Unleashed: The Deepest Fears Lie Within (Secrets of the Makai) (21 page)

Angelina placed a box with rolling pins, cookie cutters, wooden knives, and waxed paper in its place. “Create away—whatever you’d like.”

Bags of clay rustled as the children tried opening them without fingers. Tristan automatically reached for his, immediately scolded. He watched Charley experiment with his clay, still in the bag. It transformed into odd shapes, as if squeezed by a fist.

Most of the class had their clay out of the bags and either rolled it out for stamping shapes, or made balls and squares with it.

Tristan sat fascinated, amazed by how natural the activity seemed for everyone. Even Charley, who finally had his clay out of the bag. But it seemed for him, whenever he tried something telepathic, it took all his concentration just to locate the molecules, not to mention pushing and pulling them in different directions.

“Tristan?” Angelina interrupted his thoughts. “Are you going to participate at all today?”

“Can I do it at home?” He had an idea in mind, he just wasn’t sure if his plan would work.

She cocked a disapproving eyebrow, but ultimately agreed. He continued watching the kids, captivated by the globs of clay transforming from one shape to another. Without any physical contact.

“I think that’s enough,” Angelina announced when the hour was up. “Well done, everyone!”

Tools flew to the box and the children hurried off to their parents with their art projects. Tristan and Charley watched them go.

“What about you?” Tristan asked. “Is your mother waiting somewhere?”

Charley shook his head no.

“Your dad?” Tristan waited for a response, regretting the question when Charley’s face pinched tight and reddened. “Hey!” Tristan ducked to avoid a flying clump of clay.

The boy stood from the table and ran across the field to the basketball court.

“What do you suppose that means?” Tristan asked, helping Angelina with the cleanup. They watched the boy sit on a log with his head on his knees. “I offered him food at my house, but he wasn’t hungry, so I assume someone’s feeding him. He didn’t want a shower either.”

Angelina laughed. “Most kids don’t appreciate a good shower.”

“Should I go talk to him?”

“He does seem to like you. Don’t forget your homework.”

Tristan kept Charley’s drawing and collected leftover clumps of black, white, and yellow clay to add to his bag of brown, and glanced toward the cliff, not for the first time, for signs of Shaely.

A smile twitched at his lips, just for thinking of her.

“See you tomorrow, Tristan. And do be careful,” she added, glancing at Charley.

Tristan promised he would and walked toward the boy, brightened by the thought that if he stayed long enough, Shaely might show up.

“Know how to play?” he asked, picking up a basketball stranded in the grass. He tried to make a shot, grimacing as the ball missed the hoop by a solid three feet. “That’s not exactly how you do it.” Tristan walked to the ball, less enthused, stopping completely when Charley made an eager run to reach it first.

Tristan sat to watch, ignoring the ache developing behind his eyes. “You could try aiming with your mind,” he suggested, wondering if the hoop could be lowered. Charley threw the ball as hard as he could, slamming it against the backboard.

Over and over.

Tristan’s head reverberated with each shot and he rubbed his temples to distract himself. He couldn’t just leave the kid here, could he?

“What’s wrong?”

Tristan turned to see Landon and Victor standing behind him, watching Charley.

“Nothing. Did you find out anything?”

“Yeah,” Victor said, glancing at Landon. “He wasn’t in Austria, but he was under surveillance at all times.”

Tristan nodded and went back to rubbing his temples, closing his eyes. Charley continued slamming the ball.

“We talked to Angelina,” Landon said. “Who’s your friend?”

To Tristan’s relief, Victor walked onto the court to do a bit of coaching. The slamming came to an end. “Charley. He seems to have adopted me.”

“And so you have a headache?”

“Yeah, got anything for it?” Tristan laughed, hoping Landon would understand that he really did have a headache. “Look. I’m not an addict for painkillers, or any other drug.”

“I never thought you were. You’re probably just dehydrated. Drink more water.” Landon sat next to Tristan and watched the basketball lesson. “Have you seen Shaely?”

“No. Did something happen?” Tristan glanced at the cliff where he’d last seen her as a terrible list of possible disasters ran through his thoughts.

“I was just curious,” Landon said, “that’s all. I’m sure she’s fine.”

“Oh. Good. I mean, it’s not like we had arrangements to see each other again.”

“A group of us are getting together tonight, here at Grumpy’s. You’re invited to join in.”

“Can Charley come, too?”

Landon stared at Charley, who was mimicking Victor. “We don’t know anything about him. It might not be smart to get attached.”

“He seems okay to me and I think he’s here by himself. What if he doesn’t have a place to live?”

“We don’t take just anybody.”

“He’s not just anybody, he’s obviously been abandoned. He’s confused and he trusts me.”

“He’s had training. He’s probably hiding something.”

“Maybe he was left behind by someone from the festival. I think I saw him there.”

“It was invitation only.”

“Maybe his parents didn’t know what to do with him, and they had someone else bring him—someone who was invited. But didn’t you also say a lot of people were there without invitations?”

“It doesn’t feel right.”

“Do
I
feel right?” Tristan bit back his anger. “You guys have to post a guard just to make sure the kids are safe.”

“You’re different.”

“No, I’m not. Why can’t we include him just this once?”

“Fine.” Landon’s tone softened, but he still looked suspicious. “I have homework to do. Meet us here at 8:00.” Landon walked away without further comment.

“See ya tonight!” Victor called with a wave, running to catch up with Landon.

Charley made continuous baskets for the next ten minutes. Tristan walked to the cliff where he and Shaely met and searched the surrounding branches for the falcon, trying to ignore the swimming hole below.

He heard Charley’s running footsteps and instinctively took a few steps away from the ledge. “The puddle,” Tristan said flatly, introducing Charley.

Charley peered over the cliff as if a mound of presents waited for him at the bottom. Other boys his age were taking running leaps, hollering with joy.

“Go ahead,” Tristan said.

Charley waited for Tristan to do something, pleading with his big blue eyes.

“I don’t do water.”

Charley pointed back to the court.

Tristan shook his head. “I’m going home. You stay and play. Be here at 8:00 if you want to see what else they do for fun around here.”

Charley nodded, stripping off his shirt. Tristan did a quick scan for signs of abuse, spotting only the stark contrast between dirt and pale skin. “Do you have a place to stay?”

The boy nodded.

“Okay.” Tristan smiled and ruffled the boy’s hair, assuming he wouldn’t be so excited about jumping if he couldn’t swim. “Will you be here tonight?”

Charley shrugged his shoulders and kicked off his shoes, clearly anxious to get with the other kids.

“Have fun—see ya when I see ya.” Tristan headed for home.

* * *

A note was taped to Tristan’s front door. He unfolded the page and read it as he entered the cabin.

I was checking in with Eleonora and she suggested I fix the window for her, as she will be unavailable for the next few weeks.

I’ll be sure to add ‘assembly’ to the lesson plan.

~Angelina

Tristan studied the glass carefully, finding no evidence of it ever being broken. For all he could tell, the window was brand new. Just like the mirror Landon had fixed. Even with a headache, he couldn’t wait to learn how to do it himself.

He forced down as much water as he could tolerate, taking Landon’s advice, and got started on his experimental homework assignment.

When the clay sculpture was as good as it was going to get, he got an upside-down view of Charley’s scribbled drawing.

“No way,” he said to himself, snatching up the paper for a better look. No matter which direction he held the multi-colored scribbles, Lazaro’s head, curly hair and all, stared back at him with an evil, happy glare.

Tristan slammed the drawing face-down on the table and covered it with a largest book he could find.

21
-
E
YE OF THE
B
EHOLDER
-

TRISTAN KNEW HE WAS DREAMING; he’d had this dream before. Alleys between buildings became more twisted and narrow. Objects exploded in his path, sharp chunks of debris stabbed into his arms and face as he ran faster. Things flew over his head—garbage cans, cars, wooden carts filled with food. They piled into an endless mountain in front of him, blocking his way, forcing him to climb with unstable footing.

A pack of dogs passed him, turning at the top of the pile to growl down at him. The clickidy-clack of horse hooves on cobble got closer.

Cold fingers wound around his neck.

Tristan’s eyes shot open as he gasped for air. He leaped to his feet, having fallen asleep on the couch. The dogs appeared to be barking from outside his cabin. Only then did he hear it as a knock on the door. The acrid flavor of blood coated his mouth and he listened cautiously, in case it was a trick.

“It’s me. Landon.”

Tristan swallowed hard and rubbed his face, waiting for reality to catch up with him. Landon let himself in. “What’s—”

Tristan held up a hand, holding his breath. “I’m fine.” Tristan licked the back of his hand to check for traces of blood on his tongue. There was none. He rushed to the bathroom to throw up and slammed the door behind him.

“You haven’t been drinking, have you?”

A fresh round of heaving prevented an answer.

“Sorry,” Landon added. “That was uncalled for. We do have a doctor. Her name is Madam Galina. I’m sure she could make something up for you if you’re catching a flu.”

Tristan heard the kitchen sink running. “I’m not ill, just…confused.” Maybe he should take that back. The toilet water was bright red with blood. He flushed it away as his stomach convulsed at the sight.

“Confusion doesn’t make you hurl your dinner. I assume you’ve eaten?”

Tristan brushed his teeth for a long time, trying to rid the pungent flavor, then found himself kneeling at the toilet again with a fresh wave of nausea rolling through his gut.

“Maybe you ate something bad?”

“I had a dream.”

Activity in the kitchen abruptly stopped. “About what?”

“I can’t remember. But there’s blood,” he flushed again, still seeing the pink tinge. “And I can’t get rid of this flavor.” He brushed his teeth and tongue more aggressively

A stirring spoon clinked against a glass as Landon resumed whatever he was doing. “I’m sure it’ll pass. I’m making you a cup of hot chocolate. The group will be waiting for us at Grumpy’s, but we have a few minutes. Maybe some fresh air would help?”

Tristan came out of the bathroom, pale and tired. He accepted the hot chocolate and they sat at the table.

Landon noticed the clay sculpture as Tristan eyed the book covering Charley’s picture. “Where’d this come from?” Landon asked, picking up the miniature falcon.

“It’s just homework.” Tristan tried to put Charley’s drawing out of his mind.

“You made this?” Landon studied the bird, running his fingertips over delicate layers of feathers. “Alvi’s going to have some major competition.”

“I couldn’t make the right shades, but it’s the best I could do with the colors available.”

“Alvi could spray a clear-coat to seal it, which would bring out the texture.”

“What’s your opinion on this?” Tristan pulled Charley’s paper out from under the book and handed it to Landon without looking at it.

Landon turned it over, leaning back in his chair. “It’s uh, hmmm.” He spun it several times, apparently searching for the correct position. “It’s interesting. What’s it supposed to be?”

“Charley drew it.”

“That explains a few things.” Landon laughed. “I was afraid you were going to tell me it was yours. There is a big difference between this and that,” he said, motioning from the sculpture and the drawing.

“You don’t see anything in it?” Tristan took the paper and threw it back to the table, seeing the face instantly. “Not even if you look really hard and focus?”

Landon picked up the paper to study it more carefully. “Maybe if I knew what I was looking for?”

“A face.” Tristan searched the kitchen, looking for something to override the flavor of blood in his mouth, settling on a piece of jerky.