over her heart as the bruise pulsed.
“I’ve recovered fully.” Quiet words. “I can ’port you there.”
Hope was a hot burn . . . followed by cold ashes. “No. It’ll only distress my family.” She wouldn’t hurt her parents for all that she needed to see them. “And I can’t bear to have them turn away from me again.” The image of her parents turning their backs the first time haunted her.
Stefan said nothing, not for long moments. “Do you have an image of a public place in your town?”
“Yes, I have digital images.” The wind from the open window brought with it the scents and sounds of the thriving city beyond. “But that would be worse than teleporting into the family home.”
“Not if we do it in the heart of night.”
Game forgotten, she stared at him. “There’s never anyone in the small square behind the markets after dark. I took pictures of it because it’s beautifully tiled.” Getting off the bed, she found her phone and got back on beside him, quickly scrolling through the photos. “There, see?”
Stefan went through all her images of the square. “I can ’port there,” he said at last. “The pattern of tiling combined with the cracked section on the left is highly distinctive.”
That afternoon, they went out and bought scarves to hide their faces, as well as black local dress for Stefan so that he’d attract as little attention as possible, despite his height. As for her, she wore one of the skirts and tops she’d already purchased. Getting him to sit on the bed long after night had fallen, the world so very quiet, she wrapped the black scarf around him desert-style, covering his hair, then bringing it around to cover his mouth and nose.
“You look like a warrior out of the old movies,” she teased him, her stomach flipping at the intensity of the eyes that watched her.
Stefan could say more with his eyes than most men could with a thousand words.
As she wrapped a more feminine scarf around her head in a gentler style, leaving her mouth and nose visible for now, he told her he found her beautiful. And looking into his eyes, she felt that way. “No grease streaks for once,” she said, nervous.
“I have a confession.” He rose from the bed. “I only used to say that to have an excuse to speak to you. Sometimes you didn’t have grease on your face. I lied.”
Startled into laughter, she walked into his arms. “Like a boy pulling at a girl’s pigtails to get her attention?”
“Yes. I’ve never lied to you about any other thing.”
“I know.” She stepped back with that, looked into his face and touched her fingertips to his. “I’m ready.”
Chapter 9
Without a word, he ’ported her to the place that had been her home and her heartbreak. Tears burned in her eyes as she looked around the square currently swathed in shadows, dawn about four hours away, but she didn’t let them fall. The fountain was quiet this night, likely because the rains hadn’t yet come and no one wanted to waste water, even for such a pretty sight. Instead, painted flowerpots ringed the fountain, no doubt put there by those in the neighborhood, the villagers taking pride in their public spaces.
She saw a child’s toy set neatly atop one of the tables to the side of the square, to be picked up by a parent or the child the next day. No one worried about their belongings being stolen or lost, the community large enough for a relatively big power station but too small and tightly knit for people to be strangers. Any would-be miscreant was quickly brought to heel.
“Are we in the right place?” Stefan’s voice was dark velvet against her senses.
She gave a jerky nod. “This way.” Taking his hand, she led him through night-dark streets to a home with a simple door that she knew led to a spacious, graceful courtyard within. It wasn’t locked when she tested the latch, and, heart thudding, she dared walk into the paved front entranceway before sneaking around to the side gate to enter the main courtyard.
A tiny red light flared in the dark just as her foot touched the courtyard. Tazia froze. “Teta.” Her voice shook, her eyes wet.
Dropping her sneaky rolled cigarette, her grandmother rose and almost ran to her. “Tazi, it’s you,” she said joyously in a language Tazia hadn’t heard for years. “My sweet Tazi come home at last.”
Letting her grandmother’s wrinkled arms