Page 49 of Mistaken

She picked up her mug of hot chocolate and made her way over to the window. Not too close to Abdul, but near enough that they wouldn’t have to carry on their conversation from across the room.

“I can see why this would be better,” she said. Rain streamed down the windowpanes, and wild winds caught at the cottonwoods and oaks that ringed the house, but all that frenzy only served to make it feel even cozier inside. This was partly why almost everyone she’d ever known — whether back in her old life in Albuquerque or among the survivors in Los Alamos — looked forward to this time of year. The storms were a break from the unrelenting heat of summer, a way to remind themselves that cooler days weren’t too far off.

Abdul continued to gaze out the window for a moment, apparently watching the way the rain streamed down in sheets and turned the brick-paved courtyard into a shallow lake. Then he shifted so he looked at Sarah.

“Yes,” he said. “This is much better.”

Chapter15

Was this desire?This aching need to be with her, to see her, to hear her sweet voice, whether she was speaking or singing?

Abdul found it difficult to say, for he had never experienced such emotions before. He only knew that every moment he spent with Sarah, he felt simultaneously more alive…and yet more frustrated…than he ever had in his very long life.

She knew nothing of him. Only the public face — well, the public hood — that he allowed her to see. She did not know what he had done, how he was an utter walking horror, both inside and out.

Very much like the Phantom from her beloved musical, except that tormented genius had not borne a burden even one-thousandth of what Abdul carried from day to day.

Sarah had not guessed any of that, of course. No, although she had been reluctant to practice at first, now…after she’d drunk some lemon water to clear the dregs of hot chocolate from her throat…she seemed eager to return to the music room to use the rest of the afternoon in more vocal exercises. Some time to warm up, and now she moved on from the first Italian song they’d practiced to an aria from an actual opera.

Listening to her sing was like watching a long-caged bird finally take flight and fly free on the wind. At the same time, he thought he understood what she had meant when she’d said earlier that hers was not a voice for opera. It was lighter, sweeter, possibly not designed to carry to the farthest reaches of a concert hall with no need for artificial amplification.

And that, he thought, was why he loved it all the more. Her voice was like her, clear and brilliant and pure, and while he was gladder than he could have ever believed that she had somehow stumbled into his life, at the same time, he could not help wondering how a creature of such shimmering loveliness would react if she ever she learned of all the darkness he hid in his soul.

She must never find out, of course. So far, she had not seemed inclined to pry when he steered their conversations away from subjects he thought might be troublesome, and he must do whatever he could to ensure their situation remained much the same. It seemed to him that she was happy here, happy to practice when the mood took her or to ramble through the countryside when she desired some fresh air.

Or to sit next to him on the couch and not even flinch when he reached for his cocoa…or when he’d taken hold of her arms to rescue her from the storm.

It had been harder than he’d thought to release her once they were safely inside the house, for an impulse had taken hold of him, one that told him to draw her closer, to press his mouth against hers.

Such a thing could never happen, of course. It was one thing for the djinn to take their human lovers, their Chosen, and quite another for a being such as he to even dream of kissing a mortal.

And yet, he could not quite dismiss the notion from his mind.

That night, they shared a quiet meal; the rain still came down — which Sarah told him was unusual, as these storms usually did their work and moved on — although the thunder had mostly died away except for a distant rumble from time to time. They spoke of riding again if the ground wasn’t too muddy, and more vocal practice. Commonplaces, of course, but that was fine with him. It was enough simply to have Sarah there, to hear her speak and to watch the candlelight gleam in her unusual blue-green eyes.

Or at least, it was almost enough.

Now more than ever he wished he could truly sleep, that instead of lying here with his gaze fixed on the ceiling, he might lose himself in even an hour or two of blessed oblivion, leaving aside all the burdens and worries of a very long life. Instead, though, something tugged at the outer edges of his consciousness, something that told him all was not as it seemed.

He frowned into the darkness, searching for the source of the wrongness.

That was it. A pair of intruders, wandering around the perimeter of the lake some five miles distant.

Surely they must have come in search of Sarah.

At once, he sat up in bed, angry blood racing through his veins. He could not help being angered by their temerity, for he had no doubt that if they had gone to the elders for counsel, they would have known that Ghost Ranch and its environs were strictly forbidden to mortals.

And yet, there they were. Abdul could not get any real sense of the intruders, except that they were two in number and male, but that was enough.

He pushed back the covers and got out of bed, summoning his hooded robe to ensure he was properly concealed. On the other side of the house, Sarah slept soundly.

She would never know that he had left for a moment to handle some necessary business.

An eye blink brought him to Abiquiu Lake, where he paused to take his bearings. The landscape here was just as sodden as the one he had left behind, and he guessed the pair of interlopers were not passing a very comfortable night.

And yes, there they were, in a tent set up in one of the lake’s former campgrounds. This close, he could sense the repelling field emanating outward from the device they must have hidden somewhere in their tent, but while its presence was an annoyance, it could not cripple his powers the way it might block those of a regular djinn.

A large truck was parked nearby, and yet Abdul could tell the two men slept in the tent rather than taking shelter in the truck’s cab. It would perhaps have been drier in there, although he doubted they would have had enough room to stretch out.