Distracting us, a girl stepped out onto the porch and Jaime shot up and ran to her.
“Bryna, his wife,” Theron explained.
My mind went blank. What? She looked twenty, like me, and she was married? Jaime also looked young, about twenty-two. And they were married? Already?
“She’s pregnant,” Theron added.
“Oh, that’s why then. Though I don’t think it should happen like that.”
“Why what?” Cora asked, leaning across the table.
Startled and suspicious, my tone faltered. “That they married so young.”
Theron gave me a hard look. “They married almost two years ago, when Bryna turned twenty-one. She got pregnant much later.”
Wow, she was twenty-three? She looked a lot younger. “Christ, then they were probably in love.”
“No, Mirella,” Cora said. “In our culture, people marry young. Normally, girls are twenty-one. And the couples are promised to each other when they are children.”
“It used to be even earlier,” Ramon added. “Girls used to be eighteen when they got married.”
“Fifteen during my grandparents time,” Sheila said.
“Say what?” I yelped, receiving the attention of everyone around the table. My cheeks became hot. “Sorry,” I mumbled.
When the conversation resumed, Cora continued. “I understand it may seem weird to you.”
“Too weird,” I whispered. Then a thought filled my mind. “How about you two? I’m sure you’re both over twenty-one.”
Theron stared at the ground before saying, “Well, being from a non-traditional enclave, it’s hard to find fiancées. My fiancée died two years ago during an alchemist attack. She was nineteen.”
Cora whispered, “They would have gotten married next month.”
My gaze shifted to Theron, who was still staring at his feet, his expression serious, different from what I had seen so far. “I’m sorry.”
He nodded.
After a minute in silence, I turned to Cora and asked in a low voice, “And you? Please don’t tell me yours died too.”
Cora’s gaze went across the table, but she quickly looked down at her hands. “No, I’m single.”
I had followed her glance—to Rye, who now also looked out, to the side, as if the garden in the distance was more important than the people around the table.
“Mine died,” Nico announced, his voice solemn, sad.
My heart squeezed. “No … I’m so sorry.”
“Cora, Rye, and I came from the same enclave. It was ambushed and attacked by alchemists. Everyone died but the three of us.”
My heart felt heavy for them. “I’m so sorry,” I repeated, this time to all of them.
Cora shrugged. “That was two years ago. We’re okay now.”
Silence filled the table for a few minutes.
“Anyway,” Theron said, looking at me. “As we were saying, most of us get married early.” He pointed to Shay. “He’s engaged. He should get married in eight months. And my brother wants to be single forever.”
“Really?” I looked at Ramon. “Why?”
Ramon just grunted.
The subject changed, and I paid attention to them, trying to absorb it all, to understand them. They looked so at peace and so in synchrony with each other, it was heartwarming. Like Theron had said, they weren’t alone. They were family.
And I envied them.
With an easy smile matching my own, Sheila approached us and rested a hand on my shoulder. “If you’re okay with it, I would like to show you some things.”
12
“This is where I try to keep our most ancient traditions alive,” Sheila said, gesturing to the basement room past the open door.
I peeked inside, expecting bats and spiders, and was surprised. The room was clear and large, probably the size of the entire first floor, with artificial lighting, and beige and coral mosaic floor. A couple of large wooden tables occupied the center, plus a few scattered chairs and armchairs. Tall shelves filled with anything imaginable stuff lined the walls. Broken vials, smelly books, herbs, cards, runes.
A large tapestry hung from the wall, taller than me. It portrayed a girl with long reddish brown hair, hazel eyes, and olive skin. She was beautiful and radiated power from her pose, with her arms slightly open, her hands covered in flames, her gaze cast down, a bright red glow around her.
“That’s Damara,” Sheila said from behind me. “She’s a symbol for the tzigane.”
“Is she a real girl?” I asked, gawking at the beautiful picture.
“She was,” Ramon answered. I glanced back at him, wondering how I hadn’t noticed he had followed us down here. “She died two hundred years ago.” There was a hint of sadness and respect in his tone.
I wanted to ask why, but another detail on the painting caught my attention. Damara was looking down at a flower laid at her feet. The flower was red with a long green stem, but the most interesting part of it was its format at its center, the receptacle, where all the small, red petals met. It was heart shaped, red, and thick, shining like it was a gelatin cushion.
“I’ve never seen a flower like this one,” I muttered.
“That’s the Heart Flower,” Ramon said.
What an odd, beautiful flower. Yet, something in the back of my mind told me it wasn’t that strange.
Sheila’s hand closed around my wrist and pulled me to a table where three high stacks of books blocked the tapestry from my sight. I could still see the door, and Theron leaned on its threshold.
“I’ve been picking up a strong aura coming from you,” Sheila started. “Your powers might be strong, and apparently, the alchemists know it.”
I crossed my arms, bothered with the subject. “What do you want me to do? I didn’t choose to be a tzigane.”
She flinched, but recovered and smiled at me. “I want you to learn to use your powers, to dig into them and learn if they are really strong, and it would be useful if you knew how to defend yourself.”
A knot formed between my brows. “I don’t know how,” I admitted, my voice low.
“I want to teach you how to tap into and use your power.” Sheila rested her hand over my crossed arms. “You might be able to detect alchemists’ presence before they get too close, and if you can’t escape them at once, you can defend yourself with your magic.”
I glanced around the room. Many mysteries lay before me, flaring up my curiosity, a feeling I didn’t know could be this strong until a few days ago when the tzigane story started unraveling.
For many years, I teased my mother, pushed her away even, because of all these mysteries—the lies. Being the reluctant and rebel daughter had its perks, but if unveiling and learning the mysteries could lead to understanding my mother and trying to find a bridge between us, then it would be worth it.
Uncrossing my arms, I stared at Sheila and said, “Then teach me.”
The ride back was quiet. From Theron’s tense and jerky body movements, I got the feeling he wanted to talk, but I didn’t give him many openings. I had too much on my mind and wanted to think.
After I asked Sheila to teach me how to control my powers, we played with my senses a little. It was getting late and I had to get home, but I allowed myself a few minutes of practice with someone who seemed to know what she was doing. Sheila had told me to close my eyes and feel everything around me, not just whatever was calling to me. At first, I couldn’t sense anything.
“Keep practicing,” she said. “Every time you have a few minutes free, just close your eyes and try it. Hopefully, you’ll have felt something by the time you come back.”
So, after a quick tutorial of what to do and what to look for, Sheila sent me home. And I used the silence in the car to think. To take it all in. To get used to it.
When Theron parked his Jeep before my building, he finally asked, “Excited?”
“About learning your ways?”
He tsked. “Our ways. Aren’t you excited about it?”
“I’m not sure,” I confessed.
“Wait till you start using your magic. You will like it.” He sounded like a badass guy, one who loved to kick some butt.
“All tziganes have magic?”
“Not in the sense that we can cast spells. Like me for example. I have a powerful sixth sense, I can even communicate with my brother telepathically, but I don’t have cool abilities.”
“Like?”
“My father can control air, Cora can control the earth, Shay can move objects with his mind, and Jaime can create illusions.”
I nodded, filing that information with the rest labeled I-need-more-time-to-take-this-all-in.
I opened the Jeep’s door and hopped out.
“Hey.” I leaned into the door to hear whatever else he had to say. “You already have my number, but you probably should have Ramon’s, Jaime’s, Shay’s, Rye’s, and Cora’s too. In case you need help. From alchemists.”
I wanted to argue and say I didn’t need it, but the last two attacks flashed in my mind and I knew I had to. He told me everyone’s cell numbers, including Dolan’s, Neil’s, and Sheila’s, and I entered them into my cell phone.
“Thanks,” I said, putting my phone back into my jeans’ pocket. “For the ride and for showing me your enclave.”
Surprise shone in his dark eyes. “You’re welcome.”
Disconcerted, I closed the Jeep’s door and someone jumped down from a tree into the backseat. Wind cushioned his fall.
“What are you doing with her?” Artan snarled at Theron, his body tense, as if he was ready to fight, even if he was seated inside a car.
“Now? I’m bringing her home,” Theron said, as if he was talking to an old friend. “But a few nights ago, I saved her friend from alchemists. You’re welcome.”
Artan growled and jumped out of the car to my side.
“What were you thinking?” Artan looked down at me, his eyes like enraged golden flames. “You could have been kidnapped. Or worse, killed.”
“Thanks to Sara-la-Kali, I can protect her,” Theron said as he walked around the Jeep. He stood beside us, his hands inside his pockets, an easy grin on his face.
Artan glared at him, fists clenched. “I forbid you to touch her.” His voice was low and raw.
“Who do you think you are, telling me what to do?”
Artan puffed up his chest. “I am A—”
Theron scoffed. “I know who you are, idiot. And you have no claim on her.”
“Yes, I do. My enclave has. She’s our member.”
Theron leaned closer to Artan. “I think that’s her choice, and she hasn’t chosen yet.”
Artan’s eyes shifted to me. “I can’t believe you went with them. Didn’t I tell you to stay away from them? They aren’t good people.”
“Hey, I’m standing right here.” Theron had lost his smile and his voice roughened up. “She’s safe with me.” He placed his arms over my shoulders and pulled me close. I knew he had done it to anger Artan.
What was it with these guys? Testosterone fight? Damn.
Artan inhaled deeply, the air fighting back the shudder building up from his tension. “Stay away from her.” He grabbed my wrist and pulled me to his side.
“You ar—”
“Shut up!” I yelled, causing them both to look at me. I jerked away from Artan’s hold. “You both stop. I’m not a rag doll you can push and pull and control. If you want my cooperation with anything, then behave, at least when you’re around me.” I wanted to tell them I would kick their asses if they didn’t, but that was impossible. Both were twice or three times my size. No way I could ever put a hand on them.
I turned my back on them and walked across the front yard. When I halted to open the front door, I glanced back at them and saw they were leaning into each other, whispering angry words I couldn’t exactly hear.
I tried not to say anything, but I couldn’t help myself. I turned toward them, and before entering my building, I said, “Please, stop fighting. I have no idea why your enclaves hate each other, but seriously, you have a common enemy out there. If you unified and battled together, it wouldn’t be so hard.”
“You scared the hell out of me,” my mother said once I opened the door for her.
I checked my phone again. It was one thirty in the afternoon on a Sunday. Didn’t she have something better to do?
I rubbed my eyes, trying to wake up from my delicious nap. “Good afternoon to you too,” I grumbled.
Scoffing, she marched into my apartment. “You can’t do that, Mirella.”
“What are you talking about?”
I closed the door and dragged my bare feet to the kitchen, where she had gone, and was already filling the kettle with tap water.
She turned fuming eyes to me. “Bellville, what else? You went with them yesterday.”
I gaped at her. “How …?” I was going to ask her how she knew, but I realized how. “Artan.”
“Yes, that wonderful young man told me he saw you arriving home last night with one of the Bellville members.” She tsked, placing the kettle on the range. “I thought you knew better, Mirella. Artan told me he warned you about Bellville.”
I took in a long breath, so I would measure my words before blurting them out. “Mom, I’m not a kid anymore. I can go out with whomever I want.”
She took two mugs from the cabinet and prepared them with tea and honey. “It’s not about being a kid. This is about being a tzigane.”
Rolling my eyes, I sat on one of the stools before the tall counter. “Please, I don’t want to talk about this anymore. No more tzigane stuff, okay?” Not with her.
“You’re a tzigane, Mirella. A powerful one. You can’t hide from that.”
I wasn’t trying to hide from that anymore, but I also wouldn’t go about the world announcing it. Nor did I need to share with her what I did or didn’t do about my life.
I drank the tea she made, out of respect for her, but then retreated to my bedroom, well aware she was starting dinner early.
My mother’s presence unsettled me. I felt this tension between us, like an electrical fence that no one knew how to turn off. I appreciated her cooking and cleaning and sometimes even her worry, but I couldn’t handle how distant she was with me, even when she was standing by my side.
After a quick shower, I grabbed my dance tote, and while my mother was engrossed in her cooking, I slipped out of the apartment.
The warm wind hit my face the moment I walked out of the building, and I lifted my chin, inhaling it. Here in the north, the summer air wasn’t as stuffy as the other places my mother and I had lived. It was just right.
Taking in another lungful of the balmy breeze, I started the short walk to the dance studio. Being Sunday, the place would be empty, perfect for me to dance alone and relieve some of my tension and stress.
It didn’t matter if I was a tzigane or not. I just had to go on with my life. To live each day like I always had. To go to my college classes, to teach ballet and flamenco, take some adult dance classes when I could, see where my relationship with Phillip was headed, and hopefully, fix my friendship with Ellie—or not. Though my mind argued about the risk, about all the problems and danger of having her getting more involved with me, my heart wouldn’t listen. I missed Ellie, her wide smile, her easy laughter, and her boy-obsessed mind.
No, no, I had to ignore my heart.
Ellie had to stay away from me. And I had to be alone.
Alone …
With my iPod blaring in my ears, I didn’t think about if I was being followed or not. I tried not to. Temptation to use my senses crept up.
My breathing grew shallow and my palms dampened. I glanced around. Alchemists could be creeping up behind me. I didn’t want any help from any more strangers, nor did I want to be followed by Lovell or Bellville, but that didn’t mean I wanted to be attacked. Or killed.
The next thing I realized, I was jogging the last two blocks to the dance studio, my keys already in my h
ands.
Inside, I felt safer. I locked the doors and didn’t turn on the lights, so from the outside the place looked deserted.
After changing into my dance clothes—black backless leotard, tights, and a flowing red skirt and flamenco shoes—and stepping into the classroom, I already felt more relaxed.
I connected my phone with the stereo and music blasted from the speakers, filling the classroom with the string of chords and the rhythm of my heart.
I closed my eyes and let the beat fill me, take me. My hips started moving, my feet started tapping, and my hands curled around my body. For six long songs, I didn’t stop. I just danced and danced, working up a sweat, not caring about my shallow breathing. The dancing and the songs, they nurtured my soul, made me feel bold, sexy, and invincible.
I closed my eyes every so often, letting the rhythm take me whenever it wanted, without glancing at the mirrors on the walls. My hair whipped across my face, like a long, dark wave from the deep ocean.
After the seventh song, I changed to reggaeton while I paused the dancing and caught my breath.
The tingling exploded in my mind, the pendant inside my bra warmed, and I gasped. I closed my eyes, letting my shields fall a bit so I could follow it. But whatever it was that spiked my senses was here.
Right here.
My eyes fluttered open and I snapped my head to the door.
With crossed arms, Artan stood leaned against the doorjamb, his narrowed eyes on me.
“W-what are you doing here?” And how long had he been there? Had he seen me dancing? Embarrassment heated my cheeks.
“I was sent to check on you.”
I frowned. “So, what … does that mean you’re following me now?”
“Not really. We check on you often, that’s all,” he said, as if that was normal.
Just like Theron. “Do tziganes always stalk girls like that?”
“Just the ones that insist on being difficult.” One corner of his lips tugged up, but it only lasted a second. Then he was back to his serious, stoic self. “Come on.”
I crossed my arms. “I’m not going to Lovell.”
Heart Seeker (The Fire Heart Chronicles Book 1) Page 10
