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“Pivane!” yells Connor. “What are you, crazy? Get down!”
But Pivane just stands there. It’s Grace who points out what only she and Pivane have come to understand.
“That shot was all the way across the room,” Grace says. “Kinda like in old war movies. A shot across our bow. They didn’t mean to kill no one.”
“A warning?” suggests Lev.
“A message,” answers Pivane. Still, the rest are reluctant to move from under the table.
Connor steps away from the light switch to stand next to Pivane, looking out into the darkness. There are some lights in the homes across ravine. It could have come from just about anywhere. There is no second shot.
“Someone knows we’re here,” Connor says, “and wants us gone.”
“I’m sorry!” Kele pleads. “Nova promised she wouldn’t tell anyone, but she must have. It’s my fault.”
“Maybe so and maybe not.” Pivane turns to Connor. “Either way, it’s not safe for you in this house. We’ll need to move you.”
“The old sweat lodge?” suggests Kele, which somehow sounds appropriate, since this is making them all sweat.
Pivane shakes his head. “I know a better place.”
34 • Una
The knock on the shop door is so quiet, Una barely hears it from upstairs. She has just put a steak on the skillet. Had the skillet been sizzling any louder, she might not have heard the knock. She descends from her upstairs apartment into the luthier shop where she used to apprentice but now runs. As she crosses through the workroom, her bare feet smart from sharp wood shavings on the floor. She continues on through the showroom, where her handmade guitars hang from above like sides of beef.
Pivane is at the door with Lev, Connor, and Grace. She waits for an explanation before inviting them in.
“Something happened,” Pivane tells her. “We need your help.”
“Of course.” She opens the door to allow them entrance.
Sitting on stools in the back room of the shop, Pivane explains the events of the evening. “They need a safe haven,” Pivane tells her.
“It won’t be for long,” Connor says, although he probably has no idea how long it will be. None of them do for sure.
“Please, Una,” says Pivane, holding intense eye contact. “Do our family this favor.”
“Yes, certainly,” says Una, trying to hide the trepidation in her voice. “But if whoever shot at them knows they’re here—”
“I do not think any more shots will be taken,” Pivane says, “but just in case, you should keep your rifle at the ready.”
“That goes without saying.”
“It’s good that I gave it to you,” Pivane says, “for if it’s used in their protection, it will be used well.”
Pivane gets up to go. “I’ll be back to check on them tomorrow with supplies, food, anything they might need. If Chal is successful with the Hopi and it draws the Juvenile Authority off track, they’ll be able to leave the reservation soon and continue their journey.”
Una notices that Lev shifts his shoulders uncomfortably at the suggestion.
“I believe,” says Pivane, giving her once again the all-encompassing full focus of his eyes, “that this is the safest place for them. Do you agree?”
Una holds his gaze. “Maybe you’re right.”
Satisfied, Pivane leaves, the bell on the shop door jingling behind him as he goes out. Una makes sure the door is locked, then escorts her guests upstairs.
Her steak is burning, filling the kitchen with smoke. Cursing, she turns off the burner, turns on the fan, and drops the skillet into the sink, dousing it with water. The steak is about as ruined as her appetite.
“Cajun Blackened Steak, my brother calls that,” says Grace.
