by Sarah Noffke
Again the woman laughed. “Your concerns and fears are well placed. My daughter is a force and not one I ever have to fear for.” She then hooked her arm through Finley’s and led him down the main hallway. “You are a smart individual. I knew just hearing about you from Titus I’d love you and I do,” she said, guiding him down the hallway to the den, which was the size of half a gymnasium.
“Mom…” Zuma said, walking behind them, frustration in her voice.
“Shhh, Z, I want your father to meet the gem you’ve brought home,” she said.
From a leather couch, a brown-haired man turned, and then catching the threesome in his peripheral, he stood and walked around the furniture and in their direction. Finley startled for a second. Zuma’s deep brown eyes stared back at him, but on a man’s face. Zuma’s father was tall. Well over the average height. His hair, eyes, and skin were a rich brown. Now Finley understood where Zuma got her olive skin and high cheekbones. Her father was South American, Finley guessed.
“Matteo, this is Finley,” Samara said, releasing his arm.
“Finley,” Matteo said, extending an inviting hand to him. “Welcome to our home.”
He took the older man’s hand and was surprised by the gentle handshake as the man clapped his other hand on the other side of Finley’s.
“Nice to meet you, sir.”
Matteo then turned to his daughter, opening his arms wide to her. “Hey, Z,” he said and then her father embraced her, his large hand cupping the back of her head. Everything about Matteo was gentle and welcoming. When he released Zuma he had tears in his brown eyes. “Been too long, my dear Z. Too long.”
“I know, Daddy,” she said, and Zuma suddenly sounded so young to Finley.
“So,” Samara said, clapping her hands together once. “You two are probably hungry. You should eat and then head straight to bed. Long day tomorrow.”
“Wait,” Finley said, scratching his head in confusion. “You know about our rescue mission tomorrow and you’re all right with it?”
He looked between both parents’ faces as they exchanged knowing glances.
“Oh, yeah,” Samara said. “And if that’s what Z chooses to do then she has our full support.”
“But Titus told you about Knight, right? That he’s responsible for Dave’s death? That he’s dangerous? Didn’t he?” Finley asked, his tone increasing with his frantic worry.
“He did,” Samara said simply.
“Zuma could be killed though,” Finley said, deciding to be bold.
Zuma laughed at this. “Oh,” she said, rounding on Finley. “As a last resort you thought you’d get my parents to refuse to allow me to go.” Another laugh. “Wrong parents for such a hope. My folks believe in child-led parenting. They support us in any well thought out decisions. They trust us.”
“And all we ask is a place in your mind to know you’ve thought through the decision,” Matteo said, and then he turned to Finley. “And I can confirm that Zuma has really considered this and is making a decision based on logic and thoughtfulness.”
“Wait, you’re a telepath too?” Finley asked.
“It runs in the family,” Zuma said again. “Everyone in the Zanders family is. We’re a pack of telepaths, which makes dinner parties kind of dull for outsiders.”
Her parents laughed at this, but Zuma kept a stone expression.
Okay, this just got weirder, Finley thought. He shook this off. “But Knight is really dangerous. You have to be worried for your daughter.”
“Zuma has to make her own decision here,” Samara said, giving her daughter a look of pride. “It’s not ours to make. She’s close to Jack and he needs her help. I’ve had friends who needed my help before and I made the decision to go after them. How can I not expect the same thing from my daughter?”
“And without risk, life is meaningless,” Matteo added.
Based on Finley’s expression Zuma’s parents knew he was having a hard time understanding their philosophy. “I realize this may sound strange to you,” Samara said. “We’re used to that from people, but we’ve raised our children to make their own decisions because we have faith in the genius within them.”
Finley all of a sudden understood that confidence that Zuma wore full time. It had been created by a trusting foundation. One that can’t be faked but only tested with life experiences.
“Come now, Finley,” Samara said, hooking her arm back around his. “Help me fix up something for you two to eat, would you?”
Without a way to argue, he allowed himself to be pulled toward where he was guessing was the kitchen.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jack’s thorough knowledge of these types of warehouses granted him a special privilege. Right outside the room he was about to drop into was the panel that controlled the electricity for all of the warehouse. What Jack didn’t know was this panel was inside Knight’s private chambers, which were heavily guarded. Also he didn’t know if he could rein in the power to shut the electrical board down, thereby casting the compound in darkness. Jack’s new skill of electrokinesis was slow to come. Sometimes he could affect electricity, but the skill was never reliable. Dave had been working with Jack since the gift surfaced, but he’d been unable to draw it out completely. Jack hoped that the adrenaline of the moment would be his saving grace. Unfortunately for Jack, his ignorance of Knight, his night vision, and the man’s already dark warehouse was going to be his doom.
The metal of the warehouse roof was cold against Jack’s ear. Inside the warehouse he heard nothing below. There was a vibration to the metal, but that could be triggered from something on the far side of the building since the material conducted movement well. Confident this was the perfect spot for entry, he slid the skylight back. It caught in several places from disuse and rust. He didn’t push it all the way open, just enough for him to slide through. A quick study of the space below told Jack that the small warehouse room was empty. Dark. It was an almost bare room, and without proper lighting he couldn’t tell what was in the space, but it smelled musty with a hint of mold. For five long minutes he stared down into the room, searching it for movement and listening for anything that would indicate someone was close by.
Finally feeling confident that this room adjacent to Knight’s chamber was empty, he swung his legs around and dangled them down through the skylight. He secured his sword and then slipped himself through the window. As soon as he was free of any support he hovered in the air. Then gradually he lowered himself using his levitation skill. His head was now below the skylight and he was slowly making his descent to the warehouse floor some forty feet away. Out of a shadow he spied a tall figure, an ambient light reflected off its head. Or maybe it’s a ladder or shelf, Jack thought. Beside the unknown object, something moved. Something small.
“Now,” someone said with a growl and then a little girl stepped forward. She had cold eyes and an unconcerned look on her narrow face.
Jack, still levitating, tried to figure out which way to go. And then his levitation skill disappeared completely from him and he plummeted toward the cold concrete floor. It all happened too fast. The fall was a blur. Wind whooshing by his ears. Adrenaline spiking in his veins. A crazed fear ripping through his mind, making him tighten his muscles. And then he made impact. The collision of his body with the concrete was met by several cracks and snaps. Jack had fallen like an arrow. Straight. Legs meeting concrete first. A scream ripped out of Jack’s mouth and echoed off the metal walls. Now his legs lay in strange angles in front of him, but his eyes were pinned on the dark figure standing next to the girl. It stepped forward. Jack whimpered.
“Welcome to my compound,” Knight said in an unwelcoming snarl. “Levitating in through the roof. Great idea. You would have made a good thief. However, my kid, Power-Stopper, ruined your almost perfect attempt at breaking in. So sorry.” Knight leaned over Jack as he spoke, no remorse in his voice. Then the man reached down and pulled the sword from Jack’s back, unconcerned for how the effort mo
ved Jack’s broken limbs. Jack screamed out in pain as Knight yanked the cell phone from his pocket, his jeans tearing from the fractured bones stabbing through them. Coolly Knight turned and sped away.
“Come,” he said to the child. “We leave him here.”
The girl hadn’t watched the fall, but she did look at the broken guy now. Her green eyes lingered, a morbid curiosity in them for the moment she allowed herself to study Jack. Then Gwendolyn turned and followed her master out of the room.
Jack reached for his broken legs. Bile washed through his mouth. And he emptied the contents of his stomach all over himself. Unable to drag himself away he lay down in his own mess, preparing himself to die.
Chapter Twenty-Four
On the way to the kitchen, Finley spied the various family portraits hanging on the walls. Zuma was in most of them and in all she wore a forced smile. The kitchen Samara led him to was oversized and rustic. It reminded him of something one might find in a large villa in Italy. Zuma’s mom went straight to the enormous refrigerator which was disguised behind a mahogany cabinet. She pulled various fruits and vegetables from a drawer and piled them on the counter. She deposited a watermelon on a bamboo cutting board and then turned back to the refrigerator. The large, round fruit rolled a few inches on the countertop and then dropped off. Finley raced using his super speed across the kitchen, catching it just before it touched the ground.
“Thanks,” Samara said, turning around with a satisfied grin. She then grabbed a knife from a chopping block and pointed its tip at a tall stool beside the large center island. “Sit,” she commanded. “I hope you didn’t think I was really going to make you work.”
Finley instantly liked this woman. He felt at ease with her like the way he felt with Fanny. He’d never been around women, not that he remembered, but most of his memories were fuzzy. And the women he did remember were cold and thoughtless lemmings of Knight’s. They weren’t caretakers as much as managers, in a way. They managed the babies and children before they came of age.
“If you don’t mind, ma’am, I’d prefer to stand,” Finley said. “Long drive and all.”
She smiled. “Of course,” she said. “Now I hope no meat is all right with you. We’re vegetarians.”
“That’s fine,” he said, eyeing the beautiful array of colorful vegetables in front of her. She was already working to chop the food and drop it into a salad bowl.
“Don’t worry so much,” she said randomly to Finley like it was a part of their current conversation.
“Worry?” he said, his forehead wrinkling. “Why do you think I’m worried?”
“Well, it’s written clearly on that handsome face of yours,” she said, circling the tip of the knife in the air again, directing it at him.
“Oh, well we have a big mission tomorrow. I kind of need to be worried,” he said.
Samara laid down the knife and pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator and handed it to him. “Where are my manners? You must be thirsty after that long drive.”
“Thanks,” Finley said. And in fact he wasn’t thirsty at all.
“Hope water is all right. We are pretty minimalistic in our dietary preferences. Might seem boring to some but we find simplicity lends to greater dream traveling skills,” she said.
“Yes, I’m aware,” Finley said. Knight hadn’t really fed his kids often, but what he did feed them was simple. An upset digestive system didn’t serve gifted children well. It made for slow and weak powers. However, hungry and underfed kids still had their gifts and a motivation to use them. They wanted what was promised if they performed. Food.
“Well, don’t compound your problems by also worrying about my daughter’s bad attitude,” Samara said and then leaned forward. “I’ll let you in on a little secret,” she said in a whisper. “Z doesn’t waste her time being mad at anyone. It’s part of her role in being indifferent. If she is mad at you then she must care for you greatly.”
Finley considered this. Besides that immediate flare of anger at Ian, she hadn’t been mad that Ian knew about Dave’s death and concealed it. But Zuma was furious at Finley and for the exact same thing. And she’d pretty much detested him since the beginning, even before she had the reason of his involvement with Dave.
Then something her mother said triggered his burning curiosity. “That part about her being indifferent?”
“Yes?” Samara said, sliding her eyes up to him, her tone sounding expectant.
“Well, do you believe in…?” He trailed off, unsure how to approach his question. “I mean, do you think it’s possible that Zuma…?” Again he didn’t know what to say. Finley felt so silly.
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Is this about the curse? Did Dave fill your head with that stuff?”
“Actually it was Fanny,” he said.
“Yes,” Samara said, nodding, “she believes the thing about the curse too.”
“But you don’t?”
“It’s not that I don’t,” Samara began, her chin turning to the side in a speculative way. “I’ve known my daughter all her life and she’s more different than anyone I’ve ever known. It’s hard to pin down why, but she’s just so full of life and completely missing something at the same time. However, I’ve tried over the years not to put much weight in the curse, because I fear that would give it power.”
“But what if it’s true?” Finley asked. And he knew that it was. Zuma had confirmed it and he knew Knight’s powers firsthand.
“Then exactly what am I supposed to do about it?” Samara said, no offense in the question, but rather a challenge.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Finley said, realizing he was suddenly frustrated. “Maybe figure out how to break it. Don’t you want her to be happy?” And his eyes widened with shock. He couldn’t believe he’d just asked this woman this stupid question about her daughter. Of course she wanted her to be happy. She probably felt helpless and Finley had probably offended her, he feared. “I’m sorry. That was—”
Samara held up the knife like a finger, pausing him. And to Finley’s shock she smiled. “You know I do want her to be happy, but now I know you do too,” she said.
He dropped his head. “Yeah, I do, even if she hates me for my mistakes.”
“That’s the mark of true love,” Samara said, the smile on her face knowing.
“Well…it’s not like…I mean…” Finley stuttered over every word, the urge to run returning from before. And Samara wasn’t cutting him off like he wished, but rather waiting for him to construct a real sentence with a subject and verbs and pronouns. He paused and took the time to suck in a giant breath, then he said, “Tomorrow I will be confronting the man who cursed her.”
“Charles Knight,” Samara said simply, no spite in her words.
Finley had never met someone so accepting. He could tell she went with the flow of life, trusting it. He’d seen this same trait in Zuma, a way of living without creating obstacles for oneself. It was an odd approach only because it was rare and also effective at living a happy life, if one was allowed to be happy.
“Yes,” Finley said. “I’ll be confronting Knight tomorrow.”
“And you think you can convince him to lift the curse?” Samara asked.
“Well, that’s the only way Fanny knows to free Zuma. It has to be the caster who removes a curse,” he said.
Samara nodded. “That does make sense. But how are you going to get him to do that?”
Finley shrugged. And the gesture made him seem as though he didn’t have an answer, although he did. “Maybe I can barter for it.”
“What do you have that he’ll want?” Samara asked, her curiosity growing as the conversation progressed.
“Me. I’m his best thief,” Finley said and couldn’t believe he’d divulged the truth to this woman. He brought his eyes up to meet hers and thought she’d look pleased, but she wore a disapproving scowl. Suddenly she didn’t appear so easygoing.
“And where is Zuma while you’re giving yourself up for
her happiness?” she asked.
Finley backed up a few steps, wondering what he should do next. Wondering what he should say to get the smile back on Samara’s face. He dumbly just bit his lip.
“You’re going to send her to free Jack, aren’t you? And in the meantime you’ll go and free her by imprisoning yourself. Is that right?” she said as she strolled around the island carrying the knife with her, a threat in her voice. “Does Zuma know about this?”
He bumped into a stool and then a countertop as he shuffled back away, surprised by the woman’s shifting demeanor. “N-n-no,” he stuttered out.
She turned and stuck the knife into the watermelon sitting on the island. “As I said before, I believe in people having free choice. And in my opinion, the one you didn’t ask for, you should give Zuma the choice to decide if she wants you to make a sacrifice for her.”
“But she doesn’t know about the curse, does she?” Finley said.
“No, she doesn’t since I never wanted to create a self-fulfilling prophecy for her,” Samara said, her hands now on her hips.
“Well, in my opinion that you didn’t ask for, I think that was a good call,” Finley said. “And I also think telling her what I’m planning to do will only tarnish any of the happiness that lifting the curse creates.”
“Finley…” She said his name with that same punishing quality that Zuma had mastered.
“Free choice, right?” he said, injecting confidence in his tone.
Samara dropped her chin, looking almost defeated. Then she nodded solemnly and said, “Yes, of course.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Children lined the long concrete and metal corridor, their heads down. Gwendolyn marched in front of Knight.
“Good day, Master,” “Hello Master,” “Glory be to you, Master,” the kids said in whispered voices as Knight marched by. Gwendolyn pictured the kids were mumbling to her as they passed. At the end of the corridor Gwendolyn moved to the side, taking the position beside Sebastian.