The Eye of the Wolf (2 page)

She
could still see him on the day they had been introduced. He was tall, with
black hair the color of a raven’s wing. His green eyes had reminded her of a
cat, a cat on the prowl. They both attended a party for the faculty and
important alumni at Georgetown University. She had just been hired, right after
finishing her Ph.D. at the University of Michigan. She hadn’t been in
Washington for more than a week. He was a recent graduate of Georgetown Law who
had just landed a huge job in the Attorney General’s Office of Maryland in
Baltimore. He had sought out an introduction, which at the time she had thought
was charming. Instead of trying to attract her with some goofy line, he had
sought someone to introduce them formally. He had worn a tailored tux and carried
two glasses of champagne. They had danced and talked. She had enjoyed
discussing world events with him and other topics other men veered away from in
conversation. He had escorted her home in his limo. The very next day, he had
sent her lilies. She was swept away. Within six months, they were engaged and
planning the wedding of the century that all of Washington society would
attend. Mikayla grimaced at the list of invitations that should have been sent
out that very day, 500 of them in all. The bridesmaids’ dresses were returned
and the photographer’s contract cancalled. They hadn’t known one another at
all, Mikayla mused. If they had, she would have never gone out on a date with
him much less accepted his proposal for marriage. 

The
plane touched down with a light bump throwing Mikayla back into the present and
rolled to a stop on the tarmac. Mikayla knew there would be no gate here. Amor
was too small and too independent to allow any large airline to build a proper
airport. In fact, the tarmac they had landed on was so old, left over from
World War II, if her research was correct, than there was very little pavement
left and mostly grasses and weeds that grew naturally in that region of the
Mediterranean.

She
climbed down the stairs onto the old runway beneath her feet and snapped a few
photos of the one building about 100 yards away that looked like the next
strong tropical storm wind might blow it away. Its once white walls were wind
blown brown like the houses on Torch Lake where she had spent summers as a
child. A mossy shingle hung crooked on a single nail and its mate had long
disappeared. A sign on the building welcomed the visitors to the island in
French, English, Greek, and Italian, the four main languages of Amor, though
she knew that the king spoke only French while most others spoke English. She
looked at the grasses that were cropped short but still grasses nonetheless
that grew through the cracks in the pavement.

Amor had never been one to get
involved in the modern world or the concerns of the rest of the world. It had
avoided most of the wars in Europe, including World War I. Only volunteers had
participated in The Great War. Those volunteers had joined other countries in
the effort to stop the conflict that arose out of an assassination in a still
turbulent area of the world. It had only been out of necessity to prevent
Hitler from dominating all of Europe that Amor had joined the war effort and
provided a landing base for Allied planes during the early 1940s. Once the war
had ended, Amor had reverted back to its isolationist beliefs and pushed the
allies out. The only Americans and mainland Europeans on Amor were tourists
with more money than they knew what to do with. Tourism and fishing were the
two largest economic enterprises for Amor. It kept them from slipping back into
the sea and disappearing. It also kept them from coming under Greek, British,
Italian, and French control, countries interested in control of the wealthy
empire.

Mikayla
picked up her bags from the tarmac and headed towards the building following
the glittering mini-dresses, Hawaiian shirts, and Panama hats of the tourists.
Their excited voices filled the salty air with a festive music. The vans from
the ocean-side hotels waited in the shade, away from the hot March sun. Even
though it was still winter in Washington, spring had definitely arrived here.
She slipped on her sunglasses to cut the bright glare from the sun. As she
neared the building, a long, black limousine parked in front of the welcome
sign. The driver stepped from the car in his crisp black uniform with his hat
pulled low over his black sunglasses. He held open the door to the rear seat.
Mikayla drew closer as a gentlemen wearing a severe navy pin-striped suit with
a brilliant red tie stepped from the car. His patent leather shoes winked. His
black hair was streaked with silver as was his goatee. He straightened his
suit-coat and strode for Mikayla with purpose. He moved as if he always did so
with purpose. There were no wasted movements. He also seemed to be the type to
always be impatient.

He
paused in front of her. “Bonjour, Doctor Knight.” He held out his right hand.
Mikayla dropped her suitcase and gripped it with a practiced, professional
shake. “Welcome to Amor. If you remember, I am Monsieur Rene Dejeune, the
primary preservationist at the Museum of History here on the island.”

Mikayla
nodded and picked up her suitcase. “Of course, Monsieur Dejeune. Thank you for
meeting me.”

He
signaled the driver who hustled over and took Mikayla’s bags. Monsieur Dejeune
escorted her to the limousine. Once they were settled, he rapped on the privacy
protector between the driver and the rear seating area. “Henri, we are ready.”
He cleared his throat and looked Mikayla up and down. Her auburn hair was loose
and hanging about her shoulders. She wore practical khaki pants and a white
t-shirt. She also wore tennis shoes. She did not look the role of a
professional historian and professor of European History at Georgetown
University. She looked like a, well, a kid to begin with, not more than 17,
though he knew her to be 28; and, she looked like a tourist, a poor American
tourist, not one of the most acclaimed historians in the academic world. “Henri
will drive us to the house where you will be staying. It is just outside the
walls of the Secluded City.” He handed her a pass with her photo and name
printed clearly in French. “You will have unrestricted access to the major
parts of the Secluded City; however, you will not be allowed to enter the royal
family’s quarters without permission from the Royal Minister.”

Mikayla
narrowed her eyes. “I was under the impression that I was to have unrestricted
access to all parts of Amor in order to make the history complete.” She tapped
a practical, glossy nail against the pass.

“I
apologize; however, the king is quite ill, and the family has asked that he not
be disturbed. You will be able to meet with the Dauphin of Amor and of course,
his son, the Crown Prince. Plus the Princess Royale and the Crown
Princess  are both eager to meet with you.” Dejeune watched her fingers
tap against her khaki leg and noted her obvious agitation.

“I
see.” Mikayla shifted in her seat and looked out the window at the cobbled
streets rolling past. The buildings were so close together, it was amazing that
the limousine was capable of getting through. She couldn’t imagine how two cars
ever passed one another. Of course, it was just like many other cities in
northern Europe that maintained their old world charm while still accepting
modern conveniences.

Monsieur
Dejeune cleared his throat. “Your house has an office with a computer and modem
connection. You also have a telephone with a line that connects to the
mainland. Feel free to call home as often as you like. All of your bills are
being paid by the royal family so charge whatever you like. All you need to do
is show that identification tag. The restauranteurs and store owners will
recognize it as a Royal pass.” He gestured to the tag she gripped in her hand.
The car pulled to a stop and her door opened. “I must return to the museum to
complete some work. I shall stop by tomorrow morning at 8 to take you on a tour
of the Museum of History.” He gestured out the door. “Enjoy your first evening
in Amor.”

Mikayla
stepped from the car and looked up at the two-story house in front of her. Its
teal siding and bright blue trim seemed to smile on her. Red, purple, and pink
flowers dripped from the flower boxes that decorated the front of the house.
Light curtains billowed in the breeze that blew off the ocean. Behind the
house, Mikayla could see the shimmer of the blue of the Mediterranean Sea close
enough that she could smell the salt in the air. To the right of the house
stood a steep hill with a cobbled path winding up it and disappearing in the
rock wall that surrounded the fabled medieval Secluded City. She turned around
and faced the street. Just a few paces away were more houses similar to the one
that would be hers for the next three months. Each was as cheerful as the next.
The cobbled streets wound through the houses. She knew she had stepped back in
time. The spirit of adventure bubbled in her blood and sent her pulse skipping.

Mikayla
climbed the steps to the white porch on the front of the house. It creaked and
groaned beneath her feet as it settled beneath her weight. A pair of
cane-backed rocking chairs that looked like they were brand-new rocked gently
in the late afternoon breeze that blew down the street. It was a cozy sight,
one that was repeated on the porches of all of the houses that lined the skinny
street.

Mikayla
pushed the door opened and entered the main room of the house. The polished
wooden floor beneath her groaned slightly. It was a comforting sound. It spoke
volumes of the age of the house and its upkeep. The main room was dim with the
afternoon sun on the opposite side of the house. Dust floated in the air, the
dust of being kept closed for too long. A heavy wool rug the color of the
midnight sky covered the center of the room. A deep, brocaded couch leaned
against the front wall, beneath the front windows that were opened to the warm
spring air. It was covered in an old rose pattern of ivory and blood red. A
matching chair sat across the room from the couch beneath a bronze floor lamp.
The ivory shade was tipped to cast light on the chair.

Mikayla
ran a fingertip along the wooden arms of the chair and continued her scan of
the room. A wooden chiffarobe sat along the far wall; its doors scarred by age
and use. She pulled open the door and was surprised to find the latest in home
entertainment. A big screen television, a DVD player along with a variety of
recently released American movies, and a stereo that allowed for playing CDs.
She hadn’t expected to find the luxury of the home entertainment center while
away from the United States. In fact, she had looked forward to the escape from
watching CNN and knowing every detail of every crime from around the world.
Mikayla had hoped that this journey to a tropical paradise would be a vacation,
a working vacation, but a vacation none-the-less.

“Well,
just because it is here doesn’t mean I have to turn it on.” She mumbled to
herself as she firmly closed the doors to the cabinet. She turned to her left
and looked into a brightly lit dining area that was open to the kitchen.
Friendly yellow paint covered the walls and was complemented by the oak table
inlaid with white ceramic tiles. White ice cream parlor chairs circled the
table inviting a body to sit and dream in that sunny spot. Lavender exotic
flowers that Mikayla couldn’t identify invited her to sniff from their glass
vase at the center of the table. Their fragrance scented the air, soft and
comforting.

Mikayla
moved around the table to the sliding glass doors. She flipped the lock and
stepped out onto the broad, wooden deck that spanned the back of the tiny beach
house. It walked out onto a white, sand dune, and beyond the dune was the azure
blue Mediterranean Sea. She lifted her arms and breathed in the fresh sea air;
salt tickled her nose. She twirled in that one spot for a moment; her head
lifted to the sky, and her eyes closed. Peace smoothes over her and enveloped
her in a calming hug, bringing peace to her, a peace that seemed to have always
alluded her in Washington.

Mikayla
stepped back through the slider into the dining nook. She decided that if there
were ever a time to use the phrase dining nook to describe a spot, this was
certainly the time.

The
kitchen was a large, spacious area decorated in bright green and white. The
counters were covered in a checkerboard of green and white tile. Each tile had
the Amor crest painted in the opposite color. It was a busy countertop, Mikayla
mused. The island in the center of the kitchen contained the counter-top cook
space with the electric cook top and the brass pots hanging from hooks in the
ceiling. In the far wall was the matching oven. A small window above the white
porcelain sink looked out on the deck and sea beyond. A skylight in the ceiling
invited the blue sky into the room, giving it an open, friendly feeling.

Mikayla
ran her hands along the counter and worked her way to the stairs following the
hall. Old pictures of long-dead royals and VIPs decorated the hall, reminding
her of her purpose, of the people of Amor just as her mind and heart wandered
into a world of fairy-tales and sea-swept vacations. She craned her head to
peer up the dark stairs. “Well, if the upstairs is anywhere as nice as the
downstairs, I may have to remain here permanently.” She giggled like a teenager
as she flipped the switch on the wall just inside the staircase and bounded up
them like a child.

At
the top of the stairs, a bay window covered in pillows in silk shams and whispy
cotton curtains invited a dreamer to gaze out the window and step back in time.
Mikayla knew that spot would be one of her favorite spots in the house; though,
there were so many spots that could be a favorite spot for dreaming, thinking,
reading, or whatever a body had in mind, it was hard to believe she would ever
just sit in one spot.