“I picked his thoughts.” Her hand tightened on Samuel’s. “They were as ugly as he is.”
Agraciana’s voice became tentative. “Can you tell me, was he thinking of anything else besides coming here?”
“You don’t want to know,” Charlotte muttered before she saw the other woman’s expression. “He wasn’t deciding how he wanted to kill you, if that’s what you mean.”
“But did he think about my parents?” Before Charlotte could answer, she said quickly, “I don’t know what my mother looks like now, but my father is an old man, with white hair and a scar on his neck here.” She touched a place on her throat.
Charlotte shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t see anyone like that in his thoughts.”
Instead of showing disappointment, Agraciana smiled a little. “Then there is still some hope. Thank you.”
By the time they reached the seventh house, the fire inside had caused the windows to burst and belch columns of black smoke into the sky. While Colotl directed the other men to take up defensive positions along the tree line, Tlemi came to speak in a low voice to Charlotte, who returned a few minutes later.
“We have another problem,” she told him. “Pici’s contractions have started again. The stress of this is just too much for her and the baby.”
Samuel had taken the precaution of removing everything Charlotte might need for the delivery from the treatment room before setting fire to the house. “We’ll have to move her away from here.”
“Tlemi and I are going to carry her down the beach until we’re out of sight.” She eyed the tree line. “Ihiyo should go with us. He’ll help keep her calm.” She turned to him. “And no, don’t suggest I stay with her. She’s not ready to deliver yet, and you need me here.” She stalked off toward the pier.
“You had to get mixed up with a telepath.” Drew slapped the back of Samuel’s shoulder. “You know, you’ll never be able to throw that woman a surprise birthday party. Or make her think you were working late at the office.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He eyed his friend. “And I’m not mixed-up. I’m in love with her. Come on.”
They went to retrieve the weapons they had stashed beneath the sea grape bushes.
“Yours.” Drew handed him two macuahuitl before hefting the bundle with the others they had made. “If you want to change your mind, we can all rush him.”
“If this doesn’t work, I need you in reserve.” He glanced over at the women. “Whatever happens, I’m depending on you to get the islanders back to the States. Matthias will help you resettle them.”
Drew uttered a sour chuckle. “I think he’ll need to buy a maternity hospital.”
“If I don’t make it, he’ll be able to purchase several.” Samuel smiled. “As my long-lost brother, he inherits the bulk of my estate.”
“You mean you didn’t leave me anything in the will?” Drew mocked.
He grinned. “Other than my shares in Intel and Microsoft, which I believe are presently worth a few million, no.”
“Maybe you should stop worrying about the vampire and start worrying about me.” Drew turned his head, his eyes shifting past Samuel. His smile faded. “Oh, shit.”
Chapter 22
Energúmeno had never loved her. Quinequia had accepted that as soon as she had been taken from the streets in Mexico City and brought to Manzanillo to be presented to him. That day, she had discovered that her ability couldn’t overpower his ancient mind or the rage that had sustained it for so long. Contrary creature that she was, she adored him for it, and served him with loyalty so fierce she even defied him now and then in order to protect him.
Her love had brought her to this cantina, where she sat and drank cheap wine while she waited. She didn’t know for whom or what, only that she had to be here.
A man sat down in the chair across from her, his smile lighting up an unremarkable face. “Hello, little sister.”
Quinequia eyed him. “You are mistaken, señor. I have no brothers.” The whore who had given birth to her had bled to death after a botched abortion when Quinequia was five; she had huddled against her mother’s rotting body for two days before the stench and hunger had driven her out on the streets.
The man reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “È una cosa importante da ricordare.”
Quinequia had never spoken Italian, but she knew instantly what he was saying. It is an important thing to remember. And she remembered him, her mentor, the man who had saved her.
No one knew about him. They had met when Quinequia had lived on the streets of Mexico City; he’d found her one day holding court among the other ragged, filthy orphans. He had laughed at her confusion when her ability had failed to enslave him.
“Your charms are not irresistible, my dear,” he’d chided in flawless Spanish. “I can teach you what to do when they fail you, and much more.”
Quinequia had never gone to school; that was for children with homes and families. But street life had taught her that no one did anything for free. “Why would you do that?”
He had pulled up the sleeve of his shirt to show her a strange picture just above his elbow. It had been made part of his skin, just like the gray bird on the back of her hand. “Because we are family.”
He had taken her with him that day, first to the beautiful rooms in one of the big hotels, where maids had washed her and dressed her in clothes so clean and soft the touch of them felt like angel’s wings. A butler had brought a cart with so much lovely food she had not dared do anything but stare at it, at least until her mentor told her it was all for her. Then she had thrown herself at him instead of the food, clutching him as she sobbed like a baby.
He had stroked her hair and let her cry until she hiccuped. “I am going to take care of you now, little sister.”
So he had, from that night on. During the next three years he had taken her all over the world with him, teaching her everything he knew, training her how to better control and use her gift, and then finally explaining her purpose. By the time they returned to Mexico, Quinequia was nine years old, and more than ready to begin the work.
“You look like a proper street urchin now,” her mentor had said as he surveyed the ragged, filthy garments she wore.
Quinequia eyed another brother who came into the room; a silent and watchful teacher whom she had met in England. “I will never tell anyone about us.”
“You can be made to tell, little sister. So you must be made to forget.” Her mentor rubbed a little more dirt on her cheek, and then pushed the hair he had deliberately snarled back from her eyes. “If you need us, we will know. If there is time, we will come for you. If there is not, you must protect us.”
She nodded, and when the other brother had come to lay his hands on her neck, she had not resisted.
Memories flooded her as she looked across the table at her mentor. The words he had spoken to her had lifted the mask over her memory placed in her mind the night he had brought her back to Mexico and returned her to her life on the streets.
“You have come back for me.”
He nodded. “Your work here is finished.”
Now that she recalled everything, she felt confused. The only reason he would come personally was to take her away with him. “Am I being replaced? Is that why you are here?”
“No, my dear.” He stood and offered her his hand as she rose from her chair. “You are being recalled.”
Her lower lip trembled as she fought back her tears. “Then I have failed you.”
“You are wrong.” He put his arm around her. “Now, come. We have one more task to perform.”
Charlie stopped beneath a coconut palm and surveyed the area before she looked at Tlemi. “Tell him to put her down here.”
Ihiyo, who had insisted on carrying the other end of the stretcher, nodded as Tlemi translated. In sync with Charlie’s movements, he carefully lowered Pici to the ground, then came around to kneel beside the stretcher. The pregnant girl sighed as her lover took her hands in his and spoke to her in a soft, low voice.
Tlemi gestured for Charlotte, and she followed her out of the secluded spot down to the beach. “I must tell you something.”
Charlie held up one hand. “If you’ve done anything else for the master, I don’t want to know about it.”
“No, it is about Pici.” She glanced over at the grove. “When she was a little girl, the master had her taken from her family in America. Her parents’ names are Jill and Robert Colfax, and they lived in Houston, Texas. Jill was a teacher, and Robert sold insurance.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“It is our hope that if the master defeats us, you may still escape him someday. If you do, she wishes you to find her family and tell them that she is dead.”
“She’s not dead.” Charlie suddenly understood. “If he wins, she’s not leaving the island.”
“No.” She gave her a sad smile. “This time, Ihiyo will go into the water with her. So will the rest of us.”
Charlie saw the grim logic of it; if they couldn’t win against the vampire in life, they would do it in death. “If he kills Samuel, I’ll be joining the party.”
“I thought you might.” Tlemi held up a well-wrapped plastic container. “Since we came to the island, I have been writing about Energúmeno and what he has done with us and our country. When you and Samuel came, I wrote about you. If we must go into the water, I will give this to the waves. It will be our voice to the world.”
“Assuming it washes up on the right beach.” A flash of bright light distracted Charlie, and she turned her head to see what appeared to be three full moons in the distance, each bouncing like balls on the surface of the water. “Are those searchlights?”
“Yes.” Tlemi inhaled sharply. “The master has brought all three boats, and all of Segundo’s men.”