Pietro chuckled and Hernandez waved a hand at him before heading back to his kitchen. Duardo dropped into a chair and reached for a plate.
“Is everyone here a soldier?” Calli asked, looking around.
“Yes, all,” Pietro agreed. He ate busily. Elvira had risen from her chair and wandered over to the other table to select food from dishes there, while talking to the people around that table.
A rotund man came to their table and selected a tortillas.
“And this is Pav,” Duardo said.
The man laughed and nodded at them.
“‘Pavarotti,’” Pietro explained and patted the man’s distended stomach.
“Right.”
Pav moved away and Calli leaned forward to examine the dishes. Duardo and Pietro described each one, the spiciness and the ingredients. Elvira came back to the table and added her own knowledge about the preparation of the dishes.
Pietro refilled their glasses of punch.
Calli ate and drank and relaxed, surrounded by people that enjoyed life and welcomed her. They were a lively group. As the pace of eating slowed, guitars were picked up. At first the music was slow and coaxing. Soon, though, a man stood with a shout and stamped his feet, throwing his hands up in the air. It was a declaration. An entrance.
The guitar players picked up the pace. The dancer moved out onto the clear space at the end of the courtyard, tapping his way with expert steps, while the others cheered him on with claps and whistles.
Elvira ran over to him, lifted her skirt to reveal her knees and tapped out intricate steps that sent up a cheer of encouragement.
“Elvira!” someone called. Two small brown objects flew through the air. She caught them and paused to work at them. Then she lifted her hand with a graceful flick. The castanets rattled out a tattoo. She stamped her feet in time.
Two more got to their feet, clapping along with the guitars. Another woman, who had not been on the truck, joined Elvira. Her hands lifted in the same graceful motions as she danced different steps.
“They seem to just do their own thing,” Minnie murmured.
“Whatever the music tells them to do,” Calli said. “They look great.” She heard, with wry resignation, the touch of envy in her tone. That seductive gracefulness had always been beyond her capabilities.
“You can do that,” Pietro told Calli.
She laughed. “Not me.”
“Yes, most certainly,” Duardo added. He picked up Minnie’s hand. “You, too. Come.”
“Me?” Minnie asked.
He nodded.
Minnie let Duardo lead her to the other dancers. He placed her next to Elvira. Elvira picked up her skirt again and tapped out a simple, half-speed set of steps and Minnie followed. After three repetitions, she nailed it with a big smile and a laugh. Then Elvira repeated the step at the proper speed, rapping it out with a Spanish-looking flourish, the castanets adding their compulsive rattle. Then she paused and waited for Minnie to repeat it.
Minnie repeated the pattern, with almost the same flourish and Calli laughed aloud with sheer joy.
Elvira repeated the pattern. Minnie immediately followed with her own repetition. Then they both danced out the pattern, and kept going. Duardo clapped the rhythm, encouraging them. Elvira showed Minnie how to turn and move while keeping the beat and Minnie followed, her hips swaying with the same elegant motion as Elvira. Hesitantly, she added arm movements.
Calli smiled, exuberance bubbling through her veins. Apart from the incongruous denim skirt and short hair, Minnie looked like any of the women dancing there—flirtatious, seductive. Duardo moved around her with the strutty motion the men made as they preened beside the woman. They sent smoldering glances at the women over their shoulders, while their hips echoed the movements the women made. It was as sexy a dance as any tango Calli had ever seen and she tapped her own feet, her hips twitching in time.
“Now you will know how,” Pietro said and picked up her hand. “You understand.”
Calli followed him to the group of dancers and Elvira flashed her a wide smile when she saw her. She showed Calli the step and Calli surprised herself when she executed it perfectly. It made sense to her, the beat and the motion falling into place along with the music. Only, the flat, rubber-soled sandals she wore wouldn’t move easily on the tiles.
Elvira frowned and, over the music, called out something to Menaka, who sat in her armchair clapping as enthusiastically as anyone watching the dancers.
Menaka nodded and called back. Elvira slipped between the bordering ring of spectators and disappeared inside the house. In a moment, she returned with a pair of black heeled shoes in her hand, each with a fine strap over the instep. Dancing shoes.
She thrust them at Calli. “Easier for—” and she stamped out a step or two, the heels of her own shoes rapping on the tiles.
Calli slipped out of her sandals and put them on. They fit, which surprised her, for her feet were in proportion with her height and Vistarian women seemed to be generally petite. She stood up and gave an experimental stamp and immediately sensed the improvement. Her blood beating a tattoo in time with the guitars and the clapping, she moved to stand between Elvira and Minnie and picked up the pattern they followed. Excitement flooded her as the flow of the dance became clear. She relaxed her concentration, letting her instinct guide her instead. The pattern came easily, naturally. Did she have a latent talent for this? Or had she simply been immersed in this culture for long enough to absorb the attitude, the...sexiness?
Wholesome, exhilarating energy flared as she turned and tapped in time to the music. Her hands came up into the air of their own accord, weaving patterns that felt natural, inevitable. The clapping and shouting of the onlookers encouraged her to continue, to fling her head back and fall into the spell of seduction woven by the music and movement. Her hair tickled the back of her hips where the skin showed between her jeans and tee-shirt and she laughed aloud for sheer joy once again. Calli hadn’t been this alive in years—with one recent exception.
She looked over and saw Duardo move behind Minnie and shadow her movements. It completed the pattern in her mind. Such a seductive dance must have an audience, an intended target. It would be natural for the target to respond as Duardo responded, to be beckoned. He reached out to rest his hands on Minnie’s hips, then they moved in unison.
A hand came down on her own hip and Calli looked behind her. Pietro winked at her. “Don’t worry,” he told her. “Just friends.”
She understood and fell back into the beat. Pietro followed her, his hands on her hips, lifting as he turned her, leading as they moved around the floor. Pietro was a good dancer and Calli learned more as she followed his lead.
The music seemed to grow more frantic, the beat faster. She whirled, caught up in the rhythm. Abruptly it peaked and with a final staccato beat of heels, they came to a halt, the music at an end.
For a tiny second silence held, while Calli drew an unsteady breath, her blood pounding in her ears. Then everyone clapped and laughed, applauding themselves. The dancers broke up, cups were refilled.
Acute disappointment circled through her. She didn’t want the dancing to end.
“Later, okay?” Pietro said, plucking at his AC/DC tee-shirt. “Time for rest.”
“Sure,” she said, forcing a smile.
Duardo, his hand still resting on Minnie’s hip, passed them and said in a low voice intended only for Pietro, “Rojo.” He nodded toward the house.
Calli’s chest locked with a sudden, overwhelming mix of dread, hope and the return of the seductive excitement of the dancing, only this time more primordial, more basic. It was pure wanting, bereft of any flirtation.
She turned toward the house, holding her breath. Was he...?
Nicolás Escobedo sat on one of the straight-backed chairs, a boot resting on the seat of another, his chair pushed back and balanced. Black jeans, a dark olive green shirt with the soft glow that spoke of silk. Silk, her mind whispered.
Two men approached him. Nick spoke a few words. An exchange of greetings. Acknowledgments. They made no fuss over him, no fanfare. She understood that Nick was not here as an Escobedo. Duardo had named him correctly. He was here as the quiet man who moved amongst them, directing, managing, putting things to right.
A few words for each of them and they moved on, leaving him to his privacy. Alone, he settled back in his chair and turned back to look at her, his gaze direct, uncompromising. Had he watched her dance?
Her heart gave a little thrill of a beat at the idea. The she remembered the lily.
She walked over to stand in front of him and pushed her thumbs into her pockets, her hands curling into fists. “You were invited to this party too?” she asked.
“I’m invited everywhere.”
“You don’t go everywhere, though.”
“I go where I’m needed.”
“I don’t think you’re needed here.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
Calli’s spine, her whole body, rippled. That response and the aching, throbbing need pouring through her also tripped off her anger. She didn’t like how her body longed for his touch when her mind had decided differently.
“Nick, stop playing with me. I don’t need this.”
He glanced around, a casual look. Calli knew he checked for eavesdroppers. Witnesses. Everyone appeared busy doing something else—talking and drinking. Eating. A little pocket of space separated Calli and Nick from them.
“Sit down,” he told her.
“No.”
“Sit down,” he repeated. “This is one of the few places where you and I can talk in comparative security and by God, we will talk.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “We must talk.” His tone was insistent.
She sank onto the chair next to the one his boot pushed against, facing him. As she sat, Minnie came over and handed her a glass of punch and moved away again. She seemed to be part of the unspoken conspiracy to give them with total privacy right in the middle of a rowdy party.
“We already talked, I thought,” Calli said, with a sigh. “You said nothing could ever come of this. I believed you.”
He straightened up his chair, lifting his foot away from the other and leaned toward her. “I meant what I said.”
“Then why the lily, Nick? I know you put it there.”
He studied her face, as if he absorbed the details, memorizing them. “Call it a supreme moment of self-torture,” he said at last. “A moment of weakness.”
“Do you know how insecure I feel knowing that despite locked doors you can invade my room while I sleep? I can’t fight you off when I’m sleeping.”
He nodded a little. “It won’t happen again. Not unless you invite me.”
“I will never invite you.”
“It’s better that way,” he agreed. He reached out toward her face and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. His warmth radiated against her cheek. Her heart jumped.
“Don’t,” she said sharply.
“I said you had an uncrushable spirit. I was right.” He withdrew his hand and clasped it with the other, the double fists hanging between his knees. “I wanted to apologize. For the lily, for Friday night. You said I played with you and I’m sure it feels that way. It was simply...weakness. I have faced down rabid generals and armed guerillas in my time. You, though are something I’ve never had to battle. I faltered. It won’t happen again.”
In her gut, she knew he spoke the truth. After this day, he would go away and leave her alone. She would never feel the touch of his chest beneath silk, or his hand cupping her hip.
Calli shivered. He sat inches away from her. She could reach out and touch him, only he would not allow it. The discipline, the iron will, had realigned themselves. He would resist his own weakness and fend off hers.
For the sake of Vistaria.
“Okay,” she said with a sigh. “Alright.” Abruptly, the enormous, bone-deep, energy sapping tiredness returned. She managed to smile but it came out crooked. “I believe you.”
Something must have shown in her face. He shook his head. “I don’t know who Robert is, but right now I’d like to kill him. It is he who has planted the shadow of doubt in you that makes you think you’re not whole and complete, that you aren’t enough.”
She jumped. “How do you know about Robert?”
“You mentioned him once. You said you haven’t felt anything since Robert, then you stopped yourself from saying more.” He leaned a little closer. “Only, I saw you dance just then. You were whole, vibrant and alive. Yes?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“That is something Vistaria has done for you, I think.”
“Not Vistaria,” she said.
Then the world grew very bright and very hot. Something shoved her from the left. It slammed into her head. She felt no pain. She felt nothing.
Then, even her sight faded.
Chapter Seven
“Calli! Calli, come on now, wake up.”
Something tapped her face. Calli wished it would go away.
She tried to turn away from it. Pain ripped through her at the small motion. She groaned.
“That’s it. Wake up, Calli. I need you to wake up.”
Nick’s voice. His low caressing voice. He was here.
She remembered. “What happened?” Her voice was a croak.
Someone spoke nearby. Rapid Spanish. Something about a telephone.
Nick answered. He spoke rapidly, precisely.
The man answered. A single word.
Nick said more, his voice sharp. Calli heard Duardo’s name. “Calli, open your eyes. I need to see your eyes. Quickly, Calli. Look at me.” The snap of command in his voice made her obey without hesitation. She opened her eyes. Snapped them shut as flickering light hurt them.
“No, Calli. Come on.”
A woman screamed. “Someone help me! Help! Please!”
Minnie. Calli opened her eyes and tried to sit at the same time. She cried out as pain exploded in her head.
“Slowly,” Nick said. His hand on her shoulder steadied her. He had a cut over his cheek, just under the eye. Blood ran down his face. His shirt was ripped, the torn edge blackened. Burned.
“Where’s Minnie?” Calli cried, twisting around. She had been lying on the ground tiles. Nick crouched over her.
Details snapped into place, her senses pulling it together. The house that should have been behind them stood no longer. In its place, a ball of flames reached high into the early evening sky, crackling and roaring. Screams and moans came from all around her. A babble of Spanish.
“Somebody help me!” Minnie screamed her plea.
Calli tried to get to her feet. Nick’s hand kept her down. “Take it easy.”
“Screw that. I need to help Minnie.” Calli pushed at his arm and got to her feet, the dancing shoes crunching in pebbles, dust and debris. She swayed for a second, the ground dipping, then steadied. She looked around. “Oh my God,” she breathed. There was little left of the courtyard. The walls no longer stood.
Brushed away by a giant, she thought. “Minnie!” she screamed.
“Here! Over here!” Minnie yelled back. “Oh hurry! God, hurry!” Her voice came from the jagged, broken tiles at the end. Calli headed in that direction, crunching through the debris.
“Señor! Señor!”
“Calli, wait!” Nick called.
She turned back. One man from the party limped to Nick, his face dirty and scraped.
“You go. I’ll take care of this,” she told Nick. She moved to the edge of the tiles, testing with each step if the tiles would take her weight. They sagged under her step and the broken ends sloped down sharply. An image of people moving on thin ice came to her. She got down on her hands and knees, then stretched out across the tiles and wriggled toward the end.
The stately old tree that had provided most of the shade over the patio had taken a mortal blow. It had been pushed over the edge of the cliff by the blast. The t
ree’s roots were ripped from the ground, destabilizing the surrounding earth. As it fell, it had had destroyed that corner of the courtyard. The weakened ground gave way beneath the tiles. Only, with such an extensive root system, the tree was not completely torn from the earth. It leaned over the cliff like a monster’s railway crossing boom, close to horizontal.
As Calli peered over the edge, little rocks and pebbles cascading from her movements, the tree gave another deep groan and shuddered. The immense weight of the trunk and branches strained the injured root system. Soon, it would give away.
Another small gasping cry, below her, echoed the shudder of the tree. She looked down.
Minnie crouched on a tiny shelf, her arms outspread against the cliff for balance, her head turned into the cliff.
“Minnie!” Calli called.
She twisted her head to look. “Calli! Quickly! You must help Duardo! Hurry!” Minnie nodded toward the tree.
Calli lifted her head and looked at the tree. It took a moment for her to see Duardo. He hung amongst the vines and leaves trailing from the end of the tree. In the dying daylight she could see his eyes were closed. His head rested against his arm. He was not unconscious, or his grip would have given way.
“Calli, you have to hurry. He was talking at first. I think he’s fading. If he passes out...oh God, hurry, Calli!”
For a tiny moment Calli lay there, flummoxed. How do I do this? Duardo would be no lightweight. One thing seemed clear, though. She would have to go out onto the tree. It was the only way she could get close to him.
“Are you going to be all right for a while?” she said to Minnie.
“Yes, yes. Go!”
Calli wriggled her way over to the upended tiles and broken ground where the tree had stood for so long. The root system thrust high into the air, the long tendrils, once buried in the earth, now stretched like threads. The bottom half of the tree still held the earth, while the center of the trunk had split like kindling. Calli jumped and snagged the base of a root. She hung for a second. The root, a foot in diameter, ran like a tent rope down to the earth, disappearing under the edges of the tiling. She drew herself up and kicked with her feet to find footholds on the base of the tree. The heels of the shoes caught at projections and snags, giving her a foothold.
Vistaria Has Fallen Page 9