was not as severe as it had appeared; she had adopted Celeste’s slower pace and, with it, the exaggeration of her hip injury. At that thought, Victoria’s tears finally came.
The shadows lengthened and a streak of purplish-blue raced across the sky. The wind came, telling them that the long, warm days of summer were over. By the time Khara motioned to her, she was half-mad from waiting.
Chapter Forty-three Khara
In her mind’s eye, Khara saw a small patch of blood that might mark the place where Celeste had passed from this life. But the drops staining the carpet thickened into a pool, an odious, moving thing creeping across Celeste’s needlepointed rugs. Soon, it trickled underneath the doors and seeped out the windows. She shook her head, but the vision persisted. The entire house was hemorrhaging now; it was gushing through the open windows, drowning everything in its path. Khara fought the illusion, but it would not go away.
She would never forget the expressions of horror frozen on the faces of the men Nandor had butchered that terrible day. Almost every night, she was forced to revisit her father’s murder, to hear his last words spoken lovingly to an assassin disguised as a daughter who watched with eager eyes as he bled to death.
Brushing strands of hair from Victoria’s face, she ordered, “Follow closely and pay attention.” Khara surveyed the barn, main house, and cabin one last time for any hint of movement. They paused from time to time, concealing themselves among the trees to be certain they would not be seen. Underneath her boots, the earth was moist and slippery. Victoria stumbled along behind, but kept up. She understood all too well the pain on her friend’s face. Victoria, whose fists tightened into a ball at any hint of unfairness and who never retreated from a fight, seemed broken, yet her pain had only begun.
When they reached the yellow tape, Khara whispered, “You cannot go inside; they will know we have been here. Come, sister.”
Fortune was with them, for the cabin had not been sealed. The door made the same creaking sound as always, but now the wrenching noise seemed sinister. Heather of Scotland peered out from under the couch with frightened eyes, but Khara ignored her, moving quickly into the bedroom. She carried out the movements she’d practiced in her mind during the long afternoon. From the bottom shelf, she recovered Nandor’s pouch, tucking it inside her sweater.
“Those bars you’re always eating,” she called softly to Victoria, who stood just inside the door as though in an unfamiliar place, “bring all of them. Bring socks, and put this on under your coat.” She tossed a heavy gray woolen sweater onto the bed.
Victoria obeyed without speaking. Khara observed that she took notice of an envelope laying atop the console. She opened it, studying the contents for a moment before gently placing the pages back inside the envelope and placing it in her pocket. Whatever the message, it had not been there earlier. There was no time for it now. In less than a minute, they were moving to the barn. They passed the corral, where Khara looked forlornly at the empty rail where Oliver had waited for her, his long black braid glistening in the sun. She thought of the way he had smiled at her before falling back to sleep after they’d made love for the third time.
“What are we doing here?” Victoria asked.
“Getting the horses.” Khara felt her way into the tack room, pausing to gather two bridles from hooks on the wall.
“Are you out of your mind? You know I can’t ride.”
“I can see no other way.”
“Urraca Mesa is hundreds of miles from here. Hundreds, get it? There’s no way we’ll get there in time for the eclipse on horseback.”
“Surely you noticed the thorough examination of Bea’s car. It seems unwise to continue using it now. Perhaps we could manage to borrow another vehicle. Are you willing to involve anyone else?” Khara watched her face closely. “I didn’t think so. There is also the risk of being seen. What if we are stopped? Have you forgotten that you were named as a person of interest in an artifacts smuggling investigation? Can you not see that this is the only way?”
Victoria was silent.
“I’ll get the horses,” Khara said, and moved to the stalls. Almos tossed his head, and she felt his happiness to see her. Victoria’s frustration quickly found another target. “Kingsford Charcoal, I almost stepped on you!”
His ears flattened to the sides of his head as he ran to Khara, paws sliding on dirt and loose hay. “Do not let him find you!” he yowled. Spiny hackles of fur rose along his back and he bared his teeth. “I’ve never seen him before, but he threw a rock at Emma,” he hissed.
Outside, gravel crunched. Slow and sporadic steps along the side of the barn suggested an effort at concealment.
“I’ll do what I can,” Kingsford told her, and then turned and ran from the barn. The steps outside stopped. A moment later a nerve-shattering scream pierced the night and a scuffle ensued. Then it was quiet again.
A sharp bluish light shot through the window. Khara watched it snake toward Victoria, only to find a flurry of powdery dust rising where her friend had stood. Khara hid amid the loosely stacked bales of hay, her ears straining in the silence. Victoria was nowhere to be seen. It was then that the barn doors flew open and a wider beam of light entered, followed by footsteps. Khara’s heart pounded; she held her breath. A figure of a man, cloaked in shadows, approached, a sickening sense of failure washing over her with each step. She would never again see the ochre sands of Egypt. Khara felt along the wall for the place where Oliver kept his spurs and took one in her hand, exposing the rowel. Crude, but if placed against the skin of a throat, effective.
Thunder filled the barn, and even though her senses told her it was only Almos pushing against his stall, she jumped. He kicked and neighed, inciting Lucy and the others, transforming the space into a maelstrom of hot breath and stomping hooves.
“Filthy beasts,” a voice spat. After one last sweep of the barn, the light slowly withdrew.
It took all her strength to wait in that dark place. The part of her that Nandor had forged knew the darkness was her ally. Do not be impatient, she told herself while summoning a thousand images of Oliver.
“Victoria?” she called out softly after enough time had passed. She crept from the corner and called, “Are you there? Victoria!”
“Here!” Rising from behind a row of saddles, not more than an arm’s length from where the stranger had stood, was Victoria.
“Did you see who it was?” Khara asked.
“I didn’t get a good look,” she responded, “but I think it was Mieley.”