Higher Ground

Chapter 2-2

As soon as the words left his lips, Gabriel realized that perhaps he had said the wrong thing. Ava didn’t exactly recoil, but she did seem to withdraw slightly, the concerned expression she wore replaced by something almost ferociously blank, as though she was working very hard to not let any emotions show themselves on her face.

“I see you don’t believe that is a noble cause,” he said, and she looked as though she wanted to shake her head but stopped herself.

“I — well, I tend to think it’s better to sit back and let karma sort things out, but I’ve never had anyone do anything to me that’s remotely close to what Vicénte and the elders did to you, so….” Nervous fingers played with a strand of long, dark hair, and she glanced down at the floor, as if she’d suddenly found something fascinating in the pattern of the intricate, well-worn Persian rug beneath their feet.

He had been honest with her because he’d already allowed her into his mind and saw no reason to dissemble when it came to his intentions, but it was possible he could have phrased things a bit more delicately. “You see,” he went on, hoping he could make her understand, “it is not only what Vicénte did to me, but what he will continue to do as primus of the Escobar clan. He might not have all our father Joaquin’s powers, but he is certainly as ruthless. For centuries, the clan has been ruled by men much like him, but Vicénte has a certain recklessness that worries me. He is not fit to hold such a position of power. He chafes at the isolation in which he must live, for even though his word is law and he has the finest house in the village, he can only think of what he might do if he were not so constrained. You understand?”

“I think so,” Ava said slowly. Her fingers knotted together; for the first time, Gabriel saw that she wore on the middle finger of her right hand a gold ring with a fiery opal mounted in it, a ring that looked quite old. A family heirloom? Perhaps. “I assume it was Vicénte’s idea to take the grimoires.”

“Yes. He never revealed to me exactly how he heard of them in the first place, but he was very excited by the prospect of having them in his possession.” Gabriel stopped himself there, deciding he did not need to relate in detail the arguments he and Vicénte had had regarding those books, how eventually Vicénte had resorted to extortion and threats because he knew there was no other way to coerce his more powerful brother into doing what he wanted done. “You see, if he’d had the books for any amount of time, had learned how to work the magic contained within them, then he would have been stronger than me. I am only one man, but he could have commanded armies of demons.”

A visible shiver passed over Ava, and she gave a reluctant nod. “I can see how that would be a very bad thing. But…the books are destroyed, and you’re safe here now. I don’t know why you can’t just leave it alone.”

“If you had met my brother, you would not say such a thing.” Gabriel reached for his iced tea and drank some more, for his throat was becoming dry. “He might have been thwarted when the books burned to nothing, true, but one setback will not stop him. Who knows what other valuable magical books or objects might be out there in the world to be taken, what prize he might set his sights on next? And also, even without the help of the grimoires, he is a very strong warlock. There are many strong witches and warlocks in the Escobar clan. If Vicénte decides he has had enough of hiding, then he will strike against the nonmagical people in the area, bend them to his will. The nearest village — San Matías — is already under his control, as it has been under the control of the Escobar clan for generations, but I doubt he will be content with so few followers for very much longer.”

“He wouldn’t really do something like that, would he?” Ava looked aghast; she swallowed, then reached for her own glass of tea and hastily drank some. “I mean, all of us witches and warlocks know that we can’t let the civilians find out about us. We have magical powers, true, but we would be so outnumbered that it still wouldn’t be any kind of a fair fight. If they wanted to get rid of us, they could.”

“And would, if threatened.” This was the same argument Gabriel had used with his brother, although Vicénte had not seemed terribly concerned. Most likely, he did not have any true concept of the world beyond the borders of El Salvador, or even the neighboring countries of Guatemala and Honduras. He did not know — or seem interested in learning — how strong the civilians were, how large their armies were, what types of terrible weapons could be brought against witch-kind if it was decided they presented a large enough threat. His was an arrogance born of parochialism, of believing that the Escobar clan would be able to easily vanquish any possible foes.

“I can see why you want to stop him,” Ava said, her expression more troubled than ever. Something about the vulnerability Gabriel saw in her face made him want to reach out and comfort her, but of course he could not do anything so bold, not when they had only met less than half an hour ago. He knew he should be glad that she was willing to listen to him at all. “But…even if you somehow got your powers back, do you really think you would be able to take on your entire clan?”

No, he was not quite that arrogant. He frowned, saying, “That was never my plan. It was my hope that I could persuade enough of them to realize our father Joaquin was mistaken in making him the heir, that I should have been the one to lead the Escobar clan. I was far too young when my father left for my powers to have begun to develop — I was barely two years old — and so he did what he thought best, which was to designate Vicénte as his heir in the event anything happened to him.”

“And he probably thought nothing would happen, and that he’d return to Pico n***o after putting Matías in place as the head of the Santiagos in Southern California,” Ava remarked.

“Most likely. He did not have much sense of his own mortality, based on what I have heard other people say about him.” Joaquin’s pride wasn’t entirely misplaced, for the Escobars had never seen a warlock like him before. Gabriel knew that even he, with all the talents he’d possessed before the elders had stolen them from him, could not have quite matched his father, since he did not have the null gift — or curse, depending on how one looked at it — and neither did he have Joaquin’s dubious talent for coercing those around him and bending them to his will.

For a few seconds, Ava was quiet, fingers tapping against the side of her iced tea glass. Was she thinking how ludicrous it was for him to believe he could take control of his clan? After all, she had only her brother’s testimony — and Gabriel’s own recollection of the events in Pico n***o — to prove to her that he had the magical strength necessary to become the leader of the Escobars. Indeed, although he would not admit it to her, not when he was trying desperately to enlist her help and the help of her prima, he could not be entirely sure whether he would sway the members of his family or not. They were used to following Vicénte, although if he led them in a direction that invited outside scrutiny and very possibly persecution, they might cast aside their blind obedience in the interest of self-preservation.

But still, Gabriel knew he had to try, even if the odds seemed daunting. Vicénte’s ambitions could not be allowed to go unchecked.

Ava deliberately put her glass back down on its coaster, then looked up, her gaze meeting his directly. Although he could see the way her finely arched brows pulled together, her pretty mouth was set, almost resolute.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll call Miranda.”