Chasing Power (28 page)

“Sam.” What was he doing here?

“Selena’s boy?”

Kayla looked at her. “How do you know about him?”

“You were out, remember? We talked.”

“I’ll be right back. This conversation isn’t over.” Kayla crossed to the door.

Moonbeam followed. “Don’t let him know we’re thinking about leaving.”

“Moonbeam—”

“This is serious, Kayla.”

“Believe me, I know.” Flinging open the door, Kayla sprinted outside. She wished she could run out the gate and keep running until she’d left everything that had gone wrong far behind her. But running away was what Moonbeam did. Kayla was supposed to be the fixer.

Seeing her, Sam stopped walking near the garden gnomes. “Hey. Nice gnomes.”

Kayla skidded to a halt. “Hi, Sam. Thanks.”

“Hi, Kayla’s mom!” he called.

Glancing over her shoulder, Kayla saw Moonbeam pick up her gardening tools. Smiling broadly, Moonbeam waved at Sam and
then began weeding enthusiastically in one of the flower beds, close enough to listen to every word they said. Kayla wondered if it was curiosity, or if Moonbeam truly didn’t trust her anymore.

Sam looked like he’d come straight from the beach. He wore an orange bathing suit and a loose tank top with a palm tree printed on it. Sunglasses hung from his tank top. His feet were bare. “Sam, what are you doing here?” Kayla asked. “Did Selena send you?”

“Yep. Called me and … Well, she began to invite me over, told me she wanted to try again with her parents, but then her mother walked in, said phone time was over, and Selena switched midsentence to ask for another favor for you. I should have said no and insisted we finish the first conversation, but I can’t say no to her. She has that way, you know?” He looked at the yard, at the flowers, at the bench, at the ragged hole in the hedge. “What happened there?”

“Badgers. What favor?”

He whistled low. “Seriously?”

“No.”

“Huh. So what’s your secret?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Kayla saw Moonbeam quit weeding. She was watching Kayla intently. “My secret?” What had Selena told him? Kayla faked a chuckle. “I don’t have any secrets. Open book here. What you see is what you get.”

He blinked and then shook off his confusion. “Your secret to reaching Selena. Look, I like her, and I think we’d be good together. I think she agrees, but those parents of hers … Ugh. Jailers are more lenient.”

“They have high expectations, and Selena wants to please them.”

“But—”

“Sam, what was the favor? Why did she send you here?”

“Oh. Yeah, she wanted me to tell you … Hang on, I wrote his name down.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his swimsuit pocket. “Juan Rodriguez de la Cosa. She said to tell you he’s buried in Seville, Spain, in a church called Iglesias de Santa Maria, along with a bunch of stuff he found in Mexico. Mean anything to you?”

Kayla felt her heart beat so hard in her chest that it was difficult to think. She sneaked a glance over at Moonbeam, who continued to yank out weeds, occasionally pulling out flowers too. “I’m helping her with her project. You know, for those extra classes she’s planning to take at UCSB this summer. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Sure, no problem. You think her mom is keeping her from calling me again?”

“Definitely. When her parents say ‘no phone time,’ they confiscate her phone. Listen, it’s possible there’s another reason she sent you here. She knows me, and she knows I’d tell you not to give up on her, despite her parents. Selena likes you. And she doesn’t like many people.”

He broke into a smile. “Then I’m the one who should be saying thank you.”

“Just be patient. Selena likes being the apple of her parents’ eyes. Going against them isn’t in her nature. It’s going to take … Well, I don’t know what it will take.”

“I’ll wait,” he promised.

She watched him saunter out the garden gate. Standing, Moonbeam dusted off her knees and crossed to Kayla. “What was that all about? You’re helping Selena?”

“Her parents don’t want her to date. I’m helping with her social life, under the guise of helping with her classes.” At least that wasn’t a lie. “Moonbeam … can we wait before we move? Just a few days. I want to make sure Selena’s okay.” Only sort of a lie.

Moonbeam’s face softened. “You’re a good girl, Kayla. A good friend and a good daughter, despite … lately.”

“Mind if I call her? Privately?”

“Of course. Just don’t—”

“I won’t tell her anything.”

As Moonbeam returned to the house, Kayla pulled out her phone. She tried Daniel’s number first. No answer. Glancing back at the house, she dialed Queen Marguerite’s shop. After two rings, the voodoo queen answered: “Voodoo Spells and—”

“It’s Kayla. Is Daniel there?”

“He’s asleep, poor dear. Exhausted himself.”

“He’ll want to wake up for this. Tell him I know where the third stone is.” She kept her eye on the house. Moonbeam was in the kitchen, washing the garden dirt from her hands. She was watching Kayla.

The phone fell silent, and Kayla heard shuffling and the voodoo queen’s murmured voice. “He’s coming,” Marguerite said into the phone. “And you must go at once. But be careful. Wherever the stone is, your father will be there. The bones say he is close to having all three.”
Click
.

Using her phone, Kayla searched for and found a photo of the church, Iglesias de Santa Maria. A half second later, Daniel appeared just outside the red gate.

Moonbeam would see. But with luck, this would be it. She’d tell Moonbeam everything once it was over, and her mother would understand.

Kayla strode toward the gate as Daniel came into the garden. Reaching him, she showed him the photo, and then she looked back at the house in time to see Moonbeam charge outside. “I’ll be back,” Kayla called to her. “I’ll fix everything. You’ll see!”

The garden vanished in a flash of green, then white.

The air in Seville smelled like oranges.

Kayla looked around—they were on a cobblestone street. Sunlight streamed down on cute storefronts and restaurants. Trees in pots framed the entrances with fat oranges on skinny branches. A lemon tree boasted an oversize lemon that caused the trunk to arch nearly to the ground. Restaurant tables were set askew on the uneven stones, and tourists sipped wine and wrangled toddlers. Along the sidewalk, chalkboards were propped on easels with the day’s specials written in multicolored chalk. Bicycles were parked in a rack outside a hostel. Several food vendors were lined up with carts along the street. Each had a line of a few people in suits and a few in flower-print summer dresses. She didn’t see anyone who looked like her father. But then, the odds of his being right here at this exact moment had to be low.

“You think the stone is here?” Daniel asked.

“Selena thinks so.” She explained about the message that came via Sam.

“You know your mother saw us leave.”

“This is it. We’re going to end this. The stone has to be here.”
She faced the church. It was directly across the street, framed by more orange trees, as picturesque as a postcard. It had a tower with bells inside mustard-yellow arches. The front was crumbling white plaster, and the door was so ornately carved it looked like lace. The iron handles were elaborate swirls. A bronze statue of the Virgin Mary was by the front door. One foot of the statue gleamed like new from the loving touch of a million visitors, while the rest was tarnished. The entire church looked old, quaint, and totally like tourist bait. She couldn’t imagine how a stone of immense power could lie undetected for centuries in a place that was probably featured on thousands of postcards.

Still, this was her idea—or Selena’s, technically—and she didn’t have a better one. Marching up the steps, she tried the handle. It opened easily, and she and Daniel slid inside.

In the vestibule, it took a second for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. Voices echoed around them, and she saw the other tourists as shapes at first. She forced her eyes to focus on them: an older couple speaking French, plus a family of five that included two little boys and a baby in a stroller. Not her father.

A man in a priest’s cassock sat at a desk with a lamp. He had a guest book in front of him and a pile of brochures. Kayla picked up a brochure, and Daniel plucked it out of her hands and opened it. She reached for a second one, and the priest shook his finger at her and said, “
Uno, señorita
.”

“But he took mine.”

He held up one finger. “One per family.”

When the elderly couple came up to the desk to ask him a question, she reached with her mind and slipped a brochure off the pile. Joining Daniel at the back of the pews, she studied her brochure as he studied his. She wished she’d stolen an English
version. As near as she could tell, it described every stained-glass window in the church but said nothing about any tombs. Useless.

“He’s here,” Daniel said.

Kayla lifted her head so fast her neck hurt. “Where?”

“It doesn’t say. But he has to be here. Look, the church was built in 1464 on the site of a mosque.” He pointed to the back of the brochure. “At least, I think that’s what it says.”

“Oh. I thought you meant my father. Queen Marguerite said he’d be here.”

Startled, he looked up. “How does she know that?”

She scanned the church. There were names and dates on stones in the walls, like in the church in Mexico. But these dates ranged from the 1700s to 1800s. Not old enough. “She mentioned the bones. She must have done a reading. Or else she brought him here herself.” She meant it as a joke, but once she said it, she started to wonder. She tried to remember exactly what she’d told the voodoo queen.

“Queen Marguerite saved your life on the condition that you’d keep helping me, not him. She’s on our side.”

Kayla nodded and pushed the worry away. It was a stupid thought.

“Most likely, your father figured it out through research like Selena did, then took a plane here and found the stone hours ago, while we were busy moping.”

“You have such a bad attitude. A little optimism wouldn’t kill you. My father might, but not optimism. Come with me.” Stuffing the brochure into her back pocket, Kayla started forward across the nave. Inside the church, the air was stale and tinged
with the smells of mildew and mold. Light filtered in through the stained-glass windows.

To the left of the pulpit was a wrought-iron door with an impressive padlock on it. Kayla beelined for it. She peered through the door. On the opposite side, there were stairs heading down—like in the temple in Tikal. “A thousand dollars says Juan de la Thingie is down there.”

Daniel consulted the brochure again. “No idea where this goes.”

“I vote it’s a tomb entrance.” Glancing back, Kayla saw that the priest at the desk was watching them. She’d have to distract him, as well as the tourists. The heavy door looked like it would scream as loud as a pissed-off cat. She scanned the area, considering her options. “Look casual,” she ordered. She strolled under the pulpit, as if examining the woodwork.

The French man in the vestibule had coffee in a Styrofoam cup. He placed it down on a table in order to show his friend a map. His back was to the pews—and to his coffee.

Kayla pulled her razor blade out of her pocket, unwrapped it from the bit of tinfoil, and sent it across the floor, under the pews, and then up to the coffee cup. She sliced around the bottom, not deep enough to break through but enough to weaken it.

The man turned and picked up his coffee—and the weakened bottom fell off. Jumping back as the coffee spattered on his polished shoes, the man dropped the cup. Coffee splashed across all the tiles. The man swore, and the priest scurried over to him. His wife bent to help, and Kayla pushed the edge of her glasses. They tumbled off her face and landed in the spilled coffee.

Quickly, Kayla reached out with her mind toward the baby,
who was being pushed by his mother. A pacifier rested loosely on his bottom lip, as if he’d been sucking but lost interest. She popped it out of his mouth, and the baby began to shriek. The mother knelt next to the stroller. Simultaneously, Kayla flew her brochure across the church and smacked it into the face of one of the boys. He clawed it off and threw it at his brother. The two began to argue, loudly, in German, and the father tried to intercede.

In two strides, Kayla was back at the door. She focused on the padlock. Dots of pain sparked inside her head. The lock was old, and the cams moved reluctantly. She kept fiddling, forcing it to move. At last, it snapped open, and Daniel lifted it off the door. The door shrieked as it opened, but the baby’s screams were delightfully loud and shrill and the two boys had begun a full-out shouting match, which the father was trying to quiet. Glancing at the vestibule—the French man was still gesturing wildly, the woman was on her knees searching for her glasses, and the priest was frantically running for paper towels as he shot murderous glares at the loud family—Kayla slipped inside with Daniel. They closed the door behind them. Sticking her fingers through the grate, Kayla tried to relock the padlock. Her fingertips brushed the iron, but she couldn’t reach far enough through to move it into position.

“Forget it,” Daniel whispered. “So long as the door’s shut, they won’t notice.”

Kayla called the razor blade back to her pocket before retreating down the stairs into the darkness. It was blissfully quiet in the stairwell.

“Now what?” Daniel whispered. The dust seemed to soak in his words.

“Now we be very, very quiet.” Pulling out her lighter, she
flicked it on and, with her mind, sent the flame ahead of them to light their way. Side by side, they followed the flame down the stairs. When it died, she sent a second flame after it.

The stairwell walls were coated with cobwebs and smelled like damp rock and dust, which added to the ambience. Not that this place needed more ambience. It was already creepy as hell. She half expected to see some sort of ABANDON HOPE ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE sign.

They reached the bottom of the stairs. Kayla pushed the flame ahead of them. Beside her, Daniel let out a low whistle. Kayla totally agreed. She’d expected a tomb, possibly a barren basement. But this … It was more like an underground cathedral, easily as large as the church above.