Misplaced by SL Hulen Read Free Book Online Page B

to the Mexican border might be confusing. You do remember crossing the border, don’t you?”
    Khara was trapped in some cruel, lucid dream. The sights and sounds, all of them terrifying, brought on sudden waves of nausea. “I remember almost nothing,” she whispered, eyes closed. “I was too frightened by his conveyance.”
    “His truck. They’re called trucks. And what we’re riding in now is a car.”
    “Thank you for correcting me,” Khara said sincerely. “He put me in the back, in a secret box he used for hiding tools. He claimed there was no other way since I had no papers.”
    “Do you?”
    “What?”
    “Have papers.”
    “A citizen of Egypt has no such requirement.”
    “Oh.”
    Victoria’s chatter was calming, and for this kindness, Khara felt truly grateful. The car seemed to float over the road. Except for the melodious whirring sound it made and the perpetually changing scenery, they might not have been moving at all.
    They sailed away from the cluster of lumbering buildings and through the tangle of cars and trucks on an endless ribbon of road. They passed many fine houses, some with elaborate rose gardens. There were smaller, more modest homes, too, with blue frames around the windows. These were similar to homes in Egypt.
    The road narrowed and they climbed higher and higher, until Khara’s hands tightened into fists and beads of sweat formed on her upper lip. Below them, as far as the eye could see, lay an ocean of brown. If not for the evening breeze, the scent of which promised rain, she would surely have been sick to her stomach.
    Soon they arrived at an ornate black gate which opened mysteriously, allowing them to pass. Victoria turned to her, still holding her damp hand, and announced, “We’re here.”
    The conglomeration of buildings nestled into the side of the mountain, connected by walkways and small courtyards, could easily have served as a fortress; the west side offered a lofty view of the desert below. Each building, plastered white with a red-tiled roof, had several doors tucked into corners here and there. Perhaps , Khara thought, observing the building’s position in relation to the sun, it is a system of temples . That would explain much about the tall woman. Her spirit of independence was, without doubt, aided by the tunic and breeches she wore. As unflattering as they were, they were well-designed for ease of movement .
    “I’m not home much,” she related, not looking over her shoulder. They paused at an arched doorway littered with withered plants in clay pots and a stubby ladder propped against the wall.
    Khara followed her inside, squinting against the sun streaming through a transparent wall. The palace boasted glasswork—urns and cups for special ceremonies—but nothing as extravagant as an entire wall! Helpless to resist, she placed her hand against it. “It’s flawless,” she murmured, amazed by the perfection and warmth of the glass. “You live in such luxury. Surely you must be a priestess.”
    “Me? I’m a half-hearted Catholic at best. I parted ways with religion a long time ago,” Victoria responded, unloading her shoulder bag.
    Daylight provided the small residence with a spaciousness that would dissolve after sunset. With the exception of a few colorful vases and a large, bright, red-and-blue rug in the center of the room, most of the furnishings were the color of sand. Victoria opened a window and the curtains billowed softly. Khara inhaled deeply. Bathed in sunlight, she began to relax.
    “How is it you are allowed to live alone?”
    “Who would stop me? Besides, I don’t live entirely alone; Dante shows up occasionally for dinner. Here, let me show you around.”
    The main room included an indoor area for cooking, no doubt required by the inhospitable climate. It featured several cabinets, some featuring shiny compartments and was strangely empty for a place where food was prepared. Victoria went so far as to reveal her sleeping quarters,