Captive Moon (8 page)

Matty shrugged. “Daku said that it will find me. Apparently, my grandfather’s totem was the carpet snake. No surprise, I guess. Both sides of my family are Sazi. We’re all snakes. But I didn’t get the right genes, so I’m just human. I’m not much into the ‘Earth Mother’ bit, but my uncle had survival training in Nasho, and taught me a thing or two, so no worries. It’s just the carving and decorating thingos that has me feeling a galah.”

“A ‘galah’?” Margo asked.

Matty turned his head back. “A bit of a fool. I’m studying hard how to make them, but I’ll be bloody amazed if any of the things I carve will actually work. I’ve built snares and have a knife, though. As you Sazi blokes say—I’ll live, even if I get my share of dingo breakfasts.”

Tahira laughed. “I’ve actually heard of that one before! A yawn, a leak, and a long look around, but no food.”

“Just right, luv. It’ll give me time to learn to play a couple of instruments, the didgeridoo and the boomerang, which apparently is a percussion instrument that keeps time with a ritual dance. I’ll have to perform at my bora initiation well enough to please my totem.” He shrugged once more. “And I’ll have to bring a gift of something I’ve hunted or gathered to the tribal elders. Daku said a few rabbits would do. So, as soon as I have all the thingos prepared, I’ll train whomever we find to care for the cats in Reno, and then catch a plane to Sydney.”

He pulled his feet off the table and spun around to rest them on the couch. He set the bottle on the table and looked at Tahira. “But, that’s enough about me, other than to know that you’ll all be putting up with sawdust around the house until I finish all this bloody carving. How about you, Tahira? What’s a knockout sheila from the States doing in a jail cell in Germany?”

Antoine cleared his throat in annoyance, and Matty flushed a bit and fidgeted. “That’s not our business, Matty. Tahira is our guest, and is not required to explain herself.”

“No, it’s okay.” Tahira smiled, a bit embarrassed at the compliment. She straightened out her legs and leaned forward to put her empty wine glass on the table. So, I’m still in Germany—not that it helps much to know. A burst of frigid air on her neck made her shiver. A glance to the left told her why. The fire had burned down to coals and icy wind was coming down the chimney. She stood up and walked over to a hammered copper wood box and selected a few triangular pieces of pine while she spoke. “I don’t mind, because I really need to try to remember what happened and why I am here. Talking about it might help.”

She moved the logs to one arm and grabbed an iron poker to stir the coals. But the walk-in fireplace was deeper than she expected. She had to step nearly into the coals to reach the grate. The heat from the coals made her face hot as she leaned far inside the stone cavity.

Tahira felt movement behind her. She smelled Antoine’s scent and felt the light tingling of his power as he touched her arm and pulled the logs from her grasp.

“Allow me to help, mon chat du feu.” The words were quiet and warm, meant only for her ears. She didn’t know what the last part meant, but it sounded amazing!

She turned her head and saw intense amber eyes that glowed golden from the coals. Her heart started to pound in her chest, and the swirling smoke caught the thick scent of piñon, pine resin, sand, and Antoine’s strangely sweet musk. They stared at each other for a long moment and it didn’t even occur to her to move until the smell of her palm scorching from the hot metal made her jump. She nearly dropped the poker. One corner of his mouth turned up and his scent was amused. She quickly stirred the coals and backed up, bumping into him as he bent down to add the logs to the fire.

She was strangely flustered when she returned to her seat on the couch. Matty was studiously ignoring her, staring at the ceiling. Margo had a small smile on her face that disappeared when she saw Antoine’s warning expression as he returned to the couch.

Tahira cleared her throat and glanced at the dark red mark on her palm that was already starting to fade. “So… um. Well, I guess my story starts right before Halloween. Rabi—that’s my older brother—and I had been staying with our grandparents for about a month, trying to learn how to be proper tigers. We had gotten into a habit of going running at dawn, before our grandparents started breakfast. That way we could talk about things. They trained each of us differently and we wanted to make sure that we were both learning the same things.”

“Why would they teach you differently?” Antoine seemed innocently curious, but Grammy’s words echoed into her head: Tell a Sazi nothing they can use against you.

She shrugged and lied. “I don’t really know.” She waited to see his reaction, but there was none. He just continued to watch her passively and she couldn’t smell a single emotion over the thick scent of his musk and cologne.

“We were supposed to be leaving to go home for the holiday in the afternoon, but Rabi didn’t show up for our run. I’d seen him the night before with two friends he’d made in the village. They were drinking and playing cards. I waited until after breakfast was over for him to show up, and then went and told Grandfather that I was worried. But he wasn’t. I guess other men in the village wander off for days at a time and nobody thinks anything of it. But Rabi wouldn’t do that—or at least I didn’t think he would.”

Matty sat up and took a drink from his beer. “Did you ask his friends? Could be it turned into a rip snorter and he was still rotten.”

Tahira nodded and scratched at a spot where her palm had started to itch as it healed. “Yeah. One of the men was really nice. Basir took me to where they last were drinking and swore Rabi had been fine when he had gone home. But I didn’t trust the other man, Kemil. I always worried when Rabi spent time with him. Kemil said that Rabi had decided to stay after he went home. I didn’t believe him. He was lying about something, but Grandfather wouldn’t do anything. He wouldn’t send a search party and told me I was a… well, he said I was overreacting.”

There was no need to repeat that her grandfather had called her a bitter, overprotective spinster. Her grandparents had been shocked she wasn’t married with several children at her age. Oh, it was fine for Rabi to still be single—

Antoine was nodding as she came out of her thoughts. “So, you thought you would look for him yourself?”

“Not until the next day when he still hadn’t returned. He has the potential to be a sahip, one of our leaders, so I wasn’t really concerned he would get hurt in the wild. But we missed the plane, and he had been so excited to go home. It seemed … strange.”

Margo had abandoned her attempts at the computer and was listening raptly. “It should. If he was raised in America, he knows better than to leave for days without contacting someone.”

Tahira hoped that nobody had heard her stomach growl. But there was clattering in the kitchen, so perhaps not. While there had been a tray on a table in her room when she woke, the food had been cold. “It was Gram who finally convinced me to go. Normally, she bows to Grandfather’s will, both as her husband and as the leader of our people. But she had a … well, she’s a ruhsal, one who sees the future. She said that he was being held by bad people and that I could find him if I hurried. She told me of a green truck she saw and the clothing of the men who had taken Rabi. So I set off in the direction she told me, and by the end of the day, I’d found the truck.”

A female voice called out from behind the kitchen door. “Dinner is ready!”

Antoine clapped his hands against his thighs, startling her. “On that note, I believe we should find some lunch and hear the rest while we eat. It sounds as though Grand-mère has returned from her run. Shall we see what she has caught?”

Although Tahira was hungry, she didn’t want to presume that she was invited and didn’t stand when the others did. In reversed circumstances, she wasn’t positive that a stray Sazi would be offered food in the village.

Margo and Matty walked toward the kitchen doors, chatting amiably. Antoine started to follow but stopped when he noticed that Tahira remained seated.

“Will you not be joining us?”

She felt heat rise to her face. “Well, I didn’t know if—”

He crossed his arms over his chest and raised one eyebrow. “You are a guest in this home, Tahira. Why in the world would you think you would not be shown every courtesy? Yes, I heard your body protest the lack of food and I am famished as well.” He took a step closer and with a sweeping motion, held out one hand, palm up. “Come, let us eat a good meal, if not as friends, than as companions by circumstance—at least until you complete your story.”

He winked and smiled, and that same fluttering started in her stomach. Why did she feel like she recognized him when he did that? There was something about him that was familiar, but it was just out of reach.

She nodded and held out her hand. “Okay, if you think you have enough.”

She waited for the familiar tingle, but it wasn’t there. He must have pulled all of his magic inside him. Her grandfather could do that so it didn’t bother humans they interacted with in trade. His hand was just a hand—but it was warm and firm with only a few calluses where his pads would be in animal form.

“So,” he said, as he tucked her hand next to his body. “Besides being a cat, what do you do for a living?”

At last, a question she didn’t mind answering! “Both my father and grandfather run export companies. Dad ships different kinds of berries—strawberries and blueberries and such—to Canada and Mexico. Granddad ships apricots and grapes all over the Middle East. I work in the office, handling shipping contractors, supplies, and stuff. It was nice to have the background from Dad’s orchards because Granddad’s operation really needed updating. He didn’t even have a computer!” Antoine opened the door with one hand while keeping his full attention on her. She felt both flattered and strange that he seemed to be hanging on every word. Her stomach growled again as she caught the scent of fresh meat. How long has it been since I’ve eaten?

“How were they managing? Is it a small operation?”

She took a deep breath and tried to focus away from all of the scents bombarding her nose. “No, actually, it’s quite large. But everything was being done manually, so suppliers were robbing him blind because they’d insist on an instant answer when he didn’t have time to dig back through his records to see what they charged the previous delivery. It was a mess.”

He nodded and released her hand as they neared the table where the others sat. “It sounds like you’re quite organized. You and Margo have a great deal in common. She’s very much my right hand. Since my own operation has grown so large, it’s difficult to keep track of meat suppliers, costumers, venues, and such. It’s gotten to the point where my secretary needs her own secretary.”

Margo laughed as she overheard the comment. “And don’t forget I need a raise. Never forget about the raise!” Tahira laughed and sat down as Margo held up a roll of paper. “By the way, the new posters arrived just as you left for Chicago, Antoine. I’m not certain I like it. I think it’s too flashy for the Midwest, where our next show is. I think we should consider using it just for the East and West coasts.”

“Nah,” Matty said as he bit into a thick sandwich that smelled of the same meat she’d noticed when she entered. “It’s ace, mate! The cute little sheilas that storm the doors will steal ‘em right off the wall. That’s the sort of exposure you need where you don’t have the big press to push the show.”

Posters? Storming the doors? Yes, he’d said he had an animal act, but this was sounding larger than she’d imagined. Antoine took the rolled paper from Margo’s hand and opened it on the countertop. She was just curious enough to ask. “Can I see?”

Antoine turned his head. “Hmm? But of course. You’re nearly the right demographic the publicist was hoping to reach. Tell me honestly—would this entice you to attend a performance if you’d never heard my name?”

He turned the poster around and Tahira’s eyes grew wide. No wonder she seemed to recognize him! But his clothing yesterday and today were so elegant and tasteful, his hair held back to give the illusion of short hair, that she’d never connected the name to… She felt her mouth open with surprise, and Antoine started to chuckle.

“You’re Antoine the Magnificent? The guy with the sold-out, mega-bucks shows in Reno? No way! You were on TV every other hour last fall. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you!”

But there was the poster, right in front of her—filled with flowing, golden hair and a white-sequined jumpsuit that hugged every tanned muscle and matched the sparkling teeth. He stood confident and commanding in front of snarling cats of every description. Those intense amber eyes with flecks of green seemed to grab her gaze and hold it.

“It’s—I mean, uhm—”

Margo spoke first. “Yeah, a lot of people who meet him in real life don’t match the two up. Terri, his publicist, just hates that he is so damned low-key off stage.”

Antoine snorted lightly. “It wouldn’t be possible to be as visible as Terri would prefer. Already it’s a danger to have so many public performances while being Sazi.” He turned to Tahira. “At least Margo is able to schedule performances in locations so that the venues we choose truly aren’t available on the moons. It saves so many embarrassing questions.”

“It’s hard enough to explain away your disappearances for meetings,” Margo commented while Tahira continued to stare at the poster, lost for words.

Antoine released one end of it, allowing it to roll up. “So, what is your opinion, Tahira? Since you’re from America, I’ll heed your counsel. Is this poster as equally appropriate for downtown Los Angeles or New York, as for Des Moines, Iowa?”

The question brought her back to reality. It was a good question. Her family had lived in a small Kansas city for a year before completing their migration to California. How would this poster be received at the Safeway in a tiny, conservative town?

She thought seriously about it for a moment, as a small white-haired woman quietly placed in front of her a bowl filled with steaming meat and vegetables in a rich broth. The woman must be Antoine’s grandmother, but they didn’t smell alike. They seemed to be different cats. Still, the scent of the stew in the bowl was enough to make her salivate.