The Sleeping Serpent: Read online

  Watching him from under her eyelashes, she noticed he ate a bit too quickly and was simultaneously texting on his phone. His dark hair fell over his face, and he swiped it back with his hand absentmindedly, like a preening bird. He was wearing slim, black yoga pants and vintage-inspired black plimsolls stamped with a red laurel wreath. The words Amaru Yoga were printed in red letters on his black T-shirt, and she thought the name seemed familiar, yet she had never noticed him before. Certainly she would have remembered someone this dreamy. Thoroughly immersed in his iPhone, he ate inattentively, his feet supinated—shuffling as if keeping time to a song with a good beat though he wasn’t wearing earbuds. To Olivia, he seemed like an adorable little boy, somewhat unsure of himself. Admonishing herself for staring, she finished placing the last insert into the menu.

  Leaning over the counter, the chef teased, “What’s with you and Romeo over there?”

  Embarrassed, she shrugged and feigned nonchalance. “I dunno, he’s kind of weird. I think he’s one of those ‘I’m so cool because I’m foreign’ types.”

  When she noticed the handsome stranger had finished eating, she returned to drop off the check. Her shyness overtook her, and she automatically mumbled, “Thanks. Come again.” After placing the bill on the table she attempted to scurry away. But he caught her gently by the elbow to stop her leaving, and his touch felt hot and prickly, like a shock from a doorknob in winter.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to invite you to visit my new yoga studio, Amaru. Across the street.” He pointed to the other side of Ventura Blvd.

  Only then did Olivia remember where she had seen the name, noticing the For Lease sign had been replaced by one reading Amaru Yoga. “I thought I recalled the name on your T-shirt. I must’ve seen the new sign when I was coming to work.”

  Pleased she had noticed the studio name, he continued, “This is only a temporary location. I’ll be moving to Beverly Hills soon. I’m a yoga master, but Amaru’s not an ordinary yoga studio. I cater to celebrities and perform healing ceremonies.” He paused to ensure Olivia met his gaze. “There are many people in need of my help here in L.A., don’t you think?” He flashed a captivating grin at her.

  Olivia couldn’t help chuckling. “Definitely true!”

  His eyes twinkled with sly flirtatiousness. “Then you’ll come?” he asked.

  She returned his smile and nodded. The stranger’s gaze was making her pulse race and her hands sweat. Seeking an escape, she uttered, “I’m sorry. The restaurant’s getting busy.”

  He interrupted her, “By the way, I’m Nico Romero.” Tilting his head, he smiled wryly. “And you are?”

  She looked up and immediately wished she hadn’t. Staring into those unnaturally deep green eyes, she had the sensation of a drifting descent into…something.

  “Olivia,” she answered. Her voice sounded to her like someone else’s, submerged in water.

  An awkwardly long pause followed before she dimly heard him ask, “Olivia, what gives you joy in life? What’s your passion?”

  Rolling her eyes, she blurted, “I want to be an opera singer.”

  “No, no, Olivia,” Nico replied with sincere interest. “You are an opera singer. Say it that way. It’s very important.” He searched for something in her face, but she wasn’t sure what.

  Self-consciously, she shrugged her shoulders and replied in a small voice, “I am an opera singer,” adding an uptick at the end that made it sound more like a question.

  Nico’s lips twitched into a hint of a smile. “Better, but not with belief—yet. I’ll help you with that.”

  His confidence and certainty kind of irritated her, yet she also inexplicably felt drawn to him. An insecure, little girl part of her wanted so badly to believe he could keep that promise.

  Returning later to collect the check where he had been sitting, Olivia found he had left just enough to cover the bill and a pass to Amaru Yoga Studio. “Cheapskate!” she mumbled to herself. Picking up the pass, she saw he’d written something on the back, “You are an opera singer, princesita. I will help you claim your dream.” Tucking the pass into her pocket, she mused. She hadn’t gotten a tip, but at least she’d gotten a free yoga session.

  2

  On her way to Nico’s studio, Luna wondered why her mouth was dry and her jaw tensed. In her career, she had become a trusted confidante to Hollywood’s elite; even the most self-obsessed movie stars entrusted her with their image. Certainly, meeting with a hot Latin man should not make her nervous. Plus, she was curious to see if yoga could be the magic bullet that would turn back her clock.

  Driving to Amaru brought to mind the first time she had taken a ballet lesson. She must have been around four years old—hiding behind her mother, peering out at the older girls. Standing in front of the mirror, Luna’s eyes remained fixed on the ballet mistress, who moved like a magical bird and had arms like the wings of an angel. Luna wanted to be just like her, so she memorized every tilt of the head and placement of fingers. Listening to the piano player, Luna mirrored the steps of the girl in front of her, embarrassed when the teacher stopped to adjust her placement. Soon she learned corrections were given only to girls the teacher believed had promise, and Luna still vividly remembered the day when a new girl was placed behind her. She cherished those moments, working diligently to be recognized. Not until she became a relatively successful costume designer did she realize ballet had given her the focus and perseverance to listen, learn, observe, and work hard to get noticed.

  Pulling into a parking space at Amaru Yoga, she felt a small flutter in her belly. She’d had that same feeling when the piano began and she attempted her first plie. Inside, Nico greeted her warmly with a kiss on each cheek. Luna found that custom charming, if slightly awkward because she never knew which cheek came first.

  Nico’s loose, black yoga pants hung just right on his slim hips. A white T-shirt with graphic tribal snake design revealed his broad shoulders and chest and provided contrast to the warm skin tone of his strong arms. Nico moved gracefully, like a dancer, showing her around the studio space with pride, telling her how the floors had been rescued from an old church in his hometown in Argentina. Luna found herself taking him in, then looked away, red-faced, when she realized that although his sweats were loose, the fabric clung to the perfect form of his manhood. Laughing at herself, she wondered if her scrutiny came from being a woman or a costume designer.

  Pushing those thoughts aside, she focused on the music playing in the background—light, breathy tones of flutes combined with gentle and soft drumming immediately soothed her. “What is that you’re playing?” she asked. Nico replied that he’d created a station on Spotify he called “Healing Flutes of the Andes,” because it rooted him in the mountains where he felt physically and spiritually connected.

  He escorted Luna into a little chamber painted a dark oxblood red surprisingly similar to the color of her den at home, with oversized woven tapestry pillows surrounding a low slate table. A shelf on one wall held stone artifacts and primitively carved bowls. Gesturing for her to sit down, he poured them each a mug of tea from a black iron teapot. Still a bit nervous, Luna got up and walked to a gallery of framed photos on the wall facing her. They depicted Nico with local Indians in brightly colored costumes; the majestic Andes Mountains provided a backdrop.

  Luna inquired about a picture of him sitting in a circle, a drummer in the center. He replied, “I asked permission for that photo to be taken before we started the ceremony. That’s where I learned everything about healing and how to find the cause of illness, not to just treat symptoms.” Then getting down to the business at hand, he prompted, “What is your life like? What brings you joy?”

  Luna spoke rapidly, almost too quickly, describing a typically stressful day of eating quickly while working, getting home late, and drinking wine to unwind before the next day’s repeat performance.

  When she finally slowed down, Nico handed her another mug of tea—a fragrant concoctio
n of herbs and lemon. The aroma and warmth comforted and relaxed her. Settling down, she looked up and saw his eyes—they glowed. “Luna, you are like the mouse running in the wheel—and missing everything around you. There is more to life.”

  Luna inhaled deeply, then sighed.

  Nico continued, “Yoga’s only one part of my program. Most important is energy healing, which is curing disease by dealing with the root of the problem. Then yoga gets you in harmony with the universe and you can channel the energy.” He took a sip of his tea before continuing, “First, we must clean the mind, body, and spirit. I’ll completely undo all the damage, imbalances, and illnesses that have controlled your body for decades. You’ll be completely cured for life, and look as young and beautiful as I know you were in your twenties. All this—literally saving your life—for only $10,000.”

  Luna balked, incredulous. She replied bluntly, “Wow—that’s some pricey plan. How exactly does it work?”

  Unfazed, Nico answered evenly and warmly, without any sleazy, assertive sales pitch, “My program is for energy work. This includes a diagnosis, cleanse, private healing, and yoga sessions. After three or four weeks, you’ll be healed, looking and feeling young and full of vitality. When your initial program is complete, you continue maintenance sessions with me.”

  Logically, Luna was aware the cost was extravagant, even for her. How could she justify so much money to Tyler? Why was she even considering it? Just then, Nico’s iPhone vibrated, and he excused himself to take the call.

  Feeling a warm spot in her stomach and an unusual flutter sensation, she wondered, was it the tea? The mystical sound of flutes filled her head. Looking up at the wall of photos, her eye stopped on one of Nico with his arm draped around a smiling Indian man in native costume who stood only as high as Nico’s shoulder. Nico’s mesmerizing eyes shone out at her from the photo. Maybe this program would work. She had tried to commit to the gym and too many diets to count. Maybe this would be the change she needed. When Nico returned to the chamber, she already had her checkbook out.

  Preparing for her first session with Nico, Luna changed into yoga pants and a loose-fitting T-shirt, emulating what he had worn when she met with him. Nico had said he would know exactly what she needed after the ceremony, and though she hadn’t said anything, the word ceremony was flipping her out. When she arrived and he again greeted her with the double-cheek kiss, she made a mental note that it was right cheek first. Then she thought, With a ceremony looming, why am I focusing on cheek order?

  They moved into the room Nico called the chamber, which that evening was lit only by candlelight. Nico explained, “I see better in the dark during a ceremony.”

  She looked around. A black metal teapot sat on the slate table alongside two mugs, just as before. The sound of a solitary flute accompanied by flowing water, though slightly mournful, immediately calmed her senses. Nico sat on one of the large pillows and gestured for her to do the same, handing her a mug of tea. Taking it, she asked, “What kind of tea is this anyway?”

  He replied, “It’s to relax you and awaken your spirit body. Now close your eyes, drink the tea, and focus on the music. I’m going to prepare a smoke cleanse.”

  Closing her eyes as instructed, she caught the aroma of a fragrant herb she recognized as sage, used by many native tribes to remove bad energy.

  Nico softly sang along with the music—more of a low chant than singing, but not in Spanish. Having done a bit of Googling, she assumed it to be Quechua, the language of the Q’ero. Her eyes were closed, but she felt a light breeze and heard a soft rattle as he guided the smoke up the front of her body and over her head with a feather wand. She knew about smudging, so didn’t find it strange or uncomfortable and made a mental note to tell him about her Mohawk ancestry.

  When he said she could open her eyes, she saw Nico had spread a sheet of white paper on the table and placed one red and one white carnation face up on it. A large oyster shell lay in the middle. She watched as he took three small, oval leaves in his fingers and pressed them to his lips as if kissing them, at the same time whispering something softly in Quechua.

  Placing them around the shell, he addressed her, “This ceremony is called a despacho, an offering to Mother Earth, Pachamama. We’re requesting her guidance and asking her to remove negative spirits. It’s an exchange, so we make her a beautiful and powerful offering.”

  Moving to a shelf laden with uncommon artifacts, Nico retrieved several jars and boxes, returning and placing them on the table. When he sprinkled cornmeal over the flowers, Luna almost said aloud she knew it was the accepted gift to Mother Earth. One by one, Nico placed items on the paper in a decorative fashion. She recognized pale green sage for purification and golden brown tobacco, the favored gift to the Great Spirit. Opening a box containing many compartments holding bits of gemstones, he removed three pieces she recognized as turquoise, agate, and amethyst. Analyzing each step and every element, she reprimanded herself for not being in the moment.

  From an artifact depicting the head of a strange man/god, Nico removed what Luna was certain was bone. After pouring oil from a glass jar, he produced a pair of scissors and asked if he could cut a few strands of her hair. Feeling that warm flutter in a place deep in her stomach, she could only nod. He gently lifted a few strands and snipped once, placing the cuttings ceremoniously on the seashell. Then, choosing a feather from a bouquetlike display on the table, he placed it across the top of the shell.

  From Ziploc bags, so different from the ceremonial objects before, Nico added alphabet noodles and brightly colored candy she recognized as Mentos and Skittles. She admired how pretty it was with the candy, but then he did something that caused her to gasp. Taking a small pocketknife, he pricked his finger and sprinkled droplets of blood on the four corners of the arrangement. She looked inquiringly at him, but he was again softly chanting, lost in trance as he folded the paper, encapsulating the gift to Pachamama. Tying the bundle with string to secure it tightly, he then added a red ribbon for decoration.

  Helping her to her feet, he murmured, “Stand up.” Chanting softly, he placed the despacho over her solar plexus, tapping there several times before sweeping it over her body, as if painting her from head to toe. After each pass, he brought the bundle to his lips and whistled, shaking the bundle vigorously. Though aware she was in Nico’s chamber, she felt her spirit body had been transported to a time and place long ago when she was more alive and free.

  Taking her hands in his, Nico gently brought her back to the present saying, “We’re not quite finished. The gift has to be delivered.” He moved toward a corner of the chamber where a fireplace with a copper flue sat. Luna hadn’t noticed it on her last visit because it had been concealed by a painted screen depicting the Andes and apparently had been uncovered for this occasion. Striking a long match on the slate table, Nico lit a fire and placed the offering on it. Turning their backs to it, he explained, “We can’t watch Pachamama consume her gift.” With the ceremony now over, he embraced her, whispering something in Quechua that she did not understand. After she got her bearings, all she could say was, “Wow! That was incredible.”

  The authenticity of the ceremony reminded her of the visit she had made to the Kahnawake reserve in hopes of getting closer to her origins. Adopted as a baby, she always had a burning curiosity about her Native American heritage. Her parents had only told her she’d come from an Indian reservation where she couldn’t be cared for and that she was special. Not wanting them to think her ungrateful, she never pressed for details, and it was long after her mother had passed away before she delved into records and discovered her great-great grandfather, a French fur trapper, had married a native woman.

  Feeling restored, she asked, “What did the gemstones represent?”

  “Various minerals resonate with different energy. Come with me, and I’ll explain while I check my messages.” He took her hand to lead her into his office, causing that fiery flutter in her belly again—like a thousand butterfl
ies beating their wings. At his desk, he talked while busily clicking back and forth between email and the text messages on his phone. “Turquoise is for protection, good fortune, and a fresh start. Amethyst is a request for higher knowledge, courage, and self-esteem.” He paused, looking her in the eye, “You have all this within yourself already, Luna, but we ask Pachamama to give you access to it by offering her amethyst.”

  Luna was ambivalent about the crystal energy thing; she remembered when it had been a popular fad in the ’90s and everyone had purchased crystal pendants. But now, listening to Nico speak with conviction about each stone’s significance and energy, she felt more inclined to embrace the concept. Besides, she liked the stones he’d chosen, especially because most of her everyday jewelry was silver and turquoise, so it seemed totally appropriate to her. Come to think of it, she also had a pair of amethyst earrings she rarely wore. Learning the power of their energy, she decided to make a point of wearing them more often.

  After being distracted by an e-mail, Nico continued, “And the agate was a request to raise your consciousness and give you emotional and physical balance.”

  Luna stood up straight, arching her eyebrows. “Tyler gave me a bronze seahorse necklace with agate beads for my birthday. No wonder I always feel better when I wear it,” she exclaimed.

  Nico grinned as he began scrolling through his Facebook photos. “I love seahorses! They’re a symbol of delicacy and balance. The sea itself is very special to me. Last year, when I went home, I found a live seahorse on the beach.” Then suddenly landing on a photo, he chimed enthusiastically, “Look, here it is! See, I took a picture.”

  Luna leaned over his shoulder to see, then realizing how close their faces were, felt uncomfortable and changed the subject. “So, what’s the deal with the Mentos and Skittles?” she giggled nervously, stepping a little bit away from him.