“Wait, Pesha,” I called. But it was too late. He tore himself from Katalina’s grasp and disappeared through the flap of the tent. The elders followed Katalina out, still caught up in a heated debate over his punishment.
“What happened?” Hurricane asked.
I smiled at her. “I think I understand now why my mother called us healers; it’s not in the physical sense, but of the emotions. If only I were better at this, I believe I would have been able to help Pesha. I saw his memories, Hurricane. I saw where his spirit needed healing.”
Hurricane squeezed my hand. “That’s beautiful, Avery. What a special gift you have.”
I felt my muscles relax after the intensity of the last few days. I’d started to heal Pesha’s energy. I affected his emotions, I thought, recalling the single tear that had escaped his eyes.
All I needed was more practice.
Khan and I traveled home in the pitch-black of night. Although Khan swore he had the waterways memorized, I was half convinced he could see in the dark like a cat. Often, the darkness frightened me, but tonight I welcomed it. It made me feel safe.
We made our way in silence, my mind racing. Could I learn to use my gift as my mother had? Was it possible?
In the last week, Geeno’s rickety crate village had become my refuge. The people were nice, although they kept to themselves. I’d even warmed to Geeno’s mechanical pets. We’d managed to add to his collection a small mouse whose shredded body Geeno had saved from the mouth of an alley cat.
By Saturday evening, Khan and I were both exhausted from the late nights and the fear of running into crow men. When we entered the Gypsy camp, we gratefully followed our escort to a fire circle, where Katalina and a few other men and women were eating roast rabbit and leeks.
I sat on a stump and let out a long sigh. Katalina took Khan’s face in her hands. “Piramneja . . . ,” she said, which sounded very endearing. “Eat. The two of you look like a pair of sodden rags. We have a saying—you try to jump over your own shadow.”
Khan smiled wearily. “I love your Romany proverbs, Kat.”
We were given plates of food and some hard ale. Khan absently tossed tidbits of his food to the dogs that hovered outside the circle of flames. He has a big heart, I thought.
Katalina swiped at his arm. “Do not waste meat on those mongrels.”
Khan glanced at me and winked.
“My father has returned,” she announced. “He would like to speak with you later, Avery. Shall we practice with the knives while we wait? I watched you on Tuesday. Your skill is improving . . . a little. Hopefully you are developing your muscle memory. You will need it when you do not have time to think.”
“My father said the same thing when he taught me to fight.”
Katalina laughed. “Good. The women of your country most certainly do not know how to defend themselves.”
I hated to leave the fire, but I did want to practice. As I stood to follow her, a commotion erupted at the camp’s entrance. We heard the thud of horses charging down the dirt road, but at first saw only a cloud of dust and gravel. On all sides, the Gypsies sprang into action. Khan was right; they were armed to the hilt. Even the women and children carried weapons and organized themselves like an army. Most of them threw on some kind of intricate metal armor: helmets, face masks, armbands or breastplates with weapons attached. It was impressive. They certainly were not going to be taken by surprise like they were when the crows came for Indigo.
We gathered at the open field, where a bonfire was lit, and waited for the riders. Khan and I stayed at the back. A ring of men and women with long bows, arrows notched, lined the inner circle. Seeing them side by side made me realize how advanced the Romany were in their acceptance of women. Here were women with power of their own. Warriors. I stood on tiptoe to see Katalina, feeling a flush of pride. She was my training partner, my mentor. Perhaps my father had felt this way about some of his army comrades. The thought of my father wrenched my heart.
A passage opened through the throng, allowing in a pair of huge black horses. Each carried a rider and a bound captive. The two Gypsies rode bareback and dismounted gracefully. They were dressed in flowing black pants and tunics; if it weren’t for the light of the bonfire, they would have disappeared into the night like shadows. Even their faces were covered with black cloth. Nothing showed but their eyes.
From one horse they untied a body that slumped to the ground like a sack of potatoes, landing with a sickening thump. From the other, they ordered the captive down. He had his back to me, then fell onto his stomach, groaning.
Katalina came forward as the two riders removed their head scarves.
“Since her father is the ruling elder,” Khan whispered to me, “she assumes authority until he arrives.” His teeth flashed briefly in the dark. “As you can see, it is a role she relishes.”
With her foot, Katalina rolled the body onto its back. I gasped. He wore the unmistakable crow mask of the guards of the Tombs.
Chapter Nineteen
Like Father, Like Son
“What did you bring us, Horatio?” Katalina asked, her black-lined eyes gleaming in the flickering light. She lifted another crow mask from Horatio’s bag and held it up. “Two crows?” She turned on him, furious. “And why did you bring them here? Do we want to summon the rest, to slaughter our people?”
“Katalina, hear them out,” a man from the circle shouted.
“Bah! We send young fools to watch the Tombs and they bring us back a prize?” Katalina was pacing like a wild cat. “And what do we do with them? Ah? Had you thought about that, Horatio?”
“Katalina, you do not understand. We followed them, as we were told, but this one”—Horatio pointed to the immobile body on the ground—“he tried to kill that one. Called him a traitor.”
The other Gypsy horseman stepped forward. “We couldn’t watch a man murdered and do nothing. We . . . we saved his life.”
“For what, Lucas?” Katalina screamed. “Let them kill each other, for all we care! Let them do our job for us. Now, if we do not kill the fat one over there, he will report back to Spector.” Horatio and Lucas looked down. Katalina pulled a knife from her skirt. “Come here, Lucas.” She placed the blade in his hand. “You must kill him. He cannot leave the camp alive.”
A ripple of remarks flew around the circle. Some of the Gypsies yelled out, “No! Wait for Nikolai!” while others shouted, “Kill him!”
Lucas held the knife and looked searchingly at the group. The fat guard cried out weakly, “No! Please!”
“Khan, you have to say something. That man is hurt and unarmed.” I shook his arm.
“I know.” He nodded and moved toward the bonfire, shouting, “Katalina, stop! Lucas, please, put the knife down.”
The guard looked up as Khan pushed through the front line. I caught a glimpse of his face. It was the guard who had told me about his dog, Bojangles.
“Wait!” I yelled. “I know that man.”
A hush stilled the crowd. Lucas froze, and then slowly backed away.
The guard managed to get himself up onto one elbow. He fixed his eyes on me, his gravelly voice barely a whisper. “It’s true. She came to the Tombs to . . . to—” He broke into wet coughs and spit blood to the side. “To see her mother.”
“So?” Katalina was tapping her foot, watching me. “It is of no consequence. This man will put us in danger.”
“He’s not like the others.” I wasn’t sure why I said it. I just felt it to be true.
“I see. You expect us to spare his life because he remembers you? The crows are all searching for you.” Katalina turned to face the circle of her people. “Do you recall what happened last time? If he lives, he will return with Spector.”
“No.” The guard crawled pathetically toward Katalina. “I told Jason I wanted to quit. I thought he was a friend. But he tried to kill me.” He turned to look at the masked dead man a few feet away, but the sudden movement overwhelmed him. He laid his face in th
e grass and rested a moment, then turned his bloodied, swollen eyes to me. “I can help you,” he whispered, and passed out.
Katalina sighed. Sensing her indecision, I spoke quickly. “Katalina, please, let him tell us everything he knows.” There was something else, something I knew would sound outlandish, but I had to try to explain it to her. “When I saw this man at the Tombs, I saw his energy, and yes, it was dark. But I think he wanted to change. I saw his energy change.” I moved my gaze across all the eyes focused on me. “We need him . . . and he deserves a second chance.”
As I scanned their faces, I saw a tall, thin man walking through the crowd. People stepped aside to make way for him. If I thought it was quiet before, now it was eerily silent, as if everyone held his or her breath. Even the dogs and the horses were still.
Katalina, Horatio, and Lucas stood, heads bowed, as the man approached. His voice was one of authority. “I am afraid you have lost your way, Katalina. I stayed back to see how you would handle this situation. I am not at all pleased. Do you expect revenge to satisfy your heart?”
“I am protect—”
He held up his hand, silencing her. “A leader must not use her own hatred to steer others.”
“It’s just that—”
His head snapped up. The burning look he gave her stopped her words midstream. She looked down and murmured, “Yes, Father.”
Nikolai Moralis pointed toward the dead guard. “Horatio, Lucas. You saved a man’s life tonight. Be proud, but do not forget the life you took. Prepare his body as if he were one of our own. And Katalina, I would like you to administer to this man here. He needs attention.”
Bossy as ever, she ordered two husky men to lift the guard. Khan rushed to help. The crowd dispersed; some came forward to offer assistance, while others went back into the camp.
Mr. Moralis approached me. Removing his hat, he placed his hand on my shoulder. When I looked up into his eyes, I realized they were familiar. His eyes were like Indigo’s, dazzlingly blue-violet. I felt unsteady. Hurricane’s inference about this man and my mother came flooding back to me, but I forced my heart to still. I will not let her absurd notions fluster me.
“You are a brave young woman, Avery. I am Mr. Moralis.” He held out his hand to shake.
I understood now why the Romany followed him. It wasn’t his tall, sinewy stature or his dark, handsome face or piercing eyes. It was the magnetism he possessed, a charismatic allure. With a midnight blue flowing shirt, long beard braided with beads, and black hair tied back with a cord, he looked every bit a Gypsy king. “I’m glad to finally meet you,” he said. “Come, sit with me.”
I followed him to a large tree trunk near the bonfire. We were alone now.
“You are not afraid to stand up for what you believe,” he said, his eyes fixing me with a steady gaze. “But I sense self-doubt within you. Tell me, what stands in your way?”
Considering everything that had happened in the last few days? I tilted my head back and looked up at the stars. “I want to save my mother, but I’m afraid. Every time I see Spector’s face, even if I picture it in my mind, it fills me with crippling fear.” I sighed. “Even the crow masks terrify me. Katalina and Hurricane tell me I have power, but I don’t know how to use it.” I held up the leather knife belt. “What good is all this if I’m not strong enough?”
He clasped his hands and rested them on his lap. “What do you think makes one strong?”
“Well, I seem to have trouble with the idea of killing someone.” I laughed; it sounded silly, but it was true. “If the moment came, and I had a chance to get my mother out, but I had to kill someone? I don’t know if I could do it.”
“And you think that makes you weak?”
“Yes. I’d like to be more like Katalina. I mean, what she did tonight was different. That man wasn’t threatening her. But I know she’d be strong enough to kill the monster who took Indigo, who took my mother, without a moment’s hesitation.” I fiddled with my necklace, rubbing the familiar items between my fingers. “I’m hoping my power, as she calls it, will make me stronger.”
“Avery, I know someone with a gift akin to yours. Both of you have much inner strength.”
I wondered if he knew I’d met Indigo. “Do you mean your son?” I asked.
He looked at me and smiled. “No, actually. I am speaking of your mother, Cassandra.”
Hearing him refer to her by her first name gave me pause. It seemed more than cordial, bordering on impolite. Come to think of it, my mother referred to him the same way. “My mother? She told me to find you.”
“Yes, I know. Let me explain how I met her. Many years ago, just before she and your father were wed, your mother came here seeking knowledge, knowledge she’d heard I could give her.”
I stared into his bright blue eyes. Mr. Moralis had a fierce intensity about him. I understood my father’s apprehension over Mother’s friendship with this man. Had it been more than friendship?
“Your mother,” Mr. Moralis continued, “was raised to believe she was cursed, that a demon possessed her soul. Before agreeing to marry and have children, she desperately wanted to understand her abilities. As it was, her parents not only refused to attend the wedding service but sent a priest to tell their daughter that if she were to become pregnant, the infant must be killed.”
I gasped. He was talking about me. My father had omitted that detail when we’d talked about this. “How could anyone do such a thing?”
“It is more common than you would imagine,” he said softly. “People fear that which they do not understand. I told her everything I knew, but it is I who ended up learning from her.” He stared into the fire. “Anyone can make people do things they do not want to do, even without the special gift of the seer. People use power or strength to bend wills. Tonight, Lucas almost killed a man, even though he did not want to. True strength, Avery, lies with those who can make people see the right thing to do.”
He looked at me again. “You speak of my son.” His voice took on a harshness I hadn’t heard before. “He has the power to make people do anything he wants. But he is not like you or your mother. He cannot heal their hearts.” He pressed his lips together and took a deep breath. “I believe that is why this Spector wanted him so badly. His power can be very, very dangerous.”
A shudder passed through me, thinking of what Spector would do if he had a power like that.
“I have traveled to places where ancient magic and spirituality still live on in the cultural traditions, where wonder is woven into the very fabric of the people’s lives.”
As he spoke, I felt myself drawn to the fire—its heat, the crackling glowing logs. I watched the flames lick the air, hungering to consume, their brilliance making the night all the more velvety and dark around us. I imagined my mother sitting here, feeling the same confusion, listening to Mr. Moralis speak.
“My wife had an extraordinary gift. Indigo inherited it from her.” His jaw tightened as he grew silent.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Hurricane told me something happened to her.”
“It was an accident. A terrible accident.” His eyes flicked in my direction, reminding me again of Indigo’s. But now they looked pained. “Avery, you and your mother are aura healers. It is a rare gift. Your power is in helping people, healing their spirits. But your gift will not help you save your mother. Katalina is wrong. I do not want anyone else hurt. You should stay away from the Tombs. I’m so sorry.”
I felt my throat tighten. I’d been hoping he would tell me how to strengthen my power so that I could help my mother. “No, please don’t say that. My mother told me to find you—”
“Because she knew I would try to talk you out of going back into the Tombs. At least, that is my belief.”
“But what about the explosion? I can learn to use that, develop it somehow, can’t I?” I was desperate.
Mr. Moralis slowly shook his head. “I spoke to Hurricane this evening. In all likelihood the explosion was due to the long y
ears you spent burying your abilities. With the shock of Oscar’s beating, the energy literally exploded out of you. It is not likely to happen again.”
My eyes stung, but I blinked back my treasonous tears. I would not prove myself weak. I would not prove him right. Instead, I stood up and paced back and forth in front of the fire. Why did my mother tell me to find him if she just wanted me to stay away? She could have told me that herself.
“Mr. Moralis, please, there must be another reason why my mother sent me here. I don’t know what she was trying to say, but I can’t believe . . .” Then I remembered her words just before she passed out. “Is there something you have? She was starting to tell me what it was.” He remained silent. I pushed on recklessly. “I almost gave up on her once. Have you given up on Indigo? Will you leave him in the Tombs to die if there’s a chance—”
“No!” He stood up. “Never!” Again he stared into the fire, stroking his beard. “Let me think. . . . Something I have?” His eyes lit with sudden realization. “Of course! Three years ago, I asked your mother to come see me. I had found something during my travels that I wanted to share with her.”
Once again, I felt uncomfortable with the familiar way in which he spoke of my mother. I imagined my father finding out that Mr. Moralis had sent for her, a married woman, in order to share his secrets with her. And when she came, Hurricane saw them together. Hurricane had seemed to regret saying anything. Did she tell me all she saw?
He turned toward camp, speaking over his shoulder. “Wait here. It is ancient magic. And trust me when I tell you, you have never seen anything like it.”
Chapter Twenty
The Perch
Monday morning, I opened my eyes and stared at the low ceiling of the crate, thinking about the assemblage of other crates above my head. Apparently they were sturdy enough to stack without fear of toppling. I wished we were not at the bottom of the pile, although the top seemed just as perilous, given the shaky ladders leading upward. And one nor’easter could easily topple the upper crates.
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