How easily she changed the subject, he thought. She had presented him with a mystery she thought he should hear, but why would she think that of a man who sold art, a man she’d only recently met? He seemed to intrigue her, and though flattered, Eric wondered about it.
“No. I run each morning, and have a small set of weights I use at home. I sleep well at night. That’s it.”
“Well, if you’re going to live here, someone is going to have to introduce you to our culture, and I’m volunteering if you’re willing to learn something new.” Nataly rested her chin on steepled fingers, her face glowing in the candlelight.
“Sounds interesting,” he said.
“Oh, that was a nice smile. You’re finally relaxing.”
They both laughed at that, but Eric’s mind was still dwelling on what she’d told him moments before. She was beautiful, sophisticated in an ethereal way, and intelligent. He did not think she would reveal a negative about her character without reason, knowing full well that her suspicions about her father’s death might be interpreted as a negative.
Soup arrived, was consumed, and taken away. The main course was a prime rib that filled his plate. They ate leisurely. Mostly he listened. Nataly talked about the local tourist industry, and the reasons Sedona was considered by many to be the new age capital of the country. “Many come here to relax and be pampered. For others, it’s a place to find something higher than themselves, and to discover who they really are.”
“Or who they want to be,” said Eric. “I guess I’m still working on that.”
That look again, a steady gaze, her dark eyes looking for a way into his soul. For one instant it seemed like she was inside his head, studying him.
“We all have things to hide, Eric. Some of them are dangerous things, but it doesn’t mean we can’t change. It doesn’t mean we don’t deserve what we want.”
Whoa, he thought. Here we go again.
Nataly blinked, looked down at her plate. “I’m sorry. That was too personal. I shouldn’t have said it.”
“No problem. You say what you think. Most people don’t. Most people are hiding out. At least that’s the kind of people I usually deal with: the collectors, gallery owners, even the artists. They’re all playing a part, like life is a stage play. I do it too, when I’m with them. I don’t think I have to do it with you, Nataly. Why is that?”
She smiled. “Oh, now you’re looking serious.”
“I am serious.”
“And I can’t answer your question. I like talking to you. You’re a good listener. I sense intensity in you, a hint of danger, but you have an emotional, vulnerable side. You show it in your eyes, you know, when you talk, when you listen. You’re not as deep as you might think. I like that.”
“Now I’m flattered,” he said.
“Well, you should be.” Nataly turned and beckoned to her servant, who was waiting at the doorway with a silver tray holding two plates of baked Alaska lit by candles. He served them, and went away.
The ice cream made his sinuses ache for only a moment. Eric was full, but not uncomfortable. He leaned back and sighed. “I haven’t eaten like that in a long time.”
Nataly stood up, held out her hand. “There’s brandy in the living room.”
It seemed so natural to take her hand in his, to feel her fingers squeeze. She led him to the front room, now illuminated dimly by four bulky candles, one in each corner, and there was the odor of sweet grass. Curls of smoke drifted from a closed, brass pot with holes in its cover. A window was decorated with a stained glass panel lit from below, showing stars and a crescent moon. A soft, rhythmic sound came from overhead, a beat of drums, and a high-pitched harmony of voices far away.
Nataly let go of his hand as they sat down close together on a plush sofa. She poured brandy for each of them from a crystal bottle. “Do you hear the drums?” she asked softly.
“Yes. And singing.”
“Yavapai singers. Close to my mother’s tribe. She didn’t practice the old ways, but taught them to me. It’s part of who I am.”
“Then Boynton Canyon is sacred to you?” said Eric, trying to show some local knowledge. He was rewarded with a smile.
“Yes, it is. The first people came from there, if you follow tradition.”
“Lots of UFO sightings in that general area, too.”
“Yes.” Nataly leaned closer, put a hand on his arm. “Would you like to see an aura?”
“What?”
“You’re skeptical about auras. I want you to see one.”
“Oh—that. Well, sure. My mind was going in another direction just then.”
“Brandy first,” she said, handed his glass to him. They drank. “First, another candle.” She lit a tall candle on the table in front of the sofa, blew softly on it, and the flame wavered. She leaned up against him, her head touching his shoulder, and he smelled a pine scent from her hair. She blew ever so gently, and the candle flame danced in the breeze. “Watch the flame,” she whispered.
He looked at the flame to please her, saw the black wick, the wavering glow around it, felt Nataly’s warmth creeping into his arm and shoulder. The sound of the drums seemed to fade until he could actually hear the occasional sound of air escaping Nataly’s pursed lips. His heartbeat slowed, and his right hand, which had been clenched, now opened up and lay as if paralyzed on the sofa beside him.
“That’s it, Move with the flame. There is nothing else. Keep your eyes on it, now, while I move.”
Eric lost concentration for one instant as Nataly stood up and stepped around the table. She was watching him, and he immediately moved his eyes back to the flickering glow now blurred in front of him.
“Keep looking,” she said in a near whisper, and Eric went with it, feeling himself sink deeper and deeper into the sofa. Time seemed to stand still. There was a faint rushing sound in his ears, and he thought of molecules colliding. His fingertips began to tingle, and then his legs, then higher, nearing erotic pleasure until Nataly spoke again.
“Now look at me,” she said.
Eric raised his eyes from the glow of the flame. Nataly was kneeling on the floor three feet from the table, and facing him. Her eyes were closed, and her arms were crossed over her chest. Behind her, bookshelves and a sand painting were barely visible in gloom. The candle flame dully lighted the front of her, and at first there was nothing else to see but her serene beauty.
But as Eric watched her, Nataly began to glow in a new way.
Her skin first glowed faintly golden, but then the glow moved outwards and took shape like a gold fog, dynamic, with tendrils reaching out from it. Now the tendrils grew, and there were new colors: yellow, red, and a touch of blue. In seconds a beautiful pattern with cloverleaf symmetry surrounded her kneeling form, swirling in gold and shades of orange and red, with faint wisps of deep blue.
“My God,” said Eric, so softly it was less than a whisper.
And Nataly opened her eyes. The glow of emerald green there gave her eyes an almond shape, and Eric’s breath escaped him.
“See me,” she said, and it was the sound of a singing, crystal bowl, “and remember.”
She closed her eyes, and the colors faded, the glow dimming. The candle flame itself seemed to dim, and Eric was floating away as his own eyes closed and there was darkness, then a spot of light, and he was moving towards it. The light grew, and became a man, a golden man, sitting in lotus position, eyes closed.