Chapter 12

They walked over to a pair of boulders sheltered by a stand of tall oaks. Sarah couldn't be sure whether those oversized rocks had been there a moment earlier or whether Abdul had conjured them so they'd have a comfortable place to sit, but in the end, she supposed it didn't matter so much.

She'd feel much better having this conversation sitting down.

To be honest, she didn't think she wanted to have it all, except…

…except Abdul seemed like the sort of person who would listen to her story without judgment. He was so entirely detached from human affairs that she hoped he would let her tell him what had happened and how she felt about the situation, and wouldn't interject comments about how she had overreacted to things or deliver saccharine remarks about how she had an amazing talent and shouldn't be hiding it from the world.

"I studied music for a long time," she told him. "My father had me take piano at first, but then he realized not too long afterward that I should have a voice coach as well, so I was trained from around the time when I was ten years old."

"What about your mother?" Abdul asked.

A logical enough question, especially since Sarah knew she'd mentioned her father on several occasions already but had never said anything regarding her mother.

"She died when I was three," she said. "I guess she had a hard time when she was pregnant with me, and everyone told her she shouldn't have another child. But she did…and then we lost her and my baby brother at the same time."

When it had happened, of course, Sarah had been too young to really understand what was going on. She'd known she was going to get a little brother and was excited about that, and even though her mother spent a lot of time in bed and had looked pale and tired for what felt like months on end, she'd never, ever thought that when her father drove her mom to the hospital and left his young daughter with her grandmother to be babysat until they came home, that they wouldn't come back at all.

Or rather, her father returned the next day, haunted and hollow, and it had taken a while after that for her to understand that there wouldn't be a baby brother, and there wouldn't be a mommy anymore, either.

"Anyway," Sarah pressed on, knowing if she stopped to think about what had happened all those years ago, her throat would seize up with unshed tears and she wouldn't be able to keep talking. Even now, that shocking sense of loss could hit her at the worst times and take her breath away, despite years of the best therapy money could buy. "It was always just my father and me. He never seemed interested in getting married again, but he wanted to do everything he could to help me develop my talents. Later on, I started getting parts in community theater and even a couple of local TV commercials. Then, right before…."

She stopped there, the words trailing off as she fought that awful betraying tightness in her throat. No way in the world was she going to break down in front of Abdul. Bad enough that she was telling him all this in the first place.

But he'd asked, and even though she hated to dredge up all those past wounds, in a way, she knew she'd feel better once she got it all out, just like sometimes it was better to vomit all up and get it over with rather than trying to live with the nausea and stomach ache.

"Right before…?" he said. His tone was gentle, and she wondered if her story about losing her mother so young had moved him just a bit. Djinn could sometimes show compassion in odd little ways, so maybe he was feeling some sympathy for her despite everything.

"I got my big break," she said. "A revival of The Phantom of the Opera — a musical," she added hastily, since she had no idea how much Abdul knew about musical theater or popular culture in general. "It wasn't the lead, because I was just starting out, but I was in the chorus, and I was an understudy for the lead role and would get to play Christine sometimes in the weekend matinees. It was a very big deal for a girl from Albuquerque who'd only performed in local theater. And then…."

Abdul shifted where he sat on the granite boulder. "And then the Heat was unleashed on the world."

Sarah thought that was an odd way to phrase it, since everyone knew it was the djinn who'd let loose the deadly fever, but she wasn't going to argue semantics now. "Yes. After that, it was all about survival. I didn't talk about music, or what I'd been hoping and dreaming for, because it didn't seem all that important compared to just making it from one day to the next. And I stopped singing."

The djinn's hands tightened on his knees, which were covered in the same heavy black linen that made up his cloak.

Did he switch to wool in the winter? Maybe not; she'd heard that djinn weren't affected by heat and cold the way humans were.

"You sang the other day," he pointed out, and she shrugged.

"I thought I was alone." He didn't respond to her comment, signaling that he'd like her to elaborate. "I began singing again a few years back after I started getting work assignments to go through the empty houses in Espa?ola. It seemed okay then because there wasn't anyone around to hear me. I suppose I felt the same way about coming here to Ghost Ranch. The surroundings were so beautiful, and I knew I was alone, so I figured it was safe."

Sarah paused there, wanting to shake her head at her ignorance. All right, there hadn't been any real sign that there was another living soul around for miles and miles when she walked down that dirt road the first time, but she'd definitely been proven wrong there.

"So, that's why you heard me singing," she concluded. "I wouldn't have done that if I'd known you were here."

Abdul regarded her for a moment, still silent. Then he said, "Would you have come at all?"

Good question. Yes, she'd gone to Ghost Ranch understanding that she was expected to scout the area and let Miles and Lindsay and the rest of the town council know whether it would be a good location to expand into, but Sarah knew that if she'd gotten even the slightest hint that the place was inhabited by a djinn, she would have gone straight back to the rendezvous point and let Lindsay know they needed to look elsewhere.

"No," she replied. "I know better than to intrude on a djinn's home."

His hooded head lifted, and she got the feeling he was looking past the hills that sheltered them now, gazing westward to the sprawling adobe house he had made his own.

"Well," he said at length. "I am very glad that you did not know I was there."

Sarah's story moved him more than he had expected. Perhaps in the grand sweep of the cosmos, her individual losses were no great thing, but losing a parent at such a young age would be difficult for anyone, and then to be facing one of the greatest triumphs of her life, only to have it snatched away before she could truly experience it?

That was an entirely different kind of loss, one that would leave its own scars.

And a while later, she revealed that her father had passed from an extremely virulent form of cancer only days before the Heat swept across the world. Abdul experienced a strange sense of relief at hearing that, for now he knew that she hadn't lost either of her parents in the Dying. Perhaps the grandmother she'd mentioned earlier was also gone by then, and therefore she had no close relatives who'd succumbed to the fever that had changed the world forever.

Wishful thinking, most likely, for she must have had cousins and aunts and uncles, and of course friends and acquaintances. Sarah would have experienced her own set of losses, even if they were not quite the same as having immediate family members die of the Heat.

He could not wish that away, no matter how much he might have liked to.

Once they were on their horses and headed back to the house, he asked, "How did you practice?"

"Practice?" Sarah repeated, as if not quite sure what he was driving at.

To be fair, Abdul wasn't entirely certain, either, although an idea had come to him when she spoke of singing alone in the empty houses of Espa?ola, of using that marvelous instrument of hers so it wouldn't completely wither away.

"When you began to sing again," he said. "Did you only sing songs that appealed to you, or did you do some kind of vocal exercises?"

"Oh, I started with the exercises." Although she was behind him as they made their way down the narrow, rocky trail, he could just glimpse the rueful quirk of her mouth as she spoke. "And I sounded awful. But I ran through every warm-up and limbering exercise I could think of, and then after that, it felt like I was ready to start singing a real song again. Still, it was always kind of haphazard, since I never knew when I'd get a chance to be alone instead of being stuck doing waitress duty at Pajarito's or working at the co-op."

He could see why regular vocal exercise would be necessary to keep her voice in tip-top shape. She had sounded lovely when he heard her two days earlier, but of course, that was after what appeared to have been several years of gradually working back into it.

"And before?" he went on. "Did you practice at home, or did you go to some kind of studio?"

If she thought it strange for him to be following this line of questioning, she hid it well, for she sounded natural enough as she said, "Both. We still had the piano I played as a kid, so I used that to help me get through the exercises. It's always better to have someone else playing, though, so when I worked with my vocal coach, he had an accompanist there."

Better and better. "I see. And how often did you do that?"

"Twice a week," Sarah said. "I could have gone more, but even biweekly sessions were kind of expensive. My dad insisted on footing the bill for everything, but even though I was starting to actually get paid for singing and acting, he wouldn't let me cover any of it."

"Your family was wealthy?"

Possibly not the most tactful of questions, although Abdul guessed that humanity's remnants must now care very little about how much they might have earned in the time before. None of that mattered any longer.

It didn't seem as if Sarah took any offense at his question, for she replied forthrightly enough, "I don't know about ‘wealthy.' I mean, it wasn't as if we summered in the Hamptons or anything. But my dad's job paid well, and he worked so much that he never spent his money on stuff like sports cars or boats or even expensive TVs or something. Mostly, I'd just tell him if I needed something for school or my music, and he'd make sure I had it."

An indulgent parent, clearly, someone who did everything he could to make his daughter's life easier. Did he battle his own demons, wondering if he hadn't pressed his wife for another child, then perhaps she might have lived to raise their daughter?

Of course, that was all pure speculation. Abdul had no reason to believe that their second child wasn't one they had both earnestly desired. It was a tragedy, but for humans, tragedy was a way of life.

Still, he could put the pieces together, and it seemed to him that ever since the world had ended, Sarah had had no real way to truly work on her voice, to burnish it back to the way it had been when she thought a shining career lay ahead of her.

He could not wait to assist her with that goal.

So, she'd unburdened herself to Abdul…and he'd been probably the most sympathetic listener she'd had in a long time. And okay, it was true that she'd kept all this stuff to herself and hadn't even tried confiding in anyone in Los Alamos, but still, she had to admit she was surprised by the way he'd gravely absorbed everything she had to say and hadn't told her she was foolish for still grieving over something she'd lost years ago.

Honestly, she hadn't even lost the thing itself, but the promise of what might have been.

She had to admit this was a new experience for her. God knows Carson Mailer had been just about the exact opposite of a good listener, or sympathetic. Or…just about anything she believed she would have wanted in a partner. She'd gotten together with him because she thought he was cute and he seemed interested, and she hadn't stopped to think how they weren't compatible in any way that mattered.

And, what? Did that mean she was thinking of Abdul as a possible partner?

No, that was crazy. He was a djinn and she was a human. While it was true that plenty of djinn were romantically involved with mortals, they'd selected their lovers long ago, back before the Dying.

All right, she was being just a little disingenuous there. It was much rarer, but she'd heard there were some elementals who'd hooked up with their mortal partners much later on after realizing they weren't as indifferent to humans as they wanted to pretend.

Which still didn't apply to her current situation. Abdul might have turned out to be much kinder than she had any reason to believe, but all the deep conversations and glorious horseback rides in the world couldn't hide the ugly fact that he was keeping her here against her will.

Not that she'd tried very hard to escape.

Because I haven't had the chance yet, she tried to tell herself, but those inner words sounded feeble even to her. There had to have been a moment sometime when Abdul had his guard down and she could have bolted. True, he had djinn speed — and flight — on his side, and yet she was forced to acknowledge that he was only one person. If she had somehow come up with a way to fake him out, make him think she'd zigged when she'd actually zagged, she might have had a chance.

As best she could, she tried to keep those thoughts tucked away as she dismounted her horse and Abdul followed suit. Just like the day before, they removed their mounts' tack and rubbed the horses down before sending them off to graze and enjoy themselves for the rest of the day.

Afterward, the two of them went inside. All the windows were open, and a fresh breeze blew through the house, smelling of dry grass and sun-warmed stone. Even though Sarah couldn't exactly explain how, she could have sworn the fresh air felt cooler coming in than it had when she'd been standing outside.

More djinn magic?

Maybe. She'd always been a fresh air fiend, and if Abdul had come up with a way to have the house stay cool even with warm winds from an eighty-degree day blowing through the place, then more power to him.

He asked her if she would like some water, and she said yes. After he poured a glass for her — one he'd fetched from the cupboard and hadn't simply summoned out of thin air — he said, "I have something I would like to show you."

Sarah couldn't help arching an eyebrow at him. Most likely, it was something completely innocent, but still, when someone made a comment like that….

"I think you will like it," he added, and again, she got the impression that he smiled behind the concealing hood.

"Then lead on."

He indicated that she should follow him, and so she did, moving into the wide hallway that led to the wing of the house she hadn't yet explored, the one where she assumed his bedroom was located.

Was that where he was taking her? she wondered, and a little shiver went through her.

They passed a large room that was obviously a library, with built-in floor-to-ceiling bookcases and a trio of tall windows that looked out onto the hillside below them. Maybe not quite as magnificent as the one in the Beast's castle in the movies, but still crowded enough with books in all shapes and sizes that Sarah thought she should be able to occupy herself in there for a very long time.

However, the library did not appear to be Abdul's destination, since he continued down the hallway, going past several smaller bedrooms that she only glimpsed as they walked by. But then he paused before he reached the end of the corridor — which terminated in a pair of double doors that she guessed was the entrance to the main suite — and opened the door before stepping aside.

"I thought this might help you," he said simply.

Sarah peeked inside, her eyes widening. It was a simple enough space, with the same wide-plank oak floors and white plastered walls as the rest of the house…with one very important difference.

In the center of the room stood a black grand piano.

She turned toward the djinn. "Did you…?"

"Yes, I summoned the piano for you. I thought it might help you with your practice."

Her feet propelled her forward, almost as though the piano was some kind of magnet rather than a large, handsome Steinway. She reached out with one hand to trace the inner curve of the cabinet, feeling the smooth, glossy finish beneath her fingertips.

How long had it been since she'd played?

Well, that was an easy enough question to answer. She'd sat down in the living room of the house she shared with her father and picked out the melody to "Twisted Every Way," one of the songs from Phantom, as she worked through the notes of the complicated, somehow sinuous melody. Back then, she'd been doing her best to distract herself from the shock of learning that her father was now in the hospital fighting a deadly disease no one had even known he had.

September twenty-fifth. Yes, that was the date. So…it had been four years, three months, and twenty-six days.

It seemed absolutely surreal that Abdul had brought this piano here so she could practice. Sure, djinn had the power to summon almost anything they wanted, but still…this was crazy, wasn't it?

If for no other reason than she didn't know if she could even allow herself to practice her singing when she knew he could overhear her.

"Th-thank you," she stammered, not sure what else she should say. "This is incredible."

His shoulders lifted. "I was not using this room. It seemed a good idea to provide you with some other way to occupy your time."

Well, at least Sarah could understand his comment about having more space than he needed in this house. She had no idea what had been in here before he decided to snap his fingers and make a concert grand appear, but clearly, it hadn't been anything terribly important to him.

She lifted the lid and touched several of the keys. As far as she could tell, the piano was perfectly in tune.

Because of course it was.

Still standing in front of the keyboard, she moved her right hand so the fourth finger rested on the high E above middle C. Almost unconsciously, she played the first few notes of Beethoven's "Fur Elise," then paused.

"What is that?" Abdul asked. He had approached from the side but still stood a few feet away, as if he knew he shouldn't crowd her.

"It's a piece by Beethoven," she replied. "The story is that he wrote it for one of his music students…or maybe a woman he was interested in. My dad told me that my mother loved the song so much that they decided to have ‘Elise' as my middle name."

Abdul appeared to absorb that bit of information, then looked from her to the keyboard where her hands still rested. "Do you know the rest of it?"

The scary thing was, she probably did. "Fur Elise" was a piece she'd played over and over so many times when she was young, Sarah guessed it was still permanently engraved on her brain.

And somehow, playing piano in front of the djinn seemed easier than just standing here and trying to sing while he watched.

"Only one way to find out," she said with a grin, then pulled out the piano bench and sat down.

A moment to gather her thoughts, to remind herself of all the twists and turns in the tricky middle section of the piece, and then she placed her fingers on the keyboard and began to play.

The tempo was a bit slower than it had been written, but Sarah thought it better to be somewhat measured rather than go at breakneck speed, only to trip all over herself at exactly the wrong moment. And while she knew she hit a clinker once or twice, she still couldn't hold back the rush of pride as her fingers stilled on the final A, with the corresponding notes in the lower registers echoing against the blank walls of the room.

She had to admit the acoustics in here were fantastic.

"That was lovely," Abdul said. "It seems you have not lost much of your skills as a pianist."

"Oh, I used to be a lot better," she replied, then rose from the piano bench. "I'm sure if I sat down to play some Chopin, I'd fail miserably. But the piano is gorgeous."

"Then I will leave you to practice," he told her, and Sarah experienced a flare of alarm.

"Oh, I'm kind of tired after riding all afternoon," she said, a protest that sounded weak even to her.

He crossed his arms. Not for the first time, she thought of how his hands were the only thing she could truly see about him, the skin a warm golden brown, his fingers strong and long — better suited to playing the piano than hers, which, while slender, were on the small side and often had to strain to reach some of the more ambitious chords.

If his hands were so perfect, what must the rest of him look like?

"It is not homework," he said, and that flicker of amusement had returned to his voice. "You may play, or not. You may sing…or not. But to avoid it would only be a further waste of your talents."

After delivering that remark, he inclined his head before walking calmly out of the room and leaving her alone.

For a moment, Sarah only stood there, not sure what she should do next. The coward in her wanted to follow, to go to her room and pick up the iPad and pretend the Steinway wasn't waiting for her on the other side of the house.

But she'd been a coward for far too long, hadn't she?

A deep breath, and then she sat down on the piano bench and paused for a moment.

Well, she'd begun with Beethoven. She might as well continue in that vein.

Head down and focused on the keys, she began to play the first notes of the Moonlight Sonata.