She really did feel a wholesome, exhilarating sexiness as she turned and tapped in time to the music. Her hands came up into the air of their own accord, weaving patterns that felt natural, inevitable. The clapping and shouting of the onlookers encouraged her to continue, to fling her head back and fall into the spell of seduction woven by the music and movement. She could feel her hair tickling the back of her hips where the skin showed between her jeans and tee-shirt and she laughed aloud for sheer joy once again. She hadn’t felt this alive for years—with one recent exception.
She looked over and saw that Duardo had moved behind Minnie and shadowed her movements. It completed the pattern in her mind. Such a seductive dance must have an audience, an intended target and it would be natural for the target to respond as Duardo responded—to be beckoned. As Calli watched, he reached out to rest his hands on Minnie’s hips, then they moved in unison.
A hand came down on her own hip and Calli looked behind her. Pietro winked at her. “Don’t worry,” he told her. “Just friends.”
She understood, let herself fall back into the beat, feeling Pietro follow her, his hands on her hips, lifting as he turned her, leading as they moved around the floor. Pietro was a good dancer and Calli learned more as his hands guided her, as she followed his lead.
The music seemed to grow more frantic, the beat faster. She whirled, caught up in the rhythm. Abruptly it peaked and with a final staccato beat of heels, they came to a halt, the music at an end.
For a tiny second silence held, while Calli drew an unsteady breath, her blood pounding in her ears. Then everyone clapped and laughed, applauding themselves. The dancers broke up, cups were refilled.
Acute disappointment circled through her. She didn’t want the dancing to end.
“Later, okay?” Pietro said, plucking at his AC/DC tee-shirt. “Time for rest.”
“Sure,” she said, forcing a smile.
Duardo, his hand still resting possessively on Minnie’s hip, passed them and said, in a low voice clearly intended only for Pietro, “
Rojo
,” and he nodded toward the house.
Calli’s chest locked with a sudden, overwhelming mix of dread, hope and the return of the seductive excitement of the dancing, but this time it felt more primordial, more basic. It was pure wanting, bereft of any flirtation.
She turned toward the house, holding her breath. Was he...?
Nicolás Escobedo sat on one of the straight-backed chairs, a boot resting on the seat of another, his chair pushed back and balanced. Black jeans, a dark olive green shirt with the soft glow that spoke of silk.
Silk
, her mind whispered.
A couple of the men had approached him and Nick looked up at them, spoke a few words. An exchange of greetings. Acknowledgments. But they made no fuss over him, no fanfare. She understood that Nick was not here as an Escobedo. Duardo had named him correctly. He was here as the quiet man who moved amongst them, directing, managing, putting things to right.
A few words for each of them and they moved on, leaving him to his privacy. Alone, he settled back in his chair and turned back to look at her, his gaze direct, uncompromising. Had he been watching her dance?
Her heart gave a little thrill of a beat at the idea. But then she remembered the lily.
She walked over to stand in front of him and pushed her thumbs into her pockets, her hands curling into fists. “You were invited to this party too?” she asked.
“I’m invited everywhere.”
“You don’t go everywhere, though.”
“I go where I’m needed.”
“I don’t think you’re needed here.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
Calli felt her spine, her whole body ripple. That response and the aching, throbbing need pouring through her also tripped off her anger. She didn’t like how her body longed for his touch when her mind had decided differently.
“Nick, stop playing with me. I don’t need this.”
He glanced around, a casual look. Calli knew he checked for eavesdroppers. Witnesses. Everyone appeared busy doing something else—talking and drinking, mostly. A little pocket of space separated Calli and Nick from them.
“Sit down,” he told her.
“No.”
“Sit
down
,” he repeated. “This is one of the few places where you and I can talk in comparative security and by god, we will talk.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “We
must
talk.” His tone was insistent.
She sank onto the chair next to the one his boot pushed against, facing him. As she sat, Minnie came over and handed her a glass of punch and moved away again. She seemed to be part of the unspoken conspiracy to provide them with total privacy right in the middle of a rowdy party.
“We already talked, I thought,” Calli said, with a sigh. “You said nothing could ever come of this. I believed you.”
He straightened up his chair, lifting his foot away from the other and leaned toward her. “I meant what I said.”
“Then why the lily, Nick? I know you put it there.”
He studied her face, as if he absorbed the details, memorizing them. “Call it a supreme moment of self-torture,” he said at last. “A moment of weakness.”
“Do you know how insecure it makes me feel to know that despite locked doors you can invade my room while I sleep? I can’t fight you off when I’m sleeping.”
He nodded a little. “It won’t happen again. Not unless you invite me.”
“I will never invite you.”
“It’s better that way,” he agreed. He reached out toward her face and very gently tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. She could feel the warmth of him radiating against her cheek. Her heart jumped.
“Don’t,” she said sharply.
“I said that you had an uncrushable spirit and I was right.” He withdrew his hand and clasped it with the other, the double fists hanging between his knees. “I wanted to apologize. For the lily, for Friday night. You said I played with you and I’m sure it feels that way, but it was simply...weakness. I have faced down rabid generals and armed guerillas in my time, but you are something I’ve never had to battle before. I faltered. It won’t happen again.”
In her gut, she knew he spoke the truth. After this day, he would go away and leave her alone and she would never feel the touch of his chest beneath silk, the feel of his hand cupping her bare hip.
She shivered. He sat inches away from her. She could reach out and touch him. Instinctively, she knew he would not allow it. The discipline, the iron will, had realigned themselves. He would resist his own weakness and fend off hers.
For the sake of Vistaria.
“Okay,” she said with a sigh. “All right.” Abruptly, she felt the return of the enormous, bone-deep tiredness that sapped her of energy. She managed to smile and it came out crooked. “I believe you,” she said.
Something must have shown in her face. He shook his head a little. “I don’t know who Robert is, Calli, but right now I’d like to kill him. It is he who has planted the shadow of doubt in you that makes you think you’re not whole and complete, that you aren’t enough.”
She jumped. “How do you know about Robert?”
“You mentioned him once. You said you hadn’t felt anything since Robert and then you stopped yourself from saying anything more.” He leaned a little closer. “But I watched you dance just then. You felt whole, vibrant, and alive. Didn’t you?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“That is something Vistaria has done for you, I think,” he said with a little smile.
“Not Vistaria,” she said.
Just then, the world suddenly grew very bright and very hot. Something pushed at her from the left and slammed into the side of her head, but she felt no pain. She felt nothing.
Then, even her sight faded.
Chapter Seven
“Calli! Calli, come on now, wake up.”
Something tapped her face. She wished it would go away. She tried to turn away from it, but pain ripped through her at the small motion and she groaned.
“That’s it. Wake up, Calli. I need you to wake up.”
Nick’s voice. His low caressing voice. He was here.
Then she remembered. “What happened?” she cried and heard her voice as a croak.
“
No hay la línea de teléfono, señor,”
said another man.
“Tiene cualquiera teléfonos de célula?”
Nick again. He spoke rapidly, precisely. Cool. In control.
“Verificaré.”
“Sí, y Capitano Peña. Rápidamente ahora!”
Nick said, his voice sharp. Then, “Calli, open your eyes. I need to see your eyes. Quickly, Calli. Look at me.” The snap of command in his voice made her obey without hesitation. She opened her eyes and promptly shut them again as flickering light hurt them.
“No, Calli. Come on.”
From close by she heard a woman scream. “Someone help me! Help! Please!”
Minnie. Calli opened her eyes and tried to sit up at the same time and cried out as pain exploded in her head.
“Slowly,” Nick said. She felt his hand on her shoulder, steadying her.
“Minnie!” she said, looking at him. He had a cut over his cheek, just under the eye and blood ran down his face. His shirt was ripped; the edges, blackened.
Burned
. “Where’s Minnie?” she cried, twisting around. She realized then that she had been lying on the ground. Nick crouched over her.
Details snapped into place, her senses pulling it all together. The house that should have been behind them stood no longer. In its place, a ball of flames reached high into the early evening sky, crackling loudly. Screams and moans came from all around her. Babbling Spanish.
“
Somebody help me
!” Minnie screamed her plea.
Calli tried to get to her feet, but Nick’s hand on her shoulder kept her down. “Take it easy,” he advised.
“Screw that. I need to help Minnie.” Calli pushed at his arm and got to her feet, the dancing shoes crunching in rocks, dust, and debris. She swayed for a second, the ground dipping around her, then steadied and looked around. “Oh my god,” she breathed. There was little left of the courtyard but more rocks and lumps of concrete. The walls no longer stood.
Brushed away by a giant
, she thought. “Minnie!” she screamed.
“Here! Over here!” Minnie yelled back. “Oh hurry! God, hurry!” Her voice came from the jagged, broken tiles at the end. Calli headed in that direction, crunching through the debris.
“
Señor! Señor!”
“Calli, wait!” Nick called.
She turned a little. One of the men from the party limped across to Nick, his face dirty and scraped.
“You go. I’ll take care of this,” she told him. She moved carefully to the edge of the tiles, feeling with each step if the tiles would take her weight. They sagged alarmingly under her step and the broken ends sloped down sharply. An image of people moving on thin ice came to her and she got down on her hands and knees, then stretched herself out across the tiles and wriggled towards the end.
The stately old tree that had provided most of the shade over the patio had taken a mortal blow. It had been pushed over the edge of the cliff by the blast. The tree’s roots had been ripped from the ground, destabilizing the earth around it. As it had tilted out into the valley, it had destroyed that corner of the courtyard and the weakened ground gave way beneath the tiles. But with such an extensive root system, the tree had not been pulled from the earth altogether. It leaned over the edge of the cliff like a monstrous great railway crossing boom, very nearly horizontal.
As Calli peered over the edge, little rocks and pebbles cascading down from her movements, the tree gave another deep groan and shuddered. The immense weight of the trunk and branches strained the injured root system. Soon, it would give away.
Another small gasping cry, directly below her, echoed the shudder of the tree. She looked down.
Minnie half-crouched on a tiny shelf, her arms outspread against the cliff for balance, her head turned into the cliff.
“Minnie!” Calli called.
She twisted her head to look up. “Calli! Quickly! You must help Duardo! Hurry!” Minnie nodded toward the tree.
Calli lifted her head and looked at the tree. It took a moment for her to see Duardo. He hung amongst the vines and leaves trailing from the end of the tree. In the dying daylight she could see his eyes were closed and his head rested limply against his arm, but he could not be unconscious or his grip would have given way.
“Calli, you have to hurry. He was talking at first, but I think he’s fading. If he passes out...oh God, hurry, Calli!”
For a tiny moment Calli lay there, flummoxed.
How do I do this
? Duardo would be no light weight. One thing seemed clear, though. She would have to go out onto the tree. It was the only way she could get close to him.
“Are you going to be all right for a while?” she said to Minnie.
“Yes, yes. Go!”
Calli wriggled her way over to the upended tiles and broken ground where the tree had stood for so long. The root system thrust high up into the air, the long tendrils, once buried in the earth now stretched like threads. The bottom half of the tree still held the earth, but the center of the trunk had split like kindling. Calli jumped and snagged the base of one of the roots and hung there for a second. The root, a foot in diameter, ran like a tent rope down to the earth, disappearing under the edges of the tiling. She drew herself up and kicked with her feet to find footholds on the base of the tree. The heels of the shoes caught at projections and snags, giving her a foothold.