A Snake in the Grass (12 page)

The peanut gallery was suspiciously silent as
we flipped the lights off, the banter of the previous night
obviously being stifled by the presence of a female. There were
some faint coughs, a few sounds of rustling blankets, and the
overwhelming feeling that every pair of eyes in the room was fixed
on that upper bunk.

After a few moments of that, Sveta chuckled
softly. “I do not bite, young ones. Nor will I grow a second head
while you sleep. Close your eyes.”

That led to more shuffling, more
uncomfortable squirming, and then one brave voice rose out of the
darkened room. “Is it true that you are a champion,
señorita
?”

“It is true.”

Thing 2 was the next brave one. “Why do you
fight? You are a girl.”

My eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough
that could see when Sveta rolled over to fix the young man with a
serious look. “Why should I not? I have the ability, the skill. My
sword is as sharp as his.” She pointed across the room to me, and I
held up my hands.

“Hey, you leave me out of this.” Thankfully,
they ignored me.

“Who taught you to fight?” They were sitting
up now, every single one of them, all pretenses of sleeping tossed
to the wayside.

“My father taught me. From the time I was a
very small girl. Smaller than you, there.” She indicated the
youngest of the pack, who couldn’t have been more than ten or
eleven.

“What about your brothers? Did he teach them
too?”

“Or did they die?” It happened. They all knew
it.

I kept waiting for the moment that Sveta
would grow tired of the questioning and snap at one of them, but
she simply rolled over, resting her chin on her pillow as she
talked. “I have no brothers. I am alone.”

“What about your mother? Did she fight too?”
It was clear that the concept of a female champion was about to
short-circuit their little brains. Stood to reason, when only the
males of the Perez clan were trained to be champions. I had to
wonder if that was by design, or if none of the girls had ever
wanted to.

“No. My mother was a…a fine lady.
Very…gentle. Delicate.” There was no mistaking the fond smile in
Sveta’s voice. “She was not like me.”

“Is she dead?” Funny how children can get
away with questions that would be rude coming from anyone over the
age of about fifteen.

“Oh yes. Many years ago. But I still feel
that she watches me, and it makes me smile.” When they continued to
look at her expectantly, she went on. “Sometimes, when I am afraid,
I think of the songs she used to sing me when I was a very small
girl, and then things are better.”

“Can you sing one of them for us?”

For that, I sat up too. If Sveta was going to
sing, I wasn’t about to miss it.

“They are in my native language. You would
not understand them.” They quickly assured her that it was
unimportant. “Very well then, but if I do this, you must lay down,
and try to sleep. I will sing you a lullaby of my home, it will
help.”

Quickly, dark heads met pillows, even the
eldest of the boys who was no doubt too old for such nonsense if
someone had asked him. Once they were settled and still, Sveta
started singing quietly in her native Ukrainian. She was right, it
didn’t matter what the words said. Lullabies are another universal
thing that crosses cultures and borders.

When the song ended, she started another one,
and then another, and I could hear the breathing around us evening
out as the boys drifted off into dreamland. Finally, she pointed a
finger at me, then pointed down. “You too. Sleep.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I settled down on my cot,
laying my arm across my eyes, and allowed her voice to lull me into
sleep. As drowsiness crept in on me, I marveled a little that a
Ukranian demon slayer was singing me to sleep. How was this my
life?

Somewhere around dawn, the dream came. It was
the tunnel dream, as I’d come to know it, as frustrating and vague
as it ever was. On an endless loop, I stepped out of a concrete
tunnel onto a vast field of hard packed dirt. The stars above me
shown with piercing clarity, but offered no light to see by. The
far end of the field was cloaked in shadow. Sometimes, there was a
figure there, waiting, and other times it was gone. Never enough
light for me to see who it was, and nothing to tell me if it was
friend or foe.

Behind me in the tunnel, someone else was
waiting. Always silent, always unseen, but the reek of desperation
and panic tainted the very air I breathed. Every time I stepped out
onto the empty field, I knew that the fate of whoever it was behind
me lay in my hands. And every time, whether the mystery figure was
there or not, I felt a sense of…inevitability. Like, even if my
shadowy visitor was there or not, nothing was going to change the
outcome. What was going to happen was going to happen,
regardless.

It wasn’t a frightening dream. I’d had some
of those, ones that brought me up shouting and sweating, ones that
brought me up swinging. Ones where old enemies ripped out my
insides and laughed as I choked to death on my own blood. No, this
dream was not one of those.

But it did disturb me, mostly because it felt
prophetic. There was no reason for something like this to plague
me, unless it was a warning. I just had to hope I’d figure out what
it all meant, before the day I
really
found myself stepping
from that tunnel, wherever it may be.

The light in the room was faintly pink as the
sun crept over the peaks of the mountains, spilling down into the
houses that sprawled across the mountainside. I watched the room
grow brighter for a few moments, knowing that I wasn’t about to get
back to sleep again, and finally got up. I felt Sveta’s eyes on me
as I left the room, but she didn’t move to follow me. I guess she
figured I couldn’t get into too much trouble inside this particular
house.

The kitchen was dark still, though I knew it
wouldn’t be long before Carlotta herself roused to start making
breakfast for the unwashed masses. I left the lights off, only
starting the coffee pot, and found a seat where I could see out the
window, watching the world come to life just behind the glass
panes.

As it happened, that was the only reason I
caught Estéban sneaking back in. There’d been no sound of a vehicle
in the driveway, so God only knew how far the kid had walked, but
he slipped in the back door, shutting it very carefully to avoid
the betraying click of the lock. He turned and drew up short to
find me sitting at the long kitchen table, raising a brow at him.
“Um…”

Even in the dim morning light, there was no
missing the black eye, the blooming purple bruise on his jawline,
his skinned up knuckles. Immediately, I was on my feet, looking him
over with a critical eye. “Shit, kid, what did you do?”

“Nothing.” He hissed and jerked his chin out
of my grasp. “I am fine.” His dark eyes were shuttered, revealing
nothing.

Stepping back, I crossed my arms over my
chest, giving him that look. All parents know how to give that
look. They come home from the hospital with the skill, the nurses
give you a manual along with the baby. I myself copied mine from my
own mother, who could still turn me to jelly with that look. “What
happened?”

“Nothing! Leave it alone!” And now his eyes
begged, and I knew that look as well. I’d used that one myself,
too.

Stuff happened, when you were a teenage boy.
You did stupid things, tempers flared, insults were hurled, fists
flew. Most of the time, it was a scuffle and done, with both
parties deciding they didn’t really hate each other within moments
of it being over. I knew that. It was worse with family, even. I
knew that too. Some of the worst fights I’d had were with Cole, and
I honestly couldn’t even tell you what any of them were about.
Sometimes, they were just about the fact that we both had too much
testosterone flowing at the same time.

This was the moment, I realized, when the
parent had to decide what to push and what to let go. Did I scold
the boy, or just accept that the young man could handle his own
shit? Hell, he wasn’t even my kid, what right did I have anyway? If
Carlotta wanted to take him to task later, she could.

I sighed. “And what have we learned?”

A bit of wariness crept into his gaze, like
he was afraid it was a trick. “I….”

I reached out and lightly cuffed him upside
the back of the head. “Move faster.
Entiende
s?”

Some of the tension went out of his slender
shoulders as he realized I wasn’t going to make a federal case of
it. “
Entiendo
. Sorry I am so late.”

“Don’t apologize to me, tell your mother.” I
walked over to pour myself a cup of coffee, and at his nod, poured
him one as well. “I wouldn’t try to claim your bed, though, Sveta’s
in it.”

He winced, but I couldn’t tell if it was the
thought of the Ukrainian psycho in his bed, or the heat of the
coffee on his split lip. “It is all right. I will find a place to
sleep elsewhere.”

“She said you should try the donkey. She’s
his new best friend, apparently.”

Estéban gave me a baffled look as we both
took seats at the table again. “Pueblo? He’s a vicious little
bastard.”

“Watch your language. If your mom catches
you, she’ll skin us both.”

He made some agreeing noise, and we both
nursed our black coffees in silence. There were faint noises in the
back of the house, the sounds of people slowing coming back to
wakefulness. We weren’t going to be alone much longer.

“You clean those cuts on your knuckles?”

“Yes.”

“You know when your mom sees you, there’s
going to be hell to pay, right?”

“I know.”

“Does the other guy look worse?”

A ghost of a smile flashed across his face,
but he only shrugged.

“You need me to step in or provide
backup?”

“No. Thank you.” He sighed, finally, resting
his elbows on the table. “
Familia
, you know?”

“I know. But you’re my family too now,
kid.”

That earned me a genuine smile, which faded
quickly into a flinch as the split lip opened up again and trickled
blood. “I know that, too.” I passed him a paper towel for his lip,
and we sat there in companionable silence again, listening for the
footsteps coming down the hallway, the ones that would herald his
mother and the storm that was going to descend when she saw what
shape he was in.

It happened sooner rather than later,
Carlotta appearing with an apron already tied around her waist. Her
eyes only glanced over the pair of us at the table, smiling to see
Estéban, who had carefully turned his head just enough to conceal
the shiner. “
Buenos dias
, gentlemen.”

“Good morning, ma’am.”

“Morning, Mamá.”

She went about rustling up breakfast,
producing pans and bowls out of seeming thin air. “What time did
you get in,
mi hijo
?”

The kid glanced at me, I think trying to
guess if I was going to bust him. “Uh…a few hours ago? I sat here,
I did not want to wake the boys.”

“That was thoughtful of you.” Deeper in the
house, the morning noises were growing louder, no doubt prompted by
the clatter and clank of impending food. “And how was your evening
with Paulito and the others? What did you all do?” That question
was the prying kind, the kind moms are supposed to ask. Carefully
phrased to sound casual, but pointed in the direction of the
information she wanted to know.

“We went down into town. We hung out.”

“Oh? That sounds nice.” Carlotta had her back
to us, stirring up something in a large metal bowl, but I could
tell that her mom-senses were tingling. What she really meant was
“that doesn’t sound like nearly enough information, please
elaborate.” He didn’t, just falling silent and staring into his
coffee, and I could have told him it wasn’t going to go well for
him. “Where did you hang out?”

“I don’t know, some place Paulito knew.”
Inwardly, I winced. That was basically a giant neon sign that said,
“I don’t want to tell you where we were.” Estéban was sinking
fast.

“More coffee?” Before he could think of a
reason why not, she was at the table with the coffee pot in hand,
and the kid had no place to hide. Her eyes spotted the skinned and
bloodied knuckles, and her gaze locked with his, his black eye and
bruised jaw now fully on display. “
Que pasó
?”

“
Nada. Estoy bien
.” Inwardly, I
cringed. Not the right thing to say, kid.

Thunderclouds gathered in Carlotta’s dark
eyes, and the paranoid part of me started looking for cover.
“
Fue Paulito, verdad
?”

“
No
!
No pasa nada. Estoy
bien
!”

I admit, that’s where I lost the thread of
the conversation. The Spanish flew fast, and thick, and way past my
abilities. It was easy to guess the gist of it, though. I’d been a
teenage boy, I’d had this same argument myself more than once.

Carlotta demanded to know who Estéban had
been fighting with, and the kid refused to tell. Then, she demanded
to know where they were last night, but it was like she already
knew and was just daring him to lie to her. He stood up, pointing
out that he wasn’t a child anymore, all the while sounding more and
more like one as their voices rose. There were sweeping arm
gestures, and shouting, and it all ended with the kid throwing up
his hands and stomping out of the room.

“Estéban!
Regresa
!” When he obviously
had no intention of coming back, Carlotta put her hands on her hips
and swiveled her head to look at me. “This is what he learns in the
United States? To disrespect his mother?”

I held up my hands, there was no way I was
getting involved in this battle. “Don’t point that finger at me.
You know as well as I do that this was coming. You’ve raised boys
before. He’s stuck between being a kid and a man, and neither one
of you knows which way to shove him.”