Chapter 50

Jenna gives me a quick tour around the mission grounds, and then we walk down to the nursery at the bottom of the hill. She shows me what she calls a lavanderia that runs through the center of the nursery. It was the first project she took on at the mission. Water runs through a narrow canal that is flanked by banks of graduated stones, but she says the first time she saw it, the stones were only dry ruins, most covered by dirt. "I guess I have a little bit of my mother's passion for restoration." It's obvious she's proud of the lavanderia and the surrounding lush landscape. She spots a priest in the distance where a grove of orange trees begins. He's examining the leaves on one of them.

"There he is," she says, like I would know who he is. "Can you wait here? I'll just be a minute. I need to talk to Father Andre about something."

Privately. I get it. Why doesn't she just say it? I nod and watch her walk away. I don't know why I should feel annoyed, but I do. She's entitled to private business. Maybe even an impromptu confession. Do priests still take confession?

I walk along the edge of the lavanderia, bending to pretend I'm looking at the gargoyle spitting water from its mouth into the canal, but I sneak peeks, watch her walking, waving to Father Andre, hugging Father Andre, and then standing close to him. Everything about her body becomes tense and private--the way she wraps her arms around her waist, the way her shoulders stiffen, the way her eyes sweep the surrounding landscape. I sit on the top level of stones of the canal and watch sideways. She glances at me, and Father Andre follows her glance, turning briefly to look my way and then turning his back to me again.

Jenna faces my direction, and I watch her lips. Unlike Gatsbro, with his hand so often cupped near his mouth, she's an easy read, articulate and deliberate.

His name is Locke.

Father Andre keeps shifting his weight, intermittently blocking her face and interrupting the flow of words. I try to adjust my position, but if I move too much, a tree branch blocks her face instead.

Yes, just yesterday--

--may need your help--

--they still watch me closely--

I wish the priest would stop moving.

Could be unpredictable, and we--

--I know you have your ways--

I don't want him killed. That's not what I'm saying, but I--

--eliminate if necessary--

The priest shakes his head. What is she saying?

--could be dangerous. We can't trust him--

--dispose of the problem--

The priest nods.

Thank you.

She looks over the priest's shoulder and sees me point-blank staring at her. I don't even try to hide it. Her eyes widen, and she says a rushed good-bye to the priest, then runs toward me, but I am already walking away.

Yes, Jenna. I'm dangerous. No question about it.

And it looks like you are too.

Chapter 51

The inside of the church is dim, lit only by a few high windows and rows of flickering candles, prayers for the dead. The air is heavy with musty incense.

With my long legs, I easily outdistanced Jenna, and as soon as I was past the nursery wall and out of sight, I broke into a run. I slipped into the empty church, the first place I came to that could hide me.

Yeah, in an instant, realities and truth can flip.

Dispose of the problem. Like I'm a piece of trash. Was all of her concern--the tears, everything--just a big show so she could lure me here? Did I upset the balance in her idyllic life? She's not as transparent as I thought she was. Jenna has plenty of secrets.

The heavy wooden door creaks open, momentarily flooding the church with light. I lean close to the confessional, hiding in its shadow. The door closes, and the dimness returns. It is Jenna. She steps forward tentatively. Her footsteps echo against the tile and smooth stucco walls.

I hear her breaths, her temples pounding. I hear the fear. She's been caught. I stay in the shadow, watching her cautiously edge forward down the center aisle.

She stops. Her head tilts slightly like she hears something. My breaths? I am underestimating her in so many ways. She takes one more step forward and stops again.

"So. You read lips."

I step out from the shadows and face her. I let the silent moment linger, feeling the power of it. I am bigger and stronger than even she knows. It is just me and her, even if her henchmen are waiting outside. We stare at each other through the dim light. "Yeah. A fringe benefit of all this extra crap stuffed into me."

"How much did you read?"

"Not much. Just a few words. Words like eliminate. Dispose of. Kill. Interesting vocabulary you have, Jenna."

"Reading lips out of context can be a dangerous hobby."

"Oh, I think I got the context all right. It looks like I've worn out my welcome already."

"Did you get the words like monster and Gatsbro?"

Gatsbro? I never saw his name on her lips. Nice save, Jenna.

She takes two cautious steps closer. "That's who I was talking about, Locke."

I remember the back of the priest's head, always shifting, blocking out her lips. I didn't see every word. I scan the perimeters of the church, looking for other doors opening, looking for dark-robed priests wielding weapons. The church is still.

I look back at Jenna. I want to believe what she is saying. Don't be such a schmuck, Locke.

"What is this place really, Jenna? The priests I knew didn't moonlight as hit men." She doesn't answer. I take a step closer to her. "And why are you keeping track of my descendants?" More silence. I take eight more steps until I'm an arm's distance away, towering over her. She stands her ground. "And why is someone watching you closely? What have you done?"