The Beckoning of Beautiful Things (The Beckoning Series) Page 13

  Daniel burst out laughing, causing a wave of laughter to erupt from her as well.

  His hand cupped her neck. She leaned across the console, the stick shift digging into her knee, her left hand making contact with his muscular shoulder, her right arm folding like a wing in the cramped car. And there it was – lip on lip, mouth on mouth, gentle at first, exploring, tasting, teasing. When no arc of sparks burst from her fingertips, she pulled him closer, straining against the tiny enclosure of the smart car. “Mmm,” she murmured. Your mouth is a song. Your mouth is the moon. Your mouth is a raging river.

  “Mmm,” he echoed.

  This is so not like Jason Brown’s constant instructional rant during kissing. Yield the mouth. Breathe like this. Slow it down. Match me, baby-doll. Goodbye, Jason, goodbye. She let those thoughts stream on through her mind, like shaking out the rug in the yard, the dust and debris of the past flying free. Her hand stroked the hairs covering Daniel’s jaw. The stubble scraped against her chin. This kiss is like painting my own canvas, applying colors where I want, letting the reds and cerulean blues and peacock greens speak to me. This kiss is art – art in a smart car, she mused. Wait until we get somewhere comfortable.

  She twisted her hips to deepen the kiss, colliding against the steering wheel. The car horn blared, causing her to jerk away from him. “Oh! I guess we just got called on a technicality. Do we have to go to the penalty box?”

  “No, I think we just got a warning, that’s all.” His chest rose and fell, stoked by passion’s bellows.

  “Good,” she said, grinning at him. Her breath rose and fell, stoked by passion’s bellows.

  “Better than good,” he replied, his eyebrows arcing slightly. “Most excellent kiss, Ms. Engles.” His eyes sparkled from his flushed face.

  “It’s kind of cramped in here.”

  “That it is.”

  “And I’m pretty hungry.”

  “Me, too.”

  Her eyes drifted down to his slacks, noting the outline of something else delicious. “For food,” she said, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

  “Oh. That too.”

  “What do you say we go eat something?”

  “Such as?” His tongue flicked to the corner of his mouth.

  The look he gave her split her wide open. Like silken cloth, ripped in two with one smooth tug from his strong hands, her heart bared wide. “Oh, God, Daniel!” Her head flopped back on the headrest, imagining his tongue between her legs. His tongue, his lips, his mouth. A flood of arousal swirled through her core. “Eggs and potatoes, I suppose. And then let’s go meet this falconer.”

  Chapter 14

  Daniel pulled the car up the dirt driveway in Carnation two hours later. Marissa experienced flutters and shivers in her belly, all thoughts of the food and fun she’d shared with Daniel over breakfast vaporized. I’m going to meet a falcon. I’m going to meet my falcon trainer. I’m going to meet my trainer, the man who will school me in the ways of sorcery. She envisioned a noble man, striding proudly to the car, the bird strapped to his arm, a flowing red coat spilling down his frame. She envisioned regal majesty, honor and pride. Instead, a weird looking old man, sporting a huge grin, with an Elmer Fudd hunter’s cap on his head and a red and gray checked jacket strode toward her with a slobbering black Lab by his side. There was no bird in sight.

  He spoke in a thick, southern, hillbilly drawl, much like Crazy Betty. “Are you Marissa?” It sounded like “Mar-ees-uh.”

  “That’s me,’ she said cautiously, glancing up at Daniel.

  “I hear you’re a right powerhouse, a super-duper powerhouse. It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance.”

  “Make my acquaintance,” she corrected.

  “Right. That too,” he said. “Come on out to the field around back. I got something to show you.”

  “Uh, okay.” She pushed the Labrador’s head away from her crotch.

  “Don’t you mind old Buster, there,” the man continued. “He just wants to know what sex you are and if you are available so he can make a move if he feels the impulse.”

  Marissa recoiled and stepped back. “Make a move?”

  “I’m kidding. He’s a dog.” The man pointed his angled face at Daniel. “She’s a mite sensitive, don’t you think?”

  “She’s got a lot of feeling,” Daniel said, putting his hand on her back. “About a lot of things.”

  “Well, it makes no never mind to me,” the man said, jovially. “She’ll do fine. Ain’t that right, Buster?”

  Marissa’s stomach lurched. So this is to be my trainer? She at least expected someone like…like…someone like Daniel. When the man disappeared around the corner of the house, she tugged Daniel aside and whispered in his ear. “There was no one who sounded like a hick at your ether meeting.”

  “An ether meeting consists of the projections of the personalities. Tom projects an…an…an old Southern coot.” His face reddened slightly and he looked away.

  Marissa blanched. “So he’s the old guy I heard?”

  “Don’t be put off by Tom,” Daniel reassured. “He’s a skilled sorcerer.”

  “He’s a hillbilly,” Marissa hissed. “Are you telling me he’s going to teach me how to master my abilities?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “No!” She stomped her foot.

  Tom peeked around the corner, his face leering at her like he was a Jack-o-lantern. “You two lovebirds get a move on, you hear? It won’t be daylight all day.” He arched his head skyward. “I got a treat for you. I’m going to show you some of my secrets.” His head disappeared.

  She wrinkled up her face. “I don’t want to see his secrets.”

  “Marissa, he’s one of the best. Trust me.”

  “I don’t know you that well to trust you.”

  “Ouch. Then, I guess you’ll have to trust yourself.”

  “We’ll see.” She bit her lip, exhaled deeply and marched down the pathway.

  They rounded the corner to see a tree-dotted field. Forested hills ringed the field in the distance. Tall green grass waved and rippled in the breeze. The scents of green filled the air, calming Marissa. Tom was nowhere to be seen.

  Daniel pointed to a faded patio chair. “Let’s wait here. You can sit if you like.”

  An old aluminum framed chair sat in the grass, with rainbow colored plastic webbing crisscrossing to create the seat and back. Some of the chair webbing was frayed making Marissa wonder if she’d fall right through it. “No thanks, I’ll just stand.”

  A rustle came from around the side of the house, followed by hoots and whistles. Tom tramped around the side of the house, twirling a small object on the end of a long rope. It looked like some dead, dried, headless bird. “Woo, woo, yip, yip, yip, yip, yip,” he called to the heavens. “I see you. Come on. Come on. Woo, woo, woo.”

  Marissa shielded her eyes and scanned the skies. “What is he doing?” she whispered to Daniel.

  “Just wait and watch.”

  “What’s that wing thingie?”

  “It’s called a lure.”

  “There you are. Come on down here. Come on and show this girlie girl what you’re about.” Tom kept the lure spinning. “Come on you beautiful bird, you. I see you. I see you. Come on down.” Buster ran in erratic circles.

  High in the sky, Marissa spied a dot of a bird. The bird arched and hurtled straight down like a small rocket, heading right for the lure. Marissa felt her heart soar watching the winged creature. Free flight. That’s what free flight looks like.

  Tom released the lure and sent it skyward. The falcon snagged it in its talons and dropped to the ground with Buster in hot pursuit. “Alright now. Alright. Go on now, Buster. Get! Get!” Tom strode casually over to the bird of prey, tucking something small and bloody in his fist. Buster wagged his tail and circled the bird. Tom bent down and the bird hopped onto the leather glove. It picked and tore at the bloody treat, stretching white tendons and dark red muscle until they gave way into his beak. Once
the falcon had finished his treat, Tom plucked a tiny leather hood from his pocket and gently placed it over the bird’s head.

  Tom strode over to Marissa and Daniel. “That’s how we serve supper around here. Yours is next.”

  “My what?”

  “Your supper. I’ll have Frankie here, catch you something.”

  “No, thanks.” Marissa’s face crumpled in distaste.

  “I’m kidding.” He looked at Daniel. “Don’t she have a sense of humor?” Without waiting for an answer, he went on. “Meet my kestrel, Frankie. This here’s an American. Ain’t he a beauty?”

  “Yes, he really is,” Marissa answered.

  “Show her your pretty wing there, Frankie. She might give you some if you show her that pretty wing.”

  Marissa grimaced.

  “I’m kidding. You’ve got to find you some humor. Maybe we can rustle some up. Daniel, why don’t you go try find Ms. Marissa some humor somewhere?” He gave Daniel a pointed look. “Round there.” His calloused hand lifted, and he pointed toward where they had parked the car.

  Without protest, Daniel sauntered away.

  Marissa’s eyes tracked Daniel as he walked away from her. “He’ll be back, won’t he?” She scrubbed her pants with her moist palms.

  Tom lifted one eyebrow. “Why? You nervous? Don’t show fear around a bird of prey. He’s a weapon. Used to kill things. Once you train him, he’ll be eyeing you, all the time, for what he wants – food.”

  A tiny shiver crawled up her back, and her scalp felt all prickly. “Okay,” she croaked. She cleared her throat. “I won’t.”

  “Huh. We’ll see.” Tom flashed a somber look before turning to his bird. He gently lifted the wing out and extended it. The falcon fluttered, trying to keep its balance. “Oh, come on now, Frankie. She just wants to admire your wing.”

  The underside of the wing was off-white, while the outside was bluish gray and charcoal. Marissa thought it looked like a watercolor she had done once using bold, crisp strokes. His back and tail were a reddish brown with the same charcoal accents. His face was blue-gray and off-white. A lightning bolt of black extended from his eye.

  “He’s beautiful. Can I touch him?’

  “Frankie ain’t no pet. He’s a wild thing. We preserve the wildness when we become falconers. It’s what gives them their soul. It’s what reminds us of our true nature. Mankind, we like to suck the soul out of one another. We like to destroy the wildness.” He winked at Marissa. “But you can touch him. He can’t exactly see you, now can he?”

  Blushing, Marissa fingered the bird’s downy chest. “He’s soft.”

  “She’s going to think you’re a sissy, Frankie. Let’s show her some more of your killer tricks. Now Buster here’s this bird’s ally. Buster’s going to flush something out for Frankie to hunt. We’ve all got to work together here. It’s a symbiosis.” He tapped the side of his head. “Remember that.” He scanned the field. “See if you can find a big stick to tie onto Buster. A stick, a branch with leaves…there’s one over there.”

  “Why do we need to tie a stick to the dog?”

  “Oh, we just got to slow the dog down a mite. Go fetch that branch over there.”

  Marissa pictured tying a branch around Sober’s collar, and she shook her head. He’d never go for that. She ambled over to the large, leaf-covered branch and dragged it back over.

  “Pull the cord out of my pocket.” He gently removed the hood from Frankie’s head.

  Marissa looked dubiously at the man’s coat.

  “Go on, now, I don’t bite. I got to hold this bird.”

  “What about your other hand?”

  “That hand’s got to keep watch on the other hand. The other hand’s a wily one.” He winked at Marissa.

  She eyed the man suspiciously.

  “Come on now, fetch the cord!” he snapped.

  She took a few tentative steps over to Tom. “Which pocket?”

  “That one.” He inclined his head.

  “That’s not where you keep your meat bits for the bird, is it?”

  He grinned at her. “Might be. Might not be. You’ll just have to find out for yourself.”

  Marissa eyed the man then turned to look for Daniel. He was nowhere to be seen. She chewed the inside of her cheek.

  Tom smelled like the curious old clothes smell that assaulted her nose when she walked in the Salvation Army store, mixed with cloves and fresh air. White and brown whiskers jutted from his narrow face. His nose was long and sharp-edged. A fringe of brown and white hair that looked like it had been lopped off with a ragged knife poked out of his Elmer Fudd cap. He grinned at her, revealing teeth that appeared as if the bottoms had been sawed off straight. His whole face reminded her of her perspective drawing class, where she had to draw lines and angles to show distance. She met his eyes for a moment and was struck by the intensity in those brown eyes. There was more to this man than he let on.

  She slowly inserted her hand into the rough textured fabric. Her fingers fished around in his pocket, finding small, round smooth objects and something that she hoped was bits of paper and toothpicks, not tiny bird bones and offal.

  “Fetch yourself an M&M while you’re at it.”

  Her stomach twirled in a few pirouettes. “No, thanks.” She withdrew her hand. “There doesn’t seem to be a cord in there.”

  “Try that inner pocket.”

  “There’s an inner pocket?”

  “Yup. You have to search for it.”

  Marissa frowned and took a step back. She wondered if she was being made fun of. “I don’t want to search in your coat for an inner pocket. Use the hand that’s watching the other hand.”

  “You do it.”

  She regarded the bird perched on his arm. The kestrel seemed keenly aware of everything. His dark eyes stared at her, stared at Tom, stared at her, scanned the sky, watched the dog, looked at the ground, and turned back to Tom. He shifted back and forth on his talons and flapped his wings. When he eyed her, she thought she was supposed to feel something, but instead the only thought that flew through her head was that she was being assessed, coldly, simply, without feeling of any kind. It made her quite uncomfortable.

  “Come on now, Frankie’s hungry.” He grinned, but his eyes held something different – his eyes held challenge. “Get the cord.”

  Marissa swallowed. “I don’t know where it is.”

  “Neither do I. Find it.” He kept his goofy grin pointed at her but his scrutiny stirred the contents of her stomach.

  Suddenly, her breakfast wasn’t sitting well. “I don’t know what it looks like.” She wiped her palms on her pants before pressing the back of one hand to her mouth. The kestrel cocked his head at her, moving it right and left as if sizing her up.

  Tom’s scrutiny felt like a drill forging a hole in her skull, right between her eyes. “It’s a white cord. It looks like a cord. Don’t you know what a cord looks like?”

  He reminded her of the scarecrows she had seen in her last crystal ball mind fuck session with Jason. Her body stiffened. “Yes, I know what a cord looks like.”

  “Then find it.” He parsed the words out, slow, clear and precise.

  “You find it. It’s your cord,” Marissa challenged.

  Frankie shifted back and forth on the sorcerer’s leather clad hand.

  “Find the cord. I can’t do anything with this bird until you find it.”

  This time, when he said the words, she saw the cord in her mind, as clear as day. “It’s hanging on the wall around the corner.”

  Tom slapped his thigh and smiled. This time his smile spread to his eyes. “Dang it, I forgot to bring it out here. I thought it was in my pocket. Will you go fetch it for me?’ He glanced up to see Daniel striding toward them.

  Marissa looked back and forth at the two men. “Sure. I’ll be right back.” She sauntered off, imagining the men’s whispers snake around her like a noose. She knew they were talking about her. She also had a really strong feeling that she h
ad passed her first test. This time…

  Chapter 15

  When she returned with the cord, Tom instructed her on tying the branch to Buster’s collar. She imagined she betrayed the entire canine species in doing as he requested. “This is mean,” she whispered to the dog. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, and he wagged his tail.

  “Go on now, Buster, go find Frankie some prey.” Buster took off, dragging the branch behind him. Tom removed the hook attached to the leather anklet on the kestrel’s leg, extended his wrist, and released the falcon into the air.

  Marissa craned her neck, scanning the sky and the horizon, searching for the bird, as well as Daniel. Once again, Tom had instructed Daniel to go on some errand of some kind. The falcon darted and soared, skimmed several feet above the ground above Buster, then took off into the air. Buster zigged and zagged through the field, dragging the branch. A number of starlings fled when they saw the dog coming their way.

  “Woo! That’s what I’m talking about. That’s it. There you go. Keep your eye on that bird, Ms. Marissa.”

  The falcon flight captivated Marissa. The bird’s flight makes me feel joyful. It makes me feel free. It stirs…her eyes tracked the falcon racing towards a small bird. “Gah!” Bile bubbled in her throat as the kestrel’s claws struck the starling.

  Frankie dropped to the ground, the starling clutched in his dagger-like talons. Buster, caught up in the kill, ran in frenzied circles around Frankie and his catch. Tom took off running. “Get a move on, Ms. Marissa. Dinner is served!”

  The falcon had its wings spread over the starling when Marissa arrived, panting, at the scene. It made a kek, kek, kek, kek, kek sound.

  “Hear that? Frankie wants us to keep away. He’s not happy. He can’t help it. He’s doing what he was born to do. We’re interfering. See him spreading his wings? He’s mantling to keep us from seeing what he’s caught for supper. Look at where he made his kill shot – see that? They always go for the neck. The neck is the weakest spot. It’s the most vulnerable.” He tapped his head again. “Remember that.” He cast a warm gaze at his kestrel. “Here’s where I show him who the boss is.”