caught a moment for themselves away from the boisterous children. Unlike the main meeting room, there were several smaller tables in here surrounded by comfortable chairs.
Isabel closed and locked the door.
Zeke braced himself for the worst.
Rather than speaking, she went to a cupboard on the far left. Inside were packaged snacks—Cheetos, Snickers, Pringles, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. She reached behind them and opened a hidden compartment. From there, she pulled out what appeared to be a stack of photos.
Isabel placed them side by side on the table nearest to Zeke, then said, “Look at these.”
He wanted to ask why but figured it would only prolong whatever this was leading up to. Zeke wondered if those were photos of his parents. Did Isabel honestly believe she could use their memory to shame him into doing what she wanted?
He wanted to tell her it wouldn’t work. He ached to leave.
On a heavy sigh, he went to the table and regarded the pictures. Taken at various times, clearly different decades, they depicted several members of the clan dressed in that period’s clothing. Like the garments, the scenery behind them also changed. The oldest photos showed the desert landscape dotted by teepees, their people wearing buckskin, their braided hair decorated with eagle feathers. In the later pictures, Anglo clothing and storefronts replaced the earlier Comanche lifestyle.
Many of these photos appeared to be from the early eighteen hundreds. Was the process to take pictures even available then? How was it possible that it had been so good? These were remarkable images, as sharp as those from today’s digital cameras. Not understanding, Zeke glanced at Isabel.
She tapped her finger against the table. “Look at the pictures. Tell me what you see.”
“Our people,” he said.
“You’re not looking,” she accused. “You’re not seeing. You’re deliberately being blind about this, just as you’ve been about everything concerning your clan since you brought that woman here.
Clenching his jaw, Zeke regarded the pictures, not knowing what in the hell he was supposed to be looking for. A sign that he shouldn’t have brought Liz here? A message written in the dirt or in the sky? A particularly threatening scowl that would reveal what his ancestors thought of—
Zeke’s musing stopped as he more closely studied the faces. Once he had, he compared the earliest picture to the most recent one. All of the people in it were different, of course. The previous ones gone because they’d died as many as a hundred-and-ninety years before.
Except for one individual—a woman.
Zeke’s mouth went dry. He took the two photos, placing them next to each other. The same woman was in each, nearly two centuries apart. She hadn’t changed a bit. Hadn’t aged past her sixty or so years.
No. It wasn’t possible.
Zeke stared at Isabel’s image in all of the pictures. It had to be a trick. She’d done this on Photoshop.
As though she’d read his mind, or perhaps his expression, she murmured, “The tales the elders have told about the Others—that we’ve walked among you in your earthly form—aren’t simply myths, Zeke. I’ve been with your clan from the start, well before you were known as Comanche. I was sent here to watch over all of you, to make certain your people protected the land and heritage we provided, that you didn’t dishonor your gift of prophecy or us.”
Zeke forced down a swallow and shook his head. “This is a trick.” He shoved the photos away. Several fell to the floor. “You did this on a computer.”
“Have you ever seen me looking any different than I do now?” she asked.
“This is a damn trick. It’s not going to change my mind about—”
“Have you?” she insisted.
“You know I have,” he said as intensely as she had, his voice as low-pitched. “When I was a kid.”
“And I was your mother’s best friend from high school then, wasn’t I?”
Before Zeke could answer, he noted a subtle difference in Isabel’s eyes. The pupils were no longer round, but vertical, like a reptile’s. And then the whites disappeared, replaced by a golden color.
He gaped, and the phenomenon was gone. As though it had never happened.
“Tell me,” she said, “when did I ever come to your house? When did you ever see me with your mother?”
This was nuts. Her complexion looked darker suddenly, more like hide than skin.
“Zeke?”
He blinked, because she now looked as she always had. What in the fuck was happening?
“When did you see me with your mother?” she repeated.
He snapped, “Many times.”
“When, exactly? During one of your birthday parties? At another celebration your family had, like when you won that track meet in middle school or when Jacob won that spelling bee?”
Zeke thought back to every special event he could think of, knowing there had to be countless instances when the two women had been together. They’d been inseparable. BFF’s. Two normal females.
“You can’t recall details from even one now, can you?” Isabel asked. “Because they never existed. They’re no more than beliefs I put into your mind and those of the others so I could walk among you without causing fear.”
Unable to speak, Zeke kept shaking his head.
Isabel gestured to the pictures.
He studied her hands. The nails seemed yellowed and clawed, then ordinary once more.
“How could I remain the same decade after decade, never growing older? Never dying?” she asked. “Not once have I changed in this form, and no one has asked how that could be. Do you have any idea why?”
He stepped back, not wanting to know or to consider what Isabel really was. That what he kept seeing—or at least thought he had—was her actual appearance and this might be true. When he and his clan had played the holograms left by the Others, they’d spoken English as flawlessly as he did and looked as human as anyone else on this planet. Not even close to this…thing…that seemed to be Isabel.
She went around the table, following him. “I removed or changed the memories the others had of me so no one would question my continued presence. Through the centuries, I’ve always been known as Isabel, or its equivalent, the best friend of the woman who bore the clan’s leader.”
Zeke’s voice shook. “Why are you telling me this?”
“You gave me no choice. No matter what Carreon and his men do, even his latest threat, you insist on that woman being here, on helping his people rather than your own.”
He snapped, “Do you expect me to let another woman die no matter whose clan she belongs to? Do you actually believe I wouldn’t protect Liz? I love her, dammit. I won’t let her go back to Carreon. She’d never survive. She hasn’t harmed anyone here. She’ll be able to help us.”
Isabel regarded him with sadness rather than anger. “You know what you have to do for your clan, and I can make it less painful.”
Was she joking? Isabel wanted him to deny his future with Liz, and she was somehow going to make that all right? “I don’t want to hear it.”
She continued, “As each new generation takes the place of the last, I’ve made them forget that I was there during the time of their grandparents and great grandparents. I’ll do the same with you when it comes to that woman. You won’t hurt anymore if you can no longer remember—”
“
“Your people need you here with them. Your ability to see the future, your enemies’ plans, protects them from Carreon and his men.”
Zeke tightened his fists. “My visions have always taunted more than they’ve helped. Most of the time they’re impossible to understand.”
