by Amy Sumida
“Take me to your leader,” he declared.
Landry burst out laughing while I rolled my eyes, and Kyrian frowned in confusion.
Chapter Nine
The President was sending a car for us so Kyrian and I waited outside the Supermarket gate to be picked up. The Arc was on high-alert the whole time; scanning the area from the ground, up to the sky, and back down again.
“What do you do for fun?” I asked him.
“Fun?” He looked baffled.
“When you're not on a mission,” I prompted.
“When I'm not on a mission, I'm training for one,” he said immediately.
“You just work constantly?”
“I suppose you could see it like that.” Kyrian frowned. “But I wouldn't know what to do if I wasn't being an arc.”
“You could read a book,” I suggested.
“Oh, I read a lot,” he said with an almost-smile. “I do enjoy that.”
“Really? What do you like to read?” I asked with genuine interest.
“Historical records, works on strategy and warfare, and soldier accounts of missions,” he said.
“So, you read work-related things.” I grimaced. “How about movies? Do you like movies?”
“I've never seen one.”
“You've never seen a movie?” I gaped at him.
“No; it seems silly to watch something that someone else has made up,” he said. “Like allowing yourself to be drawn into a lie.”
“But you know it's not real,” I reasoned. “It's just to entertain you; to make you feel as if you're living someone else's life for a little while.”
“I don't wish to live a different life.”
“Good for you,” I said with a sigh. “Most people like to experience something new.”
“Are you unhappy, Amara?” Kyrian stopped scanning the street to focus on me.
“No,” I said. “But I'm not exactly blissful either.”
“You seem very content.”
“Content is not the same as happy,” I pointed out.
He frowned as if he didn't understand.
“You might realize that if you did things that weren't related to being an arc,” I suggested. “All work and no play makes Kyrian a dull boy.”
“If you say so.”
“This is going to get old fast,” I muttered. “I'm all about professionalism, darling, but do you think you can loosen your tight rein on those emotions of yours while you're around me?”
“No,” he said immediately.
“Why not?”
“It would be against policy.”
“Aren't you required to be flexible?” I asked. “You should be allowed to make your own judgment calls.”
“I am,” he said thoughtfully. “I'm an arc; I can choose to do as I deem necessary.”
“Then, for the comfort of your... what is it that you call me?”
“My charge.”
“For the comfort of your charge, why don't you tone down the halo a bit?”
“Tone down my halo?” He asked in confusion.
“Your halo; the white light surrounding you.”
“Yes; I know what a halo is,” he said stiffly. “I just don't know what you mean by asking me to tone it down.”
“Most people have colors in their auras,” I explained. “You Triaries only have white. It's because you're suppressing all of your emotions; their colors don't show through.”
“You can see auras?”
“I can see a lot of things,” I said evasively.
“Does that have anything to do with what you did to me the other night?” He asked with an air of scientific interest. “It took me two hours to get my emotions back under control.”
“I don't want to talk about it.” I looked away.
“All right; keep your secrets, Amara,” Kyrian said with a pensive look. “For now.”
“I will; they're important to me,” I said. “As your control is to you.”
Kyrian nodded in a conciliatory manner.
“What did your contact say when you checked in?” I asked him to get us off the touchy subject.
“You'll hear it soon enough.” He nodded to a black SUV that was approaching. “I'd rather not tell it twice.”
The vehicle pulled up to the curb, and Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum got out. I couldn't remember their names; it was the same agents Colton sent to fetch me before. What was it that I'd been calling them in my head? I had given them the same initials to remind myself. Dawson's Creek and Daniel Craig! Yes, that was it; Agents Dawson and Craig.
“Hello, gentlemen,” I said brightly as I climbed into the car. “This is Kyrian; he's an arc angel. So, be nice or he'll bring the wrath of the Triari down on your heads.”
The agents looked at each other with tired vexation and then shut the door on Kyrian and me.
“They like you,” Kyrian said dryly.
I lifted my brow. How the hell was Kyrian cracking jokes without any emotion? Sure, it was more sarcastic than humorous, but sarcasm required some feeling behind it; even if it were only derision. I should know; I'm the Queen of Sarcasm, and I rule the Kingdom of Derision.
But as I pondered Kyrian and his possible journey through my kingdom, he transferred his gaze out the window and went so still that even Davorin would have been impressed. Only Kyrian's eyes moved; roaming the streets for anything suspicious. I got the sense that this was more of his Host training. Perhaps he was conserving energy for when it was needed most while also being vigilant; keeping his mind active while his body rested in the most efficient way possible. That would be impressive. Or perhaps he was just too lazy to move his head.
It probably would have been prudent to tell Kyrian about my color abilities, but I didn't trust him yet. For all I knew, he'd take that information and go straight to his commanders with it. In fact, I was almost positive that's exactly what he would do. And the last thing I needed was for the Triari to know that the Amaranthine Elixir hadn't just given me eternal life, it had also mutated my human DNA. My father had known these people well, and he didn't tell them about me. That was a pretty clear indication that I shouldn't either. Then again, Father hadn't told them anything about me because he wasn't supposed to recreate the vaccine. And yet the Triari found out, didn't they? They'd probably find out about my abilities as well; most of the supes in the Market knew. It wasn't as highly guarded a secret as I'd made it out to be.
But still, I'd continue to keep it from the Triari for as long as I could.
Chapter Ten
Kyrian was treated to a full diplomatic welcome. President Colton greeted us in the Oval Office and offered us coffee and pastries before he suggested that we make ourselves comfortable. Also in attendance were Vice President Theodore French and the Secretary of State Annette Johnson. The Vice President was about twenty years older than Colton, and the Secretary of State was an African American woman who looked even older than that. They both greeted us—I was surprised to be acknowledged as a visitor instead of an employee—and then they proceeded to kiss Kyrian's ass.
“Mr. President,” Kyrian interrupted the ass-kissing, “I've been given temporary authority to speak with you on behalf of the Triari until a superior officer arrives. Mainly, I wanted to warn you of his arrival. A fleet of Triari ships will soon be positioned above North America. Commanding them will be Prince Atren, and when he arrives, he will take over for me.”
“A fleet?” Colton asked. “How many ships is that?”
“Twelve,” Kyrian said. “With approximately four-thousand soldiers on each.”
The Vice President and the Secretary both started to speak in indignant tones, but Colton held up a hand and shook his head at them.
“That seems excessive,” Colton said diplomatically to Kyrian.
“We do not take Bleiten threats lightly,” Kyrian said. “The Host won't descend to Earth unless necessary; only Prince Atren and his entourage will transport down to speak with you. They aren't coming here to threat
en America, President Colton. I was under the impression that you were in need of our assistance.”
“Yes; we very well may be, although it's not completely certain yet,” Colton glanced at me. “I assume that Amara briefed you.”
“She provided me with some information about a robbery,” Kyrian said. “She also mentioned that there were safe deposit boxes taken.”
“That's right.” Colton cocked his head at Kyrian. “Why? Is that important?”
“It could be,” Kyrian admitted. “Have you discovered who the boxes belonged to?”
Colton looked at Secretary Johnson, and she pulled a sheet of paper out of a file on her lap. She handed it to the President, and he handed it to Kyrian. Kyrian scanned the names and then frowned. His lips pressed together tightly as he handed the paper back.
“The third name from the top; Mr. Samuel Devlin,” Kyrian said. “He was a scientist who worked with the Triari.”
“What does that mean exactly?” President Colton narrowed his eyes at Kyrian.
“I cannot divulge the particulars,” Kyrian said with a stubborn set to his chin. “You'll have to request that information from Prince Atren.”
“Whatever he did for the Triari, it seems it was serious enough to warrant a visit from the Host,” I pointed out. “Was it this possibility combined with the Bleiten involvement that prompted their arrival?”
Kyrian nodded.
“So, whatever was in that deposit box, the Triari don't want it in Bleiten hands,” Colton surmised.
“Correct,” Kyrian confirmed.
“This makes it even more likely that the robbers were Bleiten,” Colton said to me.
“Or that they were hired by the Bleiten,” I suggested. “If the Bleiten wanted to retrieve something from Earth secretly, it might be in their best interests to hire others to do the menial labor.”
“And make such a show of it?” Colton asked skeptically. “I don't know. The whole thing feels wrong to me.”
“The Bleiten King has a son who is rumored to have a more modern mentality than his father,” Kyrian said; surprising us all. “He's proved himself in the Horde and has advanced to the rank of Warlord; earning enough respect and influence to be heard and taken into consideration. He's been making changes in the way the Horde functions and the policies of the race as a whole. It wouldn't surprise me to find that hiring outside help was one of those changes.”
“Okay, so hired mercenaries is a possibility,” Colton concluded. “Now, could you take a look at the footage for us and see if you recognize any of these men, Arc Kyrian?”
“Of course,” Kyrian said as he took a tablet from Secretary Johnson.
Kyrian watched the recording carefully—the same one I had seen—but neither his expression nor his aura gave anything away. When he handed the tablet back, he was as calm and collected as usual.
“None of them look familiar, nor do they appear to be Bleiten,” Kyrian said. “Although, it's difficult to determine much with those masks covering their faces.”
“Do you think that the one who dripped this thick substance could be a Bleiten experiment?” I asked him.
“I suppose it's possible that an experiment shrunk and mutated him, but that's a leap without much of a starting point,” Kyrian said.
“The man can burn a hole through stone with his snot,” Colton said. “Shrinking doesn't seem all that impressive in light of that.”
“Fair enough,” Kyrian conceded. “I will remain open to the possibility that this man is Bleiten.”
“I think it's asking a lot to remain open to the possibility that he's a man,” the Vice President said with a disgusted look at the video.
Colton lifted a brow at his VP, but the comment hadn't been made maliciously against supernaturals as a whole. He'd simply been grossed out by what this particular person could do. I saw it in his aura.
“Sorry,” the VP mumbled.
“No offense was taken, Mr. Vice President,” I said. “I'm just as disturbed as you are.”
“Thank you, Ms. Madison.” The VP gave me a grateful grin.
“Since you asked me to identify them, I assume that these other men are unknown as well.” Kyrian motioned to the video.
“For now,” Colton said. “Homeland Security has tracked two of them to apartments in the D.C. area, but they haven't been able to identify the men as yet. The apartments are rented under false names and paid for in cash. They were, however, able to bug both units. We're hoping to have recordings for you to translate soon, Amara.”
“If you're able to email them to me or play them over the phone, that would probably save us time,” I said.
“I think DHS can manage that,” Colton said. “But Vice President French can take you down to the office we set up for you, and you can speak with Special Agent Longchamp about it. She's manning the office as your contact and can answer any questions either of you may have about the investigation.”
“I would like to look over their work,” Kyrian said with a nod.
“Very good,” Colton said as he stood and held a hand out to Kyrian. “I'll await the arrival of Prince Atren.”
“It was an honor to meet you, President Colton.” Kyrian shook his hand.
“And you, Arc Kyrian.”
I nodded my goodbye to Colton and Secretary Johnson as the VP led us out of the Oval Office.
Chapter Eleven
I haven't read extensively about space travel, but I knew the basics. Most alien races had spaceports set up in all of the known inhabited galaxies. These ports served as jump points for ships to be launched into and out of. Spaceships can travel from port to port within moments so most of their flying time occurred in the journey to port. The same type of jumping travel can be employed with individuals over much smaller distances, but again; it's port to port. Neither people nor ships can be launched to random locations without a receiver, but once ports were in place, space travel became relatively quick. The White House happened to have a reception port in its secure Alien Relations room and it had been activated to receive Prince Atren and his escort.
So, a few hours into our conversation with Special Agent Longchamp—who was beyond relieved to be working with me outside of the DHS building—Kyrian received a call. The VP had escorted us to the room and left so it was just Kyrian, Longchamp, and I. We had gone over all of Homeland Security's findings by that time, and Kyrian was concluding our meeting by perusing a folder of suspects. So, he simply thanked Longchamp for her time and exited the room to take the call. While he was gone, SA Longchamp assured me that she could forward any recordings requiring translation to me via phone. That was a relief; visiting the White House was interesting but also a pain in the butt.
After a few minutes, Kyrian returned and announced, “Prince Atren has arrived and is requesting our presence at his meeting with President Colton.”
“What? Why?” I asked with suspicion.
“I believe that he wishes to meet you.” Kyrian gave me a meaningful look.
“I can take you back to the President,” SA Longchamp said. “Let me just make a call and see what room they'll be using.”
“Thank you,” Kyrian said with a nod.
Longchamp led us to—and then left us in—the Roosevelt Room; a room directly across from the Oval Office that's used for staff meetings normally and as a preparation room for large delegations before they meet with the President. It was perfect for a private meeting with an alien prince.
The Roosevelt Room was named after both Roosevelt presidents, in case you were wondering, and there are portraits of both men there. Food and beverages had already been laid out down the long conference table, despite the short notice. Kyrian and I helped ourselves to another cup of coffee under the watchful eyes of Theodore Roosevelt on horseback. Then we settled into a couple of the padded, leather chairs set around the table and sipped our coffee beneath the faux skylight.
The door to the right of the fireplace opened (there was one to either side) an
d President Colton walked in with the Vice President, the Secretary of State, a group of Triari, and three White House aides. One of the Triari was obviously Prince Atren; he walked beside the President and carried himself with the stuffy dignity of a member of the British monarchy... times ten. Despite the title of 'Prince' being one of military rank and not a sign of nobility among the Triari—or maybe because of it—Atren had the airs of someone highborn.
“Ah; they have beat us here,” President Colton said with a casual wave my way. “Have you met my top translator, Prince Atren? This is Amara Madison.”
“No, I haven't yet had the pleasure,” Prince Atren smiled warmly at me.
“It's an honor to meet you, Prince Atren,” I said with a respectful nod.
It was all I could do not to gape at the man. Not because he was stunningly attractive—which he was—but because he had no halo. The man's colors were out on full display; a vibrant wash of several shades of blue; from wise indigo to cerulean dependability, and even a touch of cold, aloof, ice. Then, weaving through it all, was a streak of jet-black authority and the slightly softer, inky darkness of strength. You may think that black in an aura would automatically mean evil, but it doesn't. Evil is rare to see in an aura; true evil isn't as prevalent as you may think. But I have seen it once—when I was peering through the cracks of the cabinet my mother had hidden me in. It was the purest black; a black that consumed all other colors. I will never forget it.
But this man wasn't evil; far from it. Blue was most people's favorite color for a reason; several tones were calming and imparted trust. Prince Atren appeared—judging by his aura alone—to be here with the best of intentions. Whether those good intentions included me, was yet to be seen.
As uncertain as Prince Atren's general intentions were, his personal interest in me became immediately evident by his actions. He took my hand and brought it to his lips to kiss lingeringly. An auburn curl dropped forward over one of his amber eyes in the most endearing way, but I was more interested in what I caught out of the corner of my eye—the slightest hint of cayenne red in Kyrian's aura. That startled me even more than Atren's display. The Prince had annoyed the Arc. But despite Atren's bold flirtation, I saw no hint of romantic attraction in the Prince's aura. He was trying to charm me for another reason, and I didn't like that at all.
