But she was certain of one thing: she was going to get to know Sam B. King very well. Just about as well as any woman can know a man.
And that shocked her, for she was a virgin in an age of overt promiscuity.
'How do you get out if you can't use a four-wheel drive?' Sam asked.
'Oh … snowmobiles, helicopters. We have them all at Falcon House,' Black replied with the ease of a person born into great wealth.
'Must be nice,' Sam mused. 'How did your father get his name?' he asked Nydia. 'I've never heard of a person named Falcon.'
'His name is really Falkner,' she replied, her voice touching Sam in some very intimate places, producing some uplifting results. Uncomfortable if one is wearing jeans. 'And he isn't really our father. Our real father is, well . . . either dead or gone someplace; we don't know, since mother refuses to discuss him. The only time she ever mentioned him she flew into a rage.'
'We don't have to hang dirty linen in public, dear,' Black said. 'Besides, you are digressing from the question.'
'Forgive me, brother dear,' Nydia said, her eyes narrowing in sudden anger.
Quick temper, Sam noted, filling that away in the back of his mind.
'Falkner means,' she continued, 'or so I'm told, Falcon hunter. His father began calling him Falcon when he was just a baby. It's been Falcon ever since. Truth or fiction, it's an interesting story.'
'Your mother's name?'
Black smiled, the smile not going unnoticed by Sam, who chose to ignore it, but he filed that away, too. The smile had seemed … odd.
'Roma,' Nydia said. 'Means the wanderer. My mother has … seen most of the world during her life. But despite her age—which by the way, she will not reveal—she is still the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.'
'Even more beautiful than you?' Sam said, the words popping from his mouth.
Black laughed and so did his sister. 'Thank you,' she said. 'But in answer to your question: yes, she is. You'll see. Roma is beautiful.'
'Falcon and Roma,' Sam mused. 'Fascinating names.'
'We are an unusual family,' she replied. 'I believe after you've spent some time with us you'll agree with that.'
More than you realize, sister, Black thought. And soon it will be time for you to know just who you are. And what you were born to do—and become.
The trio had flown into Montreal, picked up one of the family's fleet of cars, and now, at St. Gervais, they all helped transfer the gear, then clamored noisily into the four-wheel for the eighty-mile trip into what Black called Canada's near outback.
A thought popped into Sam's brain, the thought becoming vocal before he knew why he said it, 'You guys go to church?'
'No,' Black said, trying to keep his reply from being too short. 'We were taught to believe in God … and especially,' he fought a smile, 'the Devil. But we practice no form of … popularly organized religion.'
'I've gone to a church several times since I've been at Carrington,' Nydia said. 'I found it most interesting. I plan to keep on attending.'
Black almost lost the big four-wheel. He wanted to scream at his sister, but instead bit his lip so hard he brought a drop of blood. Stupid bitch! he silently cursed her.
'Do you go to church, Sam?' she asked.
'Not as often as I should. I kind of got away from it in the service. I've got to start back, though. Nydia? How come you didn't go on to college when you got out of high school? I mean, I don't mean to be nosy; you can tell me to go to hell if you want.'
Precisely where you are going, Sam, Black thought. In time.
Again, that lovely laughter from the backseat. 'Don't be silly, Sam. No, mother asked if I wanted to go straight to school, or see the world with her and wait for Black to complete his stint in the service. Mother wanted him to go into the military. A real tough branch of the service.
Said in the years to come, the training would do him a lot of good. She said she once knew a man whom she admired greatly; she wanted Black to be like him in some ways. I think she said this man was a guerrilla fighter of some type; Special Forces, maybe.'
'Sounds like my dad,' Sam said, gazing out the window.
If the communiques could have been heard by human ears, they would have sounded like the rolling of enormous thunder splitting the heavens.
'How about it, Mighty One?' the dark voice ripped through the heavens. 'A wager, perhaps?'
The replying voice was calm and assured. 'Don't tempt me, Beelzebub. I might decide to end it all. I did once before, remember?'
'Bah! You won't. Not for this inconsequential bit of rabble. Your team against mine, like in the old days. If you win, I'll give you a million whimpering souls from the pits—so to speak.'
'I could take them if I so desired. It was their choice. It always is. You should know. Remember: Thou shalt have no other God …'
'Oh, shut up! Don't bore me with that drivel! I had quite enough of that claptrap infinities ago.'
