We eventually came to a thriving town nestled against the blue waters of the sea, a wonderful breath of comfortable, bustling civilization. It was a modestly affluent community with paved streets, groomed lawns, and waving palm trees.
“Wait here.” Dashing into an empty backyard, I snatched some clothes drying on a line, sending a silent apology to the owners.
We dressed: Dante in a T-shirt and baggy shorts, and a pair of loose trousers and a fresh shirt for me. I rolled up the sleeves and knotted the loose ends of my borrowed shirt at my waist. There. American tourists. Although the bare feet did look a bit odd.
Dante bespelled the first fellow tourist we came across, his blue eyes lightening into true silver as he captured the man’s will with a glimmer of power. “What town is this?”
“Corozal,” the man replied.
“In Mexico?”
“No. In Belize, Central America.”
“How far to the Mexican border?”
“About nine or ten miles north.”
A murmured request from Dante, and the man pulled out his cell phone, dialed the number Dante gave him, and handed him the phone.
“Hello?” answered a voice.
“Dad, it’s Dante.”
After eliciting twenty dollars—they accepted U.S. currency here—Dante thanked the man and sent him on his way with instructions to forget meeting us.
“Aquila will be here in an hour,” Dante said. “The rest will be along as soon as they can.”
“Is Aquila the bird man?” I asked.
“Bird man? Ah, you mean the eagle shifter.” He eyed me pensively. “You still have no remembrance?”
“Only a few things. I’m not sure if they’re true memory or something I dreamed up. I wanted to ask you about them, but not here,” I said, looking around the crowded street. “So what will it be? Shoes or something to eat and drink?”
Our stomachs won out over our tender feet. We chowed on fish, rice, and beans at the nearest restaurant and quenched our thirst with a pitcher of water, so hungry we didn’t speak at all until we were finished eating.
“Eleven dollars left,” Dante said, sitting back, replete. “I think we have enough to buy you some shoes. Shall we?”
We were able to pick up some cheap sandals for both of us, and made our way more comfortably to the waterfront where we sat on a stone bench overlooking the bay, watching the sun set in a majestic splash of color beneath the shade of a rustling palm.
“It’s hard to believe that hours ago we were running for our lives,” I murmured, head resting on his shoulder. “Humans seem to be much more civilized than the Monère.”
“We can be a primitive bunch,” Dante agreed, arm draped around me, fingertips stroking the bare skin of my arm. “But I beg you not to judge all Monère by what you saw of Mona Sierra and her people. That was, indeed, truly primitive. We have more ruled order in America, and our conditions are not as meager as what you saw here.”
It was the perfect segue into what I had wanted to ask him. “Is it? In one of my . . . I don’t know what to call it . . . flashbacks, maybe, I saw a young teenage boy starved even more than those hunters were, and appearing even more wild. He was shackled to a wall and wore only torn trousers. His body was unwashed. His hair was so matted with filth I couldn’t tell its true color, and he smelled of urine, like he’d been chained there for days. Was that something that really happened?”
“I cannot say for sure, but there is a young Mixed Blood boy I saw you with, whom you said had been abandoned in the bayous and grew up feral. When I saw him, however, he was clothed, his hair washed and combed.”
I chewed over his words. Nothing conclusive, but disturbingly possible. I moved onto my next vision. “Then there was you. Pretty much like how I described the boy—half-naked, wild, shackled to the wall.”
“Ah,” said Dante. “That was true memory. You saw me in my maddened state.”
True memory. The words jarred me. I had suspected, but to have someone confirm them as truth was still a shock.
“Do you remember anything else of our encounter?” he asked.
“No, just that brief glimpse. It was triggered when I came to rescue you from Roberto and found you chained up.”
“And enraged. Similar to how you saw me before. Any other memories?”
“Yes. This one, though, was the most disturbing. The moon . . . I was pulling down light from the full moon. Pulling it into myself. Drinking it down like this amazing cocktail of energy. Was that real?”
“Very real. You are describing Basking, what you and other Monère Queens are able to do: pull down the moon’s renewing light and energy. Take it into yourselves and share it with others around you. Only Queens can do this. That’s what makes you so valuable to our people.”
“So Mona Sierra has this ability also?”
Dante nodded.
“Why is that so valuable?”
“Because it renews us and allows us to live a full span of life—three hundred years.”
“Three hundred years!” I squeaked. “You’re kidding me.”
“No, milady. I kid you not. Without Basking, we age faster and our lives are shortened to a human life span, which is why my brother and I are more physically mature than other Monère boys our same age. We were raised up among humans and never Basked in a Queen’s light until you.”
The questing brush of another’s presence, distant yet, interrupted my next question. My head lifted from his shoulder as I felt Dante’s own power flare out in response.
“Your friend?” I asked.
“It is Aquila,” Dante replied after the briefest pause.
“Why did you hesitate?”
“Because Aquila is not my friend,” Dante said, looking out over the water.
“Why? Do you dislike him?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because I left you.”
We had danced delicately to this point once before. “Why did you leave me?” I asked.
“Because you desired that I go.”
“Why, Dante? I can’t remember any of it. You’ll have to tell me.”
“We . . . hurt each other,” he said after a moment’s reflection. “Both of us had the finest intentions, but we wanted different things. And then another matter crept between us, and after that yet another incident.”
“Dante.” I waited until his face turned to me. “You’re saying a lot of things, but you’re telling me nothing.”
Aquila’s presence grew stronger. He was visible now in the sky.
“I’m afraid to tell you,” Dante said in a low voice. “Afraid to help you remember. Afraid that I’ll lose you again when you do.”
Whatever it is, now wasn’t the right time to probe further, I noted in frustration as an eagle, large and graceful, clutching a cloth bundle in its talons, landed behind a building a hundred feet away. “It never seems to be the right time. But you’ll have to tell me soon.”
“Soon,” he promised.
“I’ll hold you to that,” I said as a man emerged from behind the shed, his feathers exchanged for clothes. I looked with interest at the neat, thin mustache and the Vandyke beard, wondering if it would trigger any more memories, but no flashbacks occurred.
“Aquila, I presume,” I said as he approached.
“My lady, are you well?” Aquila asked, both relief and consternation on his face.
“Much better than how I was faring a few hours ago.”
“Dante says that you do not remember any of us.”
“Nope, sorry. Hit my head real hard and can’t remember anything of the last several months.” Despite the easy way I spoke, I was far from blasé about it. “How long before the others arrive?”
“They should be along shortly. They’ll be arriving by helicopter.”
“Do you have any money?” I asked.
“Yes, milady.” He pulled out a small wad of cash, to my vast delight.
“Good. Let’s go do some shopping, and we’ll fill you in on what happened.”
We gave Aquila a brief rundown as we purchased some better-fitting clothes, along with bra and underwear for me—luxury items I’d never take for granted again. We also got sneakers for the both us, even more essential than a bra and underwear.