Heart Seeker (The Fire Heart Chronicles Book 1)

by Juliana Haygert

  Me: I’m fine.

  I applied a lip gloss and decided to tell her more.

  Me: I’m going to their enclave.

  My phone rang, the word “mom” flashing on the screen.

  “What is it?” I answered.

  “This is big, Mirella,” she said, her voice in a revered tone. “Think of them like royalty when dealing with them. I know I was banished, but they are good and true. Respect them, even when you don’t want to.”

  “Speaking of which, aren’t you worried they will tell me about your banishment.” Silence. “Do you want to tell me your version before they do?”

  “They won’t say anything.”

  “Well, they can join your club.” She went quiet. “Mom?”

  “Can we talk about this when we’re face-to-face?”

  I sighed. “I guess …”

  “Call me when you’re back. I want to know how it went.”

  Why? Did she think that after all the lies, I owed her something? She was mistaken. “Later.”

  I turned off the call.

  After one last glance at the mirror, I left my apartment. The closer I got to the outside, the tenser I felt. What if these people were crazy? Well, maybe they were crazy like I had always thought my mother was, but she wouldn’t let me go with them without a warning, other than to respect them, if they were bad people, right?

  Closing my hand tight around the strap of my bag, I climbed down the stairs and exited my building.

  Artan and another young man, one I had seen before, stood in front of the blue SUV.

  Artan tilted his head. “You remember Sloan.”

  “Y-yes,” I said, recalling him from the club, and during the first attack in the parking garage.

  Artan alone was intimidating. But the two warriors side by side? They emanated power and control and seemed as stoic as marble statues.

  “He’s my cousin,” Artan said.

  Sloan grinned at me, like a cat ready to pounce. “Hi there.” He was a couple of inches shorter than his cousin, but a little bit wider. What did these guys eat? Or was it all just a lot of training?

  “Hey,” I said, my voice low.

  The dark back window from the SUV lowered. Darcy peeked out. “We should go.”

  Artan nodded to her. “Of course, puri daj.”

  Sloan gestured to the car. “Come on, Mirella. I’ll show you to your seat.”

  Swallowing hard, I followed Sloan and Artan to the other side of the SUV. Sloan hopped in first and went directly to the third row. He patted the seat in front of him. Right beside Darcy.

  She smiled at me as I slid in. While I put on my seat belt, Artan took the driver’s seat. His father was in the passenger seat in front.

  “Everyone ready?” Artan asked.

  Once more, wariness at being surrounded by strangers hit me. I had done something similar before. I had gone to Bellville with strangers, and now they weren’t strangers anymore. In fact, I would like to think that at least Theron and Sheila were my friends now. The only ones I was allowed to have. And, to be honest, Artan wasn’t really a stranger. Not anymore.

  “Yes, we’re ready,” Darcy answered.

  Artan took the SUV out of my building’s parking lot and onto the road.

  Outside the SUV, the sun shone high and a few clouds dotted the blue sky. It seemed like a pleasant summer day. However, inside the SUV, the ride to the enclave was quiet and tense.

  Everyone seemed lost in thought. Darcy looked out the window as if the interstate was an interesting view. At that moment, Sloan peeked his head between the seats and glanced at me.

  “So, how is being a tzigane so far?”

  I snorted. “Confusing.”

  He nodded. “I bet it’s strange, huh? I can’t imagine not knowing we’re different, special, that we have powers … I can’t imagine not living by our traditions.”

  Traditions. I glanced from Sloan to Artan—or the back of his head. Tziganes got married early. Artan and Sloan were probably twenty-five … they both were probably married by now.

  For some reason, that idea didn’t sit well with me.

  “Well, right now I can’t imagine living by your traditions.”

  “Our traditions,” Darcy corrected me.

  Why did everyone feel the need to hear me say our? I didn’t want to be a part of their enclave. They were crazy if they thought taking me to see their place would change my mind. It hadn’t worked with Bellville and wouldn’t work now, either.

  Sloan patted the back of my seat. “Don’t worry. You’ll love Lovell.”

  Couldn’t we all be just good acquaintances and leave it at that? I shook my head and glanced out the window.

  “I’m probably going crazy,” I muttered.

  “The entire world is crazy, child,” Darcy said. “We just have to decide which crazy side we’ll stand with.”

  I gulped. Was she talking about me? Asking me which side I would choose? Lovell or Bellville? Gah, when wouldn’t someone ask me about that? Couldn’t I choose a third one? A neutral one?

  All I wanted was to go back to the time when I didn’t know anything, when I was a gadjo, ignorant that I was more than a simple Romani woman.

  Thirty minutes later, Artan made a right off the interstate, and kept driving down a narrow road for another ten minutes, then he slowed down and stopped the car before what seemed like the side of a rocky mound.

  Artan twisted back in his seat and looked at me. “Welcome to Lovell.”

  He was joking, right?

  “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Pay attention,” Darcy whispered.

  I glanced outside, but there was nothing there other than a rocky mound ahead of us and some tall, old trees flanking and shadowing it.

  My jaw dropped when six men jumped down from nowhere and landed before the SUV, dressed with dark brown suede pants and vests, swords in their hands, bows on their back, and mortal stares.

  The warriors formed a line in front of the rocky wall and waited, swords in hands.

  Artan got out of the SUV and halted among them. The warriors bowed to Artan, positioning their swords across their upper body, then stepped aside, forming a corridor through which Artan walked, going toward the mound wall.

  “What is he doing?” I asked.

  “Keep looking,” Darcy said, her eyes on her grandson, a faint smile on her lips.

  I kept looking and again my mouth fell open when Artan touched the wall with his right hand and a red light shone through his palm. The ground trembled, shaking the SUV with it, and the rock wall opened in the middle and retreated to the sides, rock dust falling from it, revealing a bridge.

  “That isn’t necessary to enter the enclave,” Sloan said from behind me. “But he wanted to put on a show today.”

  Artan came back to the SUV and drove past the warriors and the entrance, and over the bridge. It was made of rust-colored stones, wide enough for two cars, small gray parallelepipeds formed the pavement. Under it, I could see a shallow stream and lots of green.

  The curve of the bridge hit its apex, and I finally could see what was on the other side. A village. With lots of narrow, two-story, orange-colored houses, steep brownish roof tiles, archways of varying sizes, narrow pathways leading up and down composed by colored stones, brick steps here and there, and many, many flowers and plants and shrubs of all colors and sizes possible. Just like a traditional Spanish village.

  Artan drove the SUV to the left and parked it in what seemed to be the community parking garage. It was four stories high with orange stone walls like the rest of the village and many vehicles—trucks, vans, SUVs, sedans, coupes—packed the place.

  Another group of warriors approached as we got out of the SUV. Oscar, Artan, and Sloan left with them, and Darcy took me to the main house, which was located between the bridge and the parking garage.

  “This is the entrance point for visiting enclaves or strangers,” Darcy said, opening her arms wide across the room.
“We come here to receive them.”

  The main house was much like a clubhouse of an apartment subdivision. A large living room, a small open plan kitchen, a fireplace, and a back porch with a privileged view of the rest of the village, all decorated with rustic wooden furniture, colorful fabrics, tapestries, clay bowls and plates.

  “Hmm, okay …” I said, not understanding why she was showing me this.

  As if reading my mind, she said, “I promised I would show you everything.” Then she snatched my wrist and pulled me to the back porch. “Let’s go.”

  The old hag guided me through a narrow, deserted street. The strong scent of sweet, wild flowers hovered in the air.

  We crossed a tall archway and stood in a large square. Colorful pavement, wooden benches, pergolas, a large stone fountain in the center, a few ornamental wagons spread throughout. Some houses and buildings faced the square, colored fabric covering their decorated terraces, creeper dangling from the rails.

  Kids ran around and played with a soccer ball, dolls, bubbles, and balloons. Men stood beside the fountain, playing flamenco songs with guitar and harmonica, talking, and playing cards. Women sat together on benches, knitting, gossiping, laughing, dancing. They struck me as sensual and strong women, and their colorful dresses and skirts, bright jewelry, high-heeled boots, and makeup made me conscious of my simple dress and sandals. I had only a pair of earrings, Phillip’s necklace, a couple of bracelets, one ring, and a light lipgloss. These women were gorgeous, and I felt like a nobody stuck somewhere I shouldn’t be.

  I was about to bolt to the main house and hide when some people noticed my presence, and in a matter of seconds, everyone went quiet. The men stopped playing, the women stopped dancing, and the kids stopped running. Every set of eyes fell on me.

  Shit. The heat of embarrassment crept up my cheeks, and I tugged on my shawl, as if it could cover all of me.

  “Be strong,” Darcy whispered. “They’re just curious. After all, you’re the reason they are under curfew.”

  “Curfew?”

  “Yes. With more alchemists loose in town, we established a curfew so our tziganes won’t stay outside our walls for long.”

  Then two men came into the square pushing a heavy and elaborate wooden wagon.

  “What’s that wagon for?”

  “Vurdon,” Darcy said, her sight on the wagon.

  “Say what?”

  “We call it vurdon. Wagon is a gadjo word.”

  And I learned something new every day. I felt stupid and out of place. This enclave was beautiful and alive, bigger than Bellville, with a different kind of energy, but I felt like an outsider. At least in Bellville, I felt like I belonged among so many misfits.

  A girl stepped out of the group of women gathering and strolled toward Darcy and me. It took me a couple of seconds to recognize her. It was Ryane, Artan’s sister.

  “Sastimos, puri daj,” she said upon meeting her grandmother. She bowed and Darcy kissed her forehead. Was I the only one who had no idea what Ryane had said? She pivoted to me, elegant like a ballet dancer. “Hello, Mirella, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

  “Hi,” I said, with a brusque wave of my hand.

  Darcy caught her granddaughter’s hands. “Ryane, I would like you to stay with Mirella while I go check on the event details.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  Before I knew it, Darcy was gone and I was left with Ryane in a square full of strangers who looked at me as if I were some sort of bug under a microscope.

  Ryane linked her arm to mine. “Don’t worry. They’re just curious.”

  “That’s what your grandmother said.”

  She smiled down at me. Damn, she was almost as tall as her brother. “She’s wise.” Her voice resonated with pride. “Come.” She tugged my arm and pulled me into the crowd. “I’ll show you around.”

  19

  It was hard to ignore the stares as Ryane and I strolled around the square, painfully slow.

  “Your grandmother said something about an event?” I asked, my voice low. When I was being brought here, nobody had mentioned an event.

  “Oh yes, it’s just a small gathering.” She smiled at me. “We always have a feast when guests come to visit us.”

  I stopped dead in my tracks. “Are you telling me there’s a celebration for me?”

  “Don’t think you’re that special,” she said in a singsong voice, and for some reason, I didn’t believe her words. “We do this for all our guests.”

  She tugged on my arm, pulling me forward, making me walk again, and she started on my tour.

  She showed me the two-story orange building where the rom baro’s office and elders’ council was located. Then there was the library, the dance studio—the second one caught my attention, but Ryane didn’t stop long enough for me to examine it closer. And, right beside it all was the school, a similar building to all the others but the tallest with three floors.

  Though I had never asked Sheila about it, I knew the kids were home-schooled in Bellville. “It’s forbidden for the kids to study at a regular school?”

  “This is our regular school.” Ryane gestured to the building we walked by. “It isn’t forbidden, but discouraged. Kids and teenagers go to school here, inside the enclave. It’s safer this way.”

  “So … no one goes out to study?”

  “When necessary, to learn a new trade or bring in a new skill we need, then someone will go to college.. Usually, a warrior is chosen since he’s the best candidate to defend himself out there.”

  There were still so many things I didn’t know about this culture; it all made my head spin.

  “And there—” She pointed to a long path, winding down a hill “—are the training grounds. Besides individual homes, I showed you all the different buildings and services.”

  Meanwhile, the square had filled up some more.

  As if they had done it a thousand times, the men and women, young and old, worked to bring the place alive. Colorful fabrics were stretched from wooden pillars strategically located around the square, creating open-side tents. Lanterns were hung from the fabrics. Men brought out long tables and chairs and benches, and women brought big trays with food and drinks.

  Ryane followed my line of sight and smiled at me. “It’s almost ready.”

  “Hi there.” A young man appeared in front of us. He smiled at me, his dark brown eyes shining. “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Stefano Pena.” He placed his fist over his heart and bowed to me.

  I glanced at Ryane and she rolled her eyes.

  “Just ignore him,” she whispered.

  He then reached for my hand. “It’s so nice to meet you.” He leaned down and placed a kiss on the back of my hand.

  I pulled my hand away. “Hmm, I’m Mir—”

  “Mirella Reyes, yes, I know.”

  “Oh-kay. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

  I squeezed Ryane’s arm, asking her to save me. I hoped she got my message. This guy couldn’t be older than seventeen, and he was looking at me as if he wanted to jump at me.

  “I heard you’re new to the tzigane world.” He stepped closer, towering over me. He was tall, but he wasn’t built, not like the other men around here. Not like Sloan and Artan were. “So … that means you’re not promised to anyone yet.” He arched his brow to me.

  “Oh, Stefano,” Ryane finally said. “She just arrived. Don’t scare her away.”

  “But I can’t help it.” He opened his arms wide. Too much flare for such a young guy. “The moment you walked into the square, my heart knew … you’re the one for me,” he whispered.

  I gaped at him. “Excuse me?”

  He didn’t seem a bit disappointed by my reaction. “I understand your surprise. This is all new to you. I’ll let you get used to it, but remember, once you’re more acquainted with our customs, I’ll ask for your hand.”

  “Stefano, look, I think your mother is calling.” Ryane pointed to somewhere among the crowd.
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  He glanced back, but didn’t seem to find whomever Ryane had pointed to. “I’ll find you in a little while.” He winked at me, then marched into the crowd, looking for his mother, who was probably nowhere around the square.

  “What was up with that?” I asked Ryane.

  She chuckled. “That’s Stefano. He just turned seventeen and he isn’t promised yet, which is unusual for us.”

  “Why?”

  She sighed. “His puri daj, sister to mine, was the most important elder on the council. Until six months ago when she died of old age. She always said Stefano would marry someone special, and she convinced her daughter, his mother, of that. They haven’t found someone special enough to marry him.” She turned her hazel eyes to me. “Until now.”

  “That’s crazy.” She had to know that was crazy. One, I wasn’t a tzigane, not really, not the way they were, with their entire hearts and souls. And I didn’t want to be. I would never live by their customs and do whatever they said was right or wrong.

  Two, he was younger than I was by three years. No way was I going to even think about dating a younger guy.

  She chuckled some more. “Sorry. I’m laughing. The terror on your face is comical.” She sighed, letting the laughter die. “It isn’t so simple. There are many rules and traditions to be followed before a person chooses another to marry. Don’t worry. You’re safe.” She leaned closer and whispered, “For now.” I gasped. She laughed some more. “Okay, I’m done now.”

  I shook my head at her. “What about you? Are you promised?”

  Her eyes gleamed. “I am. His name is Tomas. He’s a warrior here with Artan and Sloan. We’ve been promised since I was two years old. But I’m only nineteen now, so we have to wait until I’m twenty-one.”

  I lowered my voice. “Do you like him?”

  Her smile was too sudden, too wide. “Of course I do.”

  It seemed odd for me, to be promised to someone you barely knew, to know who you were going to marry since you were a kid. What if the person was an absolute jerk? What if he was cold? Uncaring?

  There were things about tzigane tradition that I would never understand.