Chapter 50

Jenna gives me a quick tour around the mission grounds, and then we walk down to the nursery at the bottom of the hill. She shows me what she calls a lavanderia that runs through the center of the nursery. It was the first project she took on at the mission. Water runs through a narrow canal that is flanked by banks of graduated stones, but she says the first time she saw it, the stones were only dry ruins, most covered by dirt. "I guess I have a little bit of my mother's passion for restoration." It's obvious she's proud of the lavanderia and the surrounding lush landscape. She spots a priest in the distance where a grove of orange trees begins. He's examining the leaves on one of them.

"There he is," she says, like I would know who he is. "Can you wait here? I'll just be a minute. I need to talk to Father Andre about something."

Privately. I get it. Why doesn't she just say it? I nod and watch her walk away. I don't know why I should feel annoyed, but I do. She's entitled to private business. Maybe even an impromptu confession. Do priests still take confession?

I walk along the edge of the lavanderia, bending to pretend I'm looking at the gargoyle spitting water from its mouth into the canal, but I sneak peeks, watch her walking, waving to Father Andre, hugging Father Andre, and then standing close to him. Everything about her body becomes tense and private--the way she wraps her arms around her waist, the way her shoulders stiffen, the way her eyes sweep the surrounding landscape. I sit on the top level of stones of the canal and watch sideways. She glances at me, and Father Andre follows her glance, turning briefly to look my way and then turning his back to me again.

Jenna faces my direction, and I watch her lips. Unlike Gatsbro, with his hand so often cupped near his mouth, she's an easy read, articulate and deliberate.

His name is Locke.

Father Andre keeps shifting his weight, intermittently blocking her face and interrupting the flow of words. I try to adjust my position, but if I move too much, a tree branch blocks her face instead.

Yes, just yesterday--

--may need your help--

--they still watch me closely--

I wish the priest would stop moving.

Could be unpredictable, and we--

--I know you have your ways--

I don't want him killed. That's not what I'm saying, but I--

--eliminate if necessary--

The priest shakes his head. What is she saying?

--could be dangerous. We can't trust him--

--dispose of the problem--

The priest nods.

Thank you.

She looks over the priest's shoulder and sees me point-blank staring at her. I don't even try to hide it. Her eyes widen, and she says a rushed good-bye to the priest, then runs toward me, but I am already walking away.

Yes, Jenna. I'm dangerous. No question about it.

And it looks like you are too.