(to those who clicked here -- this is not chapter 1)

November 14, 2008

She was so mad she could spit. The man she remembered as Mikal Camerescro was never this rude or condescending. He might have been arrogant, but he had not treated her like a hired hand incapable of the following the simplest instructions. Peers, they had been, or at least respected rivals, often battling for the same contest prize or title.

Kicking the dirt in in frustration, Navah watched Mikal stalk off. She barely controlled the violent impulse to follow him, and beat some sense into his pigheaded skull. Under her breath, she muttered a few well placed swear words. They rolled off her tongue in Russian, sounding more dark and ominous for the foreign tongue. He appeared not to hear or care, disappearing into the barn with his broad shoulders and straight back, unaffected by the words she hurled after him.

From the corner of her eye she saw Naji shake his head and chuckle. The bulky man was not an ordinary stable hand. He’d been a top adviser to Mikal’s father, Dullin, but Navah liked him in spite of that past affiliation. It did not mean, however, that she enjoyed being laughed at. To prove it, she waved a finger at Naji, said one more clipped Russian word and spun on her heal, heading in the opposite direction from Mikal.

At first, her ultimate destination was not clear. Navah climbed over the wooden rail fence of the exercise ring and marched off towards the olive grove - distance the primary objective. The limbs of the trees waved in the breeze, offering a sympathetic murmur of support as the leaves rustled. A growing sense of calm surrounded her as she walked on. The anger ebbed slowly with every step.

Muddy, wet and frustrated she paused beneath one shady bower, reluctant to retreat further. A year ago she walked this same path into the trees after a fight with a Camerescro. Like this one, it had ended with public, angry words, but the whispered conversation before - the demands made - remained only memories in her mind.

“You will do this.” Dullin grumbled, the amber eyes cool and his tone without emotion.

Navah shivered, “I don’t think-”

“You will do – not think,” he insisted. The shadowed atmosphere of the barn only made the dark order more ominous. They were alone; even the horses were absent, out in the sunny pasture. Dullin stood inside a stall and would not allow Navah to escape, cornering her in the narrow space, wooden walls on three sides. “A car will come for you in the morning. You will go to Athens with Luca.”

She protested, “But Mikal needs-”

“Are you contradicting me?” Dullin seemed to consider his words carefully. He lifted his right hand, the onyx and gold ring shining in the dim light, a symbol of authority on his middle finger. The fist that slowly formed was deliberately threatening.

“Your loyalty is misplaced. Mikal will not outlive me.”

Something about that statement caught Navah as ominous in prediction. She shivered.

With his breath so close to her face, the confines of the stall seemed small. She wanted to ask what he meant, half fearing the answer.

"Just like Seth?"

His silence was its own answer, and she could only wonder how far the man might go to break the curse.

Suddenly needing air, Navah tried to push past Dullin and exit the stall.

The Camerescro grabbed her arm and shook her small frame slamming it into the wall, “Either you will serve me, or I will see that both you and your mother suffer. Think of her before you answer.”

For a moment, the needs of her family outweighed the distaste of compliance.

He pressed, “No discussion. Luca will take you to see the Aleksandr and it will begin.”

“You cannot sell me like one of your horses.”

Dullin growled, “I already have.”

A year ago, Dullin had not walked away like Mikal. Navah had refused to give in to his demands to see the future and bend it to his will and he had publicly dismissed her. She was expendable to his business and family. Her mother never questioned the sudden turn of events. Together they packed and departed from Aurum that afternoon.

Dullin did not deserve to be saved. Was it in her power now to help Mikal – protect him somehow? The thought plagued her. All she wanted was to ride her horse, and complete the contract. But could she leave knowing what she did about the curse, and what Dullin had done to extend his own life?

And what he wanted….

The air grew thick as she stood beneath the olive trees. A hint of moisture in the air turned into the promise of rain. Experience warned Navah to find shelter before the cloudburst. It was a shorter distance to retrace her steps to the barn, but instead she turned towards the house, not yet ready to face Mikal or her unanswered questions.

She ran. Navah knew she was being foolish even as her muddy jeans brushed uncomfortably against her legs. The tarot reading this morning, the lightening card – the picture came to life, while the house loomed ahead as safe haven. Aurum was a different place without Dullin; Mikal had promised change. And yet, she had to wonder how much of the past would haunt the present.

Thunder rolled as her boots touched the back porch of the sprawling mansion. The metal overhang protected her from the large water drops that descended from the sky in ever increasing numbers. Navah sprinted to the kitchen; the door flew open, her silhouette shown in lightening, adding to the drama of her sudden and unexpected appearance.

“Navah!” exclaimed Rasia Camerescro. Mikal’s grandmother held a hand to her heart, eyes wide. “What has happened?”

Her breath coming in short bursts, Navah answered, “What? Oh, I’m running from-” she swallowed, “- the rain.”

Grandmother noted the hesitation, but didn’t press for an explanation, “Come in, child.”

She looked Navah up and down, “Are you alright?”

“Yes. Fortune tossed me, but I’m fine.”

“Your boots,” the old women admonished, pointing with a finger.

Navah knew the command, and lifted one leg to remove the muddy shoe before tracking it over the terra cotta tile floor. Mud in Grandmother’s kitchen was an unforgivable sin. She pulled off both boots and the white cotton socks underneath, neatly placing the items on the mat near the door.

Rasia continued, “You will need to change. You can’t wait out the rain dressed like that.”

Barefoot, Navah inched farther into the warm kitchen. The smell of baking bread reminded her that it was close to lunch time. Although the bread was still in the oven, a batch of sugar cookies was cooling on the counter. Her fingers itched to snatch one, but she just wandered close to the display and looked at the confections longingly.

“I’ll catch the trolley, and go home,” Navah concluded.

Grandmother moved to her side.“No need for that when you can wear something of Giselle’s while I wash your jeans.” She lifted a cookie from the cooling rack in preparation for sharing it, “Wash your hands.”

“Oh, but-”

“No buts,” Grandmother said, offering the cookie and watching Navah take a bite to ensure her silence, “You will catch your death waiting in this downpour for the trolley.” Shaking her head she added logically, “You should consider moving back here. Until then, you can use Mikal’s old room to clean up.”

Navah considered trying to explain. Part of her contract was a space in the house to call her own, but she did not want to give up her apartment. That would make her dependent on and subject to the whims of Mikal and she wasn’t prepared to relinquish that amount of control. A shower and dry clothes at this moment, though, sounded like a fair trade for a second cookie.

Rasia turned towards the door, clearly expecting Navah to follow. Unable to argue with the other woman’s logic, and happily content with the sugar bribe, Navah followed her into the hall and down the corridor towards the bedrooms. Grandmother shared how simple it would be to provide her with clean clothing by raiding Mikal’s sister’s closet.

She left Navah on the threshold of Mikal’s room moving down the hall to execute her planned raid with some parting instructions, “Leave your clothes on the floor outside the bathroom. I’ll come and collect them in a moment.”

Navah nodded, even as her hand hesitated on the door knob. “Okay.”

No more than three steps were taken beyond the threshold before she stopped. It was obvious to Navah’s heightened sixth sense that Mikal still used this room even though the bed was made, and the furnishings in order. No dirty clothes littered the floor, but Mikal was always neat – almost frighteningly so – an organizational penchant that permeated everywhere, even the tack room at the barn. Even without physical evidence of occupancy, his presence dominated the space with a sense of energy that reminded her of the color yellow.

It wasn’t his ‘old room’. Perhaps Grandmother was referring to a future move? That made sense and comforted Navah enough to loosen her ankles and step further into the space. Mikal was at the barn and unlikely to interrupt in any case.

To take the time to journey across the house to the guest quarters seemed silly, particularly since Rasia Camerescro had indicated she’d come to this room to collect and then wash her clothes. Besides, Navah was wearing the forbidden mud and wandering around the house would only bring forth the wrath of the cookie baker. It hardly seemed worth the risk.

With a shrug, Navah dismissed her trepidation and got down to the business at hand. She stripped out of her clothes and left them in a random pile. She closed the door without noting how prominent they seemed, juxtaposed against Mikal’s orderly room.

The taps of the faucet on the bath were an antique brass. The handles warmed beneath her touch as she adjusted the water temperature and stepped into the frosted glass shower enclosure. She selected the bottle of shampoo without conscious thought. It wasn’t until the fragrance wafted around her that she opened her eyes. Mist covered the shower doors, but the smell and the steam merged together to nearly physical form. For a moment she sensed another presence, and actually touched the glass hesitantly, unsure if she wanted to draw the premonition closer, or push it away.

A flutter of something undefined, like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon, twitched in her stomach. Heart in her throat, Navah deliberately took a step back under the spray of water and closed her eyes. The shampoo washed away down the drain.

Navah didn’t linger in the shower. She turned off the water, grabbed the towel, and hastily dried, before wrapping the cloth around her. Pushing open the shower door she followed the mist on to the cool tile. The florescent light of the bulbs over the vanity depicted her face, slightly flushed, and a room completely normal.

As the steam started to fade, Navah shivered. Her hair was damp, and rested on her bare back. She rooted through the vanity, but didn’t find a hair dryer, which made sense with Mikal’s own shortly cropped style that likely dried in less than five minutes.

With a gusty sigh, she opened the bathroom door and peered into the bedroom. Her jeans and shirt had been collected from the floor; the spot where they had lain was empty. However, none of Giselle’s garments were in the room, leaving Navah with the options of staying as she was, wrapped in a wet towel, or barrowing something from Mikal. With another shiver she decided on the latter, and tip-toed to the closet.

The louvered doors opened with a light push, folding back like shutters. Orderly racks of shirts, slacks and coats were arranged by color. Navah nearly laughed at the rainbow that spanned between light and dark, but dwelt mostly in the range of blue. Mikal was not predictable, but he loved order and here was more evidence of his need to control his own surroundings.

She took one white button down shirt and moved it to the middle, smiling at the resulting chaos.

Navah scanned the closet contents, hoping to find a robe, or something in which to await grandmother’s return. Nothing like that appeared here or in the bathroom. Her second choice was a shirt and her hand reached up to pick one just as she heard a familiar voice in the hallway. With a squeak, Navah darted into the closet and pulled at the louvered door, nearly closing it behind her.

Mikal walked into his room. He didn’t immediately notice the door to the adjoining bathroom stood open and the light was on, or if he did, it didn’t raise questions. Instead he moved into the space, unselfconsciously humming off-key.

Navah realized that he too must have come to change his clothing. She could see that he was wet, likely from the rain, and splatters of mud dotted his shirt. His dark hair dripped, plastered to his forehead and curling around the edges. While she watched, he unbuttoning the flannel shirt, first the strand of middle buttons, and then the ones at the cuff. Then, something appeared to break his concentration – perhaps the lingering fragrance of soap – and he sniffed the air observing his surroundings.

From her vantage point in the closet, peaking out from the dark through the crack in the opening, Navah felt a bit like an animal hunted. Suddenly, she regretted the reflex that caused her to hide in the first place. She retreated deeper into the closet, although the space was small. Mikal’s blue overcoat held something heavy that bounced against her thigh as she moved backward into it.

This was the same coat Mikal had worn the night before. Eagerly, her hand reached forward to feel inside the pocket, suspecting the coveted letters might be there. How fortuitous it would be if she discovered, right here, what she’d planned to steal. Excited by the possibility of fate smiling on her, validating her right to regain possession, she took her eyes off the predator outside the door.

Her fingers touched cold metal, rather than paper. She dug deeper into the pocket, trying to determine the identity of the item. Confused, she pulled it forth so she could look at it.

The door to the closet eased open. Navah gasped in shock, pointing the gun in her hand towards the intruder. She blinked at the light that nearly blinded her after the dark of the closet. Part of her mind realized it was Mikal standing before her, but another part saw the ghost of her ancestor, Stephano Faas. The form rimmed in light was hazy. Navah blinked, but couldn’t focus. The real world, and the psychic impression warred with each other as her finger started to squeeze the trigger.

Syera Camerescro killed Stephano Faas!

History did not repeat itself. Mikal moved, and Navah found her body being pushed to the back of the closet. Pinned, her frightened breath was forced out of her lungs with the impact of his chest against hers. Navah’s wrist was trapped and lifted up against the wall. With the sharp tap of the joint her fingers opened releasing the weapon to the floor. She heard the soft thud of the gun falling, but didn’t look to see.

“Surely it’s not that bad?” Mikal whispered.

Her vision cleared. His face was so close to hers she couldn’t comprehend how she could ever have envisioned it was someone else. The expected angry or shocked words were absent, reframed in his soft question. His grip relaxed on her wrist, but Navah didn’t wiggle or twist out of the loose hold.

There were flecks of gold in his eyes. How had she never noticed that before?

“Navah,” he said.

She heard the rumble of her name, the smooth vibration emerged deep in his chest even as she absorbed the warmth of his body through the damp towel. The gravelly sound kissed her ears, and all she could do was stand frozen looking at him.

She forced herself to breathe. “Yes?” she inhaled, her voice low.

As though the word wasn’t a question, but permission, Mikal lowered his head. His lips hesitated a fraction of an inch away from hers. Deprived from satisfaction, Navah rose up on her toes, a movement possible by one of the few parts of her body that wasn’t already glued to his.

Their lips met.

Any trace of chill in her body vanished. The arm that wasn’t pinned slipped beneath the fold of his shirt. Open palm contacted the smooth skin of his waist as her elbow bent and her hand came to rest against his spine. It wasn’t necessary to draw him any closer, but fingers at his back curled, as if somehow she could make him understand...

Her eyelids fluttered closed. With light gone, her senses overloaded with the fragrance of cedar and rain. His lips were cool against hers, but firm and determined. She did not resist the pressure beneath the touch of his tongue. A soft moan escaped as her jaw opened and Mikal deepened the kiss.

The wall behind her remained and she allowed her body to lean against it, thankful for its support. Navah felt one of Mikal’s hands fist in her hair, his thumb brushing her scalp. The hand that held her wrist slipped upward so that their fingers meshed together.

It felt like a promise, and she could not stop herself from squeezing his hand tighter as his mouth melted into hers. A promise of what, she did not know exactly, but it meant something. It was suddenly clear that her fate was intricately woven into Mikal's just as their hands, their lips, their bodies were at that unexpected moment.

She heard a woman calling Mikal's name, but the voice wasn't hers. Somewhere in her consciousness the familiar intruded. It was worse than cold water, her heart slamming in her chest, as Mikal withdrew first his mouth, and then the rest of his body. He took a full step away from her towel wrapped from, a look on his face she couldn’t read.

His hand dropped, and she was free.

"Mikal," Grandmother's voice repeated. "You have a visitor. And I'm not referring to Navah."