That thought made her shake her head. It was silly to be sizing the man up as a potential dance partner when she would likely never spend an evening dancing again.
“So what do you think?” Mrs. Gaspar asked, startling her out of her reflections.
Genoveva felt her cheeks go warm and hoped the older woman hadn’t noted her staring at the captain. “I hardly know anything about the game.”
Mrs. Gaspar smiled wryly. “Well, it’s simple enough. As you can see, there’s a goal on each end of the field.”
Rafael came off the field hunting a drink of water and knelt to pull up one of his socks that had slumped down to his ankle. The Special Police had come off with a tie this time, the young Army players tougher than they’d expected.
Miguel Gaspar jogged up next to him, breathing hard. “What is Miss Jardim doing here?”
Rafael rose, only noting then the young woman standing among the spectators who’d climbed down from the stands. He hadn’t recognized her out of uniform. Today she wore a fine white shirtwaist and a pale green skirt with a dark cummerbund. A straw hat perched atop her brown hair. She looked as out of place among the crowd as did Gaspar’s wife. Rafael would have thought football beneath her fine tastes.
“She’s looking for you,” Gaspar added before heading toward his wife.
Rafael glanced at Miss Jardim again. She clearly was looking for him. How very interesting. When she saw he’d spotted her, she waved briefly and came his way, pushing past a handful of rowdy soldiers to reach him. One of them grabbed at her skirts, earning him a glare. Miss Jardim stuck her nose in the air and yanked away from him.
She finally reached his side, her fine skin flushed from either frustration or embarrassment. “Captain Pinheiro, I wondered if you had a few minutes to spare.”
Could this have something to do with why she’d been so upset Thursday? Rafael cast about, seeking a place to sit that would be public yet away from the annoying military boys. “Of course, Miss Jardim. There’s that seat over there.”
He led her to a bench at one side of the field, very aware of his state of dress. He wore his usual football gear, a shirt and shorts in white, now splattered with dirt and damp with sweat. It wasn’t suitable attire for an audience with a gently-bred young woman, but since she’d sought him out, he wasn’t going to apologize for showing bare knees. He did roll down his shirtsleeves, though, and buttoned the cuffs. He waited until she sat and then settled a couple of feet from her. “Is this about Officer Medeiros?”
“No.” She shifted on the wooden bench, looking uncomfortable. “But I have come to ask for your help again.”
She didn’t like asking for help. He could tell by the stiff way she sat. “What can I do for you?”
“There’s a man who’s been following me,” she said softly.
That was not what he’d expected. “Who?”
“I don’t know. He’s an older man. Perhaps fifty or so? But I have no idea who he is or if we’ve ever met. I don’t think we have.”
Rafael didn’t like the sound of that. “Was he following you last Thursday when I talked to you at the station? In the courtyard?”
“Yes,” she said with an apologetic shrug. “That was the first time I remember seeing him, but I’ve spotted him several times since. He watches me like he hates me. That alone wouldn’t be a problem, but last night around midnight someone knocked on my door and when I opened it, he was standing there. I slammed it on him, and . . . he left, I think.”
Rafael’s hands had tightened into fists. “You live in a boarding house, don’t you?”
“Yes. There’s a sign that says men aren’t allowed upstairs, but he must have ignored it.”
A man who wanted to hurt her would not be stopped by a sign. “Did he say anything to you?”
Her hands wrapped together in her lap. “He yelled at me, but it was nonsense. I didn’t understand a word of it.”
“Did your landlady call the police? File a complaint?”
“Yes,” she said. “Unfortunately, the officer didn’t believe me. He thought I asked the man to . . . come up to my room.”
Rafael felt his jaw clench, annoyed. Some officers were idiots when it came to women’s problems. “I’m sorry to hear that, Miss Jardim. Did you tell the officer you work with the Special Police?”
“He didn’t speak with me for very long,” she said hesitantly.
In other words, the officer had brushed off the whole incident as a domestic spat. He likely hadn’t listened to a word she’d said. “Did the man try to talk to any of the other women at your boarding house?”
“I was the only one he bothered.”
“Is your name on your door?”
She shook her head.
“I wonder how he found your room, then.” Rafael pursed his lips, thinking out possibilities.
“I wondered if . . .” She licked her lips. “If I had a gun, he might be less likely to bother me, only I don’t know how to use one. I thought perhaps you could recommend someone to teach me.”
That was not what he’d expected, either. A healer wouldn’t use a firearm in her duties, so she’d never been issued one. None of the women had.
“I would be happy to instruct you myself,” he said without hesitation. “In fact, it might be wise for all three of you to learn to use a gun. I should say you and Mrs. Anjos. Mrs. Gaspar can’t handle one.” Mrs. Gaspar had an aversion to certain metals. “I’ll talk to Inspector Anjos about it tomorrow, first off. However, I should point out to you that your best weapons are right there, in your lap.”
Her straight brows drew together as she gazed at her hands. “You mean . . . boxing?”
She hadn’t had long to become accustomed to the idea that she was a healer, so he shouldn’t be surprised at that response, should he? “I mean, Miss Jardim, that you’re a healer. If a man touches you in a way that you don’t wish, you can drain his energies enough to make him lose consciousness.”
“I can’t do that,” she whispered urgently. “It’s a sin.”
The concern that defending herself might be a sin was one that would never have occurred to Rafael, but he suspected Miss Jardim was more religious than he was himself. She attended Mass almost every day, possibly a reaction to being raised by Lord Carvalho—a Freemason who rarely darkened the threshold of a church. “If you’re only taking enough energy to make them fall into a faint, then it’s neither a sin nor a crime. You do have the right to defend yourself, Miss Jardim.”
She shook her head. “I might kill him. I can’t risk that.”
He understood. She was only now learning to harness her powerful gift and was frightened of herself. “Why don’t we discuss this with Mrs. Anjos? She knows far more about this than I do.”
Miss Jardim glanced about discreetly, and Rafael realized she was afraid the unknown man was hiding somewhere nearby, watching her. “In fact,” he offered, “if you don’t mind walking, I can go back to my rooms, change into something more presentable, and we could go talk to her straightaway.”
Genoveva hadn’t meant to drag Captain Pinheiro into her problem. She’d only meant to ask for a recommendation. But if Pinheiro was willing to help her, she wasn’t going to turn down his help. “I’d appreciate that, Captain.”
He rose and waited for her to join him. He didn’t offer her a hand up, she noted. When she stood next to him, he gestured in the direction of Agramonte Street. “It’s not far. And I must apologize, Miss Jardim. I’ve been running for a good hour now, so I’m far from my best.”
She walked along next to him. She hadn’t missed the fact that he was perspiring still. His forehead glistened, and his white shirt was damp in spots. His shorts gave her a view of muscular calves and thighs that she found surprisingly fascinating. She’d had to fix her eyes on her hands to stop them from wandering that direction while they’d been talking.
“The first question,” he said, “is whether you think you could sho
ot someone.”
Walking along the cobbles at his side, she nodded slowly. “I think I could.”
“Could you kill them?”
She chewed on her lower lip. She’d given it some thought last night, standing with her back against that door, terrified that the man would push his way into her room. She needed some way to keep him at bay, but killing him was beyond her. “I don’t think so.”
“Then why are you worried you might kill him with your gift?”
Genoveva shot a glance at his face. “What if I can’t help myself?”
His dark brows drew together. “We can discuss that with Mrs. Anjos. She’ll know.”
Genoveva worked with the woman, but hadn’t dared ask such a thing. Mrs. Anjos had killed before. She’d feared the other woman wouldn’t understand her qualms.
“Mrs. Anjos is more worried about killing than you,” Captain Pinheiro said. “Trust me on that point.”
She didn’t argue. He pointed to a house on Bom Sucesso Street, directing her that way. He opened the door and let her inside, then drew her along to a faded sitting room. An older woman sat there with a pair of younger women, clearly sharing gossip over cups of coffee.
“Mrs. Crespo, may I leave Miss Jardim with you while I go upstairs and change?”
The older woman turned avid eyes on her, making Genoveva want to wait in the hallway instead. She inclined her head toward the captain, though, and he slipped out of the sitting room. Fortunately, she had plenty of experience handling awkward social situations.
“So Miss Jardim,” Mrs. Crespo began, her dark eyes sharp as she gestured for Genoveva to take one of the chairs. “Are you Captain Pinheiro’s sweetheart?”
“I’m afraid not,” she said smoothly as she sat. “I work with him, for the police. I was at the football match. We’re going from here up to the station.”
“But it’s Sunday,” the woman protested.
“Unfortunately, sometimes Sundays are sacrificed for our work.” Genoveva accepted a cup of coffee with milk when the older woman offered. Captain Pinheiro had known she would be interrogated like this when he left her here, but she couldn’t go up to his rooms with him, could she? Neither did she want to wait on the street, so this was the best solution. “The captain was kind enough to offer to help me with a problem I’m working on.”
Mrs. Crespo nodded sagely, but the woman’s expression said clearly that she didn’t believe Genoveva’s claim. It didn’t matter that it was the truth.
Mrs. Anjos was a petite woman of Russian birth. Most of the time she seemed young and fragile, but every once in a while Genoveva could see the woman hidden inside her, the woman who’d taken the life of Pedro Salazar . . . Genoveva’s true father. He’d more than earned his death; Genoveva had never questioned that. But she’d always feared the woman, despite working with her day after day. Mrs. Anjos had managed to stop her own life somehow, never aging as if frozen in ice for more than three decades. Although she looked younger than Genoveva, she’d been born over fifty years ago.
Mrs. Anjos eyed Captain Pinheiro warily, her blue eyes doubtful. “You want her to weaken a man but not kill him. Do I understand correctly?”
They had actually gone to his office to do this, a simple matter since Mrs. Anjos and her husband actually lived in an apartment in the same house that the station occupied. “Yes,” the captain said, “She doesn’t want to kill an attacker. She wants to be able to escape him.”
“I can explain it a thousand times, Captain, but she will not learn until she tries. It is a matter of control.”
Genoveva had expected something like that. She had learned endless theory from this woman, but she hadn’t had much practice at anything. The doctors at the military hospital were loath to allow a healer—a witch—to treat one of their patients save in the most hopeless cases.
“I thought she could practice on me,” the captain offered unexpectedly. “If she’s just knocking me unconscious, she isn’t doing permanent damage, is she?”
Genoveva shot a horrified glance at him. “I could hurt you.”
“I don’t think you will,” he said without hesitation. “I trust that you can control your impulses, Miss Jardim.”
“It wouldn’t leave . . . damage,” Mrs. Anjos verified. “She need not render you unconscious, Captain. Merely weaken you.”
“Of course,” he said.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Genoveva protested.
“You want to be able to do this,” he said. “I’m willing, and I’m aware of the consequences.”
Mrs. Anjos regarded him steadily, as if she doubted that claim, but she didn’t argue.
Genoveva turned back to Captain Pinheiro. “Are you certain?”
“Yes, of course,” he said. “So what do I need to do?”
Mrs. Anjos surveyed him critically. “Perhaps you should remove your coat.”
Captain Pinheiro took off his coat and laid it over the back of one of the chairs, leaving him in a well-tailored blue waistcoat and his shirtsleeves. Removing his coat reminded Genoveva that he wasn’t stocky as she’d previously thought. In fact, she suspected the less he wore, the better he would look. Her cheeks warmed when she thought that. Fortunately, Mrs. Anjos was talking to the captain, so neither noticed her blush.
Mrs. Anjos pointed toward the couch on one side of the room. “You should stand there, captain. If you fall, it will be better to fall on that.”
Captain Pinheiro obeyed her suggestion. Genoveva squared her shoulders and walked to his side, praying she didn’t hurt the man. He’d been nothing but kind to her. “Very well. Now what?”
“You need to get a feel for his consciousness,” Mrs. Anjos said. “So you do not go too far. Lay your hand against his throat.”
Genoveva stretched out her hand, but paused a few inches from his skin. “Are you certain?”
His eyes met hers. “Stop worrying.”
She laid her hand against his throat. Her palm rested over his collar, but her fingers touched bare skin. His pulse beat under her thumb, and she moved her fingers so that she could feel it on the other side. He breathed steadily through his nose, quiet and unafraid. He closed his eyes, trusting her.
“Now feel his energies,” Mrs. Anjos said. “Trace through them in your mind. You need to know him well before we try this.”
So she could recognize when she was going too far. To protect him. She would skip this part with someone she was trying to hurt.
Genoveva closed her eyes and matched her breathing to his. She felt the center of power in his throat. He was strong, in the prime of his life, with a desire to serve. She moved her focus to between his eyes, feeling his intellect. He was a smart man, clever. The center of power in his chest told her he was compassionate. Again, not a surprise. She could feel his lungs moving. Steady. He was calm. The center of power in his belly spoke mildly of hunger . . . he hadn’t eaten since just after Mass. But it also told her he was driven. He’d made captain at an early age without any family ties or money, she’d heard. She forced herself to move her focus, sensing the center of power in his groin. He was a passionate man, although he’d not indulged that passion for some time now, something she surely did not need to know about him. Aware that her cheeks must be flaming, she felt both the centers of powers at his base and the crown of his head.
“Now what?” she asked uneasily. She was far more familiar with him now than she was with any man she’d known before.
“Now draw his energies toward you,” Mrs. Anjos said. “Through your hand if you must. You need to pull it into your chest and hold it there.”
Genoveva looked up at his face again. He was waiting, calmly.
She imagined his energies like strands of light, threads on which she could pull. She stepped back, appalled, her eyes going to Mrs. Anjos’ pale face. “I can do more than just heal him, can’t I?”
“Yes,” the woman said. “A great deal more.”
Captain Pinheiro’s eyes ope
ned. He didn’t say anything. Just watched the two of them.
Genoveva looked at Mrs. Anjos, finally understanding. She could affect his drive, his passions, his heart and his mind. She could twist his senses and cloud his thoughts. This was how Mrs. Anjos made prisoners talk; she used her healer’s powers much like a sereia’s call, coaxing, convincing. But if needed, she could force their capitulation.
“If you’re rushing,” Mrs. Anjos added, “you can’t have finesse. Go straight for his navel. That will rob him of his drive.”
Genoveva looked up at the captain and reached out again, her fingers at his throat. Before she could lose her nerve, she tugged on those threads of energy running through him.
Genoveva gasped, suddenly warm all over. The heat of his energies burned through her, trapped inside her body now, surely too much for her to contain. Sweat trickled down her back.
Captain Pinheiro fell back onto the sofa, rolled to the floor, and lay there unmoving.
She gazed down at him, stunned. What have I done?
Mrs. Anjos grasped her arm, yanking her toward Pinheiro’s slumped body. “Give it back!”
She understood what the woman wanted. Genoveva knelt and laid a hand to Pinheiro’s throat again. Then she forced his energy back through that link into his body, trying to put everything back the way it was before, to balance his energies again. The heat blazing through her slowly faded, and she let her hand drop away from his throat.
His eyes fluttered open. He looked dazed, but he was breathing normally. “I told you that you would stop,” he said in a rasping voice.
“I could have killed you,” she protested, heart beating hard and mouth dry. “Don’t you understand? I could have killed you.”
He shook his head.
“I would not have let you do so,” Mrs. Anjos said sternly. “You took too much, but now you know how that feels. The next time, be more delicate.”
The Seer's Choice: A Novella of the Golden City Page 2