The North Face of the Heart - Dolores Redondo Page 0,157

dog his own bed on the floor. The sleeping girl had one arm curled around her dog, her hand nestled in the thick fur of his neck. Engrasi knew that as soon as she had left the room earlier that evening, her niece had encouraged Ipar to come into her bed.

Smiling indulgently, Engrasi lifted a finger to her lips as a sign to him to keep quiet. Ipar seemed to understand, for he settled back into place. She leaned against the doorframe, enchanted by the sight of her sleeping niece. A low-wattage nightlight cast its dim glow across the sleeping figure. Amaia must have left it on so she could sleep, or, actually, so when she awoke suddenly in the middle of the night, she’d know instantly where she was and not be scared.

Amaia’s hair glinted in golden-blond waves across the pillow. That beautiful hair cascaded to her shoulders, and Engrasi planned to let her grow it out until Amaia asked to have it cut. Such abundant blond hair, like Engrasi’s own, was rare in their family. They’d inherited it from Juanita, her mother, Amaia’s grandmother. It made the girl stand out from her dark-haired sisters. Rosario had first woven it in long, tight braids and later chopped it off with ragged scissor cuts that left the child looking miserable and abused. That brutality should have set off alarms even then. Engrasi had seen the threat of violence hovering over Amaia: the clothes her mother forced her to wear, the food the child was compelled to eat, the way Rosario had hacked Amaia’s hair short to destroy that banner of individuality. Engrasi shook her head slowly, bitterly regretting her own failure to intervene. So often our failure to speak out against horror makes us accomplices.

“Gabon, Ipar,” she called as she closed the bedroom door, sure at least that Amaia felt secure and protected.

Engrasi had been anxious and apprehensive all day long. After the French police officers left, Joxepi had warned her, “You can’t leave her alone for a second, Engrasi. Don’t let her stick her nose outside unless Ipar is with her. If those people are as dangerous as the French inspector said . . .”

Ignacio, as taciturn as ever, jerked his head in disagreement. “Ipar will give his life to protect her, but the desire that motivates people like that is so deep and vile that no dog can intimidate them.”

Engrasi accepted his counsel. She knew he was right.

“I’ve been thinking for a while of sending Amaia away to study, maybe even outside the country. She was the one to suggest it, actually. She’s gifted, very advanced in her schoolwork. Months ago, one of her teachers told her about a boarding school in Pamplona. It has a fine reputation; the coursework is all in English, and she’d be there throughout the week. Some students come home only during vacation. And I could go see her on the weekends.”

“After what they just told us, I wouldn’t hesitate for a second.”

Engrasi had indeed been seriously considering the possibility for some time, not only because of the attempted abduction, but also because she was haunted by what Rosario had said: “If there’s one thing I’ve known since the day that girl was born, it’s that we all have a destiny, Engrasi. She’ll fulfill her destiny just as I must fulfill mine.”

Engrasi went downstairs to the living room. She used a couple of lengths of kindling to light the logs in the fireplace, then went to the sideboard and unlocked a drawer with the key she wore on the chain around her neck. She took out a little black silk bag and brought it to the table. She undid the knots in the drawstring, one by one. She inspected her deck of Marseilles tarot cards with a vague feeling of dread. They were a bitter but necessary pill, considering the seriousness of the consultation she was about to make.

She shuffled the deck deliberately, focusing on exactly how to ask her question. She put the cards down, cut the deck, and shuffled again.

Her deck was so ancient and worn that if she laid the cards out on the table face down, she could recognize each of them by their tattered corners and telltale use marks. When consulting on her own behalf, she used the method of the Roma, who interpreted one after another the ten cards that wound up on top of the deck. She would flip each card over and then set it