The Yanti (11 page)

The conclusion was clear. Lucy had taken him there because she knew the blast was imminent. She’d wanted to protect Hector, to have him survive the explosion, even after all he had done to her.

When Steve and Cindy had spoken to Hector, the contractor’s devotion to Lucy had shone brightly. After the car accident, Lucy had been transformed into a mass of scar tissue. Yet he had stood by her, had tried desperately to make their relationship work.

How many eighteen-year-old boys would do that? Ali had no bias against young males, yet she knew the answer to her question was—one in a thousand.

Hector had been that one in a thousand.

The thousand scars had not mattered to him.

He had truly loved Lucy. And she had loved him.

Yet, when it came to Sheri, he had made that strange remark.

“I try to stay away from that woman.”

She frightened him. Why? Something had happened between the two of them that had somehow slipped his conscious mind—or else been purposely erased—that caused his anxiety. Ali had a pretty good idea what it was.

An hour ago, when Ali had finally met Hector, and sat across from him at her own kitchen table—Nira sitting in his lap—she had known for a fact that her theory was true. The similarities in their faces had been undeniable.

Hector
was
Nira’s father. The elusive Mr. Smith.

He was the child’s father, and it was clear he did not know it. Like most truly honest people, he was easy for Ali to read. Hector sincerely believed that thirteen years ago Lucy had perished in the power plant explosion. Certainly, he did not know that Lucy Pillar and Sheri Smith were one and the same person. It was equally clear that he had no memory of ever having been intimate with the woman. He hated her!

So what had happened?

The witch had seduced him. Then cast a forgetting spell on him.

That part was easy. The hard part was . . .

Why had she done so? Was it because she still loved him?

Was the Shaktra even capable of such an emotion?

Ali considered all of this as she watched Sheri strive to regain her composure. The woman was so shaken by Ali’s last remark, she did not even bother to flash a fake smile. At last, Ali knew she had found the monster’s Achilles’ heel.

But perhaps that was wishful thinking. When Sheri finally did answer, she was all business. She held Ali’s eye as she spoke.

“You go too far with your insolence. I’ve made you a reasonable offer, that will allow a large portion of the beings on both sides of the war to survive, and you turn me down. Fine, Geea, let the missiles soar through the sky. Let the nuclear mushroom clouds glow over every major city on Earth. Let Vak—and the weapons I’ll provide him with—ruin this lovely planet. It doesn’t matter—the end result will be the same to me. It is just
that so much suffering could be avoided if you would cooperate.” She added, “It will be on your head.”

Ali felt the need to gamble. “So you don’t want Hector and Nira to die?”

Sheri pounded the table. “They’re irrelevant! You’ll not speak of them again in my presence!”

Ali stood, letting her chair fall to the floor at her back. Striding halfway around the table, she glared down at the woman, and pointed a bitter finger at her.

“Let us talk about you then! Let us go back to the question you refused to answer at the start! How did you turn into such a monster? In the green world I knew an older sister who was disappointed she was not named queen of the fairies—
disappointed
is all. She was not ready to harm a soul to gain the title. But then she runs off to the Isle of Greesh, where our father works but soon disappears, and where my boyfriend is fatally wounded. Then, years later, I have a monster called the Shaktra knocking at my door! I don’t know what it is but it’s attacking Uleestar! And the rest of the elemental kingdom! Then, in the yellow world, this world we call Earth, fourteen years ago, we have a teenage girl named Lucy Pillar, whom everyone calls a saint, who gets in a car accident, and ends up horribly burned. Yet this same Lucy Pillar has a boyfriend who still loves her, and who, from all outward appearances—so it seems—still loves him. His name is Hector by the way. Hector! Remember that name. Because thirteen years ago, she hides this same Hector in a part of a power plant that she blows up. Yes! She’s the one who blew it up! She’s the one who killed hundreds of innocent people! And for what reason? Not to hurt Hector, he was one of the few people to survive the explosion. So why did she do it? God help me, Doren, I’ll not bargain with you until you answer these questions! You’ll not get the
Yanti from me. You’ll get only my scorn, and I swear to you, on everything that’s sacred to me, that I’ll use the last shred of power at my disposal to destroy you! So answer me now! Why did the fairy princess change into the Shaktra? Why did good-hearted Lucy Pillar transform into the wicked Sheri Smith?”

Another long silence ensued. There was so much pain in it that it seemed as if the haunting purple light that filled the room and made the world outside stand frozen really was fed by their blood. Ali felt a vein pound in her head, one that threatened to burst, and the coldness she suddenly experienced in her heart seemed to belong to another world; to another
place
, perhaps, that was not a world at all, just an ancient hole in the fabric of space from which evil could emerge into their galaxy.

What had her father and Doren found on the Isle of Greesh? All she could recall was that he had said it was not of this world. Yet somehow it was
related
to Earth. Yes, those were his words.

So much, Ali wanted to ask her sister . . .

Where is our father? Is he alive? In which world?

Sheri looked up at her as she answered, and her voice came out remarkably soft, almost gentle. “You do not know what it is like to burn. Worse, you do not know what it is like to see someone . . . someone you . . .
know
. . . burn.” She paused and lowered her head, and added in a whisper, “I don’t have to answer your questions.”

Ali felt as if her sister was trying tell her something profound. It was not so much the woman’s words, but her tone. For the first time since entering the room, Sheri acted human. Ali felt her knees weaken, sat on a chair beside her. Almost, she reached out to touch her . . .

Then Sheri caught her eye, said, “No.”

Ali spoke anxiously. “But I
can
heal you.”

Sheri shook her head. “No.”

“I can. You need not wear that silly mask. I’ve healed many, in this world and the green world. You know that. I can take away your pain.”

Her bitterness returned with a vengeance. “You think it’s so easy. Put your hands on my heart and head. Let the Yanti warm. Then I’ll be whole again, and everything I’ve gone through will be forgotten. Why, I might even bow at your feet and thank you.” She stopped and shook her head. “You know nothing.”

Despite herself, Ali heard truth in the words. She spoke carefully.

“Tell me what I need to know. Tell me what happened to you.”

It was Sheri’s turn to stand, to glare down at her. “You have the nerve to ask! You who have never really suffered a day in all your lives! A pity Jira could only die once on you! Had he died a thousand times, then maybe I would consider answering you. But you, Queen Geea, you disgust me, with your compassion and your empathy. It’s born of ignorance and conceit. It’s no more real than your title. Again, I say it, you know nothing of what’s real in this universe, and because of your ignorance, and your mockery of me, this world is going to burn. And all the souls in it, be they human or elemental, are going to burn with it. And it’s going to be your name, not mine, that they curse as they die!”

Sheri suddenly raised her arms above her head and clapped her hands. A light flashed, but it was unlike the light that had shone when the wizard had vanished from the barber shop. This light had
no
color, and although that seemed impossible, it was a fact. Like the fear in her heart, the light appeared to emerge from no set place or time. Out of the void it came. It was just there, and it
hurt
, so deeply, and in so many ways.

The purple glow faded.

The second hand on the clock began to move.

Slowly, around the table, people began to raise their heads, and glance sheepishly at one another, as if embarrassed to let it be known that they had accidentally dozed off. No one wanted to say they had fallen asleep. For that matter, no one knew what to say, not even Judge Lincoln, who rubbed his sore head. So Sheri Smith said it for all of them, as she whirled and turned toward the door.

“These proceedings bore me, I’m leaving,” she snapped.

With that, Sheri was out the door. Gone.

W
ith the main party to the discussions gone, Judge Lincoln had no choice but to halt the meeting, even though Officer Garten pushed him to continue. Yet even he did so without passion. He was like everyone else: dazed and confused. When Judge Lincoln called for another meeting in four days, everyone nodded as if that would be a good idea, and got up and left the room.

Even Cindy was quick to leave with her parents. She hardly glanced at Ali. The only exception was Karl’s parents. They glared at her with overwhelming hatred before departing. She ignored them, and yet, it broke her heart to see Steve’s mother weep as she left the police station with her husband. Why didn’t they want to talk to her at least? What had they been told?

The only one who remained behind with her was Mike Havor. He stood as the room emptied, but did not seem to know where the door was. Without asking for help, his dark glasses searched aimlessly. Instinctively, Ali reached out and took his hand.

Such a warm hand, so nice to touch. “I guess the meeting’s over,” she said.

He forced a smile, although he was clearly bewildered. “Did I miss something? What was decided?” he asked.

“Nothing. You didn’t miss a thing.”

Had she been able to drive, she would have offered to give him a ride. She felt the need to help him, and it seemed the emotion was mutual. As they stepped outside, and walked in the general direction of the bus stop—where she assumed he would catch a ride home—he suddenly halted and took out a business card and handed it to her.

“Ali, I need to talk to you about certain things that have been going on at work,” he said. “But I can’t talk now, nor here. Could you call me later tonight? The bottom number on that card is my cell. I carry it with me twenty-four hours a day.”

Ali studied the card. It carried the Omega business logo—three red wavy lines. Otherwise, there was nothing special about it. She put it in her pocket. “I’ll get you this evening,” she said.

“Thank you.” He added, “That was an odd meeting, wouldn’t you agree?”

Ali nodded. “It was a first for me.”

He sniffed, turned his head in the direction of the ocean, which was barely visible between a row of old buildings. “Is the water near? I would so much like to walk beside the sea.”

“It’s two blocks off to your left. I can take you there if you like.”

He pulled his cane from his coat. “No need. Like I told you before, I’m not as helpless as I appear. I’ve been to Breakwater before. I’ll find my way around, once I get my bearings.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk now?” she asked.

His face darkened, then he shook his head. “Later would be better.”

Guilt tugged at her chest as she watched him slowly walk
across the fortunately empty street. She studied her feelings and could not understand their source. Of course, she had lied to him when she had met him, and she was leaving him to fend for himself in a town that was not his own. But it seemed he wanted it that way.

No, there was no reason for guilt when it came to Mike Havor. He could take care of himself. But she was anxious to hear what he had to say. Working with Sheri, he must know a great deal about the woman . . . even if he did not know she was a monster.

Ali turned and walked home.

When she reached her place, Hector and Nira were playing catch on the front lawn with a beach ball. It was the first truly coordinated activity Ali had seen Nira display, and she wondered aloud at it. Hector nodded.

“When Patricia and I watched her together, we were never able to get her to play ball.” He smiled at Ali. “You and your pal are good for her.”

“You mean Cindy.”

“Yes, Cindy.” He paused as he caught the ball Nira had just tossed him, lowered his voice. “So it’s true—Steve’s really dead?”

“Yes.”

“It’s hard to believe.”

Feeling depressed, Ali sat on her porch steps. “We grew up together. He taught me how to ride a bike. And I taught him how to tie his shoes. We were like a team.” She wiped at her eyes. “It still hasn’t sunk in yet.”

Hector set down the ball and came and sat beside her on the porch. Simply gesturing to Nira, the little girl did likewise. The way she obeyed him, it was as if a part of her knew of her connection to Hector. But how, Ali asked herself, was she to explain it?

“I’m so sorry,” he said, with feeling.