Santos chuckles. "That's the first time she's acted like herself since we got here," he whispers. "I appreciate what you're trying to do here. Really, Boss. But I think it will go better if you lock me in her cell. I need some time to talk her down."
I undo his chains before he enters her cell. "You have two hours before I come back," I say, locking the cell door behind him. "After that you'll have to be in your own cell."
"Don't worry, Boss," he whispers to me, beaming. "When I have to, I can work really quick."
The next day Casey smiles as she goes about her work. For the first time since her capture, she speaks openly with Santos as they toil together. She even mutters, "Sorry for my tantrum last night," to me.
"See," I tell Elizabeth. "Isn't her behavior better this way?"
Elizabeth grimaces, humphs. "I don't know. I think I like it better when they're sullen. You're like my sister, Chloe. You always want the humans to like you. No matter how they act, they never will."
I wish later on that my bride could see how grateful Santos is. Elizabeth may be right, but the man certainly beams when he sees me. He grins even more when I say, "From now on, as long as you two continue to do everything as you should, I see no reason why you shouldn't visit each other a few times each week."
"That's good, Boss," he says. "Real good. To show you how much I appreciate it, I want to cook you something special tonight-an old family recipe."
"I don't know, Jorge," I say. "You know I prefer plain meat."
"Sure, Boss, I know that. But you've never tasted my mother's Camé Diablo. Trust me. You'll love it."
Elizabeth wrinkles her nose at the smell of it while Jorge toils at the skillet on the stove. I understand her reaction. The great room reeks from the aromas of cooking spices and seared meat. My eyes tear from the acrid smoke his cooking produces.
"I can't believe you're going to eat his food," my bride mindspeaks. "I'd rather eat dirt."
"I don't want to hurt his feelings, Elizabeth. I'll taste the dish, then take my regular steak."
"What if he's done something to the food?"
I look at her. "Poison? He makes food for us each day.…"
"He takes the chill off our meat. We would know if he altered it. With all those spices he's using, you wouldn't be able to tell if he poured battery acid over the whole concoction. "
"I think you're being overly cautious," I say. "Still, there's an easy way to allay your suspicions."
When Santos brings the skillet to the table, he holds it in front of me first. "Came' Diablo," he announces, and begins to shovel some onto my plate with a fork.
I hold up one hand, stop him and make a show of examining the contents of the pan, the thick reddish-brown sauce still bubbling from the heat-fumes rising as I stir my fork around the simmering strips of beef. "You and Casey first," I say.
He grins. "Sure, Boss. You want to make sure I didn't slip any ground glass into it, huh?" Santos takes the fork, stabs a piece of meat and chews on it as he serves Casey. "Eat," he tells her. "The man wants to see that it won't kills us."
He spears another piece, chews on it. "That enough, Boss? You feel safe now?"
I nod, look away as he serves me and wait for him to sit down before I taste the dish.
"Come on," he says after he sits. "It's only food. Give it a try."
The aroma almost overwhelms me. I harpoon a small piece of meat with my fork and nibble on it. Even in such small quantity, the flavor explodes in my mouth. "Delicious," I say, stab another piece and wolf it down. I consume bite after bite, Jorge smiling as I eat-and I wonder why I've never tried anything but plain meat and fish my entire life.
Santos cautions me. "Take it easy, Boss. It's spicier than you think." But I don't stop until just sauce remains on my plate. Only then do I feel the heat that's building inside my mouth, my throat, my stomach. I grab my glass, drain the water in one sustained gulp then, momentarily speechless, motion for more.
Casey and Santos both guffaw at my antics, even as they run to the kitchen. Elizabeth rolls her eyes. I gasp and wait. Thankfully, the Cuban and the woman soon return, each carrying a large flagon of water. I grab one from Casey, drain it at once. When I grab the other, a look passes between the two of them and I pause before I drink it down. But the heat begins to return and I dismiss my suspicions and gulp down that water too.
"I told you to take it easy," Santos says.
"True." I nod. "You did."
"Next time you'll know how to pace it out."
"If there is a next time," I say.
"Come on, Boss. You liked it. You know it was good."
Now that the heat has subsided, the aftertaste seems to penetrate every tastebud I have. "It was good," I admit.
"And you'd like me to make it for you again. Wouldn't you, Boss?"
I smile and nod.
The winter wind, surprisingly gentle this year, blows in small huffs against the windows. The hearth remains cold, the evening too warm for a fire. Momentarily full, relaxed, I stay in my seat and watch while Casey clears the table and Jorge sets up the chess board. Elizabeth rises, kisses me and goes downstairs to nap.
Later, I know, after the humans are locked in their cells, my hunger will return. Elizabeth and I will take to the sky to hunt and to feast on fresh meat and warm blood. But for now I'm content. Casey turns on the television, settles down near us to watch a game show. Jorge chooses the white pieces, as he does each evening. Opens with his queen's knight to the queen's rook's right.
I smile. The move never works for him. The man opens aggressively then invariably turns timid, playing a defensive game, predictive and routine. Checkmate is already in my sight. In truth, I beat him each night. I wonder why he never loses heart.
Chapter 25
February passes, then March, with Elizabeth growing larger and more moody each day. By the beginning of April, she refuses to change into her human shape at all. "It's too uncomfortable, " she tells me, lying in her bed of hay. "When I take that form, my back hurts, my bladder feels as if its going to burst." She pats the scales on her swollen midriff. "At least in my natural state, there's more than enough room for our son."
I see no reason to argue with her or to try to bring her out of our room. Whatever oversight Casey requires, I can give. She knows well enough by now how to tend the garden. Because of the help Santos and his woman provide, I have more than enough time to maintain our bedchamber and to tend to Elizabeth's needs-bringing her food from the kitchen, changing her hay.
It shames me to admit neither I nor the humans miss her presence very much. Santos cajoles me into buying rods and reels and we begin to set aside a little time each day for fishing in the harbor.
"My father used to take me fishing with him," Jorge says. "I was still little when he died. He used to swap rods, give me his when a fish took his hook. He always made a big deal saying he couldn't reel them in like I could. Sometimes at the end of the day, he'd build a fire for us and we'd cook our catch and eat it before we went home. Then, when we got home, we'd pretend at first to my mom, that we hadn't caught anything. I always giggled and gave it away." The Cuban shrugs. "Every time I fish, I think of him."
I nod, and think about my father. It surprises me to realize he did much the same thing. "When I was little, mine used to take me hunting. He would pretend he didn't see the prey, let me take it down first. Or sometimes he would make believe he needed my help, call on me to finish the kill… My proudest day was the first time he sent me out alone, knowing he trusted me."