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Mal's gaze went past me and I turned. The young woman who'd brought Edana her supper still stood outside the tent.
"He's never liked Molly," Mal murmured. "I'm not sure why. "
Malachi was called back to whatever he'd been doing; Molly disappeared into the crowd, head hanging.
Poor kid.
I returned to my car, which by now was one of the last left, and started the engine. Sabina appeared in the glare of my headlights.
I got out. "Hi. "
She lifted her good hand.
"Did you want to tell me something?" I wasn't sure how she might do that.
She shook her head. Her eyes, intent on mine, caused an odd tingle of recognition.
"Sabina!"
The girl, who'd been coining toward me with a quick, determined gait, stopped. I turned and, at the sight of Edana, understood why I'd had that weird tingle. They had the same eyes.
"You're her - "
"Grandmother," Edana interrupted. "And all she has since her parents. . . died. "
I frowned at the hesitation on the word. Had they died or hadn't they?
I recalled Mal saying they'd wanted to drown their daughter and he'd stopped them. But how had he stopped them?
"Come along, child," Edana ordered.
Sabina shuffled toward her grandmother. Her long, dark hair shrouded her face so that when she moved past me, she bumped into me.
I reached out to steady her, shocked at how cold her arms were despite the heat of the summer night.
"She's lonely," Edana said when Sabina had passed out of earshot. "She knows she isn't supposed to consort with the gadje, but there's no one here her age. "
Sabina was the youngest Gypsy I'd seen, and she had to be in her late teens or early twenties.
People lived, loved, married, and procreated. It was what people did. So what had happened to the children?
Before I could ask Edana, she walked away. All of the tourists and locals had gone; the Gypsies bustled about cleaning up. I went home. What else was there to do?
As soon as I got there, I checked the windows and doors. Josh was still on the loose, though I doubted, after last night, he'd come back here. However, one never could tell.
Then I wandered around the house unable to settle down, waiting, watching, wondering. Would he come or wouldn't he?
Midnight had arrived when a sharp rap drew me into the kitchen. Malachi stood framed in the clear pane of the sliding glass doors.
He must have taken another dip in the lake, or maybe just a shower, because his hair was slicked against his head, making the spike o
f his cheekbones more pronounced and his eyes blacker than polished ebony.
He wore black, too, though he'd only buttoned two buttons near the bottom of his shirt and a long, supple slice of his chest glistened beneath the light of the moon.
I crossed the room and opened the door.
Chapter 26
