Prism - By Rachel Moschell Page 0,88

can we let this opportunity slip away, just because Manuel didn’t show? We are so close!

But without him, there’s no way to get close enough to the targets.

Gabriel blinked as his eyes fell upon the honey-colored wood of his violin, resting on top of sapphire velvet.

Of course there’s a way. I can replace Manuel, tell them the conservatory sent me. When they hear me play, there won’t be a single complaint.

For a moment he felt a little woozy, the only thing holding him back a memory of deep, sapphire blue eyes framed by a lilac veil in a beautiful garden in Pakistan. But there really was no other way.

Steeling himself, Gabriel knelt, then prostrated himself on the ground, feeling dirty and unclean, knowing he had not washed himself properly for prayer. If only Allah could forgive him this one time, in this hour of greatest need.

Unbidden, the scene from Pairumani flashed through his mind: Alejo, who had always cared about him, dead because he had refused to return to Allah. The bile of that betrayal threatened to rise up Gabriel’s throat, along with crazy sorrow over losing his friend. But greater than that was the concern that squeezed Gabriel as he remembered his own betrayal: he had lied to the Khan and let that girl go, out of pity. She could cause all kind of damage to the cause of Allah.

And Allah knew all about it.

Gabriel turned his hands up towards heaven, supplicating, then closed his eyes. There was no more time.

He waited there on the floor, hoping for wisdom, feeling the burden of pleasing Allah pressing him into the ground. Then he clenched his jaw, sure, and climbed to his feet, staring at the workbench.

I should never have trusted Manuel to do this. I will go.

With deliberation, Gabriel unbuttoned his shirt and threw it on the floor, feeling the chill of the morning air on his bare chest.

Time to get dressed.

The violin would be going with him, just as it always did to every place he called home. This wouldn’t be so bad.

28

fiery

WARA WOKE IN THE MORNING TO luke-warm anise tea on a breakfast tray next to her bed. She slit her eyes and saw Alejo Martir sitting cross-legged on the other bed in the hospital room, staring at nothing, wearing sweat pants under a blue plaid hospital gown.

She really didn’t want to open her eyes.

Alejo couldn’t see. Last night the doctor had ordered a lot of tests, but of course it was because of the gun shot to the head. It was unbelievable he was even alive.

The only thing that convinced Wara to sit up in bed was remembering that today she would get away from this place and be on her way back to see the Martirs, then to the U.S. She tried to swing her legs over the side of the bed but her head spun like a ballerina practicing pirouettes. Her eyes felt like sandpaper and her nose still felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Thank God, Dr. Ortega said it wasn’t actually broken.

Wara slapped at the cooling mug of tea on her tray and gulped it down, shuddering at the sickly sweet brew. Alejo heard the clatter of ceramic on the table and turned towards her, expression pained.

She needed to say something to him.

After all, this was good-bye. Or good riddance.

“Are you…are you ok?” she asked tentatively. Of course he wasn’t ok. He was blind and rather out of his mind. Wara frowned and slumped back into the headboard, remembering the silly grin of yesterday and Alejo’s rambling about two something coming for us. Had it been two people? Or aliens?

Alejo sighed and tried to smile towards her, but it was a sad smile. “The tests from yesterday show the swelling is down. Dr. Ortega came in while you were sleeping. He couldn’t believe it. Guess it’s supposed to take three or four days for the swelling to die down. I still can’t see though. For that, he said just wait and see. He said maybe my sight’ll come back. From the way he said it, I think he’s just trying to be nice.”

Wara winced and forced herself to eat two round Maria cookies from the white china plate next to the anise tea. She was wiped out, barely keeping herself together. What was she supposed to say?

“I’m sorry this happened to you?”

“It sure was awful watching your blood splatter everywhere, and I’m sorry all your friends just sat by and watched?”

She had