Rosaline glanced around the room with a puzzled frown. “Where is Estéban?”
“He went out with Paulito and some of the older boys. Cousins, I guess?” I shrugged. “Boys’ night out or something. Said they were going down into town.”
Carlotta paused in the middle of raising her fork to her mouth. “How long ago did they leave?”
“Um…twenty minutes? Maybe?” I glanced to Terrence for confirmation, but he only shrugged. When she continued to frown at her food, I asked, “Was that okay? Should I have made him stay?”
“No, no. It is all right.” She smiled, but it was obviously forced.
“Do you want me to go down and find him?” At the word that we might be leaving, Sveta shoved the last of her food into her mouth and stood up, ready to go.
Carlotta offered us both a smile again, this one slightly more genuine. “No, I am certain he will be fine. They will just be coming in very late, is all. They wake up the little ones, when that happens.”
Sveta looked back and forth between Carlotta and I, then sat back down, filling up her own plate again. “Then I will take his bed, and he can sleep with the visljuk.” We all stared at her, and she frowned. “The animal. The brown animal that is not a horse.”
“The donkey?”
“Yes!” She pointed her knife at me, and since she was smiling I was going to assume she wasn’t about to kill me with it. “The donkey.”
I raised a brow at her. “You slept with the donkey last night?”
“It was warm. He is pleasant.” She shoved her plate away again, and wiped her knife blade off on her jeans before slipping it back into her boot. “I will go walk the perimeter again. Good evening.”
We all just watched her go for a moment, before Carlotta broke the silence. “But…the burro bites.”
Well apparently, he bites everyone but Sveta. Or maybe she bites back.
Chapter 8
I spent the rest of the evening completely immersed in the large, boisterous Perez family. Everyone around me had a story to tell about Estéban, and I even added a few of my own from the time he’d lived with me. The only thing we were missing was the kid himself. I hoped he was having a good time. He’d earned a bit of rest and relaxation.
We talked and ate and laughed until even the adults were yawning, and Carlotta finally issued the edict that it was bed time. Obediently, we all wandered off to our assigned bunks.
True to her word, no sooner than I’d made myself as comfy as possible on my cot, Sveta sauntered in and hauled herself up into Estéban’s bed with one arm and a graceful swing of her leg. Thankfully, she wasn’t dressed just in a T-shirt and panties, but the faded sweat pants she had on looked suspiciously like… “Hey, those are mine!”
The smirk she gave me very clearly dared me to take them back from her, and I really couldn’t do anything but glare. God, it was worse than having a little sister.
The peanut gallery was suspiciously silent as we flipped the lights off, the banter of the previous night obviously being stifled by the presence of a female. There were some faint coughs, a few sounds of rustling blankets, and the overwhelming feeling that every pair of eyes in the room was fixed on that upper bunk.
After a few moments of that, Sveta chuckled softly. “I do not bite, young ones. Nor will I grow a second head while you sleep. Close your eyes.”
That led to more shuffling, more uncomfortable squirming, and then one brave voice rose out of the darkened room. “Is it true that you are a champion, señorita?”
“It is true.”
Thing 2 was the next brave one. “Why do you fight? You are a girl.”
My eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough that could see when Sveta rolled over to fix the young man with a serious look. “Why should I not? I have the ability, the skill. My sword is as sharp as his.” She pointed across the room to me, and I held up my hands.
“Hey, you leave me out of this.” Thankfully, they ignored me.
“Who taught you to fight?” They were sitting up now, every single one of them, all pretenses of sleeping tossed to the wayside.
“My father taught me. From the time I was a very small girl. Smaller than you, there.” She indicated the youngest of the pack, who couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven.
“What about your brothers? Did he teach them too?”
“Or did they die?” It happened. They all knew it.
I kept waiting for the moment that Sveta would grow tired of the questioning and snap at one of them, but she simply rolled over, resting her chin on her pillow as she talked. “I have no brothers. I am alone.”
“What about your mother? Did she fight too?” It was clear that the concept of a female champion was about to short-circuit their little brains. Stood to reason, when only the males of the Perez clan were trained to be champions. I had to wonder if that was by design, or if none of the girls had ever wanted to.
“No. My mother was a…a fine lady. Very…gentle. Delicate.” There was no mistaking the fond smile in Sveta’s voice. “She was not like me.”
“Is she dead?” Funny how children can get away with questions that would be rude coming from anyone over the age of about fifteen.
“Oh yes. Many years ago. But I still feel that she watches me, and it makes me smile.” When they continued to look at her expectantly, she went on. “Sometimes, when I am afraid, I think of the songs she used to sing me when I was a very small girl, and then things are better.”
“Can you sing one of them for us?”
For that, I sat up too. If Sveta was going to sing, I wasn’t about to miss it.
“They are in my native language. You would not understand them.” They quickly assured her that it was unimportant. “Very well then, but if I do this, you must lay down, and try to sleep. I will sing you a lullaby of my home, it will help.”
Quickly, dark heads met pillows, even the eldest of the boys who was no doubt too old for such nonsense if someone had asked him. Once they were settled and still, Sveta started singing quietly in her native Ukrainian. She was right, it didn’t matter what the words said. Lullabies are another universal thing that crosses cultures and borders.
When the song ended, she started another one, and then another, and I could hear the breathing around us evening out as the boys drifted off into dreamland. Finally, she pointed a finger at me, then pointed down. “You too. Sleep.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I settled down on my cot, laying my arm across my eyes, and allowed her voice to lull me into sleep. As drowsiness crept in on me, I marveled a little that a Ukranian demon slayer was singing me to sleep. How was this my life?
Somewhere around dawn, the dream came. It was the tunnel dream, as I’d come to know it, as frustrating and vague as it ever was. On an endless loop, I stepped out of a concrete tunnel onto a vast field of hard packed dirt. The stars above me shown with piercing clarity, but offered no light to see by. The far end of the field was cloaked in shadow. Sometimes, there was a figure there, waiting, and other times it was gone. Never enough light for me to see who it was, and nothing to tell me if it was friend or foe.
Behind me in the tunnel, someone else was waiting. Always silent, always unseen, but the reek of desperation and panic tainted the very air I breathed. Every time I stepped out onto the empty field, I knew that the fate of whoever it was behind me lay in my hands. And every time, whether the mystery figure was there or not, I felt a sense of…inevitability. Like, even if my shadowy visitor was there or not, nothing was going to change the outcome. What was going to happen was going to happen, regardless.
It wasn’t a frightening dream. I’d had some of those, ones that brought me up shouting and sweating, ones that brought me up swinging. Ones where old enemies ripped out my insides and laughed as I choked to death on my own blood. No, this dream was not one of those.
But it did disturb me, mostly because it felt prophetic. There was no reason for something like this to plague me, unless it was a warning. I just had to
hope I’d figure out what it all meant, before the day I really found myself stepping from that tunnel, wherever it may be.
The light in the room was faintly pink as the sun crept over the peaks of the mountains, spilling down into the houses that sprawled across the mountainside. I watched the room grow brighter for a few moments, knowing that I wasn’t about to get back to sleep again, and finally got up. I felt Sveta’s eyes on me as I left the room, but she didn’t move to follow me. I guess she figured I couldn’t get into too much trouble inside this particular house.
The kitchen was dark still, though I knew it wouldn’t be long before Carlotta herself roused to start making breakfast for the unwashed masses. I left the lights off, only starting the coffee pot, and found a seat where I could see out the window, watching the world come to life just behind the glass panes.
As it happened, that was the only reason I caught Estéban sneaking back in. There’d been no sound of a vehicle in the driveway, so God only knew how far the kid had walked, but he slipped in the back door, shutting it very carefully to avoid the betraying click of the lock. He turned and drew up short to find me sitting at the long kitchen table, raising a brow at him. “Um…”
Even in the dim morning light, there was no missing the black eye, the blooming purple bruise on his jawline, his skinned up knuckles. Immediately, I was on my feet, looking him over with a critical eye. “Shit, kid, what did you do?”
“Nothing.” He hissed and jerked his chin out of my grasp. “I am fine.” His dark eyes were shuttered, revealing nothing.
Stepping back, I crossed my arms over my chest, giving him that look. All parents know how to give that look. They come home from the hospital with the skill, the nurses give you a manual along with the baby. I myself copied mine from my own mother, who could still turn me to jelly with that look. “What happened?”
“Nothing! Leave it alone!” And now his eyes begged, and I knew that look as well. I’d used that one myself, too.
Stuff happened, when you were a teenage boy. You did stupid things, tempers flared, insults were hurled, fists flew. Most of the time, it was a scuffle and done, with both parties deciding they didn’t really hate each other within moments of it being over. I knew that. It was worse with family, even. I knew that too. Some of the worst fights I’d had were with Cole, and I honestly couldn’t even tell you what any of them were about. Sometimes, they were just about the fact that we both had too much testosterone flowing at the same time.
This was the moment, I realized, when the parent had to decide what to push and what to let go. Did I scold the boy, or just accept that the young man could handle his own shit? Hell, he wasn’t even my kid, what right did I have anyway? If Carlotta wanted to take him to task later, she could.
I sighed. “And what have we learned?”
A bit of wariness crept into his gaze, like he was afraid it was a trick. “I….”
I reached out and lightly cuffed him upside the back of the head. “Move faster. Entiendes?”
Some of the tension went out of his slender shoulders as he realized I wasn’t going to make a federal case of it. “Entiendo. Sorry I am so late.”
“Don’t apologize to me, tell your mother.” I walked over to pour myself a cup of coffee, and at his nod, poured him one as well. “I wouldn’t try to claim your bed, though, Sveta’s in it.”
He winced, but I couldn’t tell if it was the thought of the Ukrainian psycho in his bed, or the heat of the coffee on his split lip. “It is all right. I will find a place to sleep elsewhere.”
“She said you should try the donkey. She’s his new best friend, apparently.”
Estéban gave me a baffled look as we both took seats at the table again. “Pueblo? He’s a vicious little bastard.”
“Watch your language. If your mom catches you, she’ll skin us both.”
He made some agreeing noise, and we both nursed our black coffees in silence. There were faint noises in the back of the house, the sounds of people slowing coming back to wakefulness. We weren’t going to be alone much longer.
“You clean those cuts on your knuckles?”
“Yes.”
“You know when your mom sees you, there’s going to be hell to pay, right?”
“I know.”
“Does the other guy look worse?”
A ghost of a smile flashed across his face, but he only shrugged.
“You need me to step in or provide backup?”
“No. Thank you.” He sighed, finally, resting his elbows on the table. “Familia, you know?”
“I know. But you’re my family too now, kid.”
That earned me a genuine smile, which faded quickly into a flinch as the split lip opened up again and trickled blood. “I know that, too.” I passed him a paper towel for his lip, and we sat there in companionable silence again, listening for the footsteps coming down the hallway, the ones that would herald his mother and the storm that was going to descend when she saw what shape he was in.
It happened sooner rather than later, Carlotta appearing with an apron already tied around her waist. Her eyes only glanced over the pair of us at the table, smiling to see Estéban, who had carefully turned his head just enough to conceal the shiner. “Buenos dias, gentlemen.”
“Good morning, ma’am.”
“Morning, Mamá.”
She went about rustling up breakfast, producing pans and bowls out of seeming thin air. “What time did you get in, mi hijo?”
The kid glanced at me, I think trying to guess if I was going to bust him. “Uh…a few hours ago? I sat here, I did not want to wake the boys.”
“That was thoughtful of you.” Deeper in the house, the morning noises were growing louder, no doubt prompted by the clatter and clank of impending food. “And how was your evening with Paulito and the others? What did you all do?” That question was the prying kind, the kind moms are supposed to ask. Carefully phrased to sound casual, but pointed in the direction of the information she wanted to know.
“We went down into town. We hung out.”
“Oh? That sounds nice.” Carlotta had her back to us, stirring up something in a large metal bowl, but I could tell that her mom-senses were tingling. What she really meant was “that doesn’t sound like nearly enough information, please elaborate.” He didn’t, just falling silent and staring into his coffee, and I could have told him it wasn’t going to go well for him. “Where did you hang out?”
“I don’t know, some place Paulito knew.” Inwardly, I winced. That was basically a giant neon sign that said, “I don’t want to tell you where we were.” Estéban was sinking fast.
“More coffee?” Before he could think of a reason why not, she was at the table with the coffee pot in hand, and the kid had no place to hide. Her eyes spotted the skinned and bloodied knuckles, and her gaze locked with his, his black eye and bruised jaw now fully on display. “Que pasó?”
“Nada. Estoy bien.” Inwardly, I cringed. Not the right thing to say, kid.
Thunderclouds gathered in Carlotta’s dark eyes, and the paranoid part of me started looking for cover. “Fue Paulito, verdad?”
“No! No pasa nada. Estoy bien!”
I admit, that’s where I lost the thread of the conversation. The Spanish flew fast, and thick, and way past my abilities. It was easy to guess the gist of it, though. I’d been a teenage boy, I’d had this same argument myself more than once.
Carlotta demanded to know who Estéban had been fighting with, and the kid refused to tell. Then, she demanded to know where they were last night, but it was like she already knew and was just daring him to lie to her. He stood up, pointing out that he wasn’t a child anymore, all the while sounding more and more like one as their voices rose. There were sweeping arm gestures, and shouting, and it all ended with the kid throwing up his hands and stomping out of the room.
“Estéban! Regresa!” When he obviously had no intention of coming back, Carlotta put her hands on her hips and swiveled her head to look at
me. “This is what he learns in the United States? To disrespect his mother?”
I held up my hands, there was no way I was getting involved in this battle. “Don’t point that finger at me. You know as well as I do that this was coming. You’ve raised boys before. He’s stuck between being a kid and a man, and neither one of you knows which way to shove him.”
Her glare lasted a few more seconds before it folded into defeat, and she sank down onto the bench next to me, twisting her apron in her hands. “He is very much like his father, you know. Headstrong, willful. Miguel was gentler, calmer. Joaquin, too. Miguel was younger than Estéban, when he took up the machete, but he was older on the inside. Estéban…he is so very young.”
I reached out and took one of her hands in mine, because it seemed to be what she needed. “He’s a good kid. Smart like you would not believe, and he learns so fast. Trust me when I tell you that he can do this, if he has to.” Crap. This was the exact opposite of the speech I really wanted to give, but I couldn’t sell the kid short. He’d earned every bit of the respect I had for him. “But he can’t do it if you’re still clinging to his sleeve the first time he goes.”
She gave me a smile that was more than a little tearful, but the glimmering drops caught on her eyelashes and didn’t fall. “I know. I do. But… I have buried two of my sons already. A parent should not ever have to bury a child.”
On that point, I couldn’t agree with her more.
The herd descended for breakfast in waves, without any sign of Estéban. With Sveta’s promise to look out for him as she prowled the property during the day, I was surrendered to Terrence and Carlotta’s tender ministrations again.
We didn’t get very far. At the first touch of Terrence’s magic, the souls under my skin made it very clear that they were not pleased to be subjected to more poking and prodding, and they framed their protests in the form of brain-scrambling muscle spasms across my shoulders. Every muscle I had – and some I think I must have borrowed – clenched up and twisted into impossible knots, contorting my torso in ways it was never meant to go. Any more, and I was afraid my head really was going to spin around like the Exorcist. “Enough! God, enough, just stop touching them!”
A Snake in the Grass Page 9