Read an Excerpt

CRADLE GIFT

---

By Patricia Bossano

iUniverse LLC

Copyright © 2013 Patricia Bossano
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4917-0235-2

---

CHAPTER 1

From her hiding place behind a jar of cotton swabs, a cloaked figure with luminous, aquamarine eyes peered unblinking at the tag fixed to one of the bassinettes in the nursery:

Maité Bottini-Santillán

D&TOB: 21-JUL-1992 3:58 a.m.

Mother: Alba Santillán-Bottini

Father: Sósimo Bottini

Barely two hours old, she thought. Her eyes shifted irritably to the heavyset nurse who continued to fuss over the sleeping babies. I need only a few minutes. She bit her lip and transferred the weight of her body to the leg that didn't hurt as bad. She leaned against the coolness of the jar and squinted in the half-light, wishing the nurse would leave at once.

Watched by the luminous eyes, the woman shuffled across the hall to the nurse's station; she picked up a cup of something steaming, brought it close to her face, and took a whiff. However, not until she fell into whispered conversation with the other nurse on duty did the cloaked figure fully come out from behind the jar to better examine her surroundings.

A harsh fluorescent strip of light from the hallway cut into the amber glow in the nursery.

Seeming to gather a shape from the shadows, the shrouded figure shifted her height and emerged in human size on the sanitized floor.

She staggered several steps toward the object of her attention. "This is the one," she whispered, swaying a little. She doubled over with her scraped hands on her knees for support and settled her aching limbs with a series of calming breaths.

Feeling somewhat steady and careful not to disturb the other bassinettes, she made her way to the second crib on the third row. She clutched its acrylic edge, overcome with a mixture of relief, exhaustion and excitement. A hoarse sound, like a pained groan, issued from under the frayed hood of the indigo cloak. Once again she murmured, "This is the one."

With a trembling hand, she touched the baby's smooth forehead. Maité's eyes opened as the woman began to speak.

"Egun on, Maitagarri," she whispered. "Bai, little one, it has been a long time since I last bestowed a cradle gift." With a grimace, she drew back the hood of her cloak. A mass of disheveled blonde curls streaked with turquoise tumbled down her shoulders, making her quiver with pain. Nevertheless, she smiled as she spoke to the baby.

"But I am here now, little one," she said, trying to ignore the dull pain spreading from the gash on her shoulder to her scraped forearm and wrist.

"It is I, Nahia." She knew full well Maité would not remember or understand this moment for years to come—fifteen years, to be precise, as custom dictated.

With her good arm, Nahia reached into the crib and loosened the blanket the nurse had wrapped so tight around the baby. "There. That is much-better," she said, scanning the room as she wiped the beads of sweat from her temple. "Now ... to the point ... my, Maitagarri."

Something in the relaxed atmosphere of the nursery shifted, and the smile on Nahia's lips faltered and then tightened. A moan escaped as she lightly pressed her aching side to soothe the ache there. Nahia's confidence in the energy barrier she'd conjured wavered for a moment.

I couldn't have been followed, she decided, choosing to believe she had time. A faint humming drifted into Nahia's range of hearing, causing her heart to beat double time and her cheeks to flush with dread. She feverishly went over all the details of her recent escape.

"She was unconscious—I made sure!" Nahia insisted even as she searched the room again. Her eyes narrowed, straining in the half-light to make out the source of the hateful sound. She hoped it was a trick of her nerves.

"Time is short," Nahia said, looking down on the infant Maité.

Her wounded arm hung limp and useless. Her breath came in clipped bursts, keeping time with the throbbing slash on her thigh, and she felt certain her ankle was badly sprained, if not broken.

Nahia had fought well, vanquishing the three subordinates the Beautiful One set on her, whose orders were to drag Nahia underground. There they would have demanded Basajaun from Nahia and forced her to resurrect the realm. To have escaped a trap—one set in her own home, no less—was poor consolation now that she knew the truth: the Beautiful One stood poised to usurp Nahia's throne, and over the past decades, the Beautiful One had plotted to destroy Nahia upon her return.

Yes, Nahia had fought well. It wasn't her first victory and would not be her last battle against the greedy Beautiful One.

Nahia shook her head, dismissing the thoughts. "I must not delay," she declared, raising her good arm over the crib so her palm hovered above the baby. The hum started again and became louder. Nahia ignored it. "I will not have time to give you all I intended."

Nahia's eyes darted from one corner of the room to the other as the gift poured out of her. "It will have to be dreams, little one, my Maitagarri. Seek the truth in your slumber. Your dreams will take you into the world of others."

Despite the fears assailing her, Nahia uttered the words in a sing-song intonation that filled the room like a choir. Fragrant jasmine petals issued from Nahia's hand as she spoke, falling around Maité and sealing the charm.

Beads of sweat gathered again like dew on Nahia's porcelain brow. "Beware of the—"

The humming became a hiss, closing in around Nahia; she could hear it outside the building, lapping at the walls. She cocked her head to one side, her eyes narrowed into slits. Fear and rage in equal measure overtook her.

Time is up.

Mingled with the unnatural buzz, Nahia detected the virulent laughter she knew so well. This is the real trap, she realized at last, and the enormity of the plot appalled her.

Nahia's gaze flitted from the open doorway to the four inky corners of the nursery, and back to Maité in her crib. Still nothing—just the frenzied pounding of her heart in her chest.

"Beware of the Beautiful One," Nahia warned again, ready to depart, but as her eyes took in Maité's small face, she became disoriented by the baby's eerily wide-open and seemingly focused eyes. Maité made a tight fist around Nahia's little finger and clung fast to it.

Overwhelmed with tenderness, Nahia's next words came in rapid bursts. "This is all I can do, Maitagarri; they are approaching." She leaned over the crib to kiss the fist, which was strong enough to bind Nahia forever, yet so vulnerable it could be crushed as easily as the jasmine petals surrounding Maité's small form.

Panic set in. "If I brought her to you—" Her words were a guilt-ridden groan.

Nahia pressed her lips into a thin line. "The Beautiful One won't know the truth; I promise you that much. Her ignorance will be her undoing!" She gently lifted the baby's foot and bent down to kiss it, tears of longing gleaming in her eyes.

"Agur, Maitagarri. Beware."

Nahia's last words to Maité hung in the air as she shape-shifted. She funneled into herself and now stood a fifth of her former human size. Suspended midair above the crib in the compact size most comfortable to her, Nahia glanced with regret at the baby, aware she was taking too long but hesitating anyway, until a cracking noise broke through the droning hiss.

A horrible laughter drowned everything else, and a surge of adrenaline wiped out Nahia's pain. She gritted her teeth; her energy barrier had been punctured.

"They don't have me yet!" she fumed, as the protective barrier began to deflate around her.

No time to conjure a repair, only escape.

With a swift horizontal shift toward the door, Nahia hastened out of the nursery and passed the nurses' station undetected. She found a partially open window at the end of the hall and squeezed through the narrow gap into the cool air outside. Nahia propelled herself forward with all her might—so eager to escape, she only fleetingly glimpsed a wall of red vapor materializing in front of her.

As Nahia rushed forward, the thick mist stopped her momentum with bone-cracking force. She plummeted like a rag doll toward the concrete sidewalk four stories below.

Nahia twisted in the air and saw a creature hovering above the window. The Beautiful One, she realized, spotting the blazing red eyes, which glared at Nahia's falling body with detached contempt. The instant their eyes locked, Nahia saw the creature lunge downward, as if pulled by a magnetic force, and Nahia felt herself snatched from the grip of death a fraction of a second before hitting the ground.

Still rattled by the collision with the deceptive vapor, and drifting in and out of consciousness, Nahia caught glimpses of the red locks of hair and the smoldering eyes of her enemy. As they rocketed into the air, the pressure of gravity pounded on her temples.

What has she saved me for? Nahia wondered and then trembled at the possible answer.

"Whatever gift you gave her means nothing. That baby is nothing." The Beautiful One's syrupy voice snaked into Nahia's ear, overwhelming her with loathing and despair. "She will have no power over me. She is no better than her ancestors."

Nahia collected her wits while the redheaded creature appeared to search the sky for a suitable route.

Nahia felt a shift in their direction. East.

The Beautiful One let out a haughty laugh but then leaned in close to nuzzle Nahia's neck. Her lips grazed Nahia's ear as she whispered, "Do you realize you are now in my debt?"

Nahia gasped. The effects of the collision seemed to be lifting. She needed to fight, but her limbs wouldn't respond.

"For now, however"—the throaty voice went on while she pried Nahia's mouth open with her fingers—"a little something for the crossing?"

Nahia heard the hated laughter ringing in her ears and tasted an acrid paste being smeared into her mouth. It liquefied on contact.

"No!" Nahia cried, her mouth working clumsily to spit it out, but it was too late. The numbness spread down her throat when she couldn't help swallowing the potion. Her tongue felt like a stuffed flannel cushion. Very soon her limbs would be immobilized.

Nahia's eyes took on a marble-like appearance as the paste worked through her. Her turquoise-streaked curls flailed in the fierce wind that snatched tears of rage from her eyes.

Soon we'll be crossing the ocean. Soon, I'll be trapped underground. How will I keep my promise to Maité?

"Ederne, stop," Nahia murmured feebly, or thought she did. She fought to keep her eyes from closing while the Beautiful One's—Ederne's—laughter clanged in her ears.

Nahia lost the battle against the effects of the strong potion. Ederne's flawless face bathed in moonlight was the last thing Nahia saw before her eyes closed.

The air already smelled of salt.

CHAPTER 2

Fifteen years later. Bottini-Santillán residence

A flowery scent lingered on Maité's pillow. She breathed it in, weightless in that sparkling place between dreaming and waking.

Jasmine, she thought, relishing the fragrance, which triggered the recall of her dream.

Maité saw the jasmine petals like a nimbus around a baby's head and thought, Around my head; that baby was me. She felt the woman's kiss on her foot before the woman took her leave. Then Maité saw her, limp and helpless, in the arms of another, the redheaded creature who had whisked her through the air.

East.

Fear for the woman with the turquoise streaks momentarily overwhelmed Maité, causing her to fully wake.

Most of the dream slipped immediately beyond her conscious reach. The fact that the nursery in her dream smelled exactly like her pillow didn't register.

But it didn't matter; July 21 had dawned.

"I'm fifteen today," she said, stretching on to her back with a pleased grin. It flickered into a frown when she realized her head was at the foot of the bed. How had she come to be so turned around? She tossed her pillow back to its rightful place and tugged at the sheets around her—she'd rolled herself twice in them.

An image flitted into her mind of a pair of scraped hands loosening a baby from a tight blanket, but before Maité could follow the thread back to the dream she'd nearly forgotten, she heard her parents, Sósimo and Alba, already busy packing downstairs.

"Happy birthday to me," she sang to the two faeries in their chrome frames on the wall. She imagined they winked at her, and Maité winked back. With one last tug, she freed her legs from the sheets and got out of bed. A quick glance at the clock on her bedside table told her the fun she anticipated was only two hours away.

They'd been planning her birthday celebration at Pineview Reservoir for days. At ten in the morning, Maité, her parents, and the Allens—Verónica and her husband, Michael—plus Emily, Maité's best friend, and Emily's younger brother, Gabriel, would be on the road, hauling two jet skis and four inflatable rafts, plus two buckets full of sand toys, towels, and chairs for everyone.

Maité couldn't imagine a better way to spend her birthday and couldn't wait for the day to begin.

Maité and Emily helped unload the van. They took the last cooler between them and set it down on the sand by their chairs. Maité stood for a moment looking at the sparkling water, convinced all of nature schemed to pull off this perfect day just for her. She took off her long T-shirt and set her squatty chair at the very edge of the water. She wore a white bikini she knew she looked pretty good in. Maité was lean, though rounded in all the right places, and the white bathing suit accentuated her glimmering tan, or her sepia coloring, as Emily called it.

Maité's wild mane of dark-blonde hair dangled in a thick braid over the back of her chair, almost touching the sand. Her stormy gray eyes peered at the blue water through white-rimmed sunglasses. It was eighty-seven degrees and she thought the conditions heavenly.

Beside her, Emily, lanky and freckled, thoroughly marinated in SPF70 and wearing a tankini and board shorts, dug her toes into the wet sand.

Maité's lips curved upward, noting her friend's head moving from side to side. Emily's analytical hazel eyes, shaded by a baseball cap, followed the foam football as it passed between two boys waist deep in water. When one of them emerged from a splashy dive for the ball, shaking water off his hair and looking at Maité, Emily muttered, "Showoffs."

"What?" Maité asked, feigning indifference even though she'd also been watching the boys' performance.

Emily let out a snort. "Boys."

"Let's go play ball with the showoffs and cool down," Maité suggested.

Emily pursed her lips but stood at once. Maité laughed, held out her hand, and let Emily pull her out of her chair.

They passed the football back and forth with the boys for a while and then helped Emily's little brother, Gabriel, dig holes in the sand.

When her mother, Alba, pulled cupcakes from the cooler, their group of six, plus the two boys who'd apparently decided Emily was okay even if she threw better than they did—surrounded the picnic table and sang for Maité in a very entertaining jumble of languages: Sósimo in Italian, Alba and Verónica in Spanish, and everyone else in English. When they finished, except for Gabriel, who kept piping up with "and many more on channel four, and a big fat hen on channel ten ..." there was a smattering of applause, even from people beneath neighboring umbrellas. Maité took a bow, punctuating it with a delighted, "Grazie, gracias," and a "thank you."

"I guess this will do—I mean, in place of a quinceañera party," Emily said, giving Maité a one-arm hug and touching her cupcake to Maité's as if they were champagne flutes.

"It's great, isn't it?" Maité beamed.

"You should've gone out with Finn," Emily said through a mouthful of frosting.

"If only I were allowed to date, and if only he hadn't gone out of town for the summer," Maité replied, feigning a sadness she didn't feel because she preferred a small circle for special occasions. She treasured the feeling of belonging to a family. And these six people—Alba, Sósimo, Verónica, Michael, Emily, and Gabriel—were her family. They belonged to one another. "Today's perfect!" she said, taking a huge bite of her own cupcake.

"Yeah, cuz you're weird." Emily grinned, thumping Maité on the shoulder.
(Continues...)

---

Excerpted from CRADLE GIFT by Patricia Bossano. Copyright © 2013 Patricia Bossano. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

---