My Soul to Keep (40 page)

Teacake was dying. It was the last absurdity.

As the shabby rental car rolled beneath the summer sun, David and Kira were in the front seat, and Jessica sat with the cat in the back. Teacake had hurt himself somehow. She’d noticed a small trickle of blood in one of his ears, so maybe he’d been injured from flying glass. Or hit his head somehow. She didn’t know. He was lying flat and quiet on the seat beside her. So quiet. His eyes were open, but looked glazed. And he wouldn’t drink the water from the eyedropper David had bought at the Walgreen’s west of Pensacola, right before they crossed the Alabama state line. Jessica told him to buy it, along with whatever other things he wanted to pick up, because Teacake looked dehydrated. But he wouldn’t drink. The drops of water were rolling back out of his mouth, dribbling on the stubbly hairs on his chin.

It figured. Like Job, she’d lost everything else she cared about, so why not the cat she’d raised since he was a fur ball of a kitten? Don’t even get started, she thought. She couldn’t dwell there, or she’d start screaming and David might turn around and have to knock her in the head with the gun he was carrying in his jeans. That would be a sight for Kira.

See, Kira, you think Daddy’s this nice guy because he saved us from that other maniac, but did you know he’s a maniac himself? Did you know that?

Every few minutes, Jessica caught David gazing at her in his rearview mirror. For a strange half-second, their eyes would meet where their minds couldn’t. Then she would look toward her window and stare out at the long, unfamiliar miles.

She could run. At Walgreen’s—the only time David had left her alone, except in the filthy bathroom of the burger place at the last truck stop—Jessica sat in the car and realized she was free to go. David had Kira. He always took her with him wherever he went, his unknowing hostage, his peace of mind. But that was okay. If she jumped out of the car to run to the pay phone just across the street, he wouldn’t have gotten far with Kira yet. The police would find them.

But what if they didn’t?

In the end, Jessica was relieved when David and Kira walked back outside through the store’s glass doors. Her chance was gone. No more decisions to make. All she had to do was ride in the backseat and wonder if David would ever actually shoot her, wonder what it would be like to live for five hundred years, wonder if Alex was all right, wonder what Peter had felt when his throat was slashed. And stroke her cat’s tummy while he died.

“I saw an M!” Kira cried to David, pointing somewhere out of the windshield. “There.”

“You’re telling tales, Kira. That’s not nice,” David said.

“It is too there.”

“Then where’s the M in Dairy Queen, young lady?”

“In the middle,” Kira said, and she was beset by giggling.

“Spell it.”

“D-A-I-R- … Kira began, and laughed again, “… M-Y …”

Unexpectedly, Jessica chuckled once, deep from her chest. She didn’t even know she’d been listening, but a part of her mind had decided to laugh. David glanced at her in the mirror, surprised. Too bad for him if he expected to see her smiling. Jessica couldn’t remember the last time she’d smiled in days. She couldn’t even remember where smiles came from.

“Just for that, you lose a point,” David said to Kira, his eyes still on Jessica in the mirror. “You have to find L all over again too. I’m still ahead of you.”

Jessica’s eyes locked with his, just that fast, and her stomach and chest and every loose part inside her seemed to gather, and she realized what she’d been thinking all this time she’d been staring outside: I’m still in love with him.

“Mommy, what’s wrong with Teacake?” Kira was staring at the cat’s wide-open eyes. Until she spoke, Jessica hadn’t noticed that Kira had clicked free of her seat belt and was leaning over the seat to gaze back at them.

“He’s very tired,” Jessica answered hoarsely. Her voice was gone now too. Soon, she feared, everything would be gone. “I think he needs to rest.”

“He’s not the only one,” David said. “Look out for a motel so we can pull over before the sun gets unbearable. More than it is already, I mean. Okay, Jess?”

Jessica looked. His eyes were there again.

Dawit was beginning to realize how selfish he’d been. He’d thought so much of his own losses that he hadn’t considered Jessica’s. He had never seen her look so wretched.

In fact, he had brought her nothing but wretchedness. Her life would have been better without him. He’d known this in the beginning.

Stay away from that woman, he’d told himself the first day he noticed her. You will make her life a misery, as yours always has been. You will bring her the same pain you brought Christina and Rufus and Rosalie.

“David, why did you fall in love with me?” Jessica had asked so often, especially when they were first married. To him, the reasons were obvious, but they were impossible to explain. How could he tell her that when he saw himself reflected through her eyes, he could forget what he was? He’d wanted her in his bed because of her face, her youthful shapeliness, the challenge in her defiant eyes. But he’d lost his heart to her because she was everything he was not. And for everything he’d known he would teach her, he had hoped she could teach him too.

What did she see now? Would she ever again touch him, or always tremble away?

He wanted her still. Despite all the turmoil of the past twenty-four hours and the worse suffering that he knew remained, all he could think as he stared in the mirror at her face was that he wanted so badly to make love to her and hear her whimper her pleasures in his ear.

He wanted to hear her say that she loved him, even if it was a lie, or to at least assure him that she’d loved him once. He, who had taken love so much for granted. Christina’s love had been of no real value to him. And Adele’s love only showed its true power when she was no longer with him.

Could he even name the others? Rana, of course. His first.

But what of the women in Cairo, the chieftain’s daughter in Ife, the naive bargirl in Paris (Monique? Charmaine?), the noblewoman he’d toyed with in Gonder before losing his hand to her husband’s sword? They had all loved him. So was this what they had felt when he was gone, this horrible longing to step backward in time?

Oh, to take it all back. To take everything back!

Couldn’t Jessica see that this was why he could not leave her and Kira? He could never leave anyone again. And if he must spend eternity longing to see the love missing from Jessica’s angry eyes, then the punishment suited him. At least he would always, always have Kira. He must never give Kira reason to hate him as Jessica did.

Dawit clutched his daughter’s hand. It was sticky from the Coke she’d spilled from the burger place when she tried to push her straw through the plastic top. “My legs hurt, Daddy.”

“They’ve probably fallen asleep because you can’t move around enough. We’ll stop soon, Duchess. Then you can stretch.”

First, to find lodgings, for rest and an escape from this horrible sun. Next, the Ritual. He had all he needed in the bag he’d brought from Walgreen’s. Dawit’s heart leaped from both joy and fear. He would do it sometime before morning. He could not dwell on it long, or he would lose his nerve.

And tomorrow? More driving. He hoped he would be able to locate his contact in New Orleans, the man who could manufacture passports and birth certificates for Jessica and Kira. Fifteen years had passed since he’d seen the red-haired man—he’d never known his name—and he had no phone, but Dawit knew how to find his secluded bayou home. It was unlikely he would have moved, even after all this time. He’d told Dawit, in his butchered English and with an ironic twinkle in his eye, how his family had owned the overgrown parcel of land since the days of slavery.

This would be Dawit’s last return to the region stamped with his suffering. They would be away from here at last, beginning fresh. And living, at last, a life without unhappy endings.

From somewhere, there was light.

Mahmoud’s eyes flew open and he blinked hard, his senses momentarily stunned. His head was covered, he realized. He smelled blood directly beneath his nose. Beyond, he smelled pine trees all around him, and a fainter scent of exhaust fumes. When Mahmoud tried to move, his body grew so rigid that he had to clench his teeth in pain.

Suddenly, the rough fabric covering his face was whipped away and Mahmoud was greeted by the fresh, dew-drenched scent of morning.

“Come now,” a familiar voice said. “This is a very strange resting place, brother.” Could it be his imagination? He was seeing his Life brother Kelile, the jokester, grinning widely beneath his wiry moustache. He had no skullcap, but he was dressed traditionally in a white tunic and white linen slacks. His clothes seemed to glow against his dark skin.

Kelile, with a grunt, reached beneath Mahmoud’s armpits to pull him until he was sitting up straight. Someone behind Mahmoud began to yank the blood-spotted tarp from his shoulders to free him. Startled, Mahmoud turned to see who it was. Teka, the technological master from the House of Science! He, too, wore a white tunic and pants. How could his brothers be here? Was he dreaming?

Mahmoud’s thoughts were interrupted by pain. He cried out, feeling as though his limbs were being torn apart as they tried to bring him to his feet.

“The devil has shit on you,” Kelile laughed in Amharic, touching Mahmoud’s soiled Western clothing. “What is this shambles?”

“Are you an illusion?” Mahmoud asked.

“No, my brother,” Kelile said, squeezing his shoulders hard. “No illusion. Flesh.”

Despite his confusion and pain-wracked body, Mahmoud grinned. No joy could compare to the unexpected appearance of two Life brothers, and such well-respected Searchers. No other Searchers could boast the swiftness of Kelile and Teka, especially guided by Teka’s devices. What a happy reunion! Khaldun always said Searchers should not think of themselves as individuals: They were a smaller family created to preserve the peace of the larger family. Mahmoud held Kelile and Teka in a long, hearty embrace.

As he leaned against them, he was barely able to stand. What had happened to him? The van with Dawit’s wife and daughter had stopped along the roadside. He’d fired his gun at them. What next? Instantly, Mahmoud remembered the oncoming headlights, the grill of an automobile upon him. And its deadly impact, mercifully swift.

“Dawit must not have changed much,” Kelile said. “By your appearance, I see he still has the heart and strength of ten men.”

“Not so. Do not be fooled. He is resourceful, but he is not the Dawit you remember,” Mahmoud said sadly. “It is not so much Dawit’s victory you witness here, but only my own failure. That is why Khaldun has sent you, I’m sure. But so quickly?”

“Sit, Mahmoud,” Teka said, indicating a patch of grass covered with pine needles. “You are in a very poor state.”

“Yes,” Mahmoud said, avoiding their eyes as he sank to the ground. “I am full of shame to be found this way.”

Kelile laughed. “Such dramatization! Stop wringing your hands, Mahmoud. You should rejoice. It is to your honor that Khaldun has sent us—not because he feared you would fail, but the opposite. Be glad you have not succeeded!”

“Explain,” Mahmoud said, confused by their smiles.

“Dawit’s wife and child live still?” Teka asked anxiously.

Mahmoud’s heart sank. “Yes. At the instant I—”

“Don’t explain,” Teka interrupted. “Be grateful. We must tell you something, and then you will understand. Khaldun asked us to fly here, to come quickly. After he mailed your instructions, he had a dream that so excited him it flung him from his bed.”

“Not a dream,” Kelile corrected him. “Remember? He said he was awake when he saw these things. A vision.”

“A message came to him,” Teka continued earnestly. “He was greatly changed by it, and frantic that you be stopped. He dispatched us the very same day. The message was this: Dawit’s wife and child must live. They are no threat to us.”

“Nonsense!” Mahmoud responded.

Kelile shrugged. “Yes, I know. I thought perhaps he’d had too much wine. I, too, have had many strange visions after—”

Teka shot Kelile a grave look. “Khaldun would not enjoy your ridicule.”

For a moment, Mahmoud was too awed to speak. This could not be so! Khaldun was not one to change his mind, nor one to heed dreams or visions. Khaldun, who never spoke of God, was professing a divine vision? And was so transformed by the experience that he would then send other Searchers to prevent him from finishing his work?

“My brothers, hear me,” Mahmoud said. “Dawit has broken our Covenant. I believe he is once again with his wife, and he has told her more than any mortal should know. I have heard with my own ears how he described the Ritual to her, all of our most sacred history! And I believe Dawit somehow means to give her the Living Blood. I am sure of it.”

Looking solemn, Teka and Kelile nodded. “All of these shocking things you say were also in Khaldun’s dream. We are much aggrieved,” Teka said. “We know Dawit’s intentions. But Khaldun was emphatic: Dawit’s wife must live, and the infant as well. Your work here is done. No blood will be shed. You will return with us. Not in shame, Mahmoud, but with satisfaction.”

“But … Dawit—”

“Dawit will come of his own will,” Teka said. “This is what Khaldun has told us.”

Mahmoud felt as though his breath had been stolen from him. Then the mortal woman’s mother and sister would live, and she and her child would live, and Dawit would go unpunished? Khaldun, who had taught the Life brothers to cherish the Covenant above all else, would have them sit idly by while Dawit tried to pass his Living Blood to a mortal? What purpose did the Searchers serve, then, if Life brothers were free to behave like gods?

Mahmoud pulled on Teka to stand, forgetting his pain. “I will not believe this of Khaldun. Forgive me, but he cannot know what he does.”

“Mahmoud,” Teka sighed, “we’ve all struggled to understand. It is not in keeping with our beliefs, so we must trust in Khaldun. Perhaps this knowledge is for him alone. Dawit’s wife and infant must live. Her infant is chosen, he said.”

“And he said it more than once. He repeated it many times.”

“But you see? Khaldun is mistaken. There is no infant!” Mahmoud said. “Dawit has a daughter of five years. This is the infant? Why should Khaldun be concerned with her? She is chosen for what?”

“This,” Teka said, “you must ask Khaldun.”

Kelile grasped Mahmoud’s chin with his fingers, shaking his face playfully. “Be cheerful, Mahmoud. At least now you can make peace with Dawit.”

Peace! How could that be so? Could he still love a brother who had betrayed them—even if it was Dawit? What if Dawit returned to Lalibela, not alone, but with a newly immortal wife and girl-child? And how many others might follow?

How could Khaldun fail to fathom the dangerous implications of welcoming outsiders to their fellowship? Once exposed, their race of immortals could not long live in peace. They had all witnessed mortals’ treachery to their own kind: How could Khaldun entrust the fate of the brotherhood to them?

“Think of the consequences,” Mahmoud said quietly, his voice calmed by the heaviness in his heart. “With his blood, Dawit is bringing fire to humankind. Their greedy race, when it has fire, burns everything to cinders. All of us will be in that fire’s path.”

For a moment, neither Kelile nor Teka spoke. They knew it was true.

“We’ve been instructed not to interfere with Dawit or his mortals,” Kelile said gravely. “What is left for us, then, Mahmoud? Disobedience?”

His question might not be rhetorical, Mahmoud realized. The Searchers existed only to protect the seclusion of their brotherhood, a task they had done well for hundreds of years. Khaldun himself had given them their mission, just as he had given them the Life gift. Without Khaldun, they would have been nothing but mortals themselves; left, by now, in the memories of no one. If Khaldun said they must not act, they must not. The decision was not theirs.

“No, brothers, I will heed Khaldun,” Mahmoud said. “But remember I have said this, because from this time on, all is changed: We will long regret this day. My soul tells me so.”

Teka and Kelile did not answer. The three men stood in silence. Beyond the tree line, Mahmoud heard the sounds of early-morning traffic speeding past them on the Turnpike, the mortal drivers oblivious to the extraordinary strangers hidden from their sight.

But oblivious, Mahmoud wondered, for how long?