Chapter 16

Even though Sarah had only been at Abdul's house for three days now, they'd already fallen into a sort of routine. Practice in the morning — maybe extending into the afternoon, depending on how she felt about where her voice was that particular day — and then some kind of outdoor excursion, whether a trail ride like this one, or their exploration of the labyrinth the day before.

Today, a strange lightness had settled over her, as if some part of her recognized that nothing about this was going to change and she might as well make the best of it. Not that doing so was terribly difficult, considering the way her djinn captor had done everything he could to make her stay here as comfortable as possible.

And she'd sung Phantom again. True, the easier of Christine's solo pieces — she still didn't know for sure whether she would be able to get through "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again" without at least choking up, let alone sobbing outright — but still, that was a massive mental hurdle she hadn't believed she'd ever be able to clear.

With Abdul's help, though, she'd made her way through "Think of Me," had even been able to summon the detachment to identify the problematic passages and run through them again and again until she was able to sing them to her usual perfecting standards.

That was a leap she couldn't ignore…and she doubted she would have ever gotten there if it hadn't been for Abdul's support.

Today there wasn't a single cloud in the sky, so she didn't think they'd have a repeat of the afternoon before, when pouring rain had chased them out of the labyrinth. In a way, Sarah was a little sorry about that. Somewhere deep down, she knew she wouldn't mind if he took her by the hand again…or even did a little more than that.

But he'd been all business the entire time, so she understood he would only be her accompanist and cheerleader, and she had to be okay with that. If he'd cared about having a human partner, a Chosen, then he would have selected someone way back when the decision was made to inflict the Heat on the world, and he would have joined the other conscientious objectors in Santa Fe or one of the other djinn/Chosen communities scattered around the globe.

She told herself it was fine. In a lot of ways, this was a dream existence for her — no unending mindless work, the ability to practice as much as she liked and to spend the rest of her days out in nature or reading or whatever else seemed to be the best use of her time at any particular moment.

Even though she knew she was content…for now…she couldn't quite stop herself from wondering why no one from Los Alamos had ever come looking for her.

It seemed his removal of the two interlopers from the campground at Abiquiu Lake had done the job, because the days that followed were quiet, with no sign that anyone else from Los Alamos intended to come sniffing around, looking for their lost explorer.

And Abdul had to be glad of that, because it meant he was free to spend this time with Sarah, listening to her voice blossom even further like a rose opening its petals to the sun, or to wander the countryside with her, sometimes on horseback, sometimes not, depending on their mood on any particular day.

He had even decided that it would be good to have her help in the kitchen, so now they gathered there with the ingredients he assembled for their evening meals, and she assisted with chopping or stirring or whatever else might be required. She always seemed willing to act as his sous chef and appeared content with his explanation that he enjoyed being more hands-on with these sorts of tasks rather than using his powers to do everything.

All in all, the two of them had achieved a domestic harmony he thought many might envy, but underneath it all was still the gnawing worry that one day she might discover the truth about him, and the careful fa?ade of amity and goodwill would collapse like the house of cards he knew it to be.

"What did you do all day in the otherworld?" she asked that night at dinner, and he set down his fork and gave her a startled look.

"Why do you ask?"

Her shoulders lifted. That night she wore a dress in a deep mulberry shade that enhanced the green in her eyes and made her skin seem to glow. Every day he saw her, she seemed more beautiful than the last, but perhaps that was simply because he learned a little more of her with every moment they spent together.

"I suppose I was thinking about all the things we've been doing here," she replied. "My singing practice takes up a lot of time, and you wouldn't have been doing anything like that in the otherworld, right?"

"No," he said. "We djinn were not much for artistic pursuits, although there were some who took on the difficult task of bringing plants from this world to that one, and expending a good deal of effort on keeping them alive."

"Because the air isn't the same."

Abdul had told her that during one of their previous conversations, but he was cheered to see she remembered the detail. "Precisely. But for many of us, we spent a great deal of time constructing our palaces and then redoing those sections of them that no longer suited us, or which perhaps we had grown weary of. It was a pursuit that could occupy a great amount of time."

A nod. That night, they had made a bounty of Indian dishes, a task that had required the dirtying of many pots and pans and bowls, and now she pushed at the chicken korma on her plate while she seemed to contemplate what he'd just told her. Then a smile touched her lips.

"No wonder you wanted to remodel this place as soon as you moved in."

"I did," he said. "The footprint of the house was well enough, but I changed the kitchen and the living spaces to more closely suit my needs."

"All with the snap of a finger."

"Or only an intention," he responded. "It is not necessary to perform a physical action to get the reaction we require. It is enough to merely think of a thing."

Yes, some djinn did like to snap their fingers or wave a hand to accomplish that which could be affected by thought alone, but although he indulged himself from time to time, Abdul generally did not waste his energy on such outward shows.

Then again, he'd never had anyone around to witness him calling material items into being, so there had been no reason to perform as though he had an audience.

For some reason, Sarah's smile broadened. "It's too bad you didn't reveal yourselves back before. I can just imagine some of the HGTV shows you could have starred in — Djinn Makeover, or Djinn House in an Instant. "

Abdul had no idea what HGTV was…or, more precisely, what it had been…but from the context, he assumed she was talking about some sort of television channel. And while he knew that none of the djinn would have been foolish enough to make their identities public back then, he had to admit the idea was somewhat amusing.

"Unfortunately," he said, "we can now only think of what might have been."

Some of the cheerful light went out of her eyes then. "Yes, I suppose that's what a lot of people do these days."

Damn it, he should have paid more attention to what he was saying. The last thing he wanted was for Sarah to start thinking of what the world might have been like if the djinn hadn't intervened and everything had gone on as before.

It would have continued on a headlong course into oblivion, he thought, but he knew now was not the time to speak of such things.

Thinking it best to steer their conversation in other directions, he said, "But even though this house pleases me well enough, there is still a great deal I would like to do to the grounds."

"Oh?" Sarah said. She now appeared a little brighter, as though she, too, was glad to avoid stepping into such fraught territory. "I thought what you did down by the visitors center was all the improvements you planned to make."

"No, that was only the beginning, nothing more. I thought I would create an herb garden and perhaps a kitchen garden as well, so I might grow a good deal of what I need. Perhaps roses and more trees, and grass, too. This part of the world in general does not support large lawns very well, but I know I can summon whatever water might be required to keep them thriving."

Her brows lifted. "Really? So…you're a water elemental?"

Right then, he wanted to curse himself for his carelessness. The entire time she'd been here, he'd made sure not to do anything in front of her that would point to him having a particular kind of elemental talent over another and had only used the sorts of powers that any djinn possessed. He certainly did not want her to guess that he controlled all of the elements because he was not precisely a djinn in the way she thought of them.

However, he also had gathered that her knowledge of the djinn was limited at best, and had only been gleaned from conversations with her fellow survivors, not from any of the elementals themselves or even observing them in person. Because of that, he guessed he should be able to obfuscate easily enough.

"That sort of calling of water is something any djinn can do," he replied, evading her question. "It makes gardening much easier."

"Got it," she said, then paused, her expression growing thoughtful. "I wouldn't have the garden be too manicured, though. The country around here is so wild, I think the yard surrounding the house should have a certain wildness to it, too." When he didn't comment right away, she hurried on, "I mean, it's just a suggestion. You should do what you want with it."

Because she looked concerned that she might have overstepped, Abdul knew he needed to immediately allay her fears.

"It's an excellent suggestion," he said. "One I will definitely consider when I begin work on the garden. Perhaps tomorrow, if the weather is fine."

"That sounds like fun," she replied with a grin. "As long as you don't want me out there digging holes or something."

The last thing he would ever do was expect that kind of manual labor from her. It was one thing to companionably chop vegetables together in the kitchen, but he would not ask her to perform tasks that might harden her pretty hands or allow her to get burned from too much time in the sun. Already the small cuts and scrapes and rough spots on her fingers from her work assignments in Los Alamos had begun to fade, and he wanted that trend to continue.

"No digging holes," he said. "But you may counsel me on the colors of roses you prefer, and let me know if there are any other flowers you might like."

"That I can do," she replied. Now something about her expression grew sober, as though she'd just realized that making these sorts of plans together meant he intended to keep her here at Ghost Ranch for a very long time. But then she seemed to gather herself, adding, "I am very partial to irises."

Something they wouldn't be able to plant until the autumn…and wouldn't appear until the following spring.

Yes, it seemed she was beginning to understand that her tenure here would be of quite some duration.

Eight days. When Sarah awoke the next morning, she realized this was the eighth time she'd opened her eyes to this room, the eighth time that she'd understood she was a captive in Abdul's house.

All right, she didn't feel much like a captive anymore, but still, their conversation at dinner the evening before had laid bare the reality that she wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon.

Or ever.

The problem was, she honestly didn't know what she was supposed to feel about that.

As she got out of bed and headed into the shower, she thought of the original version of The Phantom of the Opera, the one written by Gaston Leroux. She'd read it as part of her preparation for playing Christine, figuring it couldn't hurt to go back to the source material to get some extra insight into the character. Quite a few of the differences between the book and its theater adaptation surprised her, but what really jumped out was how long Christine had stayed in the Phantom's underground lair when he kidnapped her from the stage of the opera house. It was a detail that had been kind of glossed over in the musical version, but in reality, she'd been down there for a full two weeks.

Back then, Sarah had only wondered what the heck the two of them had done during all that time. Now she realized there was quite a bit you could do to while away the hours spent with your captor…well, as long as he was of a musical bent.

However, she wasn't sure if "musical" was the best way to describe Abdul. He'd acquired the skill of playing the piano because he'd realized he needed to do so to accompany her while she practiced. It wasn't as if he spent hours in the music room composing his own works, or working out the fingering on Chopin's Fantaisie Impromptu in C# Minor, a piece known for its fiendishly difficult notation.

She wasn't sure what she should think about that. In a way, it would have been a lot better if he'd been musical all on his own, because at least then she would know he wasn't playing merely to better serve her needs.

But she'd been going with the flow for the past week-plus, and she knew she'd better continue to do so for the foreseeable future. Questioning Abdul's motivations for being so utterly of service to her didn't seem like a very good idea; otherwise, she'd have to make herself think about where all this was going to end up.

She also couldn't let herself brood over what was happening in Los Alamos, how worried they must be. It seemed clear enough that she wasn't going anywhere, and fretting over their reaction to her disappearance wouldn't change anything.

Instead, she took a long, hot shower, and then, because she knew they'd be working in the garden today, put on some jeans and her hiking boots and a loose, gauzy shirt that breathed but would still give her some protection from the sun. No, it wasn't as glamorous as most of the other outfits Abdul had provided, but it would do for their planned activities.

No response that she could see when she entered the living room and saw him standing at the kitchen island and sipping coffee, but then, she hadn't expected one. It still frustrated her that he hid his face, preventing her from getting a good read on all his reactions, although she knew better than to ask him to remove the hood.

Unlike dinner, which he always seemed to want to do the hard way, he summoned their breakfasts each morning. Today he asked what she would like, and she told him she'd like a breakfast burrito with bacon and lots of cheese.

Utterly fattening, of course, but even though she knew she wasn't going to be digging holes, she figured she would still be standing around a good bit and maybe helping to plant roses and herbs and whatnot, so she figured the extra calories shouldn't be too much of a problem.

To her surprise, Abdul conjured the same meal for himself, remarking, "I had heard of these breakfast burritos, but I have never had one. This seemed like as good a time as any to rectify that lack."

"You're in for a treat," she told him. "They're delicious. Also, since they were invented in New Mexico, it's only fitting that you should start eating them."

"Breakfast burritos came from here?" he asked. "I did not know that."

"Well, it's the urban legend, anyway," Sarah replied. "I suppose they could have first appeared in Texas or Arizona or California, too. But New Mexicans were always into their food, so I can see why someone might have come up with the idea here."

"Interesting," Abdul observed, but he didn't ask any further questions.

Probably a good thing, since the story was one she remembered her father telling her in high school, and she'd never found the need to follow up with some research, not when she had so many other more important matters clamoring for her time back then.

But the burritos he summoned were delicious, filled with fluffy scrambled eggs and crisp bacon and lush cheddar cheese, along with just enough green chile to make them fun and spicy without having her tongue on fire for the next half-hour. And after they were done, they headed out to the open area behind the house that served as its yard, although, since it wasn't fenced, Sarah didn't know for sure how much of the land Abdul planned to develop.

She should have known he would take care of that before he did anything else. Not even a wave of a hand, but as she gazed out at the scrubby grass and occasional spiny cholla cactus, a split-rail fence appeared out of nowhere, closing in what she thought was maybe an acre or so of land. It wouldn't keep out any marauding coyotes, most likely, but at least it defined the area he wanted to work.

"The herb garden over there," he said, pointing to the patch of land immediately behind the kitchen, and at once it was neatly tilled, with basil and thyme and rosemary and other plants she didn't recognize growing in tidy little rows. "And then the vegetables."

Just beyond the herbs, another piece of land became similarly covered in happy, lush plants, tomatoes and zucchini and beans and eggplant, and even several rows of tall corn taking up the rear.

"That was easy," she remarked, and he shrugged.

"I told you we would not be digging any holes."

That was for sure. And who was she to argue, when all those fun veggies and herbs told her she could probably convince Abdul to make eggplant parmesan in the very near future?

"Fair enough," she said. "Now the roses?"

"I believe so." He was silent for a moment, surveying the undeveloped side of the property. "But I think that needs a bit more thought. Some trees, and perhaps a fountain somewhere?"

As he spoke, a line of poplars sprang into place along the eastern edge of the fence, with a couple of sycamores a little closer to where they stood. A gravel path appeared out of nowhere, and along with it, a small water feature nestled beneath the trees that included an artfully constructed stack of rocks on one side to create a waterfall.

"I like that," Sarah told him. "Especially since you can't really see the pond on the other side of the house when you're standing out here. Every place can use a little water."

Even in the desert, where that resource was as precious as gold. But then, they didn't need to worry about water anymore, not with so few people to use it up, and not with the way the monsoons had gotten so much wetter over the past couple of years.

"I am glad," Abdul replied. "Now we can consider the roses. Which colors would you like to see?"

She almost replied that she loved all of them — her mother had left behind a rose garden when she died, and although Sarah's father had been too heartbroken to tend to the flowers himself, he'd at least made sure to hire gardeners to keep them alive and give them all the love and care they needed. Those roses had grown in a riot of color, red and pink and yellow and white and lilac, but she didn't know if that kind of jumble would work as well here, not with the stark rocks of Ghost Ranch as a backdrop. No, this garden needed something that would blend better with the landscape.

"Red, of course," she said. "And that pretty kind that's sort of cream-colored but has the red along its edges? Yellow, too, and something sort of apricot or salmon."

"That is a good combination," Abdul agreed. He gazed out at the empty space between the water feature and the house, and out of nowhere, rosebushes appeared, fully grown and laden with blooms in the same shades Sarah had suggested a moment earlier.

Even as dry as the air was that day, their scent seemed to be everywhere, sweet and piercing at the same time. She breathed it in, thinking it had been a very long time since she'd smelled roses like that. A few people grew them in Los Alamos, but most of the town's inhabitants were more concerned with cultivating edible plants and herbs, so there wasn't anything close to a real rose garden there.

"It's wonderful," she said. "And it's going to be so nice to look out the kitchen window now and see all this growing here instead of just dirt and weeds and cholla cactus."

"That was why I suggested it," he replied. "And, of course, there is a great deal to be said for using fresh herbs and vegetables, something that transcends what I can summon for our meals."

She'd heard much the same thing from people who were into gardening in the before times, but she'd always been so busy back then that the thought of trying to grow anything on her own hadn't even entered her mind. They had fresh stuff in Los Alamos, true, although it all went into a communal pot and you could never be sure of what you were getting from week to week. Fresh, homegrown tomatoes were amazing, but she could have happily skipped the lima beans.

"Then we'll need to make something special with them tonight," she said. "Eggplant parmesan, or ratatouille, or…well, you can probably come up with a lot more ideas than I can."

"Not really," Abdul replied. "I think eggplant parmesan is an excellent idea. And we can make some fresh rolls to go with it, and perhaps a salad with other items from the garden. It is probably good to have a meal without meat every once in a while."

A kind of eating she'd experimented with from time to time during college, thinking it might make her a little leaner and meaner when she was practicing extra hard for an upcoming performance.

Besides, skipping meat tonight would be easy enough after having that amazing breakfast burrito just a little while ago.

"Sounds like a plan," she said. "Should we gather what we need now, or wait until closer to dinner?"

"We might as well do it now," Abdul replied after a slight pause to consider the question. "That way, we won't have to rush when we get back from our ride, and the vegetables can rest on the counter for that short an amount of time, rather than going into the refrigerator."

True — she kind of hated the thought of taking all those lovely sun-warmed veggies and sticking them right in the fridge. They would definitely be able to handle sitting in the kitchen for a couple of hours.

A pair of large wicker baskets appeared then, looped over Abdul's arms, and he removed one so he could hand it to Sarah.

"I'll gather the eggplant, and you can look for lettuce and tomatoes for the salad," he told her.

That was fine — she thought she was probably much better equipped to judge the various levels of ripeness of the tomato plants he'd conjured, rather than try to figure out which of the eggplants was the right one for the parmesan they'd planned.

He headed for the row where the eggplant grew next to some exuberant zucchini, while she moved down to the one where romaine and butter lettuce were flourishing. It wasn't too hard to find a head of each that looked as though it would be utterly scrumptious in a salad, and the grape tomatoes also appeared to be at the peak of perfection, gleaming like jewels among their leaves, so ripe and juicy that if she hadn't still been full from breakfast, she might have started plucking them off their vines and eating them like candy.

Because she knew she'd rather save them for dinner, she dutifully collected a few dozen, nestling them in her basket next to the lettuce. It seemed that Abdul was taking his time with the eggplant, because he had kneeled next to the row where they grew and was inspecting each one carefully, examining it for any imperfections, probably judging its size to determine if it would be big enough to feed the two of them for dinner.

Sarah was already done with the salad ingredients, so she headed over to the spot where Abdul was deciding on the eggplant. Exactly what happened next, she would never be sure, but as she approached him, her foot caught on a rock or a root or maybe just a depression in the ground, and she stumbled, instinctively reaching out to him for support…and somehow catching hold of his robe rather than his shoulder, yanking it down…yanking it away from his face, revealing the ruin on the right side, as though the skin there had been clawed by monstrous fingers and left to knit together unevenly, with only terrible scars remaining.

The basket of lettuce and tomatoes fell from her fingers.

Dear God.

She took a step back, even as he let out a hiss of shock — of despair? — and immediately yanked at the hood to pull it once more over his head.

It didn't matter, though.

The damage was done.

He got to his feet, looking black and ominous against the bright morning sky.

"Well, then," he said, voice as dark and grim as the robes he wore, "I believe it is time we had a conversation."