Immortal (7 page)

I smiled and gave a little shrug. “Warmer by the fire. Come on over.”

He smiled back and joined me, sitting on the opposite side of the fireplace. For a minute he watched the flames, and I watched the firelight dance on his face and in his hair. It made his eyes gleam like liquid gold.

“Thank you, Len, for bringing us here,” he said softly, still gazing at the fire.

“My pleasure.”

“I would like to repay you—”

“You bought the gas. That's fine.”

“This has taken much of your time, though.”

I shrugged. “It's the weekend. Pretty drive, good company. What more could I ask?”

Silence hung between us, and I suddenly suspected he knew what more I wanted. Embarrassed, I picked up a log from the wood bin and added it to the fire.

“How's Mirali?”

Caeran glanced toward the door. “The healer is—beginning to work with her. It will take a while.”

I nodded. “Hope he can help her.”

“I am sure he can.” Caeran leaned his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers. “He has offered us beds for the night.”

“Oh, good. Wish we'd thought to stop for groceries.”

“He can feed us. Are you hungry now?”

I shrugged, though in fact I was. I figured the curandero was busy.

“He said there is a stew in the kitchen, and that we might help ourselves,” Caeran added.

“Oh, really?” I tried to sound casual. “You want to go get some?”

He looked at me briefly, then smiled as if amused. “Yes. The kitchen is across the way.”

We headed out to the plant room and through the opposite door. The kitchen was long and narrow, but cheerful. Blue tile ran around the edges of the counters, and the tile backsplashes were painted with aspen leaves. A small table and two chairs—obviously made by the same artist who had carved all the rest of the furniture I'd seen—sat by the window.

The place smelled like heaven in the form of green chile stew. I headed for the stove, an antique gas model, probably running propane out here.

A large cast iron pot was simmering on a back burner. I lifted the lid and inhaled the steam fragrant of chile and onions, and my mouth started watering.

Caeran found a couple of bowls and some spoons. A search through the drawers produced a ladle, and we dished up servings of steaming heaven.

I noticed a pottery dish that looked like a tortilla warmer, and peeked inside. Yes, tortillas, and they felt like homemade. I pulled out one for each of us and joined Caeran at the table.

I glanced out the window. It had fallen dark by now, and the stars were starting to come out. I promised myself I'd go outside and look at them before crashing, even if I froze my ass off. In Albuquerque only the brightest handful of stars and planets were visible, but out here there was no light pollution to interfere. The Milky Way would be spectacular.

A couple of bites into the stew, Caeran stopped eating, looking alarmed. He sat blinking, eyes watering, almost as if he was about to have trouble breathing.

I got up and went to the fridge. The curandero had milk, fortunately. I poured a glass and brought it back to Caeran.

“This'll help.”

“Ah—thank you,” he said in a strangled voice.

He drank half the glass. I watched him for a second and decided that some tissue would be useful. Unfortunately, I didn't see any in the kitchen. There was a small stack of cloth napkins on the counter, though. I grabbed one for me and two for Caeran. By that time his eyes were streaming.

“Not used to hot chile, eh?”

He shook his head. “It tastes good,” he said, mopping his eyes.

I smiled. Little did he know, he was on the verge of an addiction. Most of New Mexico's population would suffer withdrawals without regular doses of chile.

Caeran sipped his milk and took tiny, cautious bites of stew while I gobbled my serving. I mopped my bowl with the last of my tortilla and thought seriously about going back for seconds. With a momentous effort of will I refrained, and poured myself a glass of water instead.

“More milk?”

“No, thank you.”

Caeran was tearing his tortilla into bite-sized pieces and dipping them in his stew. I sat down across from him again, watching him eat.

“Maybe we should take some to Nathrin,” I suggested.

“Not now. He is helping the healer.”

“Oh.” With a fingertip, I traced the damp circle my glass had left on the table. “Can I ask you a question?”

He froze for a second, then ate another scrap of tortilla and nodded. Took a bite of stew and a sip of milk, all without looking at me.

“How did you know you would find this healer here from reading a two-hundred year old diary?”

Caeran finished chewing a bite of tortilla and swallowed. I waited.

“It would be better if I didn't explain.”

I stared at him, dissatisfied. He still wouldn't meet my gaze.

“Family secrets?”

That made him look at me, and I thought I saw a tinge of guilt in his eyes. He sighed, and his brows drew together in a frown.

“I am sorry, Len. If it were just me …”

“Sure, I understand. I'm really not trying to pry into your business. It's just that it's—well, pretty remarkable. I mean, that curandero looks like he could be your cousin.”

Caeran gave a wistful smile. “He is, in a way.”

“But you didn't have his address.”

“No.”

End of subject, apparently. I took a swallow of water. There was an ache under my ribcage, and it had to do with frustration. Caeran just wasn't going to let me get close. If he couldn't confide in me about his library research, he probably wasn't going to share any deeper secrets.

Well, not like I hadn't expected it. Hope and expectation are two different things.

Suddenly unable to sit still, I got up and carried my dishes to the sink. Washed the bowl and spoon and set them in the wooden dish rack to dry, then refilled my water glass. I tidied as I drank it, washing the ladle and wiping up a couple of drops of stew that had hit the counter. When there was no more busy-work I chugged the rest of my water and washed the glass. It was a heavy, Mexican glass. Señor de Madera favored traditional styles.

Madera. It clicked in my memory all of a sudden. Madera meant “wood.” The last name Caeran had given me was “Woods.”

Cousins, eh?

It didn't fit, though. If they'd been in touch he wouldn't have needed the library. There was something he wasn't telling me.

I put the glass in the rack, carefully because I was angry. I turned to head for the door and saw Caeran watching me, his face showing distress that I couldn't quite pinpoint—guilt, or grief.

Or indigestion.

I shoved my damp hands in my pockets.

“Think I'll go outside and look at the stars. Do you need anything from the car?”

He shook his head. Part of me wanted to smooth the frown off his forehead. Instead I went out.

The air was sharp, the sky magnificent. I walked away from the house, out into an open field knee-high in wild grass. The dusty-sweet smell of old alfalfa told me it had once been a working field, but it hadn't been harvested in a long while.

Hugging myself in my inadequate sweater, I looked up at the sky. The Milky Way was a pale swath across the void, bejeweled with pricks of brightness. A single cricket mourned for warmer evenings and company. Beyond that, the night was silent. No machines making noise anywhere nearby. No cars, no generators. No planes. Blissful quiet.

Orion was rising, a sign of the coming winter. I watched, wanting to see his belt come above the horizon, knowing I'd wimp out and run for Señor Madera's cozy fireplace before that happened. As I stared at the hunter's shoulder, a meteor streaked upward, leaving a trail of sparks. I leaned back to watch it, nearly losing my balance. A warm hand steadied my back.

I yelped, stumbling away. My heart thundered.

“Forgive me.” Caeran's voice. “I thought you might fall.”

“I still might. God, you startled me! Make some noise next time, or something!”

“I am sorry.”

In the darkness, I couldn't see his face. I looked back at the sky.

Falling star. I was supposed to make a wish. I closed my eyes and imagined Caeran's arms around me. Weird, when he was standing right there, and my feelings were still a conflicting jumble of resentment and desire. I didn't care; my self-indulgence wouldn't hurt him. He'd never know.

“This is glorious,” he said. “We did not see this many stars in …”

“Where you came from.”

“Europe,” he said softly. “We were living in Europe.”

“'Were?' You're not going back?”

“No.”

A tingle started in my shoulders and flowed down my arms. Did he mean they planned to live in New Mexico?

I didn't voice the question. Wasn't sure I'd be able to stand the answer.

It occurred to me to quip that if he wanted to live in the bosque he should buy land, but I figured the joke would fall flat. Caeran had the literal thought patterns of a foreigner.

I felt … raw. I'd been teasing myself with wanting Caeran, knowing that I couldn't have him; he was too different, too distant. Then out of the blue, this announcement that he was here to stay. Thinking about it made me giddy, almost sick. I hadn't felt like this since my last hopeless high school crush.

I stared at the sky, wondering what the hell I'd done to myself. I felt so adrift, I could almost imagine floating off the planet, up toward those incredibly beautiful and cruel, cold stars. As I zoned on the void, a scatter of meteors—at least a dozen—fell like sudden tears.

“Oh!” Without thought, I turned to Caeran. “Did you see?”

“Yes. Beautiful.”

I smiled, even though it was dark, and turned back to watch the sky, as happy as I had been confused a moment earlier. That didn't make any sense, I knew, but I'd worry about it later. This was a moment of magic.

I shivered, but I didn't want to go back inside. I wanted to stay here with Caeran a heartbeat away and stars streaking across the sky.1

A swish and tiny crunch of dry grass told me Caeran was moving closer. I held still, scarcely daring to breathe. Another shiver went through me.

“You are cold.”

I jumped at his voice, though he'd barely spoken above a whisper. He was so near that the hairs on my skin stood up.

“I-I'm OK.” Shivering more.

“This will help.”

Something thin and soft draped around me. At first I thought it was a blanket, but Caeran twitched it into place along my shoulders and I realized it was a cape—a long one, brushing the ground. With it came a smell—his smell—that lit a fire in my belly.

He wrapped the cape around me and I was instantly warmer. His arms lingered, holding the fabric in place. What was left of my annoyance faded.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

His arms tightened and pulled me back against him. My eyes fell closed; suddenly shooting stars were pale compared to what was going on in my heart.

“Len.”

“Yes?”

His cheek brushed against my hair. I felt dizzy and opened my eyes, trying to steady myself. Darkness and stars.

“I should not be doing this,” he murmured.

“Why not? I like it.”

“I like it too.”

I turned my head toward his, trying to rub against that cheek. I heard him draw a sharp breath, then he began to kiss my face, moving toward my mouth.

I turned in his arms, heart thundering. The cape slid from my shoulders; he caught it and wrapped it around us both, then kissed me.

Sweet, long, lingering kiss. I was floating. I cared about nothing but the feel of him, the taste of him. He could have whatever he wanted from me.

He stopped abruptly, pulling back, though the cape swathed around us kept him from moving far.

“What?” I said.

“You don't mean that.”

“Mean what?”

“What you were you thinking.”

“H-how do you know what I'm thinking?”

“Ah … you think pretty loud.”

Was he joking? I couldn't see his face. The porch light was behind him, and even though it was a way off, it blinded me.

“OK, then.”
Kiss me again.

“Len—”

Kiss me now.

His hand cupped my face, then he bent toward me. I stopped thinking straight, or much at all. He tasted better than he looked, if that was possible.

“Caeran!”