Hidden Sanctuary, page 8
“We have Rovers to spare, but only for one of you. Sit,” he said. Grabbing his medic bag, he flicked on a penlight and shone it into my eyes.
I blinked at the brightness, but Pete grabbed my chin. “Hold still.”
I held. He checked.
He flicked the light off. “No concussion, but you’ll be hurting later. Here.” He handed me a bottle of aspirin. “Where’s Griffin?”
“My tent.”
His bag in hand, Pete unzipped the door. “Coming?”
“In a minute.” I held up the bottle of aspirin. “I just want to sit for a minute without having to deal with Griffin and his terminal crankiness.”
Pete grinned in understanding. “There’s water under the table,” he said, and let the flap close.
I took the aspirin. Medication was great, but what I really needed was to be armed. I searched until I found his 9 mm tucked under his pillow. I checked the clip. It was full. Quickly, I ransacked the rest of the tent. There wasn’t much else I could use. An extra blanket. A knife.
What I needed was my passport and identification, but to get that, I’d have to go back to my tent. Once there, Griffin would do his best to keep me there, or demand to go with me.
I didn’t need him slowing me down. Tucking my ill-gotten booty in one of Pete’s backpacks, I picked up a piece of scratch paper and a pencil.
I trust you to run the show. Will call as soon as I can. Tru.
I left the note on Pete’s pillow. It wasn’t any kind of an excuse or explanation, but would keep him satisfied until I got to where I was going and could call him. I was betting that Pauline was driving Griffin’s Jeep to Cairo, since it was the closest city with an international airport, and that was the last direction in which I’d felt the tiles moving.
I stood in the doorway of the tent, the canvas flapping against my leg and the storm making visibility ten feet at the best.
“This is nuts,” I told myself. “A bad idea.”
Thirty seconds later, I was back on the dirt road, driving out of camp and into the heart of the storm.
Chapter 7
Twenty miles from camp, I questioned my impulsive action. I hadn’t felt the tiles’ energy since before the wreck, my head hurt and the road was becoming obscured by drifts of sand.
The Rover lurched sideways, and I swung it back onto what I hoped was the road. I wasn’t even sure of that anymore. The swirling grit covered everything, making it difficult to make out the dirt roadway.
Luckily, it was difficult but not impossible.
Impossible would occur when night fell, and that wasn’t too far away. A few hours at the most.
If the Rover’s air filter doesn’t give out before then.
But I’d made this decision, and I wasn’t about to give up yet. If Pauline reached Cairo, I might never get the tiles back.
Pauline. I wanted to find her and shake her and ask why?
She was like Efra. Like me. How could someone feel the energy and abuse the trust that went with it? Even I, the woman who checked the “spiritual but not religious” box on questionnaires, knew they were sacred.
Stealing the tiles was like burning a church or peeing in the holy water font.
Some things are not done.
What if it wasn’t her fault? a voice in my head asked. What if she was an innocent bystander? Abducted? Hurt? Scared? And waiting for you or someone to save her?
Guilt warred with betrayal, but I knew neither would win until I found Pauline and the answers I needed.
The Rover lurched again. I took my foot off the gas pedal and fought to keep the vehicle under control. Whoever designed the roads needed to be smacked. When they canted the curves, they’d slanted them outward, making the car slide toward the edge of the road instead of inward. The whole ordeal was nerve-racking, and my jaw hurt from gritting my teeth.
A shadow loomed ahead through the sand, and I slowed down, not sure what it was. As I drew closer, I realized it was a road checkpoint.
I stopped the car. I knew these buildings and their occupants all too well. Anyone who drove in Egypt knew them, or at least, their types.
The cinder block building housed a few men whose only job was to search cars as they passed through the checkpoint. Other than that, the inhabitants played cards, sat around and, if they were lucky enough to have one, watched television. A single woman traveling on the road was bound to interest them. Not that I feared for my safety, but a woman alone was always suspicious in a primarily Muslim country.
I wondered if Pauline had bothered to go through. If so, she’d probably paid them to let her carry on without a fuss.
I didn’t have that kind of money. I also didn’t have my identification. That left me with two choices: bluff my way through or drive cross-country and go around.
With the former, there was good chance the guards would detain me until Griffin caught up. With the latter, I might end up food for the vultures.
I pressed the pedal to the floor and turned off-road, choosing the lesser of the two evils.
It wasn’t long before I regretted my latest impulsive action. I could see only a few feet in front of me, had no idea where I was in relation to the checkpoint, and the engine was beginning to sputter. A few more miles and it would die when the air filter clogged with sand.
Plus, it was getting dark.
I slowed and came to a reluctant stop. There wasn’t much point in driving any farther. Not with night coming on. I turned off the engine, wanting to preserve the air filter.
It was amazing how loud the storm was. More so now that I didn’t have the sound of the engine for distraction. Rummaging in the backseat, I found the blanket I’d taken from Pete. Wrapping it around myself, I curled up as tight as I could and waited for morning.
When I opened my eyes, the sunrise was cutting through the glare of the sand-filled air. Surprised I’d managed to sleep, I stretched, working out my cramped muscles.
Outside, the storm continued, but seemed to be lessening.
Time to get moving, I thought with a sigh. I started the Rover, pressed the gas pedal—
The wheels spun, kicking up sand, but the car didn’t move an inch. “Nooo.” I let my head fall against the steering wheel. Then, cautiously, I unlocked the door and opened it. It moved an inch and stopped. I pushed, but it remained as immobile as the Rover.
Rolling down the window, I looked out to see what could be blocking it. Sand had covered the vehicle up past the wheel wells during the night, and with the storm still on going, it would only get worse.
I’d have to dig myself out.
Two hours later, the Rover was still buried, and I was covered with sweat and so thirsty I could barely stand it.
I crawled back through the driver’s window and found the emergency water. There was a gallon left, and that wasn’t much out in the desert. I drank my fill without gorging, then closed the bottle.
As long as the storm continued, I’d be stuck. In the meantime, I’d have to wait. And conserve both my water and my energy.
I wondered if Pauline was having as much trouble as I was. Closing my eyes, I opened my mind and tried to find the tiles and the woman who stole them.
Wherever they were, it wasn’t close enough for me to feel them.
I opened my eyes with a sigh, wondering if the tiles were within my grasp, perhaps over the next dune, or if she had reached Cairo and safety.
There was one way to find out. I’d done it before on projects, when my mind was too busy to immediately feel the oil beneath my feet. But I’d never used it to find a human or anything as intense as the tiles she’d stolen.
In fact, I’d avoided even considering it because it opened my mind so completely, and amplified everything around me, making the experience difficult to control.
Lifting my necklace over my head, I pulled it off. The chain dangled from my hands, the amethyst swinging like a pendulum.
Reflected in the orange light, the crystal looked almost brown. I held it in my right fist. My hand trembled. I gripped the crystal tighter. I hated feeling like this. Scared. Panicked.
Excited.
“Please let me be safe,” I murmured. Sending the prayer to whatever deity protected dowsers and impetuous women, I envisioned Pauline and the tiles in my mind’s eye, determined to find her. I shut my eyes, focused on the crystal and opened my thoughts to the universe.
Within seconds, I knew everything around me.
The layer of limestone miles beneath my feet. Sandstone. Oil. A vein of copper worth millions.
I sank into the feeling. I was the earth and it was me. My bones. My blood. My skin. The rhythm of nature was the beating of my heart. The water of the Nile was blood through my veins.
I never wanted to let the sensations go.
The tiles, a whispered voice in my mind reminded me.
Indeed. I spread my thoughts outward toward the north and focused on my memory of the tiles’ energy, until I found it in the form of a thread. A thin trail of pure white as bright as the sun, it trailed across the desert toward Cairo. Bingo.
Without thought or hesitation, I followed the trail like a bolt of electricity through wires. Quite suddenly, I reached the end, and once again the tiles overwhelmed me.
Aleta sat in front of the mosaic, knees to her chest, and pondered what it meant.
Almost a year ago, she’d come here. Filled with anger and sorrow from the loss of her temple and her way of life, she’d taken on the task of completing another’s work—something she rarely did—hoping it would serve as a distraction.
She had not expected it to heal her.
Rising to her knees, she ran a callused hand over the blue tiles that created a swatch of the Lady’s robe. Life-size, the figure was complicated with its multiple iconic imagery.
Dark-skinned, the Lady already carried a sword on her belt and a key. The sword symbolized protection for herself, her faith and the baby in her arms. The key was for leadership and the way through any closed door into the brave new world these women hoped to create.
Finally, at the Madonna’s feet would be a white jar—the symbol for the impending Age of Aquarius, which the Marians were ushering in.
But what always touched Aleta was the smile that curved the Lady’s mouth. “Such kindness,” Aleta murmured.
“Did you speak, mistress?”
“Just to myself,” she said, smiling at her new apprentice.
When Mayahuel had first arrived from a land across the water a few months ago, Aleta found her disconcerting, with her brown skin, black hair and language that none of them had ever heard.
However, Maya proved to be an apt student and a brilliant linguist. And Aleta now could not imagine working without her deft hands and keen eyes.
“Where I come from, people who muse aloud are sometimes given to the gods,” Maya said, picking up a tile and holding it to the light before setting it in one of the many piles that covered the tables.
Aleta raised one blond eyebrow. “Where you come from, many people are given to the gods.”
“True,” Maya said with a matter-of-fact nod.
Aleta shuddered, remembering stories she had told. The live sacrifices, people skinned and their flesh worn by the priests in an obscene caricature of clothing.
Maya’s people were a bloodthirsty lot, and if Aleta had her way, her apprentice would never return home.
Besides, Aleta assured herself, there was nothing for Maya to go back to in her country. Her parents were dead, and she had no siblings. Here, there was work. A purpose.
For both of them.
“Tru!”
A voice woke me, called me back from the past. Slowly, the vision faded, and I realized that my crystal had cut into my hand. I loosened my grip. It had done its job almost too well. A groan escaped my lips as I shook history off my shoulders.
“Are you all right?” the voice asked. It was deep. Masculine. And familiar. “Griffin?”
I blinked, my sight adjusting to the bright sunshine that blazed through the Rover’s window.
“Who else?”
He was the last person I wanted to see. I sat up and whacked the top of my skull against something hard. “Ouch!” The pain brought focus to my eyes, and I realized that somehow, I’d managed to fall to the floorboard. I lurched back into the passenger’s seat. “How did you find me?”
“GPS on the vehicle, but that’s not important.”
How could I have forgotten the GPS? I cradled my head in my hands. I felt as hungover as if I’d drunk a fifth of rum.
Impulse, that little voice whispered. It always gets you into trouble. Always.
I told it to shut up.
“What were you thinking, going out again in the sandstorm?” Griffin asked. “Are you trying to get yourself fired? Or killed?”
“No and no,” I replied, taking a deep breath. My head started to clear, and I realized that I didn’t have to shout to be heard. “Hey, the storm ended.”
“An hour ago.” Griffin felt my head and looked into my eyes. “You’ve been unconscious that long?”
“Of course not.” The lie slipped past my lips, honed by years of practice in covering up my gift.
Trying to remain inconspicuous, I slid my necklace into a pocket. “I was asleep.”
“I know sleep, and that wasn’t it. You wouldn’t wake up. I tried.” Griffin frowned, feeling the glands in my neck with a sureness and professionalism that surprised me. Then he lifted my arms out in front of me. “I’m going to push down on your hands. Try to hold them as steady as you can.”
He pushed down. I pushed back to keep them in midair. “I was dreaming, and what are you doing?”
“You wouldn’t wake up, and I am checking your reflexes.”
“Okay.”
His brows shot up. “You don’t sound surprised. I take it this wasn’t the first time?”
I tucked my hands into my lap. “Of course not. I’ve had physicals before.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” He leaned back, seemingly satisfied that I wasn’t going to pass out or explode. “Have you ever had a seizure?”
“It wasn’t a seizure,” I said, grateful he’d come in on the tail end of my episode. From what I’d been told, they looked very much like seizures. My body jerked. My muscles were uncontrolled. After that ended, I was essentially unwakeable for anything from a few minutes to almost ten, depending on how overwhelmed my body and mind were by the experience.
“What is it then?”
“A form of deep sleep,” I said, dredging up a lie I’d used before. “It’s rare, I know. I go so far into REM state that my body is uncontrollable. It might look like a seizure, but it isn’t.”
Griffin didn’t seem convinced. He ran a hand through his hair, but never took his dark eyes off me. “Tru, epilepsy isn’t a big deal unless you make it one.”
Hell. There was no way he was letting this go.
He continued. “Most people can control it with medication. I’m more concerned that it isn’t epilepsy and there’s something else going on. This is the second time you’ve passed out.” He took my hand in his. “We need to get you to a hospital and get an MRI done.”
“No.”
“Tru—”
“No!” I snapped, cutting him off with my vehemence. When I’d left home at eighteen, I’d sworn I’d never get another one. Besides, it was a waste of time and money, and I had better things to do. “If you’re so eager for an MRI, then you get one. You’re the one who was knocked out.”
“I’m fine. Pete said so.”
“And that’s supposed to be good enough?” I countered.
“Yes.”
It wasn’t and we both knew it. I also knew that getting Griffin to submit to an MRI was about as probable as me telling him I was a dowser.
However, I did not have time to argue or persuade. “The more we dither, the farther away those tiles get. I promised Efra I’d get them back, and I am not going to fail her. Not for you and not for some hypothetical medical condition.”
Griffin’s expression changed, softened for a heartbeat and then returned to its usual enigmatic, slightly angry stare. “I’ll help you recover the tiles.”
I realized he wasn’t arguing about Pauline anymore. “You believe that Pauline took them?” I asked.
“Yeah. She wasn’t at the camp. Never arrived,” he replied, his expression clouded. “Now I want to know why she did it.”
“Thank you,” I said. I didn’t need his help to find Pauline—once I got close enough, I’d feel the tiles. But I needed his vehicle, since it was mobile and mine wasn’t going anywhere. “Let’s go get her.”
He held up a finger. “After you go to the hospital in Cairo and get checked out.”
I gawked at him, dumbfounded. “Excuse me? I am not a child, and I will not—”
“Those are the terms. Accept them or I’ll take you back to camp and go after her myself.” He crossed his arms, his body as solid as his ultimatum.
“Fine.” I needed his cooperation as much as I needed his car. Besides, I could always ditch him later. Grabbing Pete’s gun, I tucked it into my pocket before Griffin could see it, then climbed out the window and followed him in his waiting Rover. He started the engine and cool air blew over me. Heaven. “Any thoughts on how we find her?” I asked as we rolled away, leaving my beat-up vehicle.
“Same way I found you.” He handed me a GPS unit.
A little green dot blipped at me. It wasn’t that far from Cairo. Pauline.
Another dot blipped. It was in the middle of nowhere. Me.
Seems I navigated as well as I shot a gun. With an exasperated sigh, I handed the equipment back to Griffin. “I want those tiles. Let’s go.”
Chapter 8
Near an upscale shopping mall on the way into the city, the GPS showed the stolen vehicle was close.
“All we have to do is wait till she comes out,” I said. “It doesn’t get any easier.”
Griffin scowled but took the exit.
We didn’t find the car. We found an ancient, rust-colored Mercedes. She’d obviously taken the magnet-mounted system off her car and abandoned it here, and now tracking Pauline was impossible. Disappointment rolled through me. “Now what?” I asked, tossing Griffin the useless GPS device.
