I don't. But what I do see is just as unsettling. The old woman is standing by our table with her hand on the top of Sierra's breast, over her tattoo. I hurry toward them and dwarf the woman with my six feet of height.
A strong bony hand grips my wrist when she turns to me, and I'm trapped by her nearly black eyes. She flips my hand over and traces my tattoo. I'm tempted to pull away, but courage makes me speak instead. "You must be the woman that makes the desserts."
She scoffs at me. "You are strong. Bravery lives in your heart, but you're afraid to use it. Don't be. It will be tested, and you're a worthy opponent."
Okay, a simple yes would have worked. "You can see our tattoos, can't you?"
"I feel them, but I cannot see. Only the chosen can see." The woman's face is a roadmap of wrinkles, and I guess she's close to one hundred years old.
I look at Sierra, and she shrugs. The old woman is still holding my hand, and I pull gently to remove it from her papery grasp.
I ask, "Do you know what we were chosen for?"
Catori’s voice changes to something that shouldn’t come out of her tiny body. "The bear is a courageous spirit. This clan has called you. Go east, and you'll find a great and powerful love. In return you'll provide the future."
Tiny hairs prick at the back of my neck. What the hell does that mean? She pats my arm and in her grandmotherly voice says, "Eat, you will like my dessert."
I watch as she wanders off. Sliding into the booth again, I feel a chill run through me, and I clasp my hands together to still them. I whisper to Sierra, "What was all that?"
Sierra shakes her head as she puts a forkful of pie in her mouth. Speaking over her food, she says, "I don't know, but oh my God, is this good."
I glance toward the kitchen and see that Catori’s back is to me as she pushes her way in. Her long silver braid sways, and she shuffles like the old lady she is. I shake off the idea she was anything more and dig into the chocolate cream to let the sweet flavor invade my mouth.
7
Chapter 7
Sierra
Gravel crunches under the tires of the car when we pull into the motel parking lot. A long one-story building painted white, the doors are dark green, and each one has a paddle with a painted number nailed above it.
Yellow light glows in the office window as nighttime falls. The slam of our car doors is almost in unison, and Carly and I pick our way across the flat stone walkway. A faint odor of cinnamon greets us when we open the door. I'm surprised to see a girl about our age behind the counter. Her bleached blond hair is in a high ponytail that flips when she turns toward us.
"Looking for a room?" Her voice is almost musical and makes me smile.
I answer, "Yes, please, just one night."
She slides a form across the counter to us, and a pen clatters on the wood surface beside it. Carly takes charge, and I wander around the small space. Snacks are on shelves, and I decide we need some. I clunk two bottles of soda down on the counter as Carly finishes the paperwork.
When Carly hands the form back, the girl’s brown eyes widen a bit, and she glances up quickly from Carly's wrist. She blinks a couple times, and I wait for her to ask about the tattoo because I think she can see it.
She looks back down at Carly's arm and says, "Two sodas? Should I put them on the bill?"
I lean forward, placing my forearms on the counter. "You see it, don't you?"
The girl steps back and shakes her head. "No, I was just admiring the work. It's well done."
I snort. She's one of us. "Right. We'll be in our room if you want to talk about it." I place money down on the counter to pay for the colas.
"Number five. You can call me on the phone if you need anything. Dial zero." The girl chews on her thumbnail.
Carly says, “Thanks. Should I put the key in the box I saw outside when we leave in the morning?"
"Yeah, that's fine. Enjoy your stay. We're happy to have you."
I doubt that. She's spooked about seeing what she's probably been dreaming about, and I don't blame her. When we get to the door, Carly turns back and says in a stern voice, "There's nothing to be afraid of. You have my cell number and can call me when you're ready."
She nods quickly and turns away before we do.
I open the hatch of the car, the metal cold in my hand like the chill running through me. Carly’s intensity back there was weird. I ask, "I wonder how many of us there are?"
"I don't know, but why is that girl so scared?"
"Maybe she isn't up for burly man sex?" The woven nylon of my duffle bag is rough in my hand as I hoist it up on my shoulder. We chuckle, and the beep of the car remote signals the doors are locked.
We enter a simple room with one bed, and springs squawk when I throw myself down on it. Carly is doing her adjust-to-the-germs thing and sits down more slowly. She says, "So we keep going. But do you have an idea where we stop?"