The Eye of the Wolf (48 page)

Mikayla shuffled her feet in the gravel of the path
and picked lint from her khaki pants before standing. She looked down at the
bent head of the Queen. She felt remorse for the woman who had somehow brought
this down on the world, but there was no emotion left for her to display. She
had cried for days, waiting for Will to awaken. She had sought absolution for
her own sins of killing another person. She had no forgiveness or tears to
shed. “I’m sorry for your losses, Your Majesty.” Mikayla turned and walked
away, leaving the Queen on the bench, steeped in her thoughts and tears. She
stopped only when the Queen’s voice called out to her.

“He loves you, Mikayla. It will kill him to find
you gone. Don’t hold him responsible for what happened. It wasn’t his fault,
nor his choice.”

Mikayla looked down at the carefully tailored
pathway that wound through the enclosed island of paradise. Her own tears began
to fall as she remembered his cool voice, his stormy gray eyes, his gentle
kisses. Her heart clenched with the thought of never seeing him again, but she
also knew she couldn’t stay. Her life was elsewhere. There was too much fear,
anger, and distrust here for her to ever consider Amor her home. She lifted her
head and walked down the path to the open gates and the waiting car.

Mikayla took one last look around the island before
handing her bag to the steward who stowed it in the luggage compartment in the
belly of the plane. Her mind replayed her first impressions of the desolate
landing strip in the center of the tropical paradise. The excitement that had
filled her with purpose as she arrived in paradise, a world where fairy-tales
came true. The grass that grew through the cracks of the tarmac had been
trimmed for the festival, a festival that had drawn records from around the
world to celebrate nine hundred years of history.

Fashionably dressed couples and families milled
around, waiting for their charter flights back to the mainland to catch those
final connections to wherever they had come from. Waiting to return to their
normal world, but her world would never be normal again. She would never think
of Amor without fear, pain, and loneliness. Her heart sat heavy in her chest as
she climbed into the small plane, moving past the happy people to the seat in
the very back, a seat where she could be alone, where she could forget.

Mikayla settled into her seat, wincing as pain
coursed through her shoulder and the wound burned from the movement of
strapping the seat-belt. She pulled down the blind that covered the window and
blocked out the palm trees that danced in the early morning breeze off of the
Mediterranean. She closed her eyes and her mind to the people around her,
shutting out their conversations as they prepared to end their vacations in
paradise.

She was relieved when the engines of the small
charter plane revved, and it began to move down the runway. She was more
relieved when she felt the slight shudder right before the wheels lifted from
the ancient tarmac and lifted into the air, like a bird, prepared to fly to
Italy where a flight waited to return her to Washington.

A single tear slipped through her closed eyes and
traveled down her cheek as the fairy-tale world of Amor grew smaller, and the
opportunity for happily ever after disappeared further into the distance. She
was oblivious to the exclamations of the people around her, lost in her misery.

Had she opened her eyes, looked out the window, she
might have seen the small figure chasing the plane down the tarmac, his leg in
its brace, and the limousine waiting patiently in the distance as he waved his
arms. He stopped at the end of the run-way, his arms waving and his mouth
working. What he yelled, none of them ever knew, but it was very romantic, the
tourists thought.

Then, his arms fell to his sides and he walked back
to the limo. With one last glance at the tiny plane disappearing into the
clouds, he climbed back into the limousine, sun glinting off of his sun-washed
blond hair that fell in a reckless manner over one eye, giving him that
devil-may-care look.

          “Throughout history,
gems have held some sort of fascination for humans. They hold a power over the
human psyche. They are believed to hold the powers of the gods, mystical,
capable of great things and evil things, depending on the person wielding the
power.” Mikayla clicked the slide to the next gem. A brilliant blue diamond
filled the wall behind her. She smiled slightly to herself before turning back
to the darkened lecture hall where young undergraduate eyes gleamed in the
darkness and whispers spread from  person to person. “One such stone is
the Hope Diamond, a rare blue diamond originally belonging to Louis the
Fourteenth.” Her laser pointer was a dot of red against the screen.

          “The Hope Diamond
weighed originally 112 3/16 carats when it was taken from the diamond mines of
India. It was originally known as the French Blue Stone and was found in 1642
by the French adventurer Jean-Baptiste Tavernier.” Mikayla smiled at the young
faces of her History’s Mysteries class that rose up along the walls around her
in the echoing lecture hall. She was almost sad to see the semester come to an
end. She had enjoyed this class, even now as she drew closer to bittersweet
memories. “According to legend, the original stone was pried loose from an
Indian idol, which was a religious artifact. By removing the stone from its
religious idol, a curse was put upon the stone. The curse would harm anyone who
came in contact or possessed the stone.”

          Mikayla shrugged
as a new slide slid up the wall. An image of a woman wearing the Hope Diamond in
its current setting. “According to history, Tavernier lost his entire estate
after acquiring the diamond. King Louis the Fourteenth lost his head while
wearing the stone, and shortly thereafter, the diamond disappeared. It
reappeared forty years later in London. The jewel cutter who had been in
possession of the stone stole it from his father. He then died of…” She paused
for dramatic effects. When she spoke again, voices from the auditorium chimed
in. “…mysterious causes.”

          Mikayla’s laugh
joined those of the eager undergraduates who scribbled notes and drew pictures
in their notebooks. “The stone passed on through many families. Someone always
lost a fortune or died of suspicious causes, such as drowning or a broken skull
or poisoning.” She pressed the remote control in her hand, shifting images to
the drawing of Lady Evalyn Walsh McLean, one of the last owners of the Hope
Diamond. “ The diamond then moved to Lady McLean. Her husband bought it for her
as a present for $154,000. While she was in possession of the stone, her family
suffered a number of tragic events including a suicide, a murder, and the loss
of a family fortune.”

          Mikayla flipped
the slide to the next image. “Mr. Harry Winston purchased the Hope Diamond for
his wife as an anniversary present. He, however, never had any problems with
the jewel, though the curse haunted him in that no one ever wanted to sit with
him or his wife on a plane.” Ripples of laughter worked its way through the
students. Mikayla flipped to the last slide: the Hope Diamond larger than life,
sparkling like a humored blue eye, filling the wall behind her. “The Hope
Diamond has been part of the Smithsonian since 1958. It arrived there wrapped
in a plain brown wrapper, insured for one million dollars. Today, the Hope Diamond
is estimated to be worth over two million dollars.”

          Wows echoed
throughout the room as Mikayla paused to let students stare at the diamond that
was not far away, behind bullet-proof glass, protected by the most advanced
security system in the world, even more advanced than the security protecting
the Crown Jewels in Great Britain. As the oohs and aahs quieted, she flipped
the slide to the next. Her fingers twirled the simple diamond pendant around
her neck as the room became silent.

          “This, ladies and
gentlemen, is the Eye of the Wolf, an incredibly rare and precious yellow
sapphire.” Although her voice was professor-like, commanding and clear, her
mind wandered from the lecture-hall to a bright sandy beach where ocean breezes
blow and salt is always teasing sun-bleached blond hair. She smiled slightly to
herself as the voices of students’ questions rang through the air. She held up
a hand to quiet them and was surprised that it didn’t tremble. It seemed a year
could solve almost anything.

          “Yes, ladies and
gentlemen, yes, this is the stone owned by the royal family of Amor.” She
glanced over her shoulder at the picture of the rare sapphire that was now
housed in the Hall of Records under the same security system as the Hope
Diamond in Washington. “This stone is 150 carats of pure sapphire. It was mined
originally in the sapphire mines of Vietnam or Cambodia. Eventually, it made
its way to Jerusalem. It was in Jerusalem that its deadly history begins.”

          Mikayla moved
across the front of the lecture hall, away from the projector so that she could
see her students’ faces better. Her mind danced along ocean waves and through
the halls of a fabled fortress as her mouth worked automatically, telling the
story of a king long ago who went on a Crusade and never returned home. Danced
in a ballroom with a dashing prince. Witnessed the fall of a princess who only
wanted to be queen. “The Eye of the Wolf is said to have been cursed by the
Sultan in Jerusalem who originally owned it before it was stolen by the
Crusaders during the Third Crusade. The curse of the Sultan stated that anyone
who possessed the stone would meet with horrible calamity.”

          She shrugged her
shoulders as she moved up and down the rows of the lecture hall. Bittersweet
memories tugged at her heart as the scent of ocean breezes and tropical flowers
tickled her senses. “King Henry of Amor and his Crusaders set sail back to
England only to be blown off course. They crashed on the island of Amor. Henry
was killed by his own son in cold greed. His son was later killed by
revolutionaries. The stone then disappeared under the next monarch for 800
years. It was only recovered recently after an almost 20 year search. During
that search, people clost to the royal family died, along with the drowing of a
prince, the poisoning of a king, and the accidental shooting of a princess.”
She paused. A long, tapered finger tapped her lips. “Some might say the stone
is cursed; I disagree. It’s just human nature.”

          Pictures of
tapestries filled the wall as her voice played a story so well-known. She gazed
at the images on the screen as they flashed by feeling the overwhelming sense
of loss that had filled her the day she had left that far-off island a year
ago. It was only the giggling, bubble-gum popping voice of Amber, an annoying
but bright undergraduate, that raised her from her imagination.

          “Dr. Knight,
isn’t it true that you solved the mystery of where the stone was hidden?”

          Mikayla sighed
and moved back to the front of the room. She flipped off the switch on the
projector and turned up the lights. Students’ eyes blinked rapidly, adjusting
to the brightness. She leaned against the podium, meeting each eye in the
lecture hall. “Yes, I was there when the stone was recovered, but I wouldn’t
say that I solved the mystery. I just happened to be at the right place at the
right time.” She smirked, her eyes hiding thoughts of the irony of that
statement. “If you’re so interested in it, you can read about it when the book
comes out next month.” Several students laughed. This was an old joke.

          Amber raised her
hand again, giggling as she did so. Mikayla frowned and chose to ignore the
bubbly blonde.  Students were beginning to pack bags and move on to their
next class or out into the beautiful Washington spring. She waved her hands briefly
to settle the students before they flew from their seats. “Are there any
questions regarding today’s lecture, the overview of the course you were given,
or the final exam next week?”

          When no hands
rose in the air, Mikayla shooed them. It was Amber’s voice that stopped many
students in their tracks. “Dr. Knight, at the beginning of the semester, you
told us history isn’t about fairytales, hauntings, and curses, yet you’ve just
spent the entire semester teaching us about those very things.” Mikayla smiled
to herself. She had to admit it, the girl was bright. She almost wished Amber
had signed up for the summer dig program overseas that Mikayla was in charge
of. Almost.

          “Well, Dr.
Knight, does Cinderella ever get her Prince Charming in real life?” Amber stood
from her seat, her bag slung over her shoulder. For once, her eyes intense and
the giggling silent.

          Mikayla twisted
the diamond pendant and its fine gold chain around her finger as she thought
through the question. She met Amber’s eyes as she began packing her own bag,
moving aside the lavender rose that stuck out from one of the bag’s pockets.
“Well, Amber, let me answer it this way. The ending hasn’t been written yet, so
yes, Amber, it is possible for Cinderella to find her Prince Charming. You have
to write the ending.”

          Amber grinned and
bounced down the steps to the exit. Her perky blonde pony-tail swung wildly
around her head. Mikayla distinctly heard the pop of a bubble before Amber
disappeared through the door into the crowded hallway. Mikayla shoved her
laptop into the beat-up backpack with its Hoya zipper pull. “You really
shouldn’t feed her fantasies by sitting next to her and feeding her those
questions.”

          “I’m shocked she
bought that cop-out of an answer, Luv.” A smooth British voice floated through
the air answering her accusations. Mikayla grinned as she watched him unfold
his lanky frame from the seats of the auditorium. He moved slowly down the
stairs until he was even with her. He wrapped one arm around her, pulling her
close. His hand cupped her cheek and she was enveloped in the scent of ocean
breezes and sunny afternoons. His smile warmed her through to her toes, a stab
of lust went through her, intense and overwhelming. He laid a gentle, sweet
kiss on her lips before allowing her to answer.