Mayan Blood (6 page)

Arwan nodded and laughed quietly to himself. He’d always thought that painting was overdone. But the old man didn’t look half bad. His features were proud and patriarchal, posing with his hands rested on the hilt of a sword.

When she was ready to move on, Arwan pulled open another door and stepped aside. “Ladies first.” He had a thousand questions, all of them pertaining to her knowledge of the stone and her readiness to find it.

Zanya passed him, into the hall. Her hair flowed behind her, leaving the air infused with the scent of vanilla and lavender. He followed her with his attention trained on the subtle, almost unnoticeable glow radiating from her skin. If his senses weren’t so keen—if he didn’t have such heightened perception—he may not have noticed it. But he had, and his curiosity wouldn’t allow him to rest until he understood exactly what it meant.

Chapter Six

Zanya

Zanya’s eyes widened at the sight of the north wing, beautiful and brilliant, with mostly white, silver, and splashes of teal and burnt orange as the color palette. Shaggy throw rugs lay over the shiny marble floor, which sparkled with flecks of silver.

Her stomach hadn’t settled since the tour began. Usually she was gifted at hiding her nerves or any sign of stress. She had to do it almost every day at the orphanage. But something about this guy threw all of that off.

A glass coffee table sat in the center of the living room with an entire ocean habitat of exotic fish and brightly colored coral, providing a temporary distraction. She crouched beside it and admired the two sea horses, a clown fish, and several other colorful creatures she couldn’t identify. She’d only seen fish like these in textbooks. Everything in the institution was drab and dull. Saltwater fish were anything but. “They’re beautiful.” She turned toward Arwan. “Who stays here?”

“This is Marzena’s wing. Hawa has a room here, too. If you prefer to stay here, I’m sure it wouldn’t be a problem.”

She admired the sea creatures a moment longer, then stood and smoothed out her dress. She would give her right arm to go upstairs and change. Dresses weren’t her thing, but either were bathing suits. This seemed like the lesser of the two evils. “No, I like it where I am. It was my mother’s room. I couldn’t leave it. Plus, I don’t want to intrude on Marzena. She seems to enjoy her privacy.”

“Most dreamwalkers do. They are quiet, solitary people. Don’t take it personally if she’s not around often.”

She appreciated her own privacy too, not that she’d ever had any. But the few times she was allowed a drawer for her things or a cubby to keep her toiletries, they belonged to her, and that was something.

They continued into a hallway lined with candles, guiding the way in a soft luminescence. The shadows from the flames danced across the sharp angle of his jawline.

“Zanya, can I ask you a question?”

“Um…” There were no promises she’d be truthful, but… “Sure.”

“How long have you known about the stone?”

She snorted. “Five minutes.” A bit exaggerated, but mostly the truth.

His rubbed the back of his neck. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“You’re telling me. None of this makes sense.”

“No. It doesn’t make sense you don’t know anything—that you haven’t known anything all this time. How is that possible?” His words quickened, becoming more intense as he spoke.

“I don’t know. I mean…” Why did he care so much, anyway? “It’s complicated I guess. I’m still wrapping my mind around it all, so I’m probably not the best person to answer that.”

He tightened his jaw. “So much time has been wasted.”

She stopped. “You think I don’t know about wasted time?” She pursed her lips into a tight line. “You’re talking to the queen of lost time.”

He hung his head balled his hands into fists. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“There’s a difference between asking and probing,” she muttered. Something told her he had a motive other than the kindness in his heart. “Especially when it comes to my destiny.” She quoted the last two words with her fingers.

“A great destiny is never an easy one.” He walked ahead, leaving her in the hall.

“Some tour.” She followed him through another door with a W.W. engraved in it.

It had a more relaxed feel than the others. In the center of the living room were two dark leather couches and an oval coffee table showing obvious signs of wear. A plasma television was mounted to the wall with gaming systems and a DVD player below.

It screamed bachelor pad.

“Is this your wing?” Zanya noticed the stack of UFC magazines lying on a side table. Built-in shelves housed DVDs and books.

“Yes, Peter and I live here.”

“It’s nice.” She fingered through the small library of books. “Renato’s study doesn’t have enough books to read?” It was straight out of a scene from Beauty and the Beast.

“I like to read.”

“Are all of these yours?”

“Most. Some are Peter’s.”

She huffed. “He probably hasn’t had much time to read lately, with him getting along with Tara so well.”

“He’s been slacking off on his training. That’s for certain. But it seems like he’s fond of her.”

Zanya rolled her eyes. Of course he would take Peter’s side. What guy wouldn’t play wingman and try to score brownie points with the best friend? “Yeah, well, I hope he
stays
fond of her. Tara’s…naive.”

He cocked his head. “She means a lot to you.”

“She does, and I won’t see her get hurt just so some guy can get in her pants. I mean, he may act like he adores her, but boys are really good at acting, and even when they’re not, they change their minds—a lot.” She wasn’t about to forget that, not even over a pair of dazzling eyes and Spanish accent.

“Do they?”

“Yes, they do.” She turned her back to him and pulled in a quiet breath. She had fallen for a guy’s charm before, and all it got her was a shattered heart. She wasn’t about to make the same mistake again.

“It sounds as if you’re speaking from experience.”

And we have a mind reader.

Zanya scoffed, and then froze.

What if he really was a mind reader? It wouldn’t be the only unexplainable thing she’d seen. “All I’m saying is that Peter seems nice enough and charming enough, but Tara is reckless in the world of love. She falls too easily, and it would be simple for some guy to see that and take full advantage of it.”

Arwan uncrossed his arms and walked toward her. His lime green shirt complemented his olive skin so stunningly, she almost forgot to breathe. “You think he’s charming?”

“Not my kind of charming.
Tara
thinks he’s charming. But he’s…” She fingered through the DVDs absentmindedly. “He’s not my type.” Flashes of dirty blond hair and crystal blue eyes reeled through her mind.

Yep, there it was—the searing pain in her chest reminding her why she could never be that vulnerable again.

Her fingers rested on a DVD, not like the rest. She slid it out and examined the cover. It was a CD. “Eleuia.” She turned to Arwan. “That’s—”

“Your mother.” He stepped toward her. “She was a musician, so Renato has told me.”

Her fingers shook. “A musician?”

“I believe he said she played the cello.”

She couldn’t hold back a beaming smile. “Can I borrow this?”

“You can have it.” He eyed the case in her hands. “Do you play?”

“The violin.” She tucked the CD in her back pocket.

“Then there’s a room you’ll want to see, just past that doorway.” He walked to the far end of the den and pulled open a heavy wooden door.

Zanya walked through the threshold into a small auditorium stocked with instruments. A tiny thrill ran through her. “A music room!”

It looked like they’d collected every instrument in existence. She caressed shiny finish of an acoustic guitar. Moving along, shiny flutes sat beside a wall of drums. She bounced her palm off the surface of one, then spotted a long, wooden pipe leaning against the far wall. “You’re kidding. Is that a didgeridoo?”

“Is that what it’s called?” He held up a violin—a piece of musical art made of exquisite red wood. He handed it to her.

She traced her fingers over its curves and then cradled it under her chin. He held out a bow made of matching red wood, with a silk grip and a leather thumb cushion. “Gold mountings? You don’t see that anymore. This thing must have cost a fortune.” Zanya dragged the white horsehair ribbon across the strings. Each note was smooth and flavorful. She played a few bars of a favorite tune. A satisfied grin stretched her lips. She lowered the bow and opened her eyes. “Can I come here to play sometime?”

“Whenever you want.”

Her heart ached to hear music again. “This has got to be the best room in the entire house.”

“You may think so, but there’s another room I like more.” Arwan escorted her through another hallway that led to a martial arts dojo. International flags and medals hung proudly displayed on the walls.

He circled a black mat that blanketed the floor. “I spend a lot of time in here practicing capoeira and with my glaive.” He gestured to a long staff with a curved blade at the end. “I’m sure Renato will want you to learn at least the basics now that you’ve found your way home.”

“I wouldn’t say I found my way, exactly.” She followed him around the corner of the room. “More like I was brought…by force.”

“You’re very important.” He held her gaze. “To all of us.”

***

That night Zanya slipped the CD of her mother’s cello recital into the disk player in her bedroom. She pressed play and slipped under her cool sheets. The room was dark and she was exhausted, but hearing her mother’s music was the closest she’d get to knowing her.

The rich, robust tone of the cello filled the room. Zanya closed her eyes and rested into the mattress. The tempo of the notes was slow and heavy, carrying an undertone of sadness. It was one reason Zanya loved music. Emotion flowed through it like a direct link to her soul.

Her muscles relaxed while she absorbed every note. She could almost picture her mother, sitting with an arched back in a chair, straddling the cello, playing with her eyes closed. Zanya mind drifted into a sleepy fog.

It seemed like moments later when she blinked open her eyes to her dark room.

Except there was no furniture and no walls. Nothing but endless black. Zanya still wore the pajamas she’d changed into before bed. She peered into the distance. “Hello?”

Something wasn’t right. She had been stuck in countless scenarios in her dreams, all of them fearfully lovely or dreadfully gruesome. But this time was different. This time it was vacant and somehow endless.

Zanya turned in a circle, searching above her, below her, and in every possible direction.

A soft glow slowly illuminated the space. She searched for the source, and after a moment, realized it was not coming from a lantern, flashlight, or even a candle. The warm light came from the center of her chest in an oval, pulsing orb.

She ran her fingertips over her chest and settled the palm of her hand over the ice-cold light. To her surprise, it didn’t hurt.

The light grew brighter, allowing her to see farther into the space.

A man’s silhouette appeared in the distance. Fear thrashed through her. It was The Man. The one who haunted her. Who hurt her.

His bitter stench filled the space as he limped closer. Zanya stumbled back and reached for a wall to lean on, but there was none. She fell to the ground—or what seemed to be the ground.

His face was framed with dark black hair, and even blacker eyes that peered down at her. “Ah, there you are, young guardian.” He walked forward, using his cane for support. The brass handle had a dull shine, worn from years of use. “I heard they had recovered you, but I had to see it for myself.”

Zanya coiled back her legs in preparation to kick if he got any closer. “Get away from me,” she screamed, her voice cracked with panic.

His lip curled in disgust. “Have some dignity and stand.” He stretched out his hand to help her up. “If you can stand, please, I only wish to talk.”

Zanya scooted back and forced herself to her feet, leaving his gesture untouched. Her body trembled, and she twisted her hands together to ease the shaking.

“Much better.” He squared his shoulders. “Thank you.” He stepped forward. “Please forgive me. You see, meeting you here, in your mind, is much easier than the efforts I would be forced to endure in order to speak to you in person—though we haven’t had that pleasure just yet.”

She didn’t know what to say or do. He had never spoken to her like this before. Like she was a real person. It didn’t take long to decide she wouldn’t stick around to find out why.

As he stood waiting for a reply, she calculated her escape. What horrors the darkness held were unknown, but what The Man might do to her would be much worse.

She sprinted into action. The darkness was consuming and frightening, but the possibility of a successful escape spiked her adrenaline. Each frantic step put space between her and The Man, until she slammed face-first into some kind of invisible barrier. Her body ricocheted off the unseen wall and collapsed to the ground. Nearly slipping into unconsciousness, she coughed and gasped for air, her ribs aching from the impact.

A pair of black dress shoes with silver buckles stepped into view beside her head. The brass foot of his cane slammed audibly on the floor. “I had to stop you somehow.” His tone turned harsh. She’d angered him. In her experience, that was never good.

Zanya swallowed down a sob, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Get away from me.” She pushed up on her forearms, and with wobbly legs, managed to stand. Her vision was still blurred from the impact. She swallowed and sucked in another breath, swaying on her feet. “You…”

His gaze dragged down the length of her body. “It has been quite fun stepping into your dreams, watching you squirm under your sheets.”