by Amy Sumida
“I don't know. What's for dessert?”
“Uh, chocolate cake, I think.”
I made a disappointed face.
“You don't like chocolate cake?” He asked in surprise.
“It's about as mundane as roasted chicken,” I said.
“My chef's roasted chicken is one of the most amazing things you'll ever put in your mouth,” Colton declared.
I lifted a brow, and he turned red.
“Dear God, I don't think a woman has made me blush over something that I've innocently said before,” he exclaimed and then laughed. “All right, Amara, what would you like for dessert?”
“Pear brandy souffle,” I said immediately.
“Is there such a thing?” He asked with wide eyes.
“I don't know, but it sounds good, doesn't it?”
The President of the United States started chortling like a little boy, and then he called in one of the wait staff.
“Charles, could you ask Diane if she can make us a pear brandy souffle?”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Charles said with a respectful nod.
“You've got yourself an investigative translator, Mr. President,” I announced.
Chapter Seven
The souffle took forty-five minutes to make, but it was worth the wait. The President and I had coffee out on his balcony while it baked, and his staff brought it out to us on a rolling cart when it was done. It was so delicious that I would have agreed to anything for another bite. I mentioned that to Colton, and he promised that the next time he invited me to dinner, we'd start with dessert. Then my favorite SS agent duo drove me home.
I half-expected to find Kyrian waiting for me on my front steps. But, there was no sign of him. I sighed in both relief and frustration. I didn't want the Arc to know where I lived, but at the same time, it would have been convenient if he'd been there.
I slid my key into the front door and was about to turn it when I saw a shift in the colors around me. It was subtle, but enough of a change to catch my attention. I spun about—ready to blast my attacker with colored light—but no one was there. An eerie feeling crept over my skin, and I knew that I was being watched. Someone was definitely there, he just didn't want me to know it. I searched the area for the glowing edges of his halo, but Kyrian had hidden well this time.
“Kyrian,” I called out, “if that's you, we need to talk so come out.”
Nothing.
“Don't be infantile,” I huffed as I continued to search the street.
A man covered in glistening bumps walked by and gave me a curious look. “You okay, Amara?”
“I'm fine, Fred,” I said with a tight smile. “I just thought I saw Davorin again.”
“That boy still after you to join his hero club?” Fred chuckled.
“He doesn't know when to give up,” I huffed.
“It's that stone thing,” Fred called over his shoulder as he kept walking. “It makes him immovable.”
“You can say that again,” I muttered as I narrowed my eyes at the alley across the street. “Suit yourself, Arc. But you had better not try to break in. When you come to your senses, knock like a gentleman.”
I went inside and locked the door behind me. It had been a long day, and I needed a hot shower before I got some sleep. I trudged up the stairs and through my bedroom to the master bath.
I preferred a feminine but classy look. My bedroom was decorated with an Old World flair and a Marie Antoinette twist—sans the guillotine. It was furnished with a four-poster bed hung with heavy silk curtains printed in pale blue toile, a vanity that looked as if it had belonged to the ill-fated queen herself, and more millwork on the walls than any room required. The wallpaper was silk damask—set into millwork frames against the powder blue walls—and the hardwood floors were covered with thick, pastel, Persian carpets.
The theme continued into the bathroom, where a crystal chandelier hung over a free-standing, claw-foot bathtub set into a curving alcove. Lengths of cream silk curtains were draped back to either side of the nook. The millwork and crown molding were gilded in the bathroom, and the walls were painted a muted, mature pink. The countertops were white marble veined with gold to match the gold fixtures, and an enormous gold framed mirror—crowned with a dramatic swirled carving—was set behind the sinks to magnify the space.
I shrugged out of my clothes in front of the mirror, but I didn't give myself much attention. I was too tired to care about how I looked. I simply flung my clothes over the back of a padded bench that was set within the bathroom's bay window and went straight into the shower; off to the right of the tub. The hot water eased the tension in my back as it filled the entire room with steam. I let it work its magic for longer than I should have, and when I finally emerged, the bathroom was a misty wonderland.
I sighed; relaxing even more in the damp atmosphere. The colors were muted beneath the mist, and it was the equivalent of a hot shower for my supernatural senses. I lingered in it; toweling off slowly and working some lotion into my skin before I emerged from my cocoon. Even with the soft palette of my bedroom, the color wavelengths struck me like sunlight, and I squinted as I adjusted. After my vision had calmed down, I slipped into my silk kimono and went to sit at my vanity to go through my nightly routine.
As I rubbed moisturizer into my face—wondering if I really needed to bother with it anymore—I caught a flare of colors in the corner of my eye. I flinched; my tension returning along with a surge of adrenaline. My bedroom window was to my right, and it was from there that the colors had originated. I focused on the window and caught the edge of an aura, but by the time I reached the ledge, even the trace of it was gone. I scowled out at the dark street, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
“Pumpkin,” I mused about the glimpse of aura. “The color of fascination.”
Had Kyrian dropped his halo to watch over me, or had he become so fascinated that his emotions had pushed through that famous Triari control? Either way, it appeared that I had a peeping Tom with wings. My bedroom was two stories up and there were no handholds in the brick wall.
Fascinating indeed.
Chapter Eight
Men; when you don't want them, they're dogging your heels but when you do, they're nowhere in sight.
“Sorry, kid; I haven't seen your blond bodyguard since you left him gaping after your invisible self.” Landry chuckled. “That Triari ran out after you and searched the entire Market before he came back to lecture me on how much you need him.”
“What did you do?”
“I threatened to hose him down with seltzer water if he didn't get the fuck out of my bar.” Landry grinned wickedly.
I laughed. “That must have gone over well.”
“Like a bag of Bleiten,” he huffed.
My face fell.
“Sorry about that; it just came out,” he muttered. “Don't worry; he'll show up. What kind of Arc would he be if he wasn't able to find you again?”
“Meanwhile, the President is waiting for my call,” I grumbled.
“You going back there today?”
“No; they're going to let me know when they need more translating done,” I said. “I think they have other experts who will advise them on supernatural behavior.”
“Experts?” Davorin asked as he took the seat beside mine. “Who needs experts?”
“You do; to help you find your ass,” I said. “Oh, wait; you're talking out of it right now.”
“That's funny, Rainbow Brite. You're a riot.” Davorin smiled in a twisting-pout motion that made his lips even sexier. Then he went serious. “I need to talk to you; women have been going missing.”
“So what?” Landry huffed. “Humans go missing all the time; it's not our concern.”
“Not humans”—Davorin transferred his grim look from Landry to me—“supes.”
“What?” I scowled at him. “I haven't heard anything about missing women in the Market.”
“They're trying to keep it under wraps.”
He grimaced. “Amara, we need to do something, and I'd like your help.”
“I'm sorry, darling, but I have my own issues to deal with right now,” I said with exasperation. “Let Market Police do their job.”
“Yeah, I heard a rumor about the Bleiten coming after you,” he said with a frown. “Is that shit true?”
I gave Landry a tired look and it was confirmation enough for Davorin.
“So, it is true,” Davorin said as if he'd never suspected otherwise. “Amara, the reason I brought this to you is that I think the missing women may be connected to your Bleiten problems.”
“You think that the Bleiten are abducting supernaturals and that it's all connected to me?” I asked in shock.
I didn't even bother to ask where he'd heard the Bleiten rumor. Gossip in the Market had wings; as soon as a piece of information was overheard, it made the rounds like a hungry hawk. And Kyrian had dropped that particular piece of bloody meat in front of a whole flock of squawking supes in Mama's Diner.
“Several different types of supernaturals have disappeared,” Davorin said. “None of them seem to be connected, but they all have one thing in common.”
“I know I'm going to regret asking this, but what do they have in common?” Landry grimaced.
“Their eyes.” Davorin looked pointedly into mine. “They all have purple eyes.”
I felt my face go slack as Landry cursed. I had been born with brown eyes—like my mother's—but after I recovered from my illness, my eyes had changed to deep purple; like the petal of an iris. I knew now that it was just another side-effect of the elixir, and it seemed that the Bleiten knew it too. If they couldn't track my blood, they could search for someone with eyes the same rare color as mine.
“Hey,” Davorin said gently, “I've got your back, Mara. I can stand guard outside your house when you're home. We'll figure this out.”
“No; it's fine,” I said distractedly. “I'll be all right.”
“You'd be better if you went on the defensive and joined my superhero team.”
“You're not superheroes, darling.” I rolled my eyes.
“More like super zeroes,” Landry said with a smirk.
“I see where you get your sense of humor, Mara,” Davorin said dryly.
“The worst thing Amara could do right now is to go poking around, looking into disappearances that may be Bleiten related, when the Bleiten are already looking for her,” Landry said. “She might as well hold up a sign in Market Park with “Bleiten victim” written on it.”
“She wouldn't be a victim if she attacked them first,” Davorin reasoned.
“No one wins against the Bleiten,” Landry said. “The best you can do is toss a grenade at them and run. Even then, that would probably just piss them off.”
“Everyone has their weaknesses,” Davorin insisted. “And there can't be that many Bleiten here or they would have been spotted by now.”
“Unless they've hired mercenaries,” I murmured.
“Mercs working for Bleiten?” Davorin lifted a dark brow. “That doesn't happen. Bleitens do their own dirty work; they enjoy it too much to contract out.”
“Yes; I'm sure you're right,” I said as I exchanged a worried look with Landry.
“You seriously think they've hired a group of goons?” Davorin asked with a wide-eyed look.
I just shrugged.
“It would keep them in the clear,” Davorin mused. “The Bleiten have done so much damage over the years that if they started something here, the supernaturals may band together to stop them.”
“If only,” Landry huffed.
“You don't give your fellow supes enough credit, Landry,” Davorin said. “Especially those of us on Earth. We like it here; it's become a nice, safe, neutral zone where we can all live together in peace.”
“What the hell do you know about supes here?” Landry scoffed. “You're what; twenty-six? You're not old enough to know what our kind is or isn't capable of.”
“I talk to people,” Davorin said; undaunted. “You're a bartender, you must have heard the same things that I have. Supernaturals from all over the galaxies love it here.”
“Landry isn't the type who enjoys small talk,” I said with a smirk.
“Regardless of what supes think of Earth, as soon as the Bleiten are mentioned, they'll flee,” Landry said. “You saw how fast they cleared out of Mama's the other night, Mara.”
“Now that you mention it, I also heard there was an arc in Mama's.” Davorin swiveled his stare to me. “Why were you having dinner with an arc, Amara?”
“I was obviously there to warn her about the Bleiten,” Kyrian said as he walked up to the bar. “Now that you mention it; I never did get a chance to order a meal.”
Davorin angled his head to see Kyrian and then widened his gaze almost imperceptibly. But a flash of yellow streaked through his aura and gave him away. Colors are very complex. Different shades reveal different emotions and have different effects on a body. Yellow, for example, can bring laughter and happiness or it can make tempers flare. It all depends on the intensity, tone, and mixture. The yellow that had crossed Davorin's brown and blue aura had been deep and nearly orange; indicating surprise with a touch of anger.
“You've met,” I said feeling a little yellow myself.
“A Triari walking the streets of the Market is an unusual occurrence,” Davorin said as he stared down Kyrian. “I stopped him to see what he was doing here.”
“Boy, you got some big balls,” Landry said with an impressed chuckle.
“I thought so as well,” Kyrian said dryly.
“What did you tell him?” I asked Kyrian.
“I said that I was visiting a friend,” Kyrian said tonelessly.
“We are not friends,” I said just as tonelessly.
Davorin laughed when he saw Kyrian's blank expression. “It's okay, man, she said the same thing to me, and we've known each other for years.”
“That makes us acquaintances. We don't spend time together watching movies or doing friendly things, and so we aren't friends,” I said as I stood.
“We're spending time together right now,” Davorin pointed out.
I ignored Davorin to ask, “Kyrian, can I speak with you privately?”
“Of course,” Kyrian stood.
“Oh, it's like that, huh?” Davorin huffed. “Don't get up on my account; I was just leaving.” He slid off the bar stool and stood between Kyrian and me; his back to Kyrian. “Think about what I said, Amara. You may not consider us to be friends, but I do. I'm not about to let you become a statistic.”
Davorin brushed past Kyrian on his way out of the bar; making the Triari stumble. Kyrian blinked in surprise and a brief sheen of yellow pulsed through his halo. Surprise was making the rounds, it seemed. As Kyrian stared after Davorin, I stared at him. I hadn't had any interaction with Triari soldiers before, but I'd heard that it took a lot to breach their self-control. Davorin must have seriously shocked him.
“Tougher than you expected?” I asked Kyrian.
“Excuse me?” Kyrian refocused on me.
“Davorin.” I motioned after my friendly acquaintance. “You seemed surprised when he knocked into you.”
“I seemed surprised?” He asked skeptically. “I doubt that.”
“You can't fool her, boy,” Landry said smugly. “Ol' Davorin shocked you. Why?”
“I'm not easily moved, and on top of that, I was prepared for Davorin to make some barbaric display of his masculinity. So, yes; it did surprise me that he was able to sway me,” Kyrian finally admitted. “He's stronger than I thought.”
“Davorin can turn himself into stone. One of his favorite tricks is to do so internally and harden his core,” I took pity on Kyrian and explained it. “He appears to be his normal self when in actuality, he's rock solid.”
“Ah.” Kyrian nodded. “Yes; I've met others like him before. It makes sense now.”
“You've met others like Davorin?” I asked. “I thought he
was unique.”
“Stone men are rare, but they pop up every now and again,” Kyrian said. “They make excellent spies.”
“The statue thing,” Landry said with a nod. “I can see that. They'd be hiding in plain sight.”
“Do you still need privacy to speak with me?” Kyrian asked pointedly.
“No; I just didn't want Mr. Superhero to hear this,” I huffed.
“Superhero?” Kyrian asked with a slight frown. “He thinks he's some kind of savior?”
“In a way.” I waved it aside. “Forget about Davorin. I met with the President yesterday, and he'd like to meet with you.”
“The human president?”
“Yes.”
“Of the United States?”
“Yes.”
“No,” Kyrian said as he settled back on his stool.
“No?” I gaped at him. “Why not?”
“I'm an arc, not a diplomat,” he said. “I'm not allowed to speak on behalf of our race.”
“You're not allowed?” Landry scoffed.
“No,” Kyrian said simply.
“Then get someone here who is,” I said. “Because we may have a Bleiten situation brewing outside the Supermarket as well as in.”
“Outside the Market?” Kyrian narrowed his eyes at me. “What does that mean?”
“A group of supernaturals robbed a bank yesterday,” I explained. “They were speaking Bleiten.”
“A bank?” Kyrian cocked his head at me. “Why would Bleiten want human money?”
I shrugged. “They took some money and emptied a few safe deposit boxes.”
“Which bank?” Kyrian asked.
“Wells Fargo,” I said. “It's right down the street from the White House.”
“All right.” He stood. “Let me contact my people and hear what they have to say about it. Stay here.”
I gave Kyrian an irritated look as he headed to an empty corner of the bar. As if I'd run off now; how imbecilic. Kyrian pulled a device out of his coat; it was about the size of his thumb and made of shiny, silver metal. He started speaking into it, and his expression shifted into even more serious lines. I watched his aura carefully but there were no more flashes of color to give me a clue as to what he was hearing. Finally, he strode back over to us.
