Kindling (The Hunter Trilogy Book One) Read online

  “What the fuck is going on?!” I yelled.

  “Catalina,” my father said. “Watch your language!” As if he was more upset with me swearing than with a possible near-death experience. I started to cry a little, but my papá came over to me and placed his hands on my shoulders. “I know it’s confusing. But, those guys ...” he looked at Heinrich, who shrugged. “I’m sorry, mi cielo, but right now I can’t really explain everything. We have to talk to mom and abuelo first. And we have to get ready for your party.” He pulled me in for a hug and kissed my forehead. “Hablar más tarde, eh?” I pushed away from him.

  Is that all he had to say? “Talk later?” Hell no I wasn’t going to “talk later”! What was going on? “¡No! No, más tarde! ¡Ahora! Now!” And then, I realized, every bit of the last few minutes were an insane blur of confusion but I knew it was something extremely serious. “What just happened? Who were those guys?” My papá and Heinrich looked at each other.

  “Listen, Katja,” Heinrich began, then paused. “Do you mind if I call you Katja? It’s Dutch, a pet name.”

  I looked at him funny. “Like a dog name?”

  He smiled. “No, like a short form of your name. It’s Dutch,” he said again.

  The Dutch thing explained the accent, but nothing else. “Oh, yeah, I don’t care,” I said. He could call me Lewis for all I cared at that moment, I just wanted some answers.

  “Okay, you’re father and I are friends, Katja, old friends,” he said. “I knew you when you were a baby.” He smiled and his eyes glistened a little. “I swear to you, and I’ll make your papá promise, too, we will explain everything tomorrow. Sunday. Okay?” I looked up at him and then to my papá, who nodded in agreement. I didn’t know if I should believe him and I didn’t want to agree, but I knew if I was too difficult my papá wouldn’t tell me anything at all. So, I went against my better instincts and nodded. I guess I was in too much shock to really be argumentative. “Good,” Heinrich grinned. “I know you’re confused, but I hope almost everything will be explained tomorrow. Okay?” I nodded again. “Tonight we have your party, tomorrow we have a big talk, eh?”

  “I don’t want to have the party anymore,” I said. I almost whispered because my adrenaline rush had gone and I was feeling drained and ready to cry.

  “Your grandparents want to celebrate, eh? Your friends are coming,” Heinrich looked from me to my papá. “It will be okay to have fun.”

  “What if they come back?” I asked.

  “No, honey,” my papá said. “They won’t. They can’t. Not while Heike’s here.”

  “And, you know, I brought a friend with me,” Heinrich said. “He’s around here, somewhere. He’ll be some help, too.” Heinrich smiled. “Maybe,” he added, and he and my father laughed.

  “Do I need protecting?” I asked. “I don’t even know what you’re protecting me from.”

  My papá and Heinrich looked at each other again. “Tomorrow, we’ll talk. I promise, mi cielo, you will know everything tomorrow,” my papá assured. I nodded, but I was still unsure. I looked around for any signs of the men that seemed to scare my father, but there was nothing.

  We began to walk down the hill. Heike - apparently a nickname of some sort - and my papá talked the whole way down. It was weird, at first, but then really heart-warming to see my papá with a friend. My papá had some acquaintances he camped with - mostly Gaby’s friends’ dads - but he was usually too busy with his family for real friends. Heike, I could tell, was his real friend, so much so that they often finished each other’s sentences and lines of thought in alternating Spanish, English, and, apparently, Dutch. I was really surprised my papá knew Dutch and, of course, I only understood ⅔ of the conversation so I quickly got lost. My papá and Heike seemed to have completely forgotten the scare on the mountain and I wondered if I had hallucinated the whole thing, but every so often one would glance back at me and look at me in a way that I knew I hadn’t dreamt anything. But, they had fun talking and joking with each other and left me alone so I could breathe and relax and let the adrenaline ease out of my body. It was difficult, though, to make it down the hill without tripping as I continually looked behind me in case those weird guys were following us.

  It took only about a half hour to make it down to the road. I didn’t think, didn’t go over what happened, I just tried to breath and meditate because, if I didn’t, I thought I would probably pass out. But, I knew this wasn’t over. There was no way I wasn’t going to grill my father about what the hell was going on. I just needed to convince my mind to chill out until then.

  When we got to the road, Heike’s oh-so-modest yellow hummer was waiting for us. “I rented it just for you, Menno,” he said to my papá and then he began to laugh. I laughed a little, too. My father was a giant, tree-hugging, nature lover and, even though he seemed upset, I could tell he was slightly amused.

  “Really, Heike, really?” my papá said. “Come on!” I could tell his annoyance was fading, but he put on a show of throwing his hands up and sighing.

  Suddenly, the door to the hummer opened and a guy popped out. It startled me, at first, because I thought he might be one of those weird guys from up in the foothills, but I was relieved when Heike and my papá seemed to know him. He said something but his accent was so heavily Australian I didn’t understand anything he said.

  The Australian accent - and the fact that he was one of the most handsome men I had ever seen - momentarily made me forget all my troubles. Holy moses basket was that guy gorgeous.

  The men laughed but then they remembered me and got embarrassed. “Braith, shut-it,” Heike said, and gestured toward me. “Katja, this is Braith,” Heike said. “My associate,” he added. Braith was tall and muscular and had a full-day growth of stubble on his face. His black hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail. His eyes were nearly black and his skin was a deep bronze. He sort of looked like a young Yul Brynner.

  “Awe, sorry,” Braith said, climbing out of the hummer and extending his hand. “Not usually so crude around young ladies.” He smiled and, god, if I thought those guys on the hills were gorgeous it was only because I had never seen Braith or his dimples or heard his accent. Oh, man, I flip for accents.

  I shook his hand and studied his face. Like Heike, Braith seemed familiar. “No problem. I didn’t understand a word of what you said.” This was, apparently, hilarious to all of them and they laughed until they were holding onto their knees.

  It was weird, really weird, because the situation on the mountain felt so serious, like there was a chance those guys could have killed us and now, here my papá and two strange men were laughing their asses off and no one was explaining anything to me and I was getting pretty pissed off.

  Heike must have seen the seriousness of my expression because he smacked my papá’s shoulder and gestured for the hummer. “Let’s go back home. Hope Molly doesn’t mind us dropping by.” We climbed into the SUV but I paused. No one ever called my mom Molly except my papá on rare occasions. She’s usually Magda or Mags or sometimes Meg or Maggie, but never Molly to anyone but my papá.

  This whole day was getting weirder and weirder.

  The morning was quickly fading by the time we got home. If this was a normal day, papá and I would have finished our run and would have been in the middle of a sparring match. I’m glad papá didn’t make me train, but being sweaty and smelly and dirty next to the most handsome man I have ever seen really did not build a girl’s confidence. The drive home lasted 20 minutes, but I tried to push myself as far away from Braith as I possibly could so he wouldn’t get a glimpse - or a whiff - of my grossness.

  Not that I entirely cared by the end of the car rid, as Braith was progressively getting on my nerves, anyway. Whenever a gorgeous guy opens up his mouth I get turned off almost immediately, because usually they know they are gorgeous and feel they need everyone else to know this fact as well. Braith was no exception and filled the conversation with a constant stream of macho bullshit that my papá an
d Heike found hilarious. I never thought my papá would laugh at immature, brutish jokes, but he did. God, men were so perplexingly annoying. Braith’s accent, a big plus. I swoon for accents. But, on top of the cocky bull crap spewing from his mouth - holy crap - he kept winking at me.

  I found winking incredibly creepy. Winking just reminded me of a moustached guy hanging outside a high school trying to get a teenage girl into his windowless van.

  When we got home, Heike parked the ostentatious vehicle in the street because it wouldn’t fit in our driveway. My grandparents’ car was parked outside so I knew my abuela was waiting to help me get ready for my party.

  When we walked in the house, the twins were running around in their underpants screaming and my sister was trying to occupy them. When she saw us her eyes got wide and she stared at Heike. I mentioned before how scary looking Heike was and my sister must have nearly crapped her pants seeing us walk in with this guy, towering over our father with black leather and muscles rippling through his chest and stomach like a Dutch Terminator.

  “Gabriela,” our papá said. She started but still looked wide-eyed and terrified. “This is my friend Heike,” my papá nodded to Heike.

  Heike smiled and extended his hand. “¿Cómo estás, Gabriela?” I was impressed. Heike’s accent was impeccable, almost like he was a native Spanish speaker.

  “Buen,” Gaby said. She was curt and didn’t shake his hand, only stared up at him with wide eyes and an open mouth.

  “And this is Braith,” my father said.

  Braith stepped from behind me and took my sister’s hand. “How ya doin’, beautiful?” He bent down and grabbed her hand and placed his lips on her knuckles.

  Oh, god, he was disgusting. I snarled and rolled my eyes.

  My sister’s nervousness drained and she grinned. Obviously she couldn’t tell when a guy was a prick. I could tell by the way her shoulders melted and her face began to glow, she fell in love. She must have a thing for accents, too, I thought. “Muy buen,” she said. I choked back a laugh.

  Braith didn’t seem to notice. “And who are these two?” He nodded toward the twins.

  The twins silently stared up at our visitors, dirty little mouths agape, sticky fingers moving back and forth over their bare bellies. Gaby beamed like the boys were her prized possessions and slightly swayed back and forth. “This is Leonardo,” my sister pointed. “And this one is Horatio.” Gaby said. She touched both of the twins very tenderly, although usually she would be watching TV while they killed themselves on the floor or trying to kill them herself. “We call them Leo and Hank.”

  “Whoa,” Braith said. “You seem like such an awesome big sister.” He covered the side of his face and pointed to me. “Better than this one, eh?” Gaby laughed, although my annoyance grew. I knew he was trying to satiate a 13-year-old, but he didn’t even know me and he shouldn’t say that shit in front of my sister! “Will you be an amazing help and watch these two while we go talk to your mum?”

  “Sure, Braith. I’ll keep them out of your hair,” she said.

  “Save me a dance at your sister’s party?” Braith winked.

  Gaby swooned. “Of course, Braith.” She wasn’t very good at hiding her feelings and, right then, she was gushing. Braith didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to suck it up like the narcissistic air-head that he was. He may have been handsome (unbelievably handsome) but I couldn’t stand that kind of arrogance.

  I stared at Braith and shook my head as he winked at Gaby and tousled her hair a bit. Then, my papá lead us into the kitchen where my grandparents and mom were.

  They were in the middle of what seemed to be a very cheery conversation. My mom is very animated and used her whole body in a conversation, swaying from her waist and emphasizing points in the conversation with her hands making funny faces. I always made fun of her for those faces she made, but she couldn’t really help it. It’s just how she made a point. Right when we walked in, my mom must have been describing something large as her arms were wide apart and stretched high above her head. As soon as she saw Heike my mom’s hands dropped to the table and she stood too quickly. Her chair fell and crashed to the floor.

  “What happened?” She asked. “What’s going on?”

  My grandparents turned to and began echoed my mom in Spanish, “¿¡Qué!? ¿¡Qué pasó!?”

  “Calm down,” my papá said. “We’re fine. Nothing happened.” He looked at Heike then to me. “Not really.” And then they all looked at me for an overly awkward period. My mom broke the stare by coming and hugging me.

  “Oh, god, Kit, you need a shower,” she whispered and smiled. I appreciated her not saying that too loud in front of 98-on-the-hotness-scale Braith, even if he was annoying and arrogant. “Why don’t you go start getting ready for the party? I’ll fix you some lunch.”

  “Mom, do you know what’s going on?” I asked, trying not to let my papá and Heike hear. She looked at Heike.

  “What did you tell her, Henry?” Mom asked.

  That’s when the notch on the Weirder-Than-Hell-Day got weirder. Henry? She called him Henry? As in, the Henry who left me and my mother in Arizona when I was an infant? That Henry? I looked at him and saw what I didn’t really notice before: pale features, height, long limbs, long fingers. Just like me. What was going on here? Why would my biological father just show up in the woods today at the same time as my papá and I almost got attacked? Why was he in my kitchen? Why did he show up on my 17th birthday? Why did my parents - especially my father - seem to adore him? Why did one man have so many names?

  He saw the recognition in my eyes and sighed. He caressed his brow with his hand. “Well, look at her face Molly,” he sighed again and nodded to me. “I certainly didn’t tell her my name was Henry.”

  “Fuck,” mom said and looked at me. “Honey, look at me.” I looked at her, but felt like I could cry. “Look, go cool off a bit, I’ll see what’s going on, and then we’ll talk, okay?” I nodded because I was too mentally exhausted to protest - holy tacos, my biological father was in my kitchen with my parents! - and my abuela took my hand and led me away. Her touch was comforting and her voice relaxed me a little.

  “Let’s go wash off, Catalina. A nice wash in le baño,” she said and smiled. I nodded – a bath would be nice – and I let her take me by the arm up to my room.

  While I was in the shower all I could do was think about what they were talking about downstairs. I was so deep in thought I forget how many times I shampooed my hair and probably washed seven times. It’s like, I knew exactly what they were talking about but, on the other hand, I had no idea what they were talking about. I had so many questions: I was clueless as to why those two, strange men caused so much commotion. Why was my papá scared? He looked like he could have easily kicked their asses. Why did Heike – Henry, whatever his name was – show up today, of all days? He had never visited me on my birthday before. And how did he know to look for us in the foothills? Why were those guys so scared of Heike, yet my father adored him?

  It felt impossible to wait until Sunday for answers.

  When I got out of the shower, my abuela was waiting for me. She combed my hair and kept talking, making a big deal about what a beautiful young women I was becoming, how lovely I would look in my (hideous) dress, and how important birthdays are to celebrate with the people you love. She was trying to ease my nerves, I could tell, but she was really just making things worse. Abuela wasn’t much of a talker and all that talking made me think something bigger than I understood was going on.

  When she was done with my hair I looked nice, though very traditional - a tousled braid wound around my head. It was her favourite way to do my hair and I didn’t mind if it wasn’t the most modern of styles because my grandmother always spent so much time on it. Anyways, she always made my hair look beautiful, even though she always said my hair was like “a la luz de las estrellas,” - the light of the stars - and not “negro como la noche,” - the black of the night - like hers and the res
t of the family’s. But, she never made my fairness into anything negative, only commenting from time to time about our slight differences and she and abuelo even call me their little star - “mi pequeña estrella.”

  At least my hair and the rest of my fairness and height made more sense to me, then, seeing Henry or Heike or Heinrich or whatever that guy’s name was.

  By this time, the twins were down for their naps and Gaby was in my room, anxiously awaiting me to put on my gown, mainly because that would mean it was time for her to put on her gown. Gaby loved gowns more than chocolate or shopping or pretty much anything else. I always thought she should be in beauty pageants, but our parents wouldn’t hear of it. Gaby also loved showing off and, I knew, she wanted to show off - especially to Braith. She must have said his name 27 times in the first five minutes in my room.

  But, it was still too early to dress and abuela began to work on Gaby’s hair. They chatted a million miles away in Spanish, but I sat, not paying attention to what they were talking about. I couldn’t stop thinking about everything that happened. I felt very strange about the whole ordeal. I still couldn’t really understand why seemingly unimportant events – like meeting those two dudes in the foothills – were actually something serious. Then I had an idea. If I couldn’t get answers that night, then maybe I could sneak downstairs and hear what was going on.

  I excused myself and pretended to go to the bathroom, but really I snuck through the twin’s bedroom and down the side stairs. The stairs lead down to the kitchen, so I planned on moving step by step down to the landing and listening.

  I made it to the landing by scooting down on my bottom. I was pretty sure I hadn’t been heard. My parents, abuelo, Heike, and Braith were speaking very quietly and . . . again with the Dutch! Didn’t they know I couldn’t listen in if they spoke a language I didn’t know? And since when could my mother and grandfather – who was a beautiful, Native Mexican, by the way – speak Dutch?