Misplaced (92 page)

Fore
v
er yours,
Elias

H
e
f
ini
s
he
d
wit
h
a
s
ignatur
e
he
’
d
d
e
s
igne
d
i
n
hi
s
youth
. S
w
eeping
across
the
paper
in
st
y
lish
scrolls,
it
reminded
him
of a
tim
e
whe
n
h
e
ha
d
though
t
enoug
h
o
f
himsel
f
t
o
desig
n
a
mark
worthy of an
ingeniero
or
abogad
o
, though neither engineering
no
r
la
w
inspire
d
him
.
H
e
use
d
t
hi
s
signa
t
ur
e
onl
y
o
n
lo
v
e
letters
,
mos
t
o
f
whic
h
ha
d
bee
n
writte
n
t
o
th
e
woma
n
o
n
the
othe
r
sid
e
o
f
th
e
door
.
H
e
folde
d
th
e
lette
r
an
d
lef
t
i
t
o
n
the
desk.

Elia
s
foun
d
i
t
difficul
t
t
o
kee
p
hi
s
thought
s
fro
m
drifting
.
He
remembered
the
first time
he
saw
V
ictoria,
her
panicked
look
fro
m
th
e
othe
r
sid
e
o
f
th
e
glass
,
th
e
amazin
g
strengt
h
i
n
he
r
tiny
arms
when
she
grabbed
him.
These
memories
came
back
with a
blinding
force
that
made
him
wince.
He
wiped
his
e
y
es
with a fresh handkerchief and then,
slo
w
ly,
remo
v
ed the
bandages around his head
V
ictori
a
ofte
n
reminde
d
hi
m
o
f
hi
s
brother
,
Joaquín
.
How
coul
d
h
e
not
?
H
e
w
a
s
he
r
biologica
l
father
.
Lik
e
hi
s
brother
,
she
w
as
best
when
things
w
ere
at
their
worst.
She
ga
v
e
people
hope.
But
there
w
ere
times
when
she
w
as
a
prideful,
stubborn
creature—a trait undoubtedly acquired from her uncle.

He
opened
the
door
and
w
ent
to
the
bedroom
to
look
in
on
Marta.

“
Y
o
u
shouldn’
t
ha
v
e
take
n
you
r
bandage
s
off,
”
sh
e
admonished
,
“a
t
leas
t
no
t
fo
r
a
fe
w
mor
e
days
.
Here
,
le
t
me
ha
v
e
a
look
.
¡
A
y
caray
!
I
t
look
s
lik
e
a
chupacabr
a
go
t
th
e
best
of
you.
Now
come
to
bed,”
she
coaxed,
smiling
and
patting
the
spac
e
besid
e
her
.
“
I
stil
l
ha
v
en’
t
bee
n
abl
e
t
o
reac
h
V
ictoria,”
she added.

“What
good
will
come
of
worrying
about
her
tonight?
W
e
’
ll
find
her in the morning. I can’t sleep. Maybe the television will
help.” He lightly kissed her lips. “Go to sleep now,
mi amor
.”

O
n
th
e
w
a
y
t
o
th
e
livin
g
room
,
h
e
passe
d
V
ictoria’
s
room
and
stopped
to
switch
on
the
light.
The
branches
of
the
willow
tree
beat
accusingly
against
the
window.
Elias
sighed
and
sat
down
on
the
bed.
He
picked
up
the
feathered
frame
containing
a
photo
of
him
and
Marta
taken
so
many
y
ears
ago.
Where
had
th
e
tim
e
gone
?
Returnin
g
i
t
t
o
it
s
place
,
h
e
notice
d
th
e
photo
sitting
next to it.

Dresse
d
i
n
he
r
academi
c
robes
,
V
ictoria’
s
arm
s
w
ere
wrappe
d
aroun
d
Bea
.
A
lo
v
el
y
gir
l
fro
m
a
goo
d
family
,
Be
a
had
bee
n
th
e
closes
t
thin
g
hi
s
poo
r
niec
e
ha
d
e
v
e
r
ha
d
t
o
a
sister.
He
set
the
frame
down.

When
he
w
as
certain
Marta
w
as
asleep,
h
e
retrie
v
e
d
th
e
le
t
t
e
r
fr
o
m
hi
s
d
e
s
k
an
d
lai
d
i
t
b
y
he
r
s
i
d
e
.
Soon
after,
he
w
as
driving
across
town
hoping
that
a
schoolgirl
friendship had remained intact.

Chapte
r
Thirty-six
Kha
r
a

Th
e
nex
t
morning
,
Khar
a
di
d
no
t
fin
d
Oli
v
e
r
w
aiting
i
n
th
e
bar
n
a
s
h
e
ha
d
promised
.
Sh
e
looke
d
outside
,
hoping t
o
se
e
hi
s
truck
.
W
it
h
e
v
er
y
minut
e
he
r
w
atc
h
measured
,
her
desperation grew. She longed for the innocence that had been
her
s
befor
e
Celest
e
ha
d
sho
w
e
d
he
r
ho
w
t
o
apportio
n
tim
e
int
o
hours
,
int
o
minutes
,
int
o
seconds
.
Tim
e
ha
d
becom
e
her
heartless enemy.

Almos tried
to
comfort her.
His
dark,
languid
e
y
es
told
her
no
t
t
o
worry
.
“
Y
o
u
ar
e
makin
g
u
s
nervou
s
wit
h
you
r
pacing.
W
ai
t
outside,
” he suggested, stamping
hi
s
enormou
s
hoo
f.

She
did as he advised,
passing
the
time
astride the
corral
fenc
e
an
d
kickin
g
a
nearb
y
post
.
An
y
minut
e
no
w
Oli
v
e
r
would
appear,
dressed
in
flannel
and
blue
jeans.
He
would
gi
v
e
her
a smile she knew
w
as only for her. His hair would still be damp, and he would smell of soap.

Whe
n
h
e
finall
y
appeared—afte
r
t
w
enty-se
v
e
n
minutes—he
wore an expression of impending doom.

“What is it?” she asked, her fingers
lacing bet
w
een his.

Oliver looked into her eyes and she instantly felt the stab of his pain. “Let’s go inside,” he suggested as he put his arm around her and pulled her close. His steps were heavy, and Khara recalled that the last time she had witnessed such a thing had been on Nandor’s last day on this earth.

“Please tell me,” she begged, tugging at his sleeve as she dropped down beside him on a bale of hay.

He took her face in his hands. “Last night I spoke to the shaman. I asked him—well, about us.”

Fear spread down her back, as light and delicate as a spider’s web. “Who is he?”

“Ben is the Mescalero’s spiritual advisor—like that Father Donato you’re always speaking about.” He reached for a piece of straw and folded it into angles that formed a star. “A shaman takes revelations from the visionary world and makes sense of them in the outer world,” he finished, with a look that said he expected to be ridiculed.

Khara watched the subtle shift of Oliver’s face and understood. There was the Oliver who drove a truck and studied medicine and whose gentle hands calmed the spirits of wounded animals, but underneath, a primal energy lurked. She caught glimpses of it, especially when he spoke of the Apache.

“What did he say?”

“You will never be mine.” He could barely get the words out. “Your fate is not with me.”

“Oh,” she sighed. “Did he say anything else?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

Taking him into her arms, she covered his face with kisses, and he hugged her tighter. “Ben says I should bring you to meet him. If we stand as one, there’s a chance our fates might be read differently.”

She leapt to her feet. “Let us not waste another minute.”

“We can’t ask him any time we feel like it; it doesn’t work that way.”

“But someday you will be their leader. Mustn’t he do as you say?”

“No one controls Ben, least of all a half-breed like me.”

The clouds moved overhead, casting the barn into a murky light, and it began to rain. Not he earth-pounding drops of water that Khara knew from home, but a gentle, silver mist that enveloped the barn and trees.

“Tomorrow night,” he said, looking at her with an expressions that was something of a challenge. “Ben’s visions will be best then.”

“As you wish.” Her mind began to race. If Ben could speak to spirits, perhaps he knew about the Guardians of the Sky. Maybe he knew of Nandor’s people. In this Land of Enchantment, the list of strange circumstances multiplied almost daily—the Journey of Death, the Royal Road. What if the corridor to the past was closer than she thought? If anyone would know, wouldn’t it be Oliver’s shaman? She was determined to ask.

Slowly, Oliver’s dark mood subsided and his dimples returned. “You’ll get to meet my mother.”

Khara’s nerves jabbed unfamiliarly. A mother could be protective—jealous even. Not that she knew this firsthand, but she had heard terrible stories from the palace slaves. What if Oliver’s mother found her unworthy?

“I’m warning you, these ceremonies are still kind of a big deal on the reservation.”

“What is a big ‘big deal’?” she asked. Oliver often said things that were difficult to understand, and “big deal” was one of them. He also used expressions like, “I’m gonna ace this test.” Celeste had showed her the ace in a deck of playing cards but that had not been any help. He was particularly fond of “bummer,” which he used often and never in the same way.
Ignorin
g
he
r
question
,
h
e
brushe
d
he
r
chee
k
wit
h
hi
s
finger.
Khara
smoothed
his
dark
hair
back,
admiring
the
w
ay
it
parted
so perfectly in the center.

“Th
e
phase
s
o
f
th
e
moon
,
th
e
changin
g
o
f
th
e
seasons,”
Oli
v
e
r
murmured
,
takin
g
he
r
hand
.
“
W
e
stil
l
hono
r
these
things.”
He
traced
concentric
loops
in
her
palm.
“The
symbol
for
the
Apache
is
a
circle.
One
day,
the
circle
will
close
and
w
e
wil
l
belon
g
t
o
our
s
el
v
e
s
again
.
T
her
e
wil
l
b
e
n
o
alcoholis
m
,
disease
,
n
o
po
v
erty.
”
Lookin
g
beyon
d
he
r
face
,
beyond
th
e
barn,
beyon
d
th
e
present
,
h
e
spok
e
quietly
.
“I’
v
e
ne
v
e
r
manage
d
t
o
fit
in
.
O
n
eithe
r
side
.
Heck
,
I
use
d
t
o
ge
t
stoppe
d
b
y
th
e
sherif
f
just
for
w
alking
home.”
Lost
in
painful
memories,
he
y
elled,
“Hey,
Cochise! Get your ass home!”

Khar
a
leane
d
agains
t
hi
m
an
d
listene
d
t
o
hi
s
pounding
heart.
The
rain
fell
harder
on
the
roof,
and
the
air
grew
colder
wi
t
h
eac
h
passin
g
minu
t
e
.
He
r
t
hou
g
h
t
s
al
t
erna
t
e
d
b
e
t
w
een
concer
n
fo
r
Oli
v
e
r
an
d
worr
y
a
t
th
e
prospec
t
o
f
meetin
g
hi
s
mother.

“
I
use
d
t
o
drea
m
abou
t
wha
t
i
t
migh
t
b
e
lik
e
t
o
b
e
white
,
but
it’s probably no easier.”