The Book of Sight (21 page)

Anyway, he had read the book now.  He had his own copy, pieced together from pages rescued from the pilpi’s hoard. What’s more, now he knew that he wasn’t the first person in his family to have one. He remembered how excited he had been when his mother’s letter arrived from Mexico.

I can’t believe you got a hold of a Book. I did not think there were any left for you to find. If your abuela told you that the painting was mine, then you will already have guessed the truth. I had a Book once, and so did your father. The painting was given to us by someone in our circle. I should have burned it long ago, but your abuela begged to keep it, and I never thought it could do harm hanging in the back hall of my mother’s house.

Dominic’s excitement had faded into disbelief at the bitterness that bled through every line.

I don’t want to remember those days.  In time, that Book took away everything I loved, and if that isn’t enough to convince you to destroy it, there is nothing more I can say.

There may have been nothing more to say, but she kept writing him just the same. Every few weeks another letter would come, full of the same dark hints and warnings. She never answered any of his questions, just repeated over and over that horrible things would be coming.

It nagged at him now. Not the extraordinary fact that someone…or something…had blown up the pilpi’s cave. Not the obvious questions as to who would want to do that…and why. Dominic couldn’t stop thinking about something his mother had said in her last letter, something that made him wonder if she knew this was going to happen.

Dominic was so preoccupied with this last thought that he sped right past his grandfather rocking on the front porch and would have headed straight upstairs to his room if his grandmother hadn’t stopped him with a firm grasp of his arm.

“Dominico, me alegro verte. Sentimos los temblores y nos preocupamos. Estás bien?”

Was he okay? Dominic wasn’t totally sure, but he nodded his head anyway. He felt a little surge of guilt that he hadn’t even thought that his grandmother might worry.

Now she was fixing him with that laser stare that always seemed to know too much. She didn’t ask many questions, but Dominic was pretty sure that was because she didn’t have to. She could just read his mind instead.

“I’m fine, Abue. There was an explosion. My bike tipped over, but I didn’t get hurt.” He didn’t mention where the explosion was. Though they knew about the Book of Sight, he had never told his grandparents about the pilpi’s cave and what happened there. He didn’t want to worry them. His grandmother had enough worries these days with his grandfather’s health.

His abuela continued to hold his eyes, but he just looked back as calmly as he could, trying to push down his desperation to get upstairs to his room. After a minute she nodded and turned back to her stove, only saying that dinner would be ready in half an hour.

Dominic took the stairs two at a time.

In his room he reached under the bed for the box that contained all of his mother’s letters. He rifled through them to find the one he wanted and skimmed through it for the words he remembered.

...I know you think this is a grand adventure, mijo, but you do not understand what will face you, powers that are greater than you can imagine, powers that can call down water from the sky and fire from the earth…

Fire from the earth. Was that what had happened today? Had some unseen power caused that explosion? Dominic wished he could ask his mother these questions. She obviously knew something about it. Just as obviously, she didn’t want him to know.

...I will not say more. I have told you before, this is not a case in which knowledge makes you safer. Knowing things will only put you in more danger. Please, mijo, whatever you already know, try to forget it.

Dominic frowned, filled with the same anger her letters always caused. He wasn’t a child. He didn’t need her to protect him. And how could she think he would ever forget what he had learned from the Book of Sight?

He had seen messages in the sky that had saved his life. He had seen a tree stump talking. He had seen leaves glow and transform into jewels right before his eyes.  And he had met friends who already knew him better than his mother ever had.

Whatever danger there might be, he would never trade what he had found because he was afraid. There was no going back now. His mother should know that. She had obviously read the book herself. What could have happened to make her write the way she did now?

Dominic crumpled the paper in one fist. He would never know what had happened because she would not tell him. He tossed the letter on the bed, not willing to even look at the last bit she had written.

...As for these new friends, you say that you trust them completely. Be careful, mijo. You can never count on what anyone will do when you really need them.

D
eborah Dunlevy was born in Indiana and grew up everywhere else. Even moving every year or two couldn’t satisfy her desire for adventure, so she learned how to read and started taking trips into other people’s lives. Eventually she grew up and went to college and got a respectable job as a teacher. Then she ditched that to go live on the other side of the world, where she had a few kids and learned what adventure was really about.

Deborah now lives in Indianapolis with her husband, Nate, her three kids, and an Argentine hound dog. She spends her time making up stories and sometimes writing them down on her blog tellmeastorymommy.com.