Immortal (9 page)

If anyone would explain, it would be Caeran. I looked out the window at the fountain, wishing he'd show up.

“Mirali will need to stay here for a few days.”

I glanced at Madera but he had his back to me, standing at the counter slicing the pears. I picked up the bread knife and started on thirds.

“It was very kind of you to bring her and her friends all this way,” he continued. “She asked me to tell you she is grateful.”

“That so?”

Could have fooled me. She'd looked angry, last night.

“She—was quite ill. Is still quite ill. She knows she is fortunate to have had your help.”

Madera brought a plate of sliced pears to the table and sat across from me. I bit into a piece of pear and its sweet, juicy softness exploded in my awareness. Either my taste buds were hyperenthusiastic this morning, or I was hungrier than I'd thought.

“These are wonderful!” I helped myself to more.

Madera smiled slightly. “I will send some home with you.”

I looked at him. Had that been a not-so-subtle hint? I chose to ignore it.

“Did you grow them?”

He nodded. “I have orchards to the west. Pears, apples, apricots—”

“So you made the jam, too?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. And nobody's married you?”

He looked disconcerted. I picked up the last slice of pear and ate it, watching him. He returned my gaze thoughtfully. I had a feeling I was being studied.

The kettle started to whistle. Madera got up, breaking the stare-off. While he fixed my tea I had ample time to kick myself for the marriage comment. What if he was a widower?

“Your furniture's really beautiful,” I said, trying to make up for it. “Was it all made by the same craftsman?”

“Yes.”

“Same person who did the owl at your gate, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, whoever made it's really good. They could sell this stuff in Santa Fe for big bucks.”

He put the lid on the teapot and turned to face me, leaning against the counter. A small, wry smile slid onto his face.

“Thank you.”

I paused in the act of picking up bread crumbs with a fingertip. “
You
made the furniture?”

He dropped his gaze. “I have a lot of free time.”

“I thought you were a curandero.”

“Yes, but this community is small.”

How could he afford this big place, then? I didn't voice the question. Maybe I'd guessed right, and he was selling his furniture in Santa Fe. Bottom line, it was none of my business. I didn't want to cross from chattiness into nosiness.

I looked out the window. “Your fountain is beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“Don't tell me you made that, too.”

He laughed. “No. I did the tile.”

“It's lovely. Reminds me of Mexico.”

“You have been to Mexico?”

“When I was little. I remember lots of flowers and fountains. Have you been?”

He hesitated, reminding me suddenly of Caeran. “A long time ago. Your tea should be ready.”

He turned away to get out a cup for me, a slim, pottery piece with a gorgeous glaze in shades of green, and no handle. He set it before me along with a cream pitcher and honey jar, then poured tea from the pot.

All the pottery matched. Had he made it?

I decided not to ask. It was getting too weird.

I picked up the cup and blew on the hot tea, then took a sip, burning my tongue. To give it time to cool down, I added some honey and stirred it with the spoon Madera had provided, which looked like real silver.

“I will fetch you some pears.”

He left, rather hastily I thought, through the west door. I turned over the spoon and peered at the back of the handle. Old maker's marks. They looked hand-incised, not stamped.

Old money? That might explain some things. I still felt like I didn't have the whole picture.

And he was fetching me pears, so it definitely had been a hint. He wanted me to leave.

OK, well I knew better than to outstay my welcome, but I was going to see Caeran before I went. That was all there was to it.

I realized I was frowning, clenching the spoon handle. I put it down and tried the tea again. It was the perfect temperature, and tasted better than any tea I remembered. The honey had added a fragrance of flowers.

Everything about these people seemed hyper-wonderful. It wasn't just my imagination.

I drank the tea and poured more. Stared out the window at the fountain, trying to decide what to say to Caeran.

Ask for an explanation of the whammy Mirali had laid on me. Ask if he had really read my mind.

Ask when I'd see him again.

I swallowed, thinking I probably wouldn't like the answer to that last one. But I'd ask it anyway. If he was going to push me away, I wanted to know why. The disapproval of his friends wasn't a good enough reason.

I finished my second cup of tea and poured a third, thinking that might bring me up to a cup of coffee's worth of caffeine. It sure was taking Madera a long time to fetch those pears.

The door to the entryway opened and Caeran stepped in. He was carrying his pack, and smiled when he saw me, lighting up the room like the rising sun.

“Good morning. You look much better.”

“I feel better, thanks.” A lot better, as of that moment.

“Are you feeling well enough to drive back to Albuquerque?”

“I think so.”

“Good. Nathrin is staying with Mirali, so I will be your only passenger.”

Be still my heart. I smiled and nodded, hoping my delight wasn't too obvious.

“Want some tea? Bread?”

“No, thank you. I ate earlier.”

He sat across from me and set his pack on the floor. I watched him, mesmerized. He gazed back at me and I was absolutely certain of the affection in his eyes.

“Caeran—”

He shook his head and put a finger to his lips, glancing toward the west door. A moment later Madera came through it, carrying a small, intricately woven basket filled with pears. He glanced at Caeran, then set the pears on the table beside me.

“For you.”

“Thank you! Do you have a grocery bag I can put them in?”

“The basket is for you also. A gift of thanks.”

I looked up at him. “Seems like I'm the one who owes you thanks, for your hospitality, and for helping me last night—”

“You owe me nothing.” He picked up my empty plate and turned away.

Caeran spoke softly. “We are all grateful to you for bringing Mirali here.”

His eyes got the intense look I was getting used to, and I had a feeling he didn't want me to say anything more. I finished my tea and put down the cup.

“I guess I'd better get my things.”

Caeran nodded. When I stood up he rose also, and followed me to my room, carrying the pears. Nice to have him staying close for a change, but I wished we could talk.

It only took me a minute to collect my miscellany into my pack. I slung it over my shoulder and turned to the door, where Caeran waited. I had a million questions I wanted to ask him, but they could wait. We'd have the whole drive back to Albuquerque.

We walked along the hall to the living room. Mirali was behind one of the doors we passed, I was pretty sure. Looked like she and Nathrin weren't going to see us off. No big surprise.

Madera was waiting in the entryway. With the sun still in the east, the room was shaded and a bit chilly. I summoned a smile and offered to shake hands.

“It was nice meeting you. Thanks for putting me up, and for—well, for everything.”

“You are welcome.”

He nodded, but didn't shake my hand. I stuffed it in my back pocket, felt the condom still riding there, and blushed. To hide my reaction I started for the front door.

Caeran and Madera exchanged a few murmured words behind me. I opened the small door within the zaguan and stepped out onto the
portal
. Blinked at the bright sunlight bouncing up from the wooden floor. I wanted my shades, but they were in the car.

The door closed behind me. Caeran joined me, smiled briefly, and said, “We should go.”

I glanced back at Madera's hacienda. Nothing super-extraordinary from this direction, just a big old sprawling adobe house. Full of secrets.

I headed to the car and put my pack in the back seat. Caeran did the same, and carefully set the pears in the footwell behind his seat. The car was warm from the morning sun, so I rolled down my window and turned on the fan.

“Can I ask you a question?”

A frown fleeted across Caeran's face. “Let's wait a while.”

“OK.”

I was willing to humor him for now. I started the car and headed out the long, rutted driveway.

The morning was gorgeous. Trees that I hadn't noticed on our arrival flanked the driveway at intervals, still wearing autumn colors, and the sky was an incredible shade of blue. The air was cool and deliciously clean, with just a hint of wood smoke. It would be depressing to go back to breathing city muck.

I drove through Guadalupita and all the way to Mora without talking. Caeran seemed content with the silence. I pulled over at the raspberry place.

“I'm going to get a bottle of water. Want anything?”

He shook his head. I went in the store, bought water and a jar of raspberry jam, and came out to find the car empty.

Panic hit me as I thought Caeran had ditched me, then I saw him wandering in a garden beyond an adobe wall. I remembered the garden from past visits—it was gorgeous in summer, a riot of color—though now most of the flowers were done for the year. I went through the gate and joined Caeran by a bed of rosemary. He was staring down at it, frowning slightly.

“You OK?”

“Yes. No.”

“What's the matter?”

He closed his eyes, shaking his head. “Nothing that can be fixed. Are we leaving?”

“Yeah, I guess. Unless you want to talk.”

His frown deepened and he stood absolutely still for a moment, then turned and headed back to the car. I followed him, put my jam in the back seat and got in the driver's seat, where I paused to open my water and take a swig.

“So what happened last night? Did I piss Mirali off?”

“No. It was a defensive reaction.”

“That's some defense! What is she, a black belt?”

Caeran shook his head, looking unhappy. “She was confused. She should not have been up.”

I took another swig of water. “I was looking for you.”

He closed his eyes. “I know.”

“You know? How do you know? Were you watching me?”

His brow creased, but he didn't answer. It made me angry.

“More mind-reading?”

“Len—”

“Well, what? All of you are acting like I'm some kind of leper or something. I thought we had—reached an understanding—”

“Len, you are a wonderful, wonderful girl, and I—can't. I can't be with you.”

My gut tried to sink through the floor, and my throat went dry. I swallowed.

“Why?”

“I can't go into the reasons.”

“That's not fair!”

“I don't want to hurt you, all right? And I would, so it is better that we just … don't.”

I stared at him. He looked miserable, and he was making me feel miserable. There had to be some way to get him to trust me.

“I don't believe you would hurt me.”

He gave a pained laugh. “Oh, I would. Inevitably.”

“No,” I said softly. “No, you wouldn't. I'm not a mind-reader, but I know that much.”

“I would not mean to,” he whispered, “but it would happen.”

“That's crazy.”

“It sounds crazy, yes.”

“How could you hurt me if you don't want to?”

“By being who I am.”

I took a deep breath. “OK. Who are you?”

He looked at me and shook his head. His eyes were haunted by sadness.

“Is it your family? Your friends—whatever they are? I know they don't like me.”

“They do like you, Len. But they also see you as … a risk.”

“Because you're not citizens?”

He looked out the windshield. It had been a guess, and his silence seemed to confirm it.

“I would never rat on you, Caeran. I don't care if you're here illegally—”

“That is not the issue.”