Mundahlia (The Mundahlian Era, #1) (4 page)

I stepped out of the bathroom, which now felt like a sauna from all the steam, with a towel around my waist and another around my hair.

After dressing, I climbed under the thick duvet of my bed. The tree branches dancing in the whistling wind, scraped against the window as if trying to claw their way in.

Only the bluish grey light of the moon kept the bedroom lit enough to see to each wall. I listened to the cabin settle as I drifted off to sleep. The air conditioner blowing, the floor boards creaking, and the muffled hooting from the owls outside—signaling that their night had just begun.

...

I was in the forest behind the cabin, afraid and alone. Swift movements from all around sounded as I continued to an unknown destination, surrounded by endless trees. There was a soft whimper from deep within the emerald green surrounding. My feet, with minds of their own, took me deeper into the forest where the shrubs and trees grew thicker and taller. The whimpering grew louder as I neared the source.

I spun around—trying to find a way out, but all I found was nothing but trees. It was like a maze and whoever built it had nothing else to use but these damn trees. I was beginning to feel claustrophobic. The area was closing in, making me feel as though I were being suffocated with the diminishing space.

Suddenly, from behind, I felt a tap on my shoulder. A hot rush of breath followed. A solid black figure appeared standing before me, once I turned. It didn’t have a face or any other distinct features; it was simply the silhouette of a man, standing tall. Like I was staring into a shadow in the shape of a man. The figure extended a hand and grazed the side of my face. It was cold, icy even. I tried to be as still as possible and felt as if I were melting into nothing more than a puddle of water. Its hollow face neared closer to mine as it stayed, peering into my eyes—its head, tilted in confusion. It drew closer, and I could hear and feel it inhaling my scent. Each breath grazing my skin.

After a few seconds, the figure took a few steps back, still facing me. It shook violently, almost like it were having a seizer, and began shifting shapes. Slowly morphing into the silhouette of a wolf. It headed for the deepest part of the forest. Turning and motioning with its head for me to follow. As I took a step toward it, everything came to an abrupt stop as a ringing, high-pitched wail pulsed through. It was loud, almost like a shrill. I had to cover my ears. When I looked up again, the scene was in pause. No wind was rustling through the trees anymore, and the wolf figure appeared lifeless. It was all—frozen.

All the colors of the forest started fading to grey, losing their saturation. Then, a small rumble rocked the earth beneath my feet and everything around me began dissolving into sand. The trees, the wolf—the ground. Everything was now bursting into air in clusters of grayish grain.

A forceful wind blew in, carrying the sand up and blowing it in my direction at a fast speed. The sharp sand scratched against my skin as it flew by and carried me away from the dissolving world, knocking me from my slumber and my ludicrous dream.

But, the ringing continued, even louder than before. It was then that I placed the noise to something and immediately hopped out of bed.

The security alarm had gone off.

2

“Turn it off!” Celeste was shouting, hands over her ears.

“I’m trying babe, hold on a sec!” George tried to overpower the alarm so she could hear him.

The morning sun blazed throughout the cabin. My eyes were still adjusting, and my mind was in a twist. I’d suffered a mild headache for being woken up too fast, and nearly lost my balance jumping out of bed to find Celeste and George fidgeting with the small wall-mounted box in the living room.

“What are you guys doing?” I asked, rubbing away the crusts from my eyes.

“What?!” Celeste shouted. She couldn’t hear me over the alarm.

“I said, what are you guys doing?!” I returned louder, but not loud enough for her to hear.

“I can’t hear you!” She said. “You have to speak up!”

“What are you guys doing!” I shouted louder than before, but the security alarm had already cut off, leaving me shouting for no reason.

“Okay, you don’t have to yell,” Celeste joked. “Get dressed, we’re going out to eat and take you on a tour in the city.”

“Come on, we’ll wait for you,” George followed.

“All right,” I said, disappearing into the bedroom. My stomach associated the words with food, and grumbled. I opened my closet and pulled out a white
I heart New York
T-shirt that my old friend, Lily—away at college, sent me. I paired it with some black shorts and matching boots. When I finished dressing and prepping up, I locked up
my
cabin and followed them around the house.

Once in the car, I shifted to the middle seat in the back for some air, and reached to the front to turn on the radio. “Um, excuse you?” Celeste said, grabbing my arm before I could get to the power button. “Don’t touch the radio.”

George laughed and shook his head.

“We listen to what
I
want to listen to.” Celeste gently shoved me back to my seat. She then turned the radio to the eighties station and began nodding her head to the synth and instrument filled music she grew up with. I had to admit that music from the eighties and nineties is always good. Any day—all day.

“Where are we going to eat?” I asked as we turned onto the main highway and headed for the city. Tall buildings in the distance, already in sight, peeking over the trees.

“Wherever I feel like going, kid,” Celeste was still nodding her head to the music and snapping her fingers.

George looked back at me through the rearview mirror and explained, “There’s a little cafe in the city. Cel and I eat breakfast there almost every week.”

I nodded, “Oh, okay,” then slouched back into my seat.

The rest of the ride was comprised with Celeste singing along to songs and the occasional sounds of George clearing his throat as he adjusted in his seat. It took about twenty minutes to get through traffic and into the city. Austin was much more beautiful now that I was actually
in
the city. From the place we were—stationed behind a white line, waiting for the red light to turn green, it looked magnificent. Eccentric and lively. People riding bikes down the streets or dining and chatting away outside small coffee shops. A man dressed in colorful pants and a white shirt passed us by, advertising newspapers to sell as he danced to bass-filled music pouring from a boom-box. The small glance of the city looked nice when I saw it upon entering the city limits yesterday, but
this,
this was like looking at a life-sized postcard. Very urban and metropolitan looking. Tall architecturally fabulous buildings sticking out from the rest of the vast streets lined with cozy independent businesses. The very image of the word
indie
.

After passing a few more lovely booming streets and a farmers market—an actual farmers market, you know, where you have the option to pick each and every single individual berry, or other fruit, instead of settling for what is already packaged for you—we finally stopped in front of a small but cozy looking restaurant with a sign that read
Chansile Café
hanging above it. It was directly across from the vibrant farmers market and had a full parking lot. Usually a good sign of a great restaurant.

When we entered the cafe, the three of us were greeted by a short, well-aged host, who seated us to a small table in the corner of the restaurant. She set menus and an array of utensils wrapped in napkins in front of us. “Your waitress will be here shortly,” she said then headed back to her post to greet the next family that had entered behind us.

Celeste rubbed her globe shaped stomach in discomfort.

“What is it? Are you all right?” George asked, ready to spring into action. Must be from the Marines—always ready for anything.

“Oh it’s nothing. Just a little kick.” Celeste smiled. It was obviously faked. “This child of ours is getting pretty feisty these days.” Must get it from Celeste. Once her claws are out, someone’s getting scratched. I laughed as the sparked memory of her beating the crap out of her ex-boyfriend’s
sancha
, or lover, in the front lawn of mommy Gloria’s house when she was still in high school, entered my mind. To this day, I nearly have an asthma attack laughing at when mommy Gloria came out screaming and got the
manguera
—or water hose, and started spraying them with water to break them up.

A teen with dark brown hair wrapped up in a ponytail made her way to our table. She had some thick, black-framed glasses on, obviously not prescribed—just an accessory.

“Sorry for the wait, what can I get you all to drink?” she opened up a small note pad and clicked a pen.

“I’ll have a Diet Coke,” said Celeste, her eyes still on the menu.

“Regular coffee for me please,” George followed.

“And what would you like ma’am?” the young waitress looked at me with the tip of the pen on the pad. She had to be my about my age, and seemed a little quirky.

“Um, I’ll take an iced tea.”

“Sweet or un-sweet?”

“Sweet.”

The girl entered through the kitchen door and emerged a few minutes later with a round brown tray of drinks. She carefully set them down on the table and held the tray under her arms to get the notepad back out. “You all ready to order?” she asked with the tip of her tongue sticking out at the edge of her mouth.

“Yes,” George said, folding up his menu.

“Actually, can you give us a few minutes, I’m still looking at the menu,” Celeste said, reading glasses and all.

George held his hands out in protest. “But you always order the same thing. A potato n’ egg taco with a cup a’ menudo.”

“Well, what if I want to try something different this time,
George
.”

The waitress looked at me, searching for an answer as they continued their small argument. I shrugged, unable to give her one and sipped my tea.

“I’ll just give you all a couple of minutes. My name is Sarah by the way, call me over when you all are ready,” she backed away and went on to the next customers, “Do you all need refills?” she asked the table of senior citizens.

I studied the atmosphere around the room, the people, and the art. The inside was cozily decorated. Small Mexican-style artwork hung around the brightly painted room, and a strong aura of coffee and various spices drifted about. But my attention soon turned to a small curly haired boy, who had made his way over to the claw machine beside us. He stuck two coins into the slot and moved the joystick to try to win a purple teddy bear that laid on its back surrounded by other cheaply made toys. The first try lifted the bear up a few inches, before dropping it back into the place it was originally. The persistent little boy tried again—and this time, the claw grasped the teddy bear firmly and lifted it up. He pressed his face into the glass window in anticipation. Yet again, the claw loosened up and dropped the toy a few inches away from the drop box. He searched his pocket for more change, turning them inside out, but all that fell out was a dime and the wrapper of an eaten candy. The little boy’s parents called him back to their table, and when he arrived, begged them for more quarters, pointing with his tiny finger back at the machine. His parents shook their head in unison, and the little boy sank in his chair with a pout and arms folded in his chest.

I felt bad. And besides, I had a couple of quarters to spare. I dug into my purse and placed each one that I found on the table.

“What are you doing, Rini?” George asked, eyeing the quarters already on the table.

“Um, I’ll be back,” I scooped up the coins into my hand and went to the toy catcher. After I put about two into the slot, a cheap generic song played. My first try nudged the bear closer. The second didn’t have any effect at all. But on the third try, the claw grasped the purple bear and dropped it into the box. I couldn’t help but smile and reach in to retrieve the toy.
Success!
After I removed a small piece of string that had gotten stuck on the bear, I looked up and walked toward the now sobbing little boy, whose parents were trying to calm him down to keep from making a scene.

“Excuse me,” I said, waiting for the little boy to look up from his hands. “Here you go.” He took the bear and stared at it. There was a brief moment of confusion in his eyes as he looked from the bear to me, then back at the bear.

“Oh, how thoughtful!” his mother burst, clasping her hands together. “Thank you so much!” she smiled at me then looked over to her son. “What do you say?” she nudged.

The little boy looked up at me, with his sweet blue eyes. “I didn’t want the stupid bear!” he screamed and threw it to the ground, “I just wanted to win!”

You little shit!
I wanted to say. Instead, I just smiled at his parents and headed back to George and Celeste, who were already placing their orders with Sarah.

“On second thought, I think I’m just going to have a potato and egg taco with a cup of menudo on the side,” I heard Celeste order. From his seat, I could see George tense up. He was probably annoyed for having to wait. If it was one thing I knew growing up, it’s that men plus hunger usually equals irritation. A lesson learned from my dad and his many grumpy bits.

“I’ll have two M tacos, please.” George handed back the menus.

“And how about you?” she said, eyeing me next.

“What’s an M taco?” I asked.

“It’s really just a potato and egg taco with a slice of bacon,” Sarah explained. “It’s really good. Soft and crunchy at the same time.”

“Oh okay, then I’ll have one of those—and a cup of some rice pudding.”

“Coolness! Let me go turn in the order, and if you need anything else just call me.”

“So Rini, how are ya’ liking Austin so far?” George asked, with elbows on the table as he leant in.

“Lots and lots of trees,” I laughed and took a sip of my tea. “Cel wasn’t kidding about Austin having
a lot
of scenery,” I laughed. “But the actual city is beautiful. New York City-ish—without all the lights, billboards, crowds, and taxi drivers honking and yelling ‘Get outta the way, I’m tryn’a drive here!’”I tried my best to do a New York accent, but I ended up failing. I’d never been to the Big Apple, but I’d imagined it was sorta like the movies. I mean—not as dramatic, but to an extent. Hey, it had to be based on something, right? Lily told me that there was a reason you only see Time Square and a few other streets in shows or movies. It’s because that’s all there is. Just that one area. The rest is just apartments and other smaller things. But she says it’s worth seeing, and that you nearly lose your breath at night when all the signs are lit up.

George laughed. “Yeah, when Celeste moved up here with me she got lost on the first day. This Austin born boy had to go save her. I found her parked on the side of the road off the freeway, crying.”

I felt a foot fly by my leg and hit George in his shin.

“
Ow!”
he scowled. “What was that for?”

“She didn’t have to know
that
, George,” Celeste childishly folded her arms, mirroring the snobby little boy a few tables down that I’d regretted being nice to. “Rini, did you know that George was scared of commitment?” she said getting redemption. Well, trying to at least.

“Hey! I married you, didn’t I?” George countered.

“All right, who had the M taco and a side of rice pudding?” Sarah asked, acting as if she didn’t hear their little fight. She was standing with the plate in the palm of her hand.

“I did” I raised my hand.

“Well, that sure was fast,” George said, changing the subject.