Misplaced (99 page)

“Thi
s
i
s
no
t
th
e
sam
e
pat
h
Oli
v
e
r
an
d I
took,
”
Khar
a
sounde
d
impatien
t
an
d
anxious
.
Y
esterday’
s
scen
e
wit
h
him
obviously
w
eighed heavily on her.

Celeste’s
green
mitten made
a
half-circle
in
the
air.
“
W
e
’
re
approachin
g
fro
m
th
e
opposit
e
sid
e
o
f
th
e
mountain
;
otherwise,
w
e
’
d ha
v
e to take the horses. Not a good idea at night.”

“Not to mention that I don’t ride,”
V
ictoria added dr
y
ly.
Th
e
narrow
,
w
ashboar
d
fores
t
roa
d
quickl
y
petere
d
out
,
and
the
y
w
er
e
force
d
t
o
pul
l
of
f
an
d
lea
v
e
th
e
Jeep
.
Th
e
temperature ha
d
falle
n
n
o
ti
c
eably
.
Cele
s
t
e
s
trappe
d
a
sm
al
l
la
m
p
t
o
he
r
head
an
d
pointe
d
wit
h
he
r
cane
.
“Th
e
footpat
h
i
s
there
,
bet
w
een
those trees.”

Straining to see
anythin
g
beside
s
stand
s
o
f
aspens
rattling
softly in the breeze, Victoria asked,
“
Are you sure? I don’t see it.”

“Trust me, it’s there.”

“How do you know?”

“I
didn’t
say
I
’
d
ne
v
er
been—
I
said
I
’
d
ne
v
er
been
invited.
I’
v
e
w
atched
from
the
trees
a
time
or
two.”
Celeste’s
blue
e
y
es
shone
in
the
darkness.
Khara
took
her
firmly
by
the
elbow
and
starte
d
o
ff
wit
h
V
ictori
a
following
;
th
e
pat
h
w
a
s
to
o
narro
w
fo
r
three
.
The
y
w
en
t
slo
w
ly
,
w
alkin
g
fo
r
perhap
s
a
quarter
of
a
mile.
As
they
did,
the
drumming
intensified
and,
with
it,
th
e
fain
t
sound—no
t
speakin
g
o
r
singin
g
voices
,
bu
t
ancient,
wor
d
le
s
s
t
o
ne
s
tha
t
penetrate
d
V
i
c
t
o
ria
’
s
c
he
s
t
.
Gre
y
smo
ke
funnele
d
up
w
ar
d
i
n
th
e
blac
k
nigh
t
t
o
sho
w
the
m
th
e
w
ay.
Ho
w
clos
e
th
e
star
s
w
ere
!
She
’
d
rea
d
storie
s
o
f
peopl
e
who
’
d
disappeare
d
int
o
th
e
mountain
s
t
o
li
ve
lik
e
wol
v
es
,
ne
v
er
setting foot
in
civilization
again.
Tonight
she
understood
why;
the modern world did not exist here.

Thoug
h
sh
e
w
a
s
no
t
breathin
g
particularl
y
hard
,
Celeste
stopped.
“Once,
Carl
and
I
crashed
a
w
edding
at
the
home
of
a
Chilean
ambassador.
W
e
did
it
on
a
bet,
and
decided
the
best
w
a
y
no
t
t
o
b
e
foun
d
ou
t
w
a
s
t
o
sta
y
o
n
th
e
danc
e
floor
.
W
e
dance
d
a
t
leas
t
t
w
ent
y
rumbas
.
I
t
w
a
s
a
spectacula
r
e
v
ening,
thoug
h
n
o
mor
e
excitin
g
tha
n
tonight.
”
Sh
e
looke
d
u
p
a
t
the
stars. “
W
e had some good times, didn’t
w
e?”

V
ictoria couldn’t help but ask, “What did you bet?”

“None of your business.”

The
drums
and
singing
stopped;
the
air
smelled
of
burning
pine.
Moments
later,
they
broke
through
the
last
few
trees
and
into a large clearing.

Thirt
y
t
o
fort
y
peopl
e
stoo
d
aroun
d
a
blazin
g
fire
,
heads
bo
w
ed
,
silent
.
Man
y
o
f
th
e
wome
n
hel
d
hands
. V
ictoria
reco
g
nize
d
som
e
o
f
t
he
m
fro
m
he
r
visit
s
t
o
t
own—th
e
aged
wido
w
e
r
wh
o
volunteere
d
a
t
th
e
librar
y
an
d
w
alke
d
with
a
limp
,
an
d
th
e
cheerles
s
cashie
r
fro
m
th
e
grocer
y
stor
e
who
favored
Janis
Joplin
and
whose
age
V
ictoria
could
not
guess
at.
A
t
the
center,
a
crackling,
six-foot
mound
of
rough-cut
timbers
spi
t
an
d
hissed
.
A
n
elderl
y
ma
n
chante
d
a
slow
,
anguished
melody.