The Shaktra (16 page)

“Can you open it from the other side if you do?” Ra asked.

“Beats me,” Ali replied.

The four of them stared at each other in the dark.

“Leave it open then,” Ra said finally.

She teased. “Afraid I won’t be coming back with you?”

Ra shrugged. “Who knows?”

Ali considered, then nodded. “We will leave it open, for now.”

Together, the four of them stepped through the green door.

Before visiting Rose and Nira for lunch, Steve and Cindy tried to talk to Hector Wells—infamous boyfriend of the late Lucy Pillar and Patricia Hassel. They found his address in the phone book, went to his house, knocked, but there was no answer. Cindy acted relieved.

“He’s not going to spill his guts to us about his past because we babysat Nira for a few hours,” she told Steve, as they climbed off the porch. “And he’s not going to care that we’re writing a paper for school on the plant explosion.”

Hector’s house was tiny but elegant; it showed signs a contractor lived inside. The brickwork on the walls and porch was flawless, and the doubled-paned windows were expensive. The cedar shingles used to form the roof were old world—they even smelled good—and the landscaping showed exquisite care.

“We’ll need an angle to get him to talk,” Steve agreed, glancing at his watch. “We better get up to Rose’s.”

“The house belongs to Sheri Smith,” Cindy corrected him, as they hurried down the block toward the company headquarters. Rose had told them that the house was located directly behind Omega, in the trees. Cindy added, “Wonder if she’ll be there?”

“I’d like to meet her,” Steve said.

“What if she’s the one who sent the e-mails to Karl?”

“So much the better.”

Cindy stopped him. “You don’t mean that. We’re going against Ali’s advice just being here. She told us Ms. Smith might be dangerous.”

Steve nodded. “If she’s the one who had Karl kidnap Ali’s mother, she’s going to be dangerous.”

“Then why are we doing this? What’s your plan?”

“I don’t have one. We’re just here to gather information for Ali.”

Cindy considered. “I think I’m here for Nira.”

“I’ve noticed that you like that little girl. Feel sorry for her?”

“It’s not that. For some reason, I feel close to her. Like I want to protect her.”

“From whom?” Steve asked.

“It’s just a feeling is all. But her autism throws me. You saw how much more animated she was around Ali?”

Steve nodded. “Maybe the Yanti helped the girl.”

“Ali said Nira had power over the Yanti.”

“Yeah, but she did not explain why she said that.” Steve added, “I like Nira, too. When she stares at me, I don’t feel she’s dumb.”

Actually, when she stared at him,
he
felt happy.

“Didn’t you say autism and retardation were two separate things?”

“Some autistic people can be geniuses. But they’re not able to express themselves. Their minds don’t connect with their bodies. They’re all bottled up inside.”

“Ali was fascinated by that scar between her eyebrows.”

Steve nodded. “It doesn’t look natural.”

The day was warm and sunny; they were both sweating by the
time they climbed the long winding driveway to the Smith residence. It was largely uphill, through a pretty stretch of woods. Steve was not surprised to see that the home mimicked the architecture of the main headquarters. The place was all glass and cubes, wonderful for views, but hell on the furnace in the winter. He found the ultramodern look sterile, at odds with the green trees, and wondered what type of person would want to live in such a home.

Rose met them at the door, wearing a simple black dress and looking more relaxed than the day before. She explained that they had the house to themselves—except for Nira. The cook and the cleaning staff had already left for the day.

“Marge made a wonderful lunch before she left,” Rose said, leading them deeper into the house, tugging at her elbow-length black gloves along the way. Steve found the white furniture as bland as the exterior. The dining room was a savior, however. There was a nice wooden table that overlooked downtown Toule, and there were plants in the corners. Rose had them sit, said they could have anything they wanted to drink. Cindy asked for a Coke, Steve, coffee. Rose chuckled as she walked toward the nearby kitchen.

“A man after my own heart. I drink six cups a day, all of it from Colombia,” she said. “Makes me think of home.”

“Do you ever go back?” Steve asked through the kitchen door as she fiddled with the coffeepot. Rose glanced over.

“Who would look after Nira?” she asked, surprised.

“But you must take time off?” Cindy said.

Rose shook her head. “I told you yesterday, Nira is my life now.”

“Is she going to be joining us for lunch?” Steve asked.

“No,” Rose said. “She’s in her room.”

“We were wondering if we could take her out for ice cream later?” Cindy asked.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.” Rose didn’t elaborate.

“Does her mother play with her in the evenings?” Cindy asked.

Rose returned with the Coke and coffee. Steve sipped his drink—a bit weak, too much cream, but smooth.

“Ms. Smith is not the playful sort,” Rose said. “She spends time with Nira each evening, and they will read together and watch TV. But Ms. Smith usually brings home a lot of work.”

“Does Nira understand what she reads? What she watches?” Steve asked.

“She has favorite books and TV programs. But it’s impossible to say how much she grasps.”

“How did she get that weird scar on her forehead?” Cindy asked.

Rose shook her head. “She had it when we met.”

Lunch was Indian: tandoori chicken, vegetable samosas, basmati rice, pappadums. Steve was in seventh heaven. Breakwater, naturally, given its size, did not have an Indian restaurant, and neither of his parents liked Indian food. The only time he got close to such delicacies was when Cindy’s mom made it, or Ali tried her hand at it, which was usually a disaster. Her fairy powers aside, Ali was a dreadful cook. She knew how to keep her dad happy, but all he ate was meat and potatoes.

For a time Steve blotted out the many town mysteries and just ate.

He was on his third helping of chicken when Cindy brought up the electric plant explosion. Rose’s face brightened. “I’ve read about that, and talked to Ms. Smith about it. She was there, you know, that night. She saw the whole thing.”

“I didn’t know Ms. Smith was from here?” Steve said.

“She was born and raised in Toule. That’s why she put Omega here. She wanted to give something back to the community. She
employs a hundred locals.” Rose paused. “I’m surprised you didn’t know?”

Rose had not mentioned any of those facts yesterday.

She had acted like she had no idea why Sheri Smith had built Omega in Toule.

Steve mumbled, his mouth full. “We don’t know that much about your local history.”

Rose offered him another samosa. “Finish it, or I’ll have to eat it later.”

Steve accepted the samosa, cut it up, and mixed it in with his rice. “Was Ms. Smith injured that night?” he asked.

“No. It was something of a miracle she wasn’t, at least the way she told it. To celebrate the basketball team’s big victory, they had a short parade down the main street, then a party with food and speeches and drinking in front of the power plant. Ms. Smith was alone with her boyfriend in the plant when it exploded. I don’t know what they were doing, I didn’t ask. But when it blew, a wave of fire roared over her head. But she was not harmed.”

“What about her boyfriend? Was he hurt?” Cindy asked.

Rose hesitated. “No.”

“Amazing,” Steve said, surprised to get so much information out of Rose, who did not seem like the type to gossip. “I thought everyone in the immediate area was burned to death.”

Rose shook her head. “That woman doesn’t have a mark on her.” She added, “You can meet her if you’d like, ask her about that night. I told her about you two, how you took care of Nira while I was with Freddy’s mother. She said she would like to thank you in person. She told me to ask if you would like to have lunch with her tomorrow. Like I said, she is a very busy woman, and almost never home. She must really want to meet you.” Rose paused. “Would you like that?”

Steve glanced at Cindy, who ever so slightly nodded her head.

“That would be wonderful,” he said.

When they were through eating, Rose told them to go say hi to Nira in her room. It seemed the girl spent a lot of time there, alone. Steve and Cindy were surprised when they entered the place; it was painfully sparse. There was a bed, a tiny desk, a chest of drawers, a closet of neatly hung clothes—that was it. There was not one book, no TV, not a single decoration on the walls. The room did not even have a decent view. Its sole window stared at a thick pine trunk. It could have been a nun’s cell.

Nira glanced up as they peeked inside her room, but if she smiled it was too faint to detect. Yet she stopped what she was doing—playing with her fingers on the center of her bed—and stepped over and took Cindy’s hand and led her into the room. The slight gesture of affection warmed Cindy’s face. Maybe she was just happy the girl remembered her. Yet Nira’s eyes kept straying to the door in anticipation, and there was no doubt that she was looking for Ali. Who wasn’t, Steve thought.

Nira and Cindy sat on the bed together, and the little girl took Cindy’s palm and began to draw circles on it, around and around, in the center. Cindy told Steve she had very warm hands.

“They feel like they just came out of the oven,” she said.

“Repetitive behavior is common among the autistic,” he said.

He might have spoken too soon, or maybe he shouldn’t have spoken at all. Nira suddenly reached out and took his hand, and stared at his palm a long time, almost as if she were trying to divine his fortune. Then she looked up at him without blinking, and her strange eyes seemed to darken, and she slowly closed his hand and shook her head. He did not know why, but her fingers were the opposite of what Cindy had described. They were like ice, and he felt a chill run through the length of his body, and it did not go away, even when she let go of him.

There was no Emerald City for her to see, not yet, but the soft green sun in the sparkling clear verdant sky was a treasure. Not because of its beauty, which was great, but because of the centuries of forgotten memories it invoked inside. Ali did feel at home the instant she exited the mountain cave and beheld the sun, yet she also felt fear. Home would not be exactly as she remembered, she knew. It was the reason she had left home in the first place, to be born as a human being. These days, there was much to fear in the elemental kingdom.

Still, coming out of the dark cave and into the light, she was happy.

The green sun was almost straight up, as the yellow sun would have been above Breakwater. She had entered another dimension but it did not look as if she had to reset her watch. She was pleased to see that the green light did not bother Farble.

The light of the sun surprised her in another way. Because of its soft radiance, it did not color everything green. The sand that surrounded their mountain was still yellow. The slopes of the bare peak were brown. Indeed, there wasn’t single tree, not even
a bush or a blade of grass, on the entire mountain. She asked Paddy if it had always been that way.

“Aye. As long as Paddy can remember.” He added, worried, “But Paddy does not remember desert so close to the river, and so close to Tutor.” He pointed to a two-mile stretch of sand that lay between the base of the mountain and a vast river. “The sand has spread,” he said.

Tutor must be the name of the mountain, she thought, and she asked the name of the river, which Paddy called Elnar—not
the
Elnar. The “the” seemed unnecessary with such pretty names. As far as she could tell, the river flowed east to west, into the sea, which stretched forever to their left, and started not far from the western base of the mountain. Yet looking east, in the distance, she saw that Elnar was really made up of two rivers, one that came straight from the north, and one that flowed out of the east. They joined about ten miles inland. She pointed to the rushing water coming out of the north, and Paddy told her it was called, Lestre, after the Lustra.

“What are the Lustra?” she asked, although she believed she already knew.

“It is what the high fairies call themselves,” Paddy said.

“Lestre runs through the fairy kingdom?” she asked.

“Through the heart of it, and all around Uleestar.” Paddy added, “It is Lestre that makes Uleestar difficult to attack.”

Ali nodded, having vague memories of a magical green island surrounded on all sides by a vast flowing river. “I hope it’s still safe,” she said.

“It was fine when I left, Missy,” Paddy said.

The green ocean was enchanting. Never before had Ali seen such crystal-clear water. They were a mile up on Tutor—not nearly as high as they had been on Pete’s Peak—and still she could see the floor of the sea as far out as two miles. With her
fairy eyesight she could see different-colored fish and gigantic blue and gray shapes moving in the depths. Clearly the elemental sea was brimming with far more life than Earth’s.

Far out at sea she saw an island.

“What about in the west? What’s there?”

“The Isle of Greesh.”

“Who controls the Isle of Greesh?”

“It fell . . . It . . . We do not speak of it.”

“It fell to the Shaktra? Is that what happened?”

“It just came . . . No one knows where it came from.”

Ali asked Paddy what they called their ocean.

“The ocean,” he said.

She gave him a look “Why do you guys all speak English, anyway?”

Paddy shrugged. “Why do you speak it?”

He had a point there, she thought. Who was mirroring whom? Paddy had told her before that much of what was in the human kingdom was also in the elemental kingdom, only in a changed form. The relationship was not direct—there were differences—but he had once said that a large toxic spill on Earth could damage their realm. That was another reason the elementals were angry at mankind, because of all the pollution people were making.