usually he found some way to get around them.
She discovered he was an accomplished pianist purely by chance one evening when she walked in on him playing after work. Her employer remained a mystery to her, but that made him even more desirable in her mind. Betty loved a good mystery, especially when it came wrapped in a six-foot-two-inch chiseled body with dark eyes that could melt you where you stood.
She worked quickly to get their donor list updated. If she worked through lunch, she could leave with plenty of time to change and let her hair down.
If tonight went according to plan, Calisto would be the one melting. She could hardly wait.
§
1775
The Old One was gone.
Gregorio struggled to grow into his new role within the tribe. He settled disputes, reading each party’s thoughts to discover the truth, and healed the injured, closing their wounds with his own blood. The local tribes admired his abilities and judgment. They treated him with honor and awed reverence, but deep inside, his soul still burned with rage and hungered for revenge.
Tonight, he would hunger no more. The Kumeyaay people were not neophytes, as the priests so often labeled them. They were a proud people, rich with tradition, but the Church sought to change that, to change them, by whatever means necessary.
The Spanish, his own people, would pay for taking Tala from him and enslaving the Kumeyaay tribes. The priests would not go unpunished.
The moon shone brightly above them, casting light on the silent mission as the tribes banded together to fight for their freedom. Over 600 warriors silently surrounded the structure. The Spanish would call this the day of the Alcala Massacre, but for Gregorio, the Night Night Walker 51
Walker, it marked the night of judgment for a man he once called friend.
He had prepared the warriors for this fight, drawing pictures of the muskets and explaining how they were used. Warriors gathered from many tribes, each sharing a common fear of the white men who sought to steal their identity and way of life.
Tala’s death at the hand of a Spaniard provided further proof the white men were a threat to all of the tribes. Even their women and children were not safe.
With the warriors in place, a single battle cry broke the evening’s stillness. In seconds, the wooden planks of the mission’s roof blazed.
At the same time, another band of warriors smashed the clay flumes that brought fresh water into the mission, making it impossible to extinguish the fire.
Gregorio remained hidden in the darkness, watching the fire feed on the buildings he helped erect only a year earlier. Father Jayme insisted they move the mission from the coast to the inland valley, closer to the native workers. Gregorio helped them move one plank at a time and rebuild one adobe wall at a time.
He looked up at the bell tower now engulfed in flames. So much had changed in such a short time. A few musket blasts erupted as the Spanish guards made a feeble attempt to defend the mission, but it was already too late. They soon realized the futility of their efforts and sought to escape with the priests and servants.
Kumeyaay women and men scrambled out of the burning mission, taking whatever food and trinkets they could carry. But Gregorio didn’t move.
It wasn’t long until he saw the man he waited for.
“ Amar a Dios, hijos !” Father Luis Jayme called as he ran toward the natives.
Gregorio rushed forward before the priest uttered another word and yanked him close. They stared at one another, eye to eye. The depth of his hatred for this man stunned him. Until Tala’s murder, Gregorio had never hated anyone, but this man had introduced a bitter emptiness into his soul that slowly poisoned him.
52 LISA KESSLER
They were once close friends. Brothers. But again, so much had changed. Too much.
Father Jayme’s face brightened with a smile. “Brother Salvador!
Thank our Lord you are safe. We feared you were dead.” The priest opened his
She discovered he was an accomplished pianist purely by chance one evening when she walked in on him playing after work. Her employer remained a mystery to her, but that made him even more desirable in her mind. Betty loved a good mystery, especially when it came wrapped in a six-foot-two-inch chiseled body with dark eyes that could melt you where you stood.
She worked quickly to get their donor list updated. If she worked through lunch, she could leave with plenty of time to change and let her hair down.
If tonight went according to plan, Calisto would be the one melting. She could hardly wait.
§
1775
The Old One was gone.
Gregorio struggled to grow into his new role within the tribe. He settled disputes, reading each party’s thoughts to discover the truth, and healed the injured, closing their wounds with his own blood. The local tribes admired his abilities and judgment. They treated him with honor and awed reverence, but deep inside, his soul still burned with rage and hungered for revenge.
Tonight, he would hunger no more. The Kumeyaay people were not neophytes, as the priests so often labeled them. They were a proud people, rich with tradition, but the Church sought to change that, to change them, by whatever means necessary.
The Spanish, his own people, would pay for taking Tala from him and enslaving the Kumeyaay tribes. The priests would not go unpunished.
The moon shone brightly above them, casting light on the silent mission as the tribes banded together to fight for their freedom. Over 600 warriors silently surrounded the structure. The Spanish would call this the day of the Alcala Massacre, but for Gregorio, the Night Night Walker 51
Walker, it marked the night of judgment for a man he once called friend.
He had prepared the warriors for this fight, drawing pictures of the muskets and explaining how they were used. Warriors gathered from many tribes, each sharing a common fear of the white men who sought to steal their identity and way of life.
Tala’s death at the hand of a Spaniard provided further proof the white men were a threat to all of the tribes. Even their women and children were not safe.
With the warriors in place, a single battle cry broke the evening’s stillness. In seconds, the wooden planks of the mission’s roof blazed.
At the same time, another band of warriors smashed the clay flumes that brought fresh water into the mission, making it impossible to extinguish the fire.
Gregorio remained hidden in the darkness, watching the fire feed on the buildings he helped erect only a year earlier. Father Jayme insisted they move the mission from the coast to the inland valley, closer to the native workers. Gregorio helped them move one plank at a time and rebuild one adobe wall at a time.
He looked up at the bell tower now engulfed in flames. So much had changed in such a short time. A few musket blasts erupted as the Spanish guards made a feeble attempt to defend the mission, but it was already too late. They soon realized the futility of their efforts and sought to escape with the priests and servants.
Kumeyaay women and men scrambled out of the burning mission, taking whatever food and trinkets they could carry. But Gregorio didn’t move.
It wasn’t long until he saw the man he waited for.
“ Amar a Dios, hijos !” Father Luis Jayme called as he ran toward the natives.
Gregorio rushed forward before the priest uttered another word and yanked him close. They stared at one another, eye to eye. The depth of his hatred for this man stunned him. Until Tala’s murder, Gregorio had never hated anyone, but this man had introduced a bitter emptiness into his soul that slowly poisoned him.
52 LISA KESSLER
They were once close friends. Brothers. But again, so much had changed. Too much.
Father Jayme’s face brightened with a smile. “Brother Salvador!
Thank our Lord you are safe. We feared you were dead.” The priest opened his
Similar Books
