Scapulimancist (Seven Forbidden Arts Book 7) Page 8

  Sara turned to the tree where she could feel the old owl. “Next time, give me an earlier warning.”

  The hoot came low and soft. The owl didn’t see Bella as a threat, either.

  Somehow, she had to make things good with Wayne, but he’d made it clear she wasn’t welcome at his house. She went inside and transferred Wayne’s clothes from the washing machine to the dryer. It was then that the idea popped into her mind.

  Chapter Six

  The morning was still fresh, but Wayne perspired when he brought his axe down on the tree. They’d been at it for two hours. The rhythm was hard, but he was used to it. Today, the manual labor was an outlet for his frustration. He hadn’t slept a damn wink because of the worry about the reclaim issue. The phone call he’d made that morning hadn’t set his mind at ease. The official at the reclaim query office had told him the same thing Sara had. There was little chance of getting the process reversed.

  He chopped with renewed vigor, trying to work the memory of the soft woman with the firm breasts and delicate moans out of his system.

  “Hey,” Christian shouted from where he worked a short distance away. “If you carry on like that you’re going to make your quota before lunch.” He wiped a gloved hand over his sweaty brow. “What’s eating you, today?”

  He didn’t bother with a reply. Instead, he kept on landing his punches, feeling his cock twitch with every memory that fell like a blow on his mind. Half the night he’d spent worrying. The other half he’d imagined what it would feel like pounding into her. The attraction was something he couldn’t explain, but the need to claim her was primal. It didn’t need explanation.

  “Slow down,” Christian said from closer. “You’ll tear a muscle.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. Christian, his only buddy except for Bella, held a bottle of water to him.

  He shook his head. “I’m good. Better get back to work before Clive sees you dragging your ass.”

  Christian chuckled. “What makes you so conscientious, all of a sudden?”

  Both men looked up when the noise of an engine became audible above the chopping. A green Jeep pulled up in the parking. His whole body turned rigid, but not before a flame of anticipation had seared his gut.

  No way. She wouldn’t dare.

  The door opened, and Sara exited in her green SAN uniform. The khaki pants stretched over her thighs, pulling tight over her hot little mound. It left little to a man’s imagination, or at least to his, because he knew exactly how wet those delicate folds got and how good she tasted.

  The men stopped chopping, their attention focused on her as she made her way over to them.

  “What the…?” Christian’s jaw dropped. All that was missing was the drool.

  “Shut your fucking mouth, or I’ll do it for you,” Wayne hissed, not taking his eyes off the woman, now only a few paces away.

  “Huh?” Christian looked between him and Sara, and the more his friend’s eyes fixed on her breasts, the more his hands itched to shut Christian’s eyes for him, too.

  Then she was in front of him, fresh and uncharred like a clean slate, smelling like the first light of day and the dew of the morning.

  “Hey.” A smile broke through her lips like the sun piercing the trees.

  For a second, there were only the two of them trapped in the bars of shade on the floor of pine needles. That voice that had too much hussy for her innocent body was like a siren’s call to his dick. His cock twitched.

  She held a pile of fabric to him. “I brought back your clothes.” Her lips stretched wider. “Washed and ironed, of course.”

  The men made long wolf whistles. Bees could build a hive in Christian’s mouth, and he wouldn’t notice.

  At the loud attention, Sara looked around. “Haven’t these cavemen seen a woman before?”

  He dumped his axe on the ground and gripped her wrist, dragging her behind him to the office. Behind the wall, out of sight, he released her with an angry scowl. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  Her eyes grew large. “What?”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “What? You waltz down here in your pussy-hugging pants with my clothes, washed and ironed?”

  “So?” She stared at him as if he was crazy.

  He pointed at the forest. “Every man out there now has the wrong idea.”

  “What wrong idea?” Her brow pleated and smoothed out slowly. “Oh.” She bit her lip.

  “Oh?” he said with sarcasm. “That’s all you’ve got to say for yourself?”

  She straightened her back. “It’s good manners to return borrowed clothes clean.”

  He managed to tear his gaze away from her pretty face long enough to glance at the bundle she balanced on her palm. What the hell? Looked like his T-shirt but it couldn’t be. He lifted it up in the air. It was the size of a baby jersey.

  “What the…?” He glared at her.

  She worked her lip between her teeth and stared up at him, guilt sparkling in her eyes. “They may have shrunk a bit in the machine.”

  “A bit?” he exclaimed. In any event, he never expected the clothes back. He jerked the bundle from her hand and grabbed her arm, giving a gentle shake. “You’ve branded me as a traitor with the guys at Woodcutters, you’re about to take away my land, you’ve ruined my kitchen, not to mention my peace of mind, and now you’re going to cost me my job.”

  She pulled her arm free. “Cost you your job?”

  “I can’t be seen frolicking with parks board officials.”

  “I see.” She lifted her chin. “Then you’re one with those wood smugglers out there.”

  “You don’t get how things work in this town, little girl.”

  “I’m learning fast.” She spun on her heel. “Have a nice day, asshole.”

  He slammed a hand against his forehead. Could his week get any worse? As it turned out, it could, because when he’d cooled off sufficiently to walk back into the open, Sara was resting on the door of her Jeep, Christian leaning over her, his arm propped up on the roof. He said something to which she smiled.

  In a second he saw red. He wanted to tackle Christian to the ground and beat the shit out of him. Everything inside of him protested at the sight of her with another man. He quickened his stride, aiming straight for them, and then logic took over. What the fuck was he doing? He had no claim on the woman. If Christian wanted to hit on her, he had no grounds on which to prevent him. Especially not if she welcomed it. It took every bit of self-restraint he possessed to change his course. He clenched his fists so hard his fingers felt like snapping. More wolf whistling followed. That was about as much as he could take.

  He pointed a finger at the men. “If any one of you assholes whistle one more time you’ll be sorry.”

  The men laughed.

  “Territorial, much?” someone said.

  He picked up his axe, trying to ignore Sara and Christian, but he couldn’t look away from them. She got into the Jeep, and Christian closed the door for her, like he was a gentleman or something. She took off with a wave.

  Before Christian was back, he was chopping again.

  “Fucking traitor,” he mumbled under his breath. “Some friend you are.”

  “You talking to me?” Christian said with a laugh in his voice.

  Wayne didn’t answer or look at him. There was a too good chance he’d break Christian’s jaw.

  * * * *

  Maybe Sara hadn’t thought dropping off Wayne’s clothes through, but he didn’t have to glare at her like it was an insult to sleep with her, even if it was only an implied act. It wasn’t her intention to give the guys the wrong idea. She’d reckoned if she wasn’t welcome at his house, at least she could try on neutral ground. Seemed like the lumber factory wasn’t neutral ground. At least his friend, Christian, had been nice enough to introduce himself and tell her about the oyster festival on Friday night where the whole town, including Wayne, would be. He’d said if she wanted to make friends with Wayne, it was better to do
it at a social do than work.

  For now, she put Wayne out of her mind, as much as was possible at least, and drove to the forest border where the Xhosas lived. Several children came running as she parked in front of the thatch huts. They greeted her with much excitement.

  “Hey,” she said, “why aren’t you in school?”

  “Our mother’s sick,” the oldest of the lot said. “We’re staying home to help.”

  “I’m looking for Dumile.”

  A boy of about five or six appeared at her side. “I can take you to the chief, but it’ll cost you.”

  She propped her hands on her hips and smiled at his businesslike expression. “How much?”

  His eyes weighed her. “Ten.”

  “Ten?” she exclaimed. She went down on her haunches. “That’s a hefty fee for a young guide like you.”

  He lifted his chin. “It includes paving the way.”

  “What does this paving require?”

  “The sangoma doesn’t like visitors, but he’ll see you if I take you.”

  She ruffled his hair. “What’s your name?”

  “Khwezi,” he said proudly.

  “You drive a hard bargain, Khwezi.” She took a bill from her pocket and handed it to him.

  He held it up to the sun and turned it over.

  She barely contained her grin. “Don’t worry, it’s real.”

  “Can’t be too sure, these days,” he said with the air of an old, wise man. “Come.”

  The other kids followed behind, making a huge raucous of announcing her presence. Khwezi led her through a neatly swept dust court surrounded by six huts. The patterns of the grass broom were still visible in the dirt. They stopped at a hut where a man with a pipe in his mouth sat on a bench. His skin was wrinkled and his hair white. The corners of his eyes and mouth drooped down, making him seem tired, but there was a wakeful light in his dark brown irises.

  “Nkosi,” Khwezi said, “this woman is here to see you.”

  The children stopped in a circle around her. A woman in a colorful dress with an apron tied around her waist exited the hut.

  She wiped her hands on the apron. “What do you want?”

  “I’d like to speak to the chief,” Sara said.

  The woman glanced at the old man. He waved a hand, smoke billowing from his pipe. Upon the dismissal, the woman disappeared back into the hut, but not before running a look of contempt over Sara.

  “Molo, Nkosi,” Sara said in greeting. She continued in Xhosa. “I’d like to speak to you about the forest.”

  The children laughed.

  “She speaks Xhosa,” one of them said with the traditional click of the tongue.

  “Out!” Nkosi shouted, and the children scattered like leaves in the wind.

  The chief removed his pipe and crossed his wrists over his knees. “You speak our language.”

  “I grew up on a farm.”

  He called into the hut for a chair, and the same woman from before dumped a wooden stool in front of Sara.

  “Thank you.” Sara accepted the invitation by sitting down.

  “Every time government sends a representative, it means there’s new trouble.”

  “There’s trouble with the forest.”

  “There’s been trouble with the forest since the white man came.”

  “Your people said there’s only one elephant left—the cow.”

  “The ranger we told said he’d be back with help, and now they send a woman.”

  “Is it true? Are the bull and the calves dead?”

  “My people hunt deep in the forest. For months they haven’t seen a trail or dung.”

  “But no bodies or vultures either.”

  “It doesn’t mean there aren’t bodies.”

  “If they’re dead, we have to bring in new elephants.”

  “It didn’t work before. Why waste the time and money again?”

  “Because this time, it’ll be different.”

  His black eyes pierced hers. “You are different. That’s why they sent you.”

  “As long as the wood smugglers chop down the yellowwood, we cannot protect the elephants. The trees are almost extinct, just like elephants. We don’t have enough resources to guard and patrol the forest borders.”

  “The last guard got killed.”

  “Exactly. We’re looking for a new way to protect the borders without violence.”

  “I’ve asked the spirits of my forefathers to curse the men who harm the trees, but they’re men black of soul. The curse doesn’t scare them.”

  “We’re going to fence in the forest.”

  He took a drag from his pipe and was silent. After several minutes, he said, “We live from the forest. You’re talking about taking away our food.”

  “If we don’t prevent the smugglers from entering, they will chop down everything. Nothing will be left. Soon, the elephants—if there’s even more than one left—won’t be able to hide. It’s only a matter of time before someone comes for their ivory.”

  “You want the elephants to live behind a fence, and us, on the other side of your jail.”

  She sighed and tipped her hands together. “Sometimes, it’s the only way. I live in a jail, too, behind bars.”

  “You live behind burglar bars in town. The reason we live here is to be free.”

  “If the poaching continues, not even you will be left here in peace.”

  “They’ve tried to drive us from this land many times, but they haven’t succeeded.”

  “They will get more violent.”

  “Maybe, but our blood will run into the soil where our forefathers rest.”

  “You cannot stop the fences from going up. It will happen. We won’t leave you without a means to provide for yourselves. We will give you new land to farm and relocate you.”

  “What land?”

  “The valley by the river, all the way up to the caves.”

  His weathered face turned sad. He suddenly looked a hundred years old. “That is West’s land.”

  “It’s the only farmable land from here to the coast.”

  The old man chewed on the end of his pipe. “I will not take West’s land.”

  “Why not?”

  “If you don’t know, you should ask West.”

  She wiped her hands over her face. “What other solution do you see?”

  “I’m not the one who can see. That’s your job, scapulimancist.”

  She jerked at the mention of the word. “How…?”

  He lifted his eyes to the trees and the darkness of the forest beyond. “They feel you.”

  Not a sound rose from the forest, not even the call of a bird.

  The woman exited the hut, her dark eyes hostile. “You have to go, now. My father needs to rest.”

  Sara got up. “Thank you for seeing me, Nkosi.”

  The woman helped him to his feet. His bony body was bent. Without sparing her another glance, he shuffled to the door of the hut.

  Khwezi was back at her side. He spoke to her in Xhosa this time. “Was your meeting satisfactory?”

  She only smiled.

  “If you need a guide,” he continued, “I know the forest like the palm of my hand.”

  “Thanks, but I can find my way around.”

  “I’ll give you discount,” he called after her.

  She waved. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  She started the engine with a heavy heart and drove to the northern forest border. After parking, she checked her cell phone signal. The reception was still strong. Before venturing onto the trail, she called Odier.

  Her boss answered with a cheerful greeting.

  “My God, I miss you, gorgeous. How’s Knysna?”

  She inhaled and exhaled deeply. “Not easy. Neither West nor the Xhosa chief are in agreement with our proposal.”

  “The fences are going up in less than a month. You’ll have to find a way. I don’t want protests or trouble.”

  “I know.”

  “What
about the elephants?”

  “No trace of them, yet. Plenty of trees have been chopped down all over. There are stumps everywhere.” She shuddered. “It’s awful.”

  “I know it’s hard for you.” A note of concern filtered into his voice. “I can send someone else.”

  “I can do this,” she said quickly. “If I can find evidence that connects the amputated trees to the smugglers—”

  “No.” His tone was uncompromising. “Under no circumstances do you involve yourself with the smugglers, do you hear me? I’ll handle it my way. Your only mission is to find out how many elephants are left and ensure the land reclaim evolves peacefully.”

  When she didn’t answer, he said, “Are we clear?”

  “Yes,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  “Don’t you roll your eyes at me.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Don’t lie either.”

  He knew her too well. “Fine. I’ll mind my business, but it bugs me to see the devastation.”

  “We’ll get them, Sara. Be patient.”

  “Okay,” she said meekly, feeling anything but patient.

  “Where are you?”

  “At the northern border. I’m about to trek into the forest.”

  “Let me know how it goes. I want daily updates.”

  “You’re overprotective.”

  “That’s my job. Take care, gorgeous.”

  He cut the call.

  She grabbed her backpack and entered the forest. The trail was less used and more difficult to navigate. A little way into the forest, she let Kojak out to feed while she stopped for lunch under a tree.

  The negotiation wasn’t smooth sailing on either end, not that she’d expected it to be a breeze, but she’d definitely not counted on the chief’s rejection of the land. How was she supposed to win them over? By the time she’d finished her sandwich and Kojak was digesting a mouse, she was no closer to a solution.

  Taking the trail on the left where the path forked, she walked for two hours with no traces of the elephants before she decided to turn back. She was hot, sweaty, and her palm burned. Tomorrow, she’d tackle the northwest trail. With a bit of luck, she’d stumble across some elephant dung to point her in the right direction.