Chapter 14

The moment had come. Sarah stood next to the piano and watched as Abdul seated himself on the bench. He looked at her expectantly, and she swallowed.

Why did something that had once come to her as easily as breathing now feel like utter torture?

Because you're doing it to yourself, she thought. Abdul went and somehow taught himself to play the piano overnight, and you're sitting here and stressing about singing a basic scale in C?

All right, she was standing, not sitting, but the point remained.

And it wasn't as if he'd never heard her sing before. Not like this, not only a few feet away from where she stood, but still, that particular horse had already left the barn.

"We'll do some scales first," she said. She sounded extremely matter-of-fact to herself, but she knew that was only her way of trying to manage her nerves. If she could make the whole process seem like it was no big deal, then maybe she could get past the awful mental blocks she'd built for herself. "You know how to do scales, right?"

In answer, Abdul reached out with one hand and played a simple scale starting on middle C. "Like that?"

"Exactly," she said. "Each time, go up a half step. You know what that is, right?"

Again, he responded by playing the note in question, this time a C-sharp. "Yes?"

Despite the anxious butterflies dancing around in her stomach, she couldn't help flashing him a smile. "Yes. So let's get started."

He touched middle C again, probably to remind her of how it sounded.

Not that she needed the assistance; she might be rusty, and she might not have formally practiced for years and years, but she still had more than a decade of running through these exercises on a daily basis under her belt. Besides, she'd always had perfect pitch, had been able to sing a note that was exactly right even without the help of a piano.

A breath in, not too deep yet, since she only needed enough to support her as she ran up the scale and back down again. All the same, she wanted to wince when the first note left her lips — not because it was pitchy or sour or even badly supported, but because it sounded too clear, too loud.

And of course she wouldn't be able to get a read on what Abdul was thinking, thanks to the way that damn hood fell so far over his face, hiding everything.

Even Christine had been able to see the Phantom's reactions better than this, since his mask had only covered half his shattered visage.

She couldn't help being grimly amused by that comparison, although she had to admit her situation wasn't quite the same as Christine Daaé's. It might be true that Abdul had kept her here against her will, just as Christine had been held in the Phantom's lair for days, but no one could ever accuse the djinn of being a mad musical genius, not when he'd only begun to play the day before. He would never write an opera for her — would never sing with her.

But what he was doing was being a decent accompanist, and that was what she needed to focus on now.

They moved farther and farther up the scales until she was singing an octave above where she'd started. Once upon a time, those high notes would have been easy, would have floated free from her vocal cords without even a thought, but now she could feel how rusty she was, how even during the times when she'd allowed herself to sing in those empty houses in Espa?ola, she hadn't done much that had really tested her range.

Well, that was why she was practicing now.

Another exercise, one where she didn't sing the entire octave, but only slid up five notes and then back down, again moving higher and higher, and this time she could almost feel the way her voice grew stronger and clearer, the highest notes seeming to come right out of the top of her head rather than emanating from her throat.

"Okay, that's enough warm-ups," she said, and paused. Abdul had been playing a piece from Phantom earlier, but she wasn't sure she wanted to go there quite yet. That musical was fraught in all kinds of ways she didn't want to think about.

No, better to return to some of the tried-and-true standards, the songs her vocal coach had started her with before they moved on to musicals and even some opera.

"Do you know ‘Caro Mio Ben'?" she asked, feeling a little ridiculous. True, it was part of the standard classical repertoire, but there was nothing about practicing with a djinn accompanist that felt at all standard.

"No," Abdul replied. "That is, I listened to a great deal of music last night, but it was mostly from musicals because that is what you said you sang."

True enough. But if he could conjure just about anything she needed, from a pair of jeans to a saddle for her riding horse, then she didn't think summoning a simple book of sheet music should be too difficult.

Assuming he could even read music. From what she'd been able to tell so far, it seemed more as though he'd been playing by ear.

"There's a book of sheet music called 24 Italian Songs and Arias, " she said. "It's kind of standard for anyone studying voice. It has a manila cover with green printing. Any chance you could get that for us to work with?"

He nodded. " Italian Songs and Arias. That should not be a problem."

And a moment later, that very same book appeared on the piano's music stand. Sarah couldn't help startling a little, even though by now she thought she should have been a little more used to the way Abdul could make objects appear out of thin air.

However, she tried to seem matter-of-fact as she reached over and flipped the pages to get to the piece in question. "Can you read the music?"

He didn't reply right away, but instead leaned forward, as though to absorb what was printed on the paper. Another pause while he turned the page, apparently so he could scan the entire piece, and then he went back to the beginning.

"It does not seem too difficult. The notations correspond to the music I have been studying for the past few hours, so I think I should be able to follow along."

That in itself was remarkable enough, but Sarah knew she needed something more than an accompanist who merely "followed along." No, she needed someone who could take cues from her while also realizing that he needed to hold up his side of things.

"Why don't you play it through once, just to be sure?" she suggested. "It's not like we don't have the time to go through it over and over again if necessary."

"True."

He placed his hands on the keyboard, but again he hesitated, as if allowing himself to scan the notations one more time before he got started.

But at last he played the opening chord, and moved through the rest of the piece — which, admittedly, was a slow one, and not anything too complicated — without making a single misstep. When he was done, he glanced up at her, as if looking for her approval.

"That was great," she said. "You're a natural."

He chuckled at that comment. "I am not sure I would say that. But music appears to be highly mathematical, and that means it has a structure I can grasp quite easily."

That it was. Sarah had never approached music that way, because she was far more interested in the emotional impact of a piece than the complex calculations involved in writing it, but even she knew about music's direct correlation to mathematics.

"Well, let's give it a try," she said. Even as she spoke, she realized that she'd have to be the one to dissect her performance, to tell Abdul when they should stop so she could go over a phrase again, whether to shift emphasis or decide on where she thought was the best place to pause and take a breath. That should have been her voice coach's job, but because he'd been lost with so many countless others during the Heat, there wasn't anyone left to do this for her.

All the same, she thought they'd go through the song once without stopping, just so she could refamiliarize herself with the piece. After that, she could start tearing it apart.

She nodded at Abdul. "Go ahead, and we'll see what happens."

He had already thought her voice beautiful. But after nearly two hours of working on that one Italian song with her, he realized she was also a perfectionist. By now he'd lost count of the times she'd made him stop and back up so they could repeat a particular phrase over and over, with her trying one tiny variation and then another, doing whatever she could to make her singing both technically flawless and full of emotion at the same time.

Oddly, the process felt almost exhausting to him — he, who had never been physically tired in all his very long life. However, if Sarah could keep at this without flagging, then he would do no less.

After all, practicing with her had been his idea in the first place.

Eventually, though, she sent him a weary smile and said, "That's probably enough for now. Want to break for lunch?"

He did. Sitting there and playing had been more of an exertion than he'd expected, and his stomach told him it was now well past the noon hour, and they probably should have stopped to eat long before this.

"On the patio?" he asked, and she nodded.

"I could use some fresh air."

They went outside. While he was often fine with preparing his meals, there was no way in the world he would exert himself now, not when they both needed to eat as soon as possible. Instead, he summoned a pitcher of iced tea and a salad fresh with mandarin oranges and chicken and almond slivers, a dish Sarah dug into almost as soon as it appeared in front of her.

"How did you know this was exactly what I needed?"

"Because it was what I needed as well?"

She looked up from her plate then, a smile touching her full mouth. Today she had been in such a hurry to come out and see what he was doing in the music room, she hadn't bothered to put on even the faint cosmetics she wore at other times. However, he didn't think she needed them, not when both her lips and her cheeks were flushed with happy color, an obvious byproduct of their time spent practicing.

Yes, he thought some part of her was beginning to come alive again, and he could not help being cheered by that.

"Maybe so," she said. "You did an awesome job accompanying me today. Sorry about all the fits and starts."

At times, it had been somewhat frustrating. Then again, he'd also found himself fascinated by all the nuance she'd drawn out of the simple piece, the way it sounded so completely different when they'd finished than when they'd begun. Up until now, he had been a consumer of music and nothing other than that, and he knew he would always be grateful to her for showing him how it could be so much more.

"There is nothing to apologize for," he told her. "This was practice, not a performance. It was very educational."

Her nose wrinkled as she reached for her glass of iced tea. "I suppose that's one word for it. All the same, it's not like we have to go at this day and night. If nothing else, my voice will need time to rest and recuperate. So, what should we do this afternoon?"

Something warmed in him at how she'd so casually said "we," as if it was understood that they would spend the afternoon in some kind of shared activity rather than going their separate ways until dinner. Not so very long ago, he would have laughed at the idea that he needed any kind of companionship…let alone human companionship…to fill the empty hours.

Now, though, he could only be glad that Sarah seemed to enjoy being around him just as much as he enjoyed being around her.

"Perhaps we could explore the labyrinth?" he suggested. "We did not have enough time yesterday after we got back from our ride, but you did say you wanted to see it."

"I do," she said at once. "That sounds like a great way to spend some time outside. If," she added with an ominous glance up at the sky, "the weather cooperates."

As they had for the past several days, clouds had begun to gather to the south and east. However, Abdul guessed they were still far enough away that they should not interfere with his and Sarah's visit to the labyrinth, an excursion that should not take them more than an hour or so.

"It will be fine," he replied.

She seemed to be content with that reassurance, because she only nodded and returned to her salad.

He did so as well, glad that he had come up with a way for them to spend even more time together.

Now all he had to do was continue to make her happy.

The labyrinth was larger than Sarah had expected, stretching at least a hundred yards across, if not more. This wasn't a maze out of some English garden — or like the crazy obstacle course in that one Harry Potter book — but rather rows of rocks carefully laid out in the sandy soil. She would have thought it would be easy enough to find her way out without any tall bushes blocking the line of sight…and then she realized navigating through the complex pattern was a lot trickier than she'd first believed.

"Have you been through this before?" she asked Abdul after they had to go back to the beginning for a third time.

"I have," he said in the grave way of his, the one she thought was more charming than she wanted to admit to herself. "But I did not want to give away the secret."

"If we keep going around and around like this, I might have to wheedle it out of you," she replied with a grin.

How she wished she could see whether he smiled in response!

But, as much as she'd wanted to play Christine Daaé, there was no way in the world Sarah would copy the actions of the musical's heroine by reaching out to pull back Abdul's hood. Whatever his reasons for concealing himself, she needed to respect them…even as she found herself wondering more and more exactly why he felt the need to hide in such a way.

He shook his head. "I am afraid I don't bend to wheedling."

No, he probably didn't. On the other hand, he'd acceded to almost every request of hers…save the most important one of all.

Not for the first time, her traitor brain whispered that it might not be so bad to stay here. Beautiful scenery, an accommodating companion…the chance to practice her singing as much as she wanted.

Put that way, it sure sounded as though she'd landed in clover, even if she doubted that Abdul's reasons for keeping her here had been all that benign.

At least, in the beginning.

"Then I suppose I'll just have to figure it out for myself," she said, doing her best to keep her tone light.

She returned her attention to the labyrinth, scanning the maze of little stone pathways. A few feet from where she stood, there was a small opening, one she hadn't noticed before.

"Let's go that way," she told Abdul, pointing.

"Lead on."

They passed through the narrow gap between the rocks, and this time, she was pretty sure she'd set them on the correct path. The walkways twisted in and around one another, but she realized as long as she kept turning left, they would make it to the center of the labyrinth.

Which they did a few minutes later. It was an open area a few feet across, with gravel laid in the pattern of a many-rayed sun. Over the years, the design had begun to wear away, but it was still recognizable enough.

As if to counter the sun pattern beneath their feet, a cloud passed overhead, dimming the light. Sarah looked up and saw that the thunderheads that had been massing to the east had already begun to drift this way.

Actually, they'd done a lot more than just drift. Now the sky was clear enough to the west, but all around them, the day had already started to darken.

Thunder rumbled, and she glanced over at Abdul. "Maybe we should head back."

He inclined his head toward the stormy sky. "Probably a good idea."

They'd only retraced a few yards of their steps before the landscape lit up with a brilliant flash of light, and thunder growled almost immediately afterward.

How close was that? A mile?

Most likely, not even that.

Definitely not the kind of conditions where you wanted to be outside with at least a five-minute walk to get to any kind of shelter.

Another flash, and then rain began to pour down on them, plastering Sarah's hair to her skull and already beginning to soak through Abdul's heavy linen robe.

Not a single word, but he grasped her by the hands and pulled her to him. She let out a shocked gasp, and the world around them disappeared for a vertigo-inducing second before they re-emerged in the much more comfortable surroundings of the living room.

"That was crazy," she said, reaching up to push a lock of wet hair away from her forehead.

"It was," he replied. "My apologies for our precipitous departure, but I thought it better to get us out of the storm. Even a djinn does not much enjoy getting struck by lightning."

No, probably not. Sarah looked down at her sodden clothing — even as she noticed that somehow Abdul had already either dried his robe or exchanged it for a new one — and said, "I should probably get changed."

"You should," he agreed. "Perhaps you would like some hot tea or chocolate?"

Maybe hot chocolate on a June afternoon was sort of crazy, but right then, it sounded delicious.

"Hot chocolate would be perfect," she said. "Be back in a minute."

She hurried off to her bedroom, where she peeled off the soaked silk tunic and pants she'd been wearing, and exchanged them for one of the dresses Abdul had provided. It had three-quarter sleeves and might turn out to be too warm if the sun reappeared at some point, but right now she felt chilled all over and wanted to be comfortable.

A minute to blot her hair and comb it through, and then she returned to the living room, where Abdul already had a pair of big mugs filled with hot chocolate sitting on the coffee table.

"I did not know whether you wanted marshmallows," he said. He had been waiting on the sofa and obviously expected her to sit there as well.

They'd never been seated so close before, but she told herself that he'd already taken her by the arms, so sitting down a foot away from him honestly didn't seem like that big a deal.

"Marshmallows would be great," she replied. She'd had cocoa this way a few times after coming to live in Los Alamos, but eventually, the marshmallows had disappeared, just like so many other items that couldn't be easily replaced with the resources and technology the survivors there had on hand.

At once, the surface of both cups of hot chocolate bobbed with miniature marshmallows. Sarah reached out to lift the mug to her lips and took a sip that included one of the soft little white pillows of rich, sugary goodness.

That was probably the best marshmallow she'd ever had, creamy and not as sweet as she'd expected, and the hot chocolate was the same way, dark and satisfying, tasting like it had been made with the real stuff and not some powdered junk out of a can.

"This is amazing," she said. "I don't think I've ever had a better cup of hot chocolate, not even at this fancy place in Santa Fe I visited one time."

"I am glad you like it," Abdul replied.

Lightning flashed in the storm-darkened room, and the thunder that pounded a second later was so loud, it sounded as if it must have been directly overhead.

"Good thing we came inside when we did," Sarah remarked.

Abdul sipped from his mug of hot chocolate, then inclined his head. "Yes, this storm is quite a violent one. That was why I thought it better to whisk us away at once."

"Definitely a good call." For some reason, she couldn't quite ignore the way she seemed to still feel the pressure of his fingers on her wrists, gripping them tightly so there would be no chance of her slipping away while they traveled in that instantaneous but still scary djinn fashion. "I could say I'm surprised it blew in so quickly, but weather in New Mexico is like that."

"Yes, I am beginning to understand that one should not take it lightly." He set down his mug and gazed out the picture window that overlooked the valley below. With the rain coming down like this, you could only see about a hundred feet at best, and Sarah knew that the washes and creeks they'd explored over the past couple of days must be filled to the brim already, raging and rushing as they made their way down to the Rio Chama.

She remembered how Abdul had told her that he'd only been here for a week or so, which explained why he wasn't yet familiar with how these summer storms could come out of seemingly nowhere.

"Well, no harm, no foul," she said, and he cocked his head at her.

"I beg your pardon?"

It seemed that, while his English appeared to be near-perfect, he still had some trouble with human idioms.

And honestly, she couldn't say for sure where the phrase had even come from.

"I think it's a baseball thing," she explained. "When the pitcher throws a ball and it goes outside the foul lines, then it's a foul. But the saying is more like, nobody got hurt, so it's all good."

"Interesting."

He picked up his mug of hot chocolate and drank again, and Sarah did the same. Although she supposed it could have been awkward for the two of them to be sitting here like this, somehow she didn't mind at all. No, she kind of liked knowing he was right there, ready to protect her no matter what.

Which, she told herself immediately, was stupid. She could manage just fine on her own and didn't need anyone — let alone a djinn who happened to be holding her prisoner — to keep her safe.

But still…he'd immediately leaped into action once he knew how real the danger was, standing out there in the storm. Sure, she could have hurried up her strong, independent ass and bolted for the house, and yet there was no guarantee she would have made it inside before one of those lightning bolts decided she was an excellent target.

Although the two of them had shared plenty of moments when they were both quiet and didn't feel any need to speak, right then, Sarah thought the silence seemed a bit too awkward.

Or maybe that was just her realizing that she was thinking a bit too kindly of Abdul than she probably should.

"And this is just the beginning of monsoon season," she went on, knowing the words were coming out a little too fast but not sure how to stop herself. "It usually really starts to crank up in July and August, and it's just barely June now."

He set down his mug and got up from the sofa, moving toward the window. The rain still poured down and thunder still rumbled, although the seconds between lightning flashes and echoing rumbles seemed to be increasing, a sign that the storm had begun to move away.

"I like these monsoons of yours," he commented. "The skies in the otherworld never did anything like this."

"The otherworld," Sarah ventured. "That's where the djinn lived before they came here, right?"

"Yes," Abdul said. "It is a place that never changes. Or rather, while the colors in the sky may shift and boil, there is nothing like terrestrial weather there. It simply…is."

She picked up her mug of hot chocolate and made her way over to the window. Not too close to Abdul, but near enough that they wouldn't have to carry on their conversation from across the room.

"I can see why this would be better," she said. Rain streamed down the windowpanes, and wild winds caught at the cottonwoods and oaks that ringed the house, but all that frenzy only served to make it feel even cozier inside. This was partly why almost everyone she'd ever known — whether back in her old life in Albuquerque or among the survivors in Los Alamos — looked forward to this time of year. The storms were a break from the unrelenting heat of summer, a way to remind themselves that cooler days weren't too far off.

Abdul continued to gaze out the window for a moment, apparently watching the way the rain streamed down in sheets and turned the brick-paved courtyard into a shallow lake. Then he shifted so he looked at Sarah.

"Yes," he said. "This is much better."