Beyond Your Touch by Pat Esden Page B

maybe one functioning brain cell. That could easily be the case with this old man.
    Selena spoke up. “Actually this doesn’t involve death, at least we hope not. We need to get into the djinn realm. We wanted to know if you could help us rescue Annie’s mother—”
    I thumped her leg to shut her up. There was honesty, then there was stupidity. The low light, the candles and incense, the doll parts hanging from the tree were an awful lot like a bad horror movie. The only thing missing was a bloody machete. I had no idea how Lotli had made the smoke follow her music, but it could be just part of a particularly clever con. It seemed, however, much less likely that her lack of response to Selena’s mention of the djinn realm could have been rehearsed. Clearly, she was aware of its existence.
    Lotli’s dark gaze swung toward me. “We do not expect you to believe and that doesn’t matter. We could not go with you at this time, even if you wished us to.” She rested her hand on the old man’s arm. “Zea would not allow us to leave until after the autumnal solstice passes.”
    Chase sprang to his feet, the candles in front of us wavering from the speed of his rising. Shadows flashed across his face. He glared at Zea, his voice as tough as granite. “What is Lotli to you? I don’t believe for a second that she’s your granddaughter. A servant? A slave?”
    Zea’s eyes went wide and he dropped the antenna. Then he turned to Lotli, put his thumb and forefinger in his mouth, and whistled. It was a series of sharp sounds that followed the pattern of human speech.
    Without looking at Zea, Lotli gave a smug little smile and set her last bite of lobster tail on the board. “He does not speak, like you do,” she said to us.
    She may have been pleased with herself, but this time I was one step ahead. I’d heard that whistle before when Dad and I visited the Canary Islands.
    My lips curled into their own smug smile. “Chase,” I said, tugging on his pants leg. “Do you mind sitting?” I glanced up at him. “Please. I’ve got this.”
    He nodded and settled back into a crouch, his wary eyes still pinned to Zea.
    â€œHmmm. Very interesting.” I rested my hands on the ground behind me and leaned back, totally casual. “That’s Sylbo Gomero, isn’t it? The whistling language.”
    Her hand bolted to her waistline, the way Chase’s had reflexively reached for his knife when we’d first gotten out of the Land Rover. My eyes whipped to where her hand hovered. The flute. Her fingers were inches away from it, its outline barely visible in a fold in her sarong.
    I sucked in a breath. I needed to rethink. Her reaction told me that she most likely did have magic after all and that the flute was her weapon of choice. It told me this wasn’t part of a con. It also told me that right now she felt threatened.
    â€œSo you are familiar with the language?” she asked, her hand still frozen at her waist.
    â€œI’ve heard it before. But no, I wouldn’t say ‘familiar.’ ” More than anything, I wished Zachary were with us. I’d never be able to duplicate the sounds Zea had made, but Zachary had an ear for language. At a minimum, he’d have remembered it well enough to decipher it later.
    Lotli’s hand relaxed, lowering to her lap as her eyes went to Chase. “We do not know who told you that Zea and us are kin. We are not. We were willingly indentured to him as a child. Our abilities have been enhanced by our bond and his teachings. We cannot leave without his permission.” She bit her lip, hesitating. “My family’s roots are ancient; magic has always been in us. Harnessing the power calls for help. It calls for apprenticeship, to a master.”
    Chase thumped the ground with his fist. “That’s bullshit! Call it what it is. You’re this man’s