The Portal 00 - Legacy of the Witch

said after my first sip.
    He nodded, his eyes on me and way too intent. “A little late
for this, I guess, but I’m Harry,” he said, and extended a hand.
    “Amarrah,” I said.
    “I probably shouldn’t ask, Amarrah, but are you…Middle
Eastern?”
    I lifted my brows and withdrew my hand before it reached his,
instantly offended, as I so often was since Operation Desert Shield had begun.
“That’s because I’m Iraqi. Do you have a problem with that?”
    “Not at all,” he said. “In fact, that makes you even more
qualified to help with the project, don’t you think? It’s good to meet you,
Amarrah.” He reached forward again. This time I let him clasp my hand in
his…
    …and something happened in my brain. There was a flash, and I
was that little girl again.
    I was standing in the garden off the harem
quarters, with a pool and a fountain. Walls surrounded it, hallways leading
in all directions. Three walls were formed by the quarters themselves, and a
fourth stood between me and the outdoors, higher than my head.
    It was over that wall that he
came.
    Harmon, the soldier’s son. He leaped the
wall and landed softly on his feet. It was well after dark, and I was
surprised to see him.
    And delighted, because I knew I was
beautiful now. My lovely harem mistresses, Lilia, Magdalena and Indira, had
braided baubles into my hair, lined my eyes with kohl, dressed me in their
own cast-off trailing garments of soft fabric in exotic colors, even draped
me in their old jewels. I looked like one of them, and not all that much
younger.
    Harmon said, “I’ve been watching for you
to come out, so I could see how you are doing.” And then he stopped, looking
me up and down, his eyes widening. His mouth opened, but no words
emerged.
    I pressed a palm to my chest, spreading my
trailing skirts with one hand and twirling so they flew around me. “Do you
like it?”
    “I can barely breathe,” he
said.
    I frowned at him. “Does that mean you like
it?”
    “It means I like it. Yes. You are more
beautiful than I could have imagined, Amarrah. I almost wish I wasn’t
already promised to another.”
    I lowered my head. “You are?”
    “A foreign general’s daughter. But…but our
wedding is a long way off. I don’t want to talk about that now.”
    “No? What do you want to talk
about?”
    He shrugged. “When you can slip away, so
we can see each other for more than a few minutes.”
    My heart warmed. He liked me, I knew it.
“What about right now? My chores are finished. I was just on my way to bed.
No one will notice if I disappear for a short while.”
    He smiled, nodding and holding out his
hand. “We’ll walk outside the city, into the desert, under the stars. It
will be magic.”
    I took his hand, and I thought that it
already was.

Chapter Three
    I was staring down at our joined hands as if I’d gone
into a trance, and I couldn’t let go.
    “Amarrah?”
    “Yes?”
    “I hope I didn’t offend you. I’m glad you’re Iraqi. I wasn’t
being sarcastic.”
    “Of course not.” It wasn’t until that very moment—as I shook
off the dream or vision or delusion or whatever it had been and refocused on the
immediate situation—that I realized how this would look if he caught on to my
deception. I was Iraqi. He was a decorated veteran of Desert Shield. And I was
here under false pretenses. I might easily be labeled a spy, and given the
current climate in the U.S. where my country was concerned, I could land in
serious trouble.
    I would have to find the witches’ box quickly, then get out
just as quickly. No time for exploring this odd feeling that I knew him, that he
was somehow a part of…of all of it. Everything.
    But he only shrugged. “I’m particularly fond of the Iraqi
people,” he said. “I got very attached to a lot of them while I was there.” He
lowered his eyes. Painful memories washed through him. I felt it as clearly as
if he’d spoken them aloud. “Your English is flawless.”
    “I’ve been here since I was thirteen.”
    “Ahh. Your family immigrated?”
    “Died,” I told him. “I came here to be with distant cousins,
the American branch of my family.” I sipped more coffee. “How did it look? My
country? I haven’t been back in over ten years.”
    Again he lowered his eyes. “It’s rough. The bombing has taken a
toll.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Amarrah. It’s a beautiful
place. I’m sure this is tearing you apart.”
    “I try not to watch the