Elektra

by Yvonne Navarro

  Abby shrugged. “Like a minute.”

  Elektra managed to hide her frown, but that bothered her—usually she was the one who crept up on people, not the other way around. How had this child managed to do just that?

  Abby looked at her out of the corner of her eye. “What’d you tell my father? Did you tell him I broke into your house?”

  “Yes.” Elektra studied her. “Because you did break in.”

  Abby tossed her head. “You didn’t have to tell him. I thought you were cool.”

  Elektra only looked at her. “I’m not.”

  Abby’s lips pressed together. “No kidding. Now he’s on my case. He made me come ask you to have Christmas dinner with us.”

  Elektra blinked. “Have what?”

  Abby glanced at her in amazement. “Hello? Christmas dinner? As in December twenty-fifth?” When Elektra only looked blank, Abby rolled her eyes. “Come on, you do know what Christmas is, right?”

  Elektra felt her cheeks redden. “Yes, of course I know.”

  Abby’s laugh made Elektra realize the girl had been kidding, but there was still her next question to deal with, and she was completely serious. “Did you know today was Christmas?”

  Elektra shrugged, but it was pretty clear that she hadn’t had a clue. In any event, there was something interesting about this teenager and Elektra was picking up on it—like now, Abby’s gaze kept roaming over the outside of the beach house, sweeping back and forth, then doing it again.

  “He’s making crab,” Abby continued. She didn’t seem to know she was doing anything odd. “I hate crab. If you come, he won’t notice me not eating it.”

  “Thank you, but I can’t,” Elektra said automatically. When the girl focused on her quizzically, Elektra felt like a fly caught in a spiderweb. “I… have something to do.”

  “What?” Abby asked immediately. Funny how teens had no qualms about asking the most personal questions. “Everything’s closed. You’re on an island.” She flicked one hand toward the beach house, then the empty shore. “What do you have to do—work out some more?”

  Elektra scowled and took a step toward Abby. “What, were you spying on me?”

  Abby’s eyes widened. “No!” She spread her hands. “Look at you—it’s obvious you do that all the time. Come on, please? It’s driving me crazy out here, every night, just the two of us…” She let her voice trail off and her gaze traveled over the house. “I’m bored.”

  Elektra tilted her head. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing.” The teen jerked, as though she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. She met Elektra’s gaze and frowned. “What?”

  “Are you counting?”

  Abby looked taken aback. “No.”

  A corner of Elektra’s mouth turned up as she looked back at the house, noting the windows that overlooked the beach, the broad door, other, finer details. She turned once more to Abby, but the girl was back on the subject of Christmas dinner. “So will you come? Please?”

  Now Abby’s voice was downright plaintive, and Elektra found herself giving in. She inhaled deeply, but when her voice came out, instead of saying no, she said, “I have to change my clothes.”

  The teenager’s smiled stretched across her face, brightening everything about her. “Thanks!” When Elektra nodded, she said, “I’m Abby.”

  Of course—Abby would have no idea that her father had already told Elektra her name. She swallowed, knowing Abby expected her to introduce herself, too. She didn’t want to—the fewer the people who knew who she was, the better—but she couldn’t figure out how not to. If she gave something false, she’d be discovered the first time Abby or Mark called to her and she didn’t respond. Well, she was an assassin, not a spy, and there was a difference. “Elektra,” she said reluctantly.

  Abby smiled all over again, obviously approving. “Elektra—cool.” When Elektra moved toward the door, Abby seem to know ahead of time what was best. “I’ll just wait out here,” she said, and pointed to one of the lounge chairs. “Just don’t take forever or I’ll turn into an icicle.”

  Elektra nodded and resigned herself to having a holiday meal tonight, just like normal people.

  When Abby pushed open the door to the cabin she shared with her dad, Elektra could see Mark over the girl’s shoulder. He was working at the stove and doing an admirable job of it, too; with an oversized crab pot boiling on the back burner, he had the front burner going beneath a large skillet in which he was sautéing broccoli like a pro. The noise of the door opening made him look up, and his surprised expression was nearly comical. “Hey!” he snapped. “I told you not to leave the house!”

  Abby sent her father a semi-withering look. “You didn’t even know I was gone.”

  “Abby,” Mark said in a warning voice. “I—”

  “Chill, Dad,” Abby said quickly. “We have a guest.” She grabbed Elektra’s arm and pulled her inside, then quickly reached behind her and pushed the door closed before Elektra could turn around and back out.

  Talk about awkward—Elektra could’ve cheerfully throttled the girl. From the silence in the kitchen, it was obvious Abby had lied about the invitation coming from Mark, and now here was Elektra, the surprise holiday guest. She felt like somebody’s mother-in-law dropping by on Saturday night without an invitation. “I’m sorry,” Elektra said. “She said you were inviting me. I’ll—I’ll just—”

  But Mark had already recovered from his shock. “No—no, please stay.” The smile he sent her way was genuine, but she still hesitated. Boy, this was embarrassing. “I’m glad you’re here,” he added.

  Okay, now she was stuck—she’d look like the female version of Scrooge if she turned up her nose at his invitation. Even so, this place was like a Norman Rockwell holiday painting—Christmas tree in the corner, a roaring fire…. Mark was even wearing a ridiculous reindeer cooking apron and matching oven mitts. God, Elektra couldn’t have felt more out of place.

  “So,” Mark said cheerfully. “Can I get you a beer? Wine?”

  Elektra swallowed. “Water,” she answered. “Water would be great.”

  Abby pulled out one of the kitchen chairs, spun it, and sat on it like a boy. “Her’s name’s Elektra, Dad.”

  Mark nodded as he dug into the freezer and came out with a tray of ice cubes. “Elektra,” he repeated. “Like the tragedy? Your parents must have had a sense of humor.”

  A sense of humor? She’d never had anyone suggest that before. “Not really.”

  Mark held out the glass of water and Abby took it before Elektra could accept it. The teenager gestured for her to follow her and her dad into the living room. Elektra obliged, watching as they glanced at each other. Something strange—a look, an unspoken message?—passed between those two, but Elektra had no idea what. This room continued the all-American family theme; besides the Christmas tree and fireplace Elektra had glimpsed when she’d arrived, the room was heavy with quilts and an early American theme. Elektra thought it was pretty obvious Mark decorated for Abby—or at least the way he thought he should decorate for her—rather than for himself. As she settled on the overstuffed couch with Abby, Mark headed back to the kitchen and promised dinner in another ten minutes. While she listened to Abby chatter on about the ornaments on the tree and where they’d picked up certain ones, the California coast, and a dozen other teenager-type things, Elektra thought this was going to be the longest ten minutes of her life.

  It was a nice little spread and, as it turned out, Mark had cooked more than enough to allow for the addition of a last-minute guest. Elektra’s generously loaded plate included freshly caught crabs boiled and served with melted butter, sautéed broccoli, and crusty French bread with more butter—no dieting on Christmas night, thank you. Off to the side was a mouth-watering salad which included a few of Elektra’s traditional Greek favorites: feta cheese, Kalamata olives, lots of oregano, and even a few well-placed anchovy filets (which Abby turned up her nose at and carefully pushed aside).

/>   Elektra found herself hungrier than she’d thought, and she wasn’t sure if her appetite was up because of the company, the food, or both. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d eaten a meal this large. Boredom had been chewing a good hole in her attitude and this was a welcome break, even if it had started off on a rocky foot. She was enjoying her food, and Abby’s teenager-based chatter was strangely soothing… and more than a little revealing about the girl’s tenacity.

  “… so when she like sees that all the cute guys like me—just as friends, Dad—she accidentally spills poster paint all over my model of the Taj Mahal. So I put glue in her shoes, and then I got suspended for that. Then I got expelled for fighting, but that was back in the day in…uh…Baltimore.”

  When she hesitated, Abby glanced at Mark with a sort of uh-oh expression; that made Mark shoot a furtive glance at Elektra, who wisely pretended not to notice anything. Clearly trying to cover up for his daughter, Mark said quickly, “Quite a record, huh?”

  Elektra smiled slightly, then looked at Abby. “Is there a school here on the island?”

  Another hesitation, another glance at her father, who again took over the conversation. “We’re trying home schooling for a while.”

  “I read at college level,” Abby said, as if she felt she needed to explain. “And I’m already doing algebra one on my own.”

  “She’s a good student,” Mark said. His tone of pride darkened a bit with his next sentence. “It’s the behavioral stuff that’s been a problem.”

  For a change, Abby looked sheepish. “I have…authority issues.”

  Mark laughed and shot Elektra a knowing glance. “She’s heard this from the school psychologist,” he said. He paused a moment, then looked at her expectantly. “So, I was a little surprised to see you take the Wheelwright place. Not many renters this time of year.”

  Elektra shifted uncomfortably on her chair. “I’m just here for the month. To work.”

  Abby’s expression turned eager. “What do you do, anyway?”

  Elektra tried to think quickly of a way to put what she did in terms that wouldn’t make her an outright liar. That was bad karma, and there was always a way to phrase something delicately. “Like layoffs,” she finally said. “Payroll reduction, that sort of thing.”

  Abby made a face. “Sounds boring.”

  “Abby…” Matt’s tone was heavy with parental warning.

  Elektra grinned purposely. “No, it is boring.” Abby kept playing with something on her wrist and finally Elektra got a good look at it. Excellent—just want she needed: something to change the subject. “I like your bracelet, by the way. You know what those are?”

  Abby stopped fingering it when she realized Elektra was watching her. “Uh…” She seemed a little self-conscious now that both her father’s and Elektra’s attention were fully focused on her.

  “Warrior beads,” Elektra told her. She nodded her head at the multiple strands wrapped around Abby’s wrist. They glittered in the room’s light as Abby held up her arm to show the carved silver and copper beads more clearly. A larger bead was in the center of the bottommost strand, very much like an end weight. They were rare, but Elektra had, occasionally, run across them. “They’re from Indonesia. Centuries ago you had to be the best fighter in your village to earn them.”

  Abby looked from her to the bracelet on her slender wrist. “Huh,” she said. “I bought it on eBay.”

  But her expression had gone from flustered to pleased, and Elektra wasn’t sure if it was because of what was behind the bracelet, or because Elektra knew what the beads were.

  Either was quite possible.

  Later, Elektra would be surprised that the evening, which had started out slowly and painfully and about as promising as having her jaw wired shut, had passed so quickly. Mark and Abby’s cabin was small, but it certainly had all the creature comforts, not only on the inside but outside as well. With her farewell to Abby already said, right now Elektra was standing on a small outside deck that faced the ocean; behind her was the window to Abby’s room, through which she could see Mark tucking his daughter into bed and giving her a good-night hug.

  Off to the side were a couple of well-padded deck chairs that looked a little too inviting—she should really be heading back to the beach house and her own space. But it was nice to surreptitiously watch Mark with his daughter, to see them like this. It gave her good, solid evidence that despite the bickering, the two were close and affectionate. He disappeared from view, and she turned to face the ocean, telling herself that she could spare five more minutes; this late at night, with what little there was of the moon obscured by the evening clouds, Elektra couldn’t see the water. She could, however, hear the crashing of the surf, a sound both soothing and restless, never-ending.

  Mark’s footsteps came from behind her and made Elektra turn. He was standing there and smiling; in one hand he held a bottle of wine with a holiday label on it from a local winery, in the other, two festive-looking wineglasses. “Suddenly I have a teenager on my hands,” he said apologetically.

  Elektra nodded. “She’s hard on herself.”

  Mark raised one eyebrow as he set the glasses on the deck railing, then pulled out a pocket corkscrew and went to work on the cork. “You can tell, huh?” He chuckled to himself but he looked pleased. “Most people think she’s a slacker.” In another second, he’d twisted the cork free and filled both glasses. He handed her one. “Here you go.”

  She reached for it automatically, but her hand wavered in midair after her fingers has closed around the stem. “No…I shouldn’t.”

  He blatantly ignored her protest, instead touching his glass to hers in a toast. “Merry Christmas.”

  Another hesitation, but she could think of no good reason why she couldn’t relax just a bit on this holiday night. Finally, she nodded at him and took a sip. Mulled spice, thick and rich, slightly sweet—probably a treasured recipe from the local vineyard, something only brought out once a year. Nice. “Where’s her mother?” Elektra asked, hoping to keep the conversation from tumbling around back to her and sparking questions she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—answer.

  Mark’s face darkened. “She died about a year ago.”

  Elektra felt her throat tighten and she gave him a chance to continue. God, she knew firsthand how it felt to be Abby’s age and lose your mother. “Back in Baltimore?” she asked when he didn’t offer any more information.

  “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Drunk driver.”

  Elektra looked away for a long moment, then met his gaze again. “My mother died when I was young.”

  For a second, Mark looked almost comically surprised that she would share such a hugely personal piece of trivia about herself. “Really?” He looked at her, expecting more details.

  But he wasn’t the only one surprised—she should never have revealed so much. And now that she had, Elektra could tell he was gearing up to ask more questions, things she didn’t want to go into. “I should go,” she said abruptly. “I have a lot of work to do.”

  Mark’s expression fell. “Oh, come on—it’s early.” He glanced back to the window on the other side of Abby’s, where he could see the living room clock atop the fireplace mantel. She would never admit it aloud, but the inside did look inviting, filled with a warmth that had been too long missing from her life. But no, she couldn’t let material things like that tempt her. Things like… normalcy. “It’s only—”

  “Thanks for dinner,” Elektra said, cutting off his words. He glanced at his glass and when he looked up again, she was gone.

  While she slipped into the shadows and headed down the beach and Mr. Mark Miller tried to figure out where she’d disappeared to, Elektra couldn’t help puzzling over why his expression looked more worried than surprised about her leaving….

  8

  THE COLD WIND ALONG THE SHORE FRONT HAD died away, leaving Christmas night—Elektra still couldn’t believe she hadn’t realized that—calm and silent. On one side the water
was dark and still, waveless, and with the moon still concealed behind the clouds the ocean looked like a sheet of black ice stretching as far as the eye could see, shiny and ominous. On her other side, her sea-level perspective was enough to make the tiny island appear to stretch off into a blackness broken only by very occasional glints of night. There weren’t many houses here, and most of those were dark and empty, their families gone to spend the winter in an area with more amenities and, given the affluence of the people who generally owned property here, probably a warmer climate. While Harbor Island could be pleasant enough during the day in December, she could easily picture people wintering in Florida, Mexico, or even Hawaii.

  Holidays, it seemed, were invented not just for celebrations but to foster memories. As Elektra headed down the beach at her usual measured pace, she was helpless to prevent her mind from wandering back through the years, touching here and there on times both painful and happy—

  Beyond the bridge entrance, the maze on her parents’ estate was thick and green, and freshly cut—it smelled wonderful, like concentrated summer just released from a tightly stoppered bottle. She was supposed to be quiet or she’d be found out, but she couldn’t, no matter how hard she tried, and when her mother’s face peeked around a corner and their eyes met, young Elektra erupted into giggles and abandoned her attempts at stealth. Instead she ran full out, zipping around corners and laughing outright, her mother doing the same. It wasn’t long before the elder Natchios caught up with her—well, she might have let her mother do that—and then Elektra waited, trembling and jittery with anticipation, as her mother gently tied a white blindfold across her eyes. With her hand tucked into her mother’s elbow, Elektra let herself be led, and the sensation wasn’t as disconcerting as she expected. She was walking blind and feeling her way, yes, but she knew this maze as well as the crew who had planted the hedges in it, knew every turn and corner and how many steps long each corridor was; when they stopped so her mother could untie the blindfold, Elektra already knew they were at the maze’s center.