The Beckoning of Broken Things (The Beckoning Series) (18 page)

The women giggle, rub their breasts
seductively on each of Armando’s arms and wander off, hips swaying, skirts bound tightly to their asses.

“Marissa Engles? Armando Navid,” he says neatly, extending his hand to me.

I stare at the hand until he drops it, his face frowning slightly.

“Cat got your tongue?” he says. “How is life at the coffee farm?”

“Oh, it’s fine,” I respond. “We’re having a little problem with rats and geese, but other than that everything’s fine. Right as rain.”

“Good, good. I’m so glad to hear that.”

“Hell of a way to show your wife you care,” I say, nodding to the women’s retreating forms.

“Alas
, but my wife has left me. I’m sure my son has told you that.”

“I heard she had good reason.”

“And what reason would that be?” he says smoothly, flashing me a cardboard smile.

“Just that you’re a dick, for starters.”

“I have a dick, a fine one. It’s large and works very well.” He chuckles. “I see my son has filled your head with colorful colloquialisms of my behavior. How very delightful. I can assure you, my dick, as you call it, is one of my best assets. Ask those women you just saw. I can show you sometime.”

“No
, thanks,” I say. “I’ve got far better things to do with my time.”

“Don’t be so sure,” he says as he catches my gaze and looks deeply into my eyes. His expression looks haughty and superior, like, “I’ve got this. Piece of cake.”

A strange buzzing fills my head as he holds my gaze, like a thousand flies hovering over roadkill. It’s such a weird sensation, I imagine sucking the flies up through a vacuum hose to their doom. When the feeling subsides, I shake my head and say, “Don’t do that to me again.”

Armando’s mouth falls slightly and a frown smothers his smug face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I run my hands through my hair a couple times and flick my fingers, as if to get any remaining flies out. “Yes, Armando, you do.”

His forehead furrows slightly. He cocks his head.
He attempts a different topic. “Have you heard from my son, your soul bound lover?”

“Yeah, about that…what exactly does soul bound mean? I mean, is there a reference book I can use to look it up? Clearly it means nothing to you what with your babes and all.”

His frown deepens. “It’s a sacred oath.”

“To some, maybe, but clearly not to you.”
And maybe not to me if I can figure out the subtext or a clause of some kind.

“It is a binding of the most serious degree. It cannot be undone. There are those among your kind…”

“Of
my
kind?” I interrupt.

“
Forgive me. I’ve completely forgotten about your newly restored Light Rebel skills. I still think of you as ordinary.” He presses his lips into a smile, of sorts, that is merely a manipulation of skin - nothing more. “There are those among humanity who have been soul bound to another, only they aren’t aware of the binding. Sometimes a supernatural will fall in love with a human. He binds himself to that person, and then, throughout time, the pair will find one another.”

“That sounds like more of a curse.”

Armando laughs. “It can seem that way I suppose.”

“Does he or she bind without permission?”

“Never! That never happens! It must be consensual or…” His eyes appear shifty, and he looks away from me.

“Or, what?”

“It has never happened. It doesn’t matter what.”

It matters to me.

He waves his hand, dismissing the topic, as if he can’t be bothered with trifles. “So you say you have a problem with rats and geese?” He throws back his head and laughs heartily.

Asshole.
“I took care of things,” I say sweetly. “I love a good challenge.”

He stops laughing and glares at me. “What do you mean
, you took care of things?”

“Just that
. I restored everything back to normal.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Not in the least. My men can’t do their jobs if they sport the heads of rats or geese.”

“So tell me. How did you restore them?” He wraps one arm around his midsection and grasps the other arm.

“Trade secret.” I tap the side of my head.

“I’ll figure it out, soon enough.”

My eyes narrow. “Doubt that.”

“Oh, don’t you worry. I’m far more skilled that you can ever be. I have age, wisdom, experience
, and a little something called endless power at my disposal.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Oh, really. And where did you get this so-called endless power?
”

“I took it from someone who died - at your hand, I hear. You did us all a favor by killing El Demonio. You made me the most powerful sorcerer in the world, you made Daniel run and hide in his dark world…it’s a win/win as far as I’m concerned.”

“You might think twice about that perception of winning.”

“And why would that be?”

“I heard someone else stole El D’s power. Someone far more cunning than you could ever hope to be.”

He laughs. It sounds more like a hyena barking. “And who might that be
- you?”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

His face falls ever so slightly. The fake smile returns. “You’re such a delight. You know nothing about this world. You’re a child.”

“Kids can be super smart. I’d keep your lofty attitude in check.”

“My lofty attitude, as you call it, serves me. It’s just an overall confidence in who I am and what I’m capable of. But for now, I have women to take care of. Until I can take care of you,” he says and his eyes glint.

This time, whatever trick he used worked. A sickening sensation punches me in the stomach. I nearly double over. I can’t breathe.
Can’t get air in.
This is it. This is it. Life over.
Everything in my head whirls and blurs as I focus on one thing - catching a breath. I gasp, trying to get oxygen into my lungs.

He flicks his hand and the sensation stops. “Mind your manners, little girl. Stop fooling with a master.”

He saunters off, leaving me sucking air into my lungs as fast and as deeply as I can. “Some help you were, Rafe. I know you can hear me.” I turn right and left. “Why didn’t you jump him? Why didn’t you take him down when you had the chance? Rafe?” I look up the street and down. “Rafe? Are you here?” But Rafe, the Stealth Numen and dweller in shadow lands, is gone.

“I know you can hear me,” I yell into the air. “I know you’re out there. Come out, come out, wherever you are,” I chant, as if this is a children’s game. A man and his wife hustle away from me as if I’m crazy. Who knows? At this point, I think maybe my aunt and sister were right to toss me into the mental institution. I can’t seem to make up my mind between the dark and dangerous Night Numen who commands all things evil and the killer Stealth Numen who dwells between the worlds, I’ve got a badass nut job of a sorcerer, the Night Numen’s dad after me, a dog with wings, a mythical bird beast for my own personal use…oh, and then there’s the thing about my work force being turned into farm animals. But me, crazy? Nah. This is just normal, normal, normal.

I wander back to the truck and hop up onto the tailgate. I sit, slumped, wondering where the hell Rafe has gone to.
Is he dead or injured? Did something happen to him? Is he still working for Armando?
This last thought jabs my gut like a huge splinter.
Maybe the guy has been working for Armando all along.
Another thought even more worrisome haunts me.
You’re falling in love with him, aren’t you?
I try to make that thought disappear, to crumple it up like a candy wrapper so that I can toss it away. Only thing is, the more I try to crumple it, the bigger it gets. “Fine!” I say to my thought. “So you care about the guy a little bit.” The stirring in my core speaks to care that goes far deeper than “a little.” I sigh and close my eyes, letting all the sensations of knowing Rafe comfort and hold me like a silky, stimulating blanket.

A few minutes later, Marco nudges me in the bed of the truck. “Miss Engles. We go now,” he says, in halting English. “Ricardo is lucky to be alive. You and Mr. Rafe did good.” He smiles at me.

I nod.

“Mr. Rafe?” He puts his hands up in question.

“Errands,” I say. “Shopping. He’ll find his own way home.”

“No, we wait.”

“No, no. He’ll find his own way.” The bastard had better find his own way. I’m pissed, I’m hurt, and I’m not going to make this easy for him.

“You sit back here? Long ride.” He frowns. “Up here?” He indicates the front seat.

I’m kind of worn out from the morning and hungry as well. “I’ll just ride back here.” I press my palms to my cheek and close my eyes. “Rest.”

Marco nods, hops in the truck
, and we’re off.

The sun is hot. It’s blazing out here. I
lie back in the truck bed and close my eyes.
I should probably get in the cab. Right. The cab is no doubt sweltering. I should ask for some water. Maybe we can stop for food.
Instead, I lay on the padding pitched in here for Ricardo and toss all these great ideas around like salad in a wooden bowl. And I drift asleep.

Time seems to have stopped or sped up or
gone on warp reverse or something as I bounce along in the back. I drift in and out of a sweaty sleep. Eyes closed, a light so bright it’s painful fills my head. It stabs at my brain like it’s a sharp skewer trying to get my attention.
You’ve got it,
I tell the light.
My attention is all yours.
I squeeze my eyes tight trying to block the brilliant light. I’m yanked up into the air by what feels like two arms shoved under my armpits, and I hover, suspended above the truck as it skitters along the road. I shriek and kick my legs wildly. “Let go of me! Put me down! Put me down!”

“Dang, girl, what happened to your spine?”

“Tom? Is that you?”

“I thought I taught you right.”

I’m back in the white, white world of the ether space. All I can see is white, whiter, whitest wisps of fog swirling around me, revealing entire vistas of more of the same. The truck is way, way below me, a pale blip careening around potholes, speeding down the road. “Tom, where are you?” I crank my body to and fro, looking for the body that goes with the voice.

“
Simmer down, girl. I’m right here, can’t you see me?”

“No. I can’t.” A noise like two rocks being struck together sounds out. Crack! Crack!

Tom bursts into eyesight. “Better?”

I jerk backward
as his angled, pointed feature face pops into view. His brown eyes blink in the very large face that looms in front of me. His long, lanky, scarecrow body appears to be standing but there’s nothing solid under his feet - only white.

“There you are.
You’re kind of close.” I never noticed the small gap between his two front teeth or the miniscule, spidery cracks in his tooth enamel or the slight brown stain on his front left incisor.

Tom zips away from me a little bit.
“Better?” he asks again.

“Yes, but what about this part?” I gesture to my hanging body.
The super strong invisible arms or pinions or whatever they are holding me in place, legs dangling.

“What about it?”

“Is it necessary?”

“You tell me. I got your attention
, didn’t I?” The old man leers at me. Tom’s got Beelzebub, his big Golden Eagle, on his arm. That bird is ginormous and mean as mean can be. He’s got a foul temper, and Tom’s the only one who can gentle him.

Beelzebub trains his cold, sharp golden gaze on me. He turns his head left
and stares at me with his right eye. He pivots his head right and studies me with his left eye. I wonder if he’s sizing me up as a meal. It unnerves me to be assessed by a predator. “Your bird isn’t hungry, is he?”

“Don’t think so. He just had a meal. I imagine you always look tasty to him, though.” Tom winks at me. As usual, h
e’s wearing his red, Elmer Fudd-type hunter’s cap atop his head and a plaid flannel shirt. A long blade of grass is stuck between his teeth. The man is pure hillbilly hick. He coos to the big eagle, and then lifts his arm, signaling the bird to take flight.

The bird obliges, stretching his wings seven feet wide, soaring into the wispy world.
As Beelzebub pinwheels into the white sky, Tom turns to me and closes one eye, scrutinizing me. “What’s going on with you? Me and Betty have been a mite worried about you. She said she got you out of the loony bin, but then she started to worry. She sent me off to check in on you. And I find you’re hanging with the Stealth Numen. You kids these days, I tell you.” He chuckles, turns his head to the side and releases a wad of phlegm from his mouth. It lands with a plop on the white and evaporates with a sizzle. “Daniel’s going to be none too pleased about that, I tell you what.”

“Whatever,” I say nonchalantly. “It’s my life.”
I am
not
as calm about that as I sound. Not in the least. Daniel’s mother pops into my head. I know she asked me not to tell anyone, but who’s Tom going to tell? He’s on the side of the good guys. At least I think he is. “Oh! Good news. I’ve seen Daniel’s mother. I know where she lives.”

Tom instantly
zips behind me and claps his hand over my mouth. “Quiet! Dang, girl, no, you did not. Oh, dang it. Oh my. Oh, help me, Jesus, you didn’t say that, did you?”

Still suspended in air, I pry his hands from my mouth.
“What? What did I say?”

“You said nothing. Nope. No sir
-ee, I didn’t hear a thing.” He leans toward my ear, and he whispers, “You know how the Keeper of Time and Records v5.5.1 speaks and her words flow out into the air?”

Eyes wide, I nod.

“We all do that. She’s an advanced version, though, so you can see it happening.”

“Okay. So?”

“So with what you did not say you may have released what might or might not be a trail. Take it back.”

“Take what back?” My face furrows.

“Take back what you didn’t say.”

“If I didn’t say it, how can I take it back?”

“Just do as I say.”

I’m even more perplexed. “Okay, I will but…this makes no sense.”

He nods encouragingly at me.

“Come on, old man, say something that makes sense to me.”

He cups his hand around my ear and leans in close. “That thing that you didn’t say. Un-say it.”

“What? How do I do that?”

“Say it backwards.”

“Say what backwards?”

“The thing that you didn’t say. Say it backwards.” He’s speaking slowly and distinctly as he whispers as if I m a slow, stupid child. He leans back and looks at me, grinning and nodding. “Do it.”

“I don’t know what you want? How can I say something backwards that I didn’t say?”

“Just say it backwards. That thing that you didn’t say.”

I shake my head, roll my eyes and snort. “Let’s see. Okay. Lives she where know I. Mother Daniel’s seen I’ve. Is that what you meant?”

“No,” he says, nodding his head. “It’s not what I mean at all,” he adds, nodding his head vigorously. “But if it was, you’d have done a fine job.”

“Uh, okay, I take it I did the right thing?”

He shakes his head right and left, mouthing the word, “yes.”

“Geez,” I say. “What was that?”

Tom puts his finger up to his lips. “Shhh. Let’s speak of it no more.”

“Okay, that was weird. I guess there’s ‘someone’…” I make air quotes. “There’s someone I shouldn’t ever mention. Is that what you’re trying to get at?”

“It could be,” he says, shaking his head in negation right and left. “Or, it might not be,” he says, nodding his head up and down. “What’s important is…” He leans in so close and speaks so quietly I have to strain to hear him. “That you know the answer and you have to do what’s right.”

I, of course, am drawn backward to that conversation with Rafe where he told me to follow my heart and I knew what was right.
Do I know what’s right? About anything?

“This is your life, Ms. M.
Betty and me…now we was getting busy the other night, making the two-backed beast and…”

I press my hands over my ears and wince. “I don’t want to hear it, Tom.”

He peels my hands off of my ears. “We was talking about you. She said she told you you’d get your face this year. At age 26, you start to get your own face, not sport the face of your mama and papa. You decide what’s right and what’s not right. It’s
your
life. Own it. Breathe it. Feel it. Live it for yourself, girl. Ain’t no ones’ job but your own to make your life
your
creation. You’re an artist. Start acting like one and paint your life in a million colors.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to mess things up. There are so many decisions to make. So much to learn
and do.”

“There is, there are
, and you might,” Tom says to me, chewing on the blade of grass. “You might have to fix a mess or two. You might make a few brilliant decisions and a few dumb ones. But that’s how you learn, girl,” he says affectionately.

“I’m scared. I’m supposed to be a superhero
, and I’m scared. I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, you’ll have to sort that out, won’t you? A superhero who can’t or won’t feel isn’t making use of all she’s got. Use everything. You’re not just a badass, kick ass
Light Rebel. You’re a soft, sensitive, and beautiful young woman.”

I don’t know what to say. I’m somewhere in space, suspended like wash on the line
, and I feel very vulnerable right now. It seems unsafe. It seems familiar. It seems…

Without warning, the giant hands drop me
, and I fall and fall and fall and fall.

“You take care of yourself!” Tom yells in my ear.
“Own your life!”

I squeal,
look around wildly, but can’t see any signs of the ether space, Tom, or his eagle, Beelzebub. Matter of fact, I can’t see signs of anything familiar. I’m falling and screaming, and my arms are flailing, and finally I land, with a whump on something solid. Someone is shaking me.

“Miss Engles? Miss Engles? Are you alright?”

I open my eyes to see the face of All Smiles leaning over me, his face colored with concern. My gaze darts around the room like my eyes are ball bearings. I’m back in the goddamned hospital in Bellevue, WA.

“Are you okay? I think you’re having a
bad dream.”

That’s an understatement.
If I’m back at the Brookstone Center for Healing in Bellevue, I’m having an out and out nightmare.