The Beckoning of Beautiful Things (The Beckoning Series) (15 page)

Marissa looked back and forth at the two men. “Sure. I’ll be right back.” She sauntered off, imagining the men’s whispers snake around her like a noose. She knew they were talking about her. She also had a really strong feeling that she had passed her first test. This time…

When she returned with the cord, Tom instructed her on tying the branch to Buster’s collar. She imagined she betrayed the entire canine species in doing as he requested. “This is mean,” she whispered to the dog. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, and he wagged his tail.

“Go on now, Buster, go find Frankie some prey.” Buster took off, dragging the branch behind him. Tom removed the hook attached to the leather anklet on the kestrel’s leg, extended his wrist
, and released the falcon into the air.

Marissa craned her neck, scanning the sky and the horizon, searching for the bird
, as well as Daniel. Once again, Tom had instructed Daniel to go on some errand of some kind. The falcon darted and soared, skimmed several feet above the ground above Buster, then took off into the air. Buster zigged and zagged through the field, dragging the branch. A number of starlings fled when they saw the dog coming their way.

“Woo! That’s what I’m talking about. That’s it. There you go. Keep your eye on that bird, Ms. Marissa.”

The falcon flight captivated Marissa.
The bird’s flight makes me feel joyful. It makes me feel free. It stirs
…her eyes tracked the falcon racing towards a small bird. “Gah!” Bile bubbled in her throat as the kestrel’s claws struck the starling.

Frankie dropped to the ground, the starling clutched in his dagger-like talons. Buster, caught up in the kill, ran in frenzied circles around Frankie and his catch. Tom took off running. “Get a move on
, Ms. Marissa. Dinner is served!”

The falcon had its wings spread over the starling when Marissa arrived, panting, at the scene. It made a kek, kek, kek, kek, kek sound.

“Hear that? Frankie wants us to keep away. He’s not happy. He can’t help it. He’s doing what he was born to do. We’re interfering. See him spreading his wings? He’s mantling to keep us from seeing what he’s caught for supper. Look at where he made his kill shot – see that? They always go for the neck. The neck is the weakest spot. It’s the most vulnerable.” He tapped his head again. “Remember that.” He cast a warm gaze at his kestrel. “Here’s where I show him who the boss is.”

He pulled a chunk of meat out of his pocket – the same pocket that Marissa had stuck her hand into. More bile squirted into her throat.
So he did have an inner pocket. At least I hope it was an inner pocket, and I wasn’t fishing through bird snacks.

Tom stuck his gloved hand towards the falcon. The bird hopped on and began his feast, shredding and tearing the small hunk of bloody muscle. “Remember I told you this is a symbiosis. Buster flushes out the prey. Frankie kills it. We got supper. Frankie gets his reward. We all do our part.” He fingered the bird’s wing. “Wasn’t that something? This falcon’s fast. He looks for his prey, he doesn’t hesitate. Boom! He goes for the kill. You can’t be a predator and hesitate. It’s watch, wait, then boom!” His free hand jabbed at the air. He paused and looked at Marissa. “You don’t look so good. You alright?”

Marissa nodded weakly. “I’m fine.”

He cocked his head to the side and regarded her.

He’s just like the falcon, assessing me with the same cold, clinical analysis
. She clutched her hands together and stared at the ground.

“You a tree-hugging, peace
-loving liberal?”

Her eyes darted up at his face. “I don’t know. Maybe. Why? Are you a Republican?”

“Nope. I don’t choose sides. Too many people choose sides then they bicker over those sides. They’re like warring neighbors jabbering over the fence. Nothing gets done. They’re too invested in jabbering. What I choose is honest living. What I choose is balance.”

“
This bird lives in balance with the world. He just does what he does. He doesn’t judge himself for who he is. He doesn’t worry about the prey’s friends when he takes one of them for his supper. That starling and Frankie – they made an agreement in the air. They agreed to perform a little dance. The passerine – that’s the order of birds that the starling is – this passerine said, ‘Go ahead. I’m ready to meet my maker.’ Sure he probably experienced some bird fear. Sure his tiny, little heart was racing in his chest. But in the end, ready or not, he knew he’d agreed to this. The kestrel and the starling were just doing what’s right.”

“I see.”

“Do you?” One of Tom’s eyebrows launched toward his forehead.

“Not really.”

“I didn’t think so.” He spat on the ground, wiping the spittle with the back of his free hand. “Then there’re those with evil hearts. They mess with the balance of the universe. Some people on this planet are pure evil. They can’t be redeemed. All light has been squished from their soul like El Demonio. He’s one bad son of a gun.”

Marissa shuddered. She strained to look for Daniel.

“He can’t help you. You got to learn to do what’s right all by your lonesome, Ms. Marissa. That’s the way of it.” Tom turned his attention to the falcon. The bird had finished his meal. His beak was covered in blood and bloody bits of his meal. Tom’s voice gentled when he spoke to Frankie. “You’re a good teacher, Frankie-boy. You gave Ms. Marissa her first lesson. Sorcery 101, I call it.” He removed the hood from his pocket and gently placed it on the falcon’s head. “Now let’s get this branch off of Buster. Frankie here has had himself a good meal, and I imagine he’s a little tuckered.” He strode toward the house, glancing back at Marissa. “Are you coming or what?” He chuckled. “I can’t wait to see your face when we take the eagle out to do a little rabbit hunting.”

“A rabbit?” she said weakly. Tom was already out of earshot. All Marissa could envision was her old pet in high school, the lop-eared bunny she called Vixen. Sorcery training was not going to be fun. She untied the branch from Buster, shoved away his slobbering face, and followed along behind Tom, her feet dragging, her face a sour frown.

When she saw Daniel round the corner and walk toward her, she wasn’t sure whether she was glad to see him or apprehensive. He’d brought this sorcery business into her life. All the romantic possibilities that had been swirling through her head were being replaced by reality.
Falcons as weapons. Dumbass hillbilly sorcerers who tie bushes to their dogs. A demented sorcerer after her. Maybe Jason Harmonia Brown’s not so bad after all.
He’s predictable, at least.
She plucked the head from a blade of tall grass and crushed it in her fingertips. “Predictably stupid,” she muttered under her breath as Daniel strode up to greet her with a beautiful smile splashed across his beautiful face.
Who am I kidding? I already have feelings for this guy. And class, for today, is over.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you again,” Marissa’s sister Jill said into her ear. “And so soon! I know Aunt Topaz will be thrilled.”

“As thrilled as she was when I first moved in there?” Marissa slammed the brakes on to keep from hitting a dog that bolted into the street.

“Now, Marissa. You’ve always been so sensitive. Aunt Topaz did her best.”

Marissa sighed. “I know. I just always felt so pastel there. Like life got white
-washed when I moved in with her. I used to hear her and Uncle Barry whispering, ‘It’s only for a couple years. We’ll just do the best we can.’ You and Cira were already long gone. You didn’t have to live in her pastel world.”

“Here we go again,” Jill huffed into the phone. “Let it go.”

Her aunt and uncle had been childless when her parents had died, and while they hadn’t exactly been thrilled to embrace a 15year old into their household, they’d done the best they could to raise her. Her sister Jill was right.
Still…

A child’s wail interrupted Jill. Shouting and general parenting cacophony followed. “
Em, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you soon.” She ended the connection before Marissa had a chance to say goodbye.

Marissa pitched the phone into the seat and blew out her breath. “Just
let it go,
Marissa,” she said, imitating her big sister. “You’re so sensitive.” Marissa rubbed her forehead. “Or maybe I should listen to Tom. ‘Now, Frankie here doesn’t argue over whether he can do something or not.’” She spoke in a low Southern drawl. “He just does it. If he was put on this planet to channel electricity like you, he’d just do it. He wouldn’t wonder what the neighbors would think or freak out because he was different. He’d know it was put in him for a reason. And boom! He’d do it. Boom!”
Every frigging time he says that I jump.
“Boom!” She flung her hand into the air.

She continued parroting Tom. “Learn how to channel your power through intention and imagination, Ms. You’re an artist, Ms. Marissa. Use that as a tool. See yourself painting your
abilities. Imagine painting electricity, shaping it into form wherever you need to.” She thrummed the steering wheel. “Easy for you to say, old man. More Sorcery 101. Right,” she muttered under her breath as she rounded the corner. “And what good does it do anyway? Anyone need an electrical outlet? Use me. I’ll be a real asset on a camping trip.” She flipped the turn signal and veered toward her aunt and uncle’s cul-de-sac.

The neighborhood was one of Seattle’s older, more established neighborhoods. The homes were large, sprawling and elegant. Marissa had often pictured them like tidy, crisply attired butlers, standing at attention with a placid smile on their faces, ready to invite you inside. Once you entered, you kept your voice low and your movements to a minimum. In contrast, her mom and dad’s home had been like a Flamenco dancer, wild, exciting, and audacious. Once you crossed the threshold to Mica and Kellen Engles’ home, you were swept into the hand clapping, foot stomping rhythm of a joyful world unfettered. Streams of people had poured in and out of that home, creating a kaleidoscope of colorful memories, now buried in locked chests in Marissa’s mind.

Marissa and Jill pulled up to the curb at the exact same time.
Typical,
Marissa thought. She’d always been closest to Jill.

Jill climbed out of their gray mini-van and began issuing orders to her husband. “Get the kids out of the back, Declan, while I get the baby’s diapers. Don’t forget to bring the baby’s toys and the kids’ coloring supplies.” She glanced at Marissa and smiled. “Come here, sis, and give me some love. You look fantastic! What did you do to yourself?”

Declan strode around the side of the van and handed Jill a squirming six month old. “She’s right. You do look good, Em.” He hustled back to the van and helped their other two kids from the back seat.

“Aunty Marissa!” called Liana, five, and Liam,
seven. They ran over and hugged her before jetting into the house.

“Who’s my special guy?” Jill cooed. “Who’s my baby boy?” She propped the infant on her hip, pulled a small blanket out of the car and put it over her shoulder for spit ups. “So,” she said, putting her arm in Marissa’s. “How’s that childish boyfriend of yours?”

“It’s over. We’re done.”

“Really? Good for you. I knew you’d outgrow him sooner or later. No sense having children if they’re not your own…and they’re full grown.” The baby grabbed a handful of Jill’s hair. “Ouch, Logan. Let go of
Mommy’s hair.”

“I, um, I started seeing someone else.”

“Really? That’s nice,” she droned, her attention focused on freeing her tresses. “Help me untangle his fingers from my hair.”

Marissa stopped and took Logan’s tiny hand in her own. A sparkle of electricity flew from her hand into the baby’s causing him to scream and wail.

“Oh, what did you do to him?” Jill shushed and patted Logan.

“I…I didn’t do anything. Must be static electricity in the air. I think that’s what happened.” Her cheeks flamed bright red. She shoved her hands into her coat pocket.

“Don’t worry about it. He’s been fussy all day. But he’s all better now,” she said in a sing song voice to Logan. “Aren’t you? Aren’t you? Who’s my big, brave boy?” The infant laughed and smiled. “Oh, if we could all get over an upset that easily,” she said to Marissa. “So, tell me about this new guy.”

“Well, he’s…”

The door flew open and Aunt Topaz, as formal and elegant as ever, opened it wide. “Jill! Marissa! Happy Birthday! I’m so happy to see you! It’s been too long.”

“Yeah, sorry, Aunt T, I’ve been busy at work and all. I just can’t seem to make the time to get over here.” She crossed one finger over the other.
Liar.

Aunt Topaz gave Marissa and Jill a regal hug and kissed Logan’s cheek. A cellist in the Seattle Symphony, Aunt Topaz moved through the world as if she were made of finer stuff than her peers.

It’s like hugging a cotton puff.
Marissa rolled her eyes.
If I ever painted her, the only color I would need is white.

“Do come in. All of you. The kids are already out in the back. Uncle Barry’s
making Mimosas and iced tea for the adults and lemonade for the kids.” She started to close the door and then stopped. “Oh! There’s Cira and Justin. Go on into the kitchen and get a drink while I greet them.”

Marissa followed Jill into the kitchen, noting the familiar surroundings where she had been raised from
teen to young adult. The grand piano where she’d studied music sat in the corner, looking like a stoic, aging, elderly friend. Marissa had often disappeared into a cocoon of solace in that corner. One of her more conservative paintings – a forest scene with deer – hung on the wall. Her aunt had never gone for her bolder, brighter art, preferring to abide within her pastel, cultured world. Marissa’s mom was her sister’s antithesis – living a life of color and excitement.
Muted, muted, muted. Life at Aunt Topaz’ was shades of pale.

After they’d gotten their drinks and settled out onto the back deck, they all took turns admiring Marissa.

“Getting rid of Jason has done you a world of good,” Jill said, bouncing Logan on her knee.

“It sure seems to have done you right
Em,” Declan added.

“I’ll second that,” added Justin. “Think I’d like a beer, Barry. Can I help myself to one? No offense to your stirring skills, but I’m just not a big mimosa fan. Too fruity.”

“Get me one, too, will you, Justin?” Declan asked.

“Roger that,” Justin affirmed, striding into the kitchen.

“So tell us about this new guy,” Jill said, wiping Logan’s face with a napkin. “Will you take him, Dec? He’s starting to get heavy.” She extended the child to his father.

“What’s his name?” asked
Lia.

“It’s Daniel. Daniel Navid.”

“Armando Navid’s son?” Aunt Topaz asked. She glanced at her husband and a frown flicked across her face.

“Yes. Why? Do you know him?” She reached for a chip and guacamole, spilling some dip onto the table.

“We knew of Armando. He was one of your mother’s closest friends. After she died we, um…” Her eyes flitted to her husband’s and back. “We rarely heard from him. He used to attend your mother’s performances quite regularly.” She smoothed her slacks and brushed a crumb away. “Pass me that onion dip, will you, darling?”

“What do you know about him?”

Aunt Topaz again flicked her eyes to her husband’s and back. “Not much. He was a distinguished man. Rather wealthy, wasn’t he, Barry?”

“Yes, that’s right, he was.” Uncle Barry stood up. “Think I’ll go see to Justin. He might not be able to find the beer. Want to help me, Dec?”

Declan stood up and shuffled across the deck, jiggling the baby on his hip, saying, “Come on, big guy. Let’s go get us a man’s drink. No offense, Barry.”

Not be able to find the beer?
Marissa swerved her gaze back and forth between her aunt and the men’s retreating backs. They seemed awfully evasive. “Is that all you know?”

“More or less,” her aunt continued, dabbing the side table with a napkin to wipe up a Marissa’s spill. “I think I need to check on our meal. You girls stay out here and catch up.”

After she left, Marissa turned to her sisters. “That was weird.”

“Yeah,” said Jill. “It was.” She glanced conspiratorially at
Cira.

“Oh, come on, what is everyone doing flashing mystery eyes at one another? How do you all know Armando Navid?”

Cira looked out at the yard where the kids were racing in circles. “Liana! Let go of Liam’s arm!”

Jill picked up her mimosa and sipped it.

The three women sat in awkward silence, accompanied by the tune of screaming, laughing children.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

“Oh, calm down. Mom had a lot of interesting friends. You know that.”

“Yes, I remember some of them. I don’t remember Armando Navid.”

“You should,” said Cira. “He sure liked you.”

“Liked me how?”

“He liked to tease you. He gave you a lot of attention when he was around. He seemed to think you were special.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Not kidding, sis,” said Jill. “Are you telling us you don’t remember him?”

“I haven’t a clue.” She frowned and scanned her memory banks. All she could find in reference to Armando Navid was a big, black hole. It was odd to not be able to remember someone who supposedly doted on her.

Cira playfully smacked her palm against Marissa’s head. “Geez, Em, are you mental, or what?”

Marissa pushed her sister’s hand away. “I’m not mental. I just don’t remember.”

“You sure locked down tight after Mom and Dad left us.” Cira emptied her mimosa glass and plunked it on the coaster.

“They didn’t exactly leave, as in go away and never come back.”

“Yes,” Cira said, “they did.”

“I meant as in on vacation.”

“Yes,” Jill said, “they did.”

Marissa’s eyes flooded with tears. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. They died. They were murdered.”

Jill frowned. “Where on earth did you hear that? They died in an airplane crash.”

“I know,” Marissa said quickly. “It’s just that…someone may have tampered with the airplane, that’s all.” She picked up her glass of mimosa and swirled it around. She didn’t like mimosas all that much either. Maybe she’d switch to ice
d tea.

“You and your creative imagination, sis,”
Cira said. “Juliana!” she called. “Let go of Liam’s arm right now or I’m going to come over there and grab ahold of yours!”

“It’s understandable to want some sort of resolution, sis,” Jill offered. “Even after all these years. It was such a tragic ending.”

“That’s not what I’m doing!” Marissa insisted. “It’s just that…something might have happened. They never did recover Mom’s jewels.”

“No,” Jill said, “
they didn’t. I’m sure looters or jungle bunnies or some such got to them first.”

“Jungle bunnies?”

“You know - those guerilla drug runner types down in the jungles of Guatemala.”

“I doubt if they’re called bunnies,” Marissa said, thinking of Tom’s last warning about hunting rabbits with eagles.

“Oh, you know – it’s just a phrase. You’re so serious sometimes, Em.” She glanced over to the yard. “Liam! Get down out of that tree. Now!”

Marissa sat and scowled at her sisters. They’d always teased her about being full of fluff and nonsense with her creative imagination. They’d gone on to live respectable lives – like their Aunt Topaz and Uncle Barry.
Life in pastels.
She, apparently, was the wild thing – either that, or the one headed for the loony bin.
Mankind, we like to suck the soul out of one another.
Tom’s words rang in her head. The guy might have a good point. “What if I’m right?”

Jill and Cira both peered at her, like she was a specimen at the zoo. “Well,” Jill said slowly, “then you’ve got a cold case on your hands. Maybe CSI will pick it up as an episode.” She chuckled. “Seriously, Em, you’ve got to just let it go. Mom and
Dad murdered? They died a long time ago, and it’s like…I don’t know, you still seem to be holding on, baby sis. Let it go.”