Wingman: Alien Castaways (Intergalactic Dating Agency)

by Cara Bristol

  The green light came on. The three of them held hands as they crossed the street. Even though Delia was so much smaller than him, their fingers laced together perfectly. They were two different species from two different planets, two different civilizations, and yet, they meshed. Even if they hadn’t been genmates, her compassion, her devotion, her kindness, her humor would have drawn him like a beacon. She was beautiful inside and out.

  Tumultuous emotions churned because the resolution to his problem had come to him. Unfortunately, the cure was nearly as bad as the disease. But, for Delia, he’d do anything.

  To his relief, she handed the house key to Izzy. “Go inside. The grown-ups need to talk for a moment.”

  “’Kay.”

  He knelt. “I like my dream catcher. Thank you.” He embraced her, and she threw her arms around his neck before dancing up the walk and into the house. The door closed behind her, and he hugged Delia, wrapping his wings around her.

  “You’re not coming in, are you?” Her voice was muffled against his shoulder.

  “Not tonight.”

  She thumped his arm with her fist. “Why can’t I convince you, it’s all right?”

  “Because it’s not—but it can be.”

  She lifted her head. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m going to see somebody who can help.”

  “Like a psychologist? I think that’s a good idea.”

  He wished he could assume the flashbacks would vanish in time, but he couldn’t risk it. What if he hurt her before they ceased? What if they didn’t stop? What if they got worse?

  Having lost everyone once, his starkest terror was that it could occur again. If anything happened to Delia and Izzy, he couldn’t endure it. “I, um, need a couple of days to resolve this, so I won’t be by until Friday.”

  A frown creased her brow. “I’m glad you’re seeking therapy, but counseling takes time before it works. One session won’t eliminate your flashbacks.”

  He was pretty sure one session would eliminate the flashbacks, but he had to shore up the courage to do it and then verify he was still himself. If he wasn’t…

  He cupped Delia’s face. Her lips parted as his mouth touched hers, in a gentle forget-me-not kiss. He hugged her tight, letting her soft form imprint upon him, before separating from her.

  She scanned his face. “So, Friday, right?”

  “Friday,” he agreed.

  * * * *

  Inferno and Psy were stretched out in recliners engrossed in a television show. They watched a lot of TV to learn Earth culture. He eyed the Verital, and the knot in his stomach tightened.

  “You need to talk?” Psy asked.

  “No,” he bit out a terse denial of the truth. He did need his help, but he had to adjust to the idea first.

  “When you do, I’m here.”

  Wingman whipped around. “Get out of my head.”

  “Believe it or not, I do not enter people’s minds without their permission. It’s not pleasant to dredge through the sewage of people’s baser instincts. Your conflict is written all over your face, and you keep glancing my way.” Psy pushed out of the chair. “You haven’t asked for advice—yet—but the first thing you can do to work through your trauma is to knock the chip off your shoulder. We all went through shit, but we’re a team, and we’re here to help one another.” He stomped up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  Inferno applauded with slow deliberation. “Way to go. Psy is one of the most unflappable ’Topians I’ve ever met. You gonna yank Tigre’s tail next?”

  He sank into the chair Psy had vacated, rested his elbows on his knees, and buried his head in his hands. His wings drooped in misery. Fear had caused him to strike out against the one man who could help him. “I owe him a big apology.”

  “I’m glad you realize that. What’s going on?” Inferno shut off the TV.

  He studied the floor. “You ever sought help from a Verital?”

  “No…you considering it?”

  He nodded. “I need Psy to erase memories…of the bombardment.”

  Inferno whistled through his teeth. “That would leave a pretty big gap.”

  “I’ve been having flashbacks and nightmares in which my wings catch fire. In beating out the flames in my dream, I hurt Delia—not badly—” he amended at Inferno’s shocked expression. “She had a few minor cuts from my blades. What if it happens again, and she’s seriously injured?”

  “Maybe it won’t happen again.”

  “It already did. We were having dinner at a restaurant. A car misfired. I thought we were under attack. I pushed Delia and her daughter to the floor. I can’t keep reacting this way.

  “She’s my genmate. I will do anything to keep her safe. At the same time, I owe it to the people who died to honor them, to remember their lives and their deaths, to never forget how they died. I realize Lissa was not my genmate, but I loved her. And my parents. The people of my village. In erasing their memories, I will be killing them all over again.”

  Inferno laid a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe Psy won’t have to erase everything. You can remember them as they were up until the bombardment.”

  Wingman twisted his mouth. “What then? In my mind, life is bright and promising, and then there’s this big blank until I’m on the Castaway with people I don’t know, and we’re fleeing for our lives?” He tapped his head. “Without the knowledge they’d died, in my head and heart, they would still be alive. So Psy, or you or somebody would have the pleasure of telling me my family and Lissa are dead. I’d get to mourn all over again.”

  Inferno squeezed his shoulder and then dropped his hand. “I’m sorry. You don’t have a good situation.”

  “No, I can dishonor my people—or risk hurting Delia and Izzy. Before the bombardment, I believed Lissa was my genmate. If Psy erases memories of the attack and the pain of losing her, what if I revert to believing she still is? What will that mean for me and Delia? That’s my biggest fear.”

  Inferno shook his head. “Those are questions I can’t answer. I’m not a Verital, nor have I sought help from one. You need to talk to Psy.”

  “I know. But I dread the conversation.” He slapped his knees. “I’m going to bed. Thanks for listening, for being here.”

  “That’s what friends are for.” Inferno studied the decorated hoop. “What’s that?”

  “A dream catcher. It stops the bad dreams but lets the good ones through.”

  “Really?”

  “I wish. It’s a nice fantasy, but that’s all it is.”

  Wingman climbed the stairs to the second floor. He had to pass Psy’s room to get to his at the end of the hall. He slowed. Any apology would require an explanation, which would lead to his need for assistance, which he couldn’t face tonight.

  Morning would be soon enough to talk to Psy.

  In his room, he hung the dream catcher over his bed. Its power wasn’t real—even a child with imaginary friends knew that—but it couldn’t hurt. He’d lain awake for a long time before falling asleep. He didn’t have any bad dreams—or any dreams that he could remember—but he overslept, and, when he went downstairs, Tigre, Shadow, and Psy had left him a note, telling him they’d gone to see Mysk in Seattle until Friday afternoon.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Business had been slow for a Friday, so Marty let Delia go home a few minutes early. Leaving the Whitetail, she was surprised to see heavy rain clouds darkening the sky. It had been sunny when she started work, and there had been no forecast of rain. Typical for northern Idaho. If you don’t like the weather—stick around—it will change.

  She had intended to walk to the school, but with a downpour appearing imminent, she figured she’d better get the car. She shot a text to Izzy. If it starts to rain, wait inside the gym. She hurried up Main Street.

  At least the weather would give them a good reason to stay in. Wingman was coming over, and she was anxious to find out how his therapy session had gone. She’d kind of expected him to drop in at the
Whitetail, and, when he didn’t, she’d texted him. When will I see you?

  After camp, he’d texted back, and she assumed that meant he’d meet her at the house later in the evening.

  She feared his optimism would result in disappointment. Therapy worked wonders—but not overnight. He had been so distraught, first because of the dream, and then because of the flashback. She crossed her fingers he wouldn’t lose hope when a single session didn’t yield miraculous results. She would do her best to buoy him and reassure him she would stand by him no matter what. Because she would.

  He was a keeper. His compassion, his loving nature, his genuine concern for Izzy—men like him didn’t come along often, and she considered herself fortunate to have met two great men in her life—first Josh, and now Wingman. She’d thought of her stalker ex-boss Colson and shuddered. Leaving Pittsburgh and moving to Argent had turned out to be the best decision she’d ever made. If not for Colson, she wouldn’t have met Wingman. Maybe she should thank the creep. Or not.

  As she came abreast of Trudy’s house, the door flew open and the sitter rushed out, waving. “Delia! Wait!” She hurried to the gate. “I’m glad I caught you. I’ve been keeping an eye out for you.”

  “Oh?” A sinking feeling warned Trudy was about to tell her Scott intended to stay longer. Next week she would resume the night shift, and, while she might be able to switch hours again, she’d only enrolled Izzy in one week of camp. What if the second session had filled up?

  “Scott had planned to stay through Sunday, but he left a little while ago. I’m good to watch Izzy again,” Trudy said. “If you need me this weekend, I’m available.”

  Whew! Thank goodness! “I’m sorry to hear he left so soon,” she lied. “I’m good this we—” She’d started to reject the babysitting offer, but if Trudy watched Izzy, she and Wingman could have another alone date. Make love again. She’d talk to him tonight. “I might need help this weekend. Can I let you know later?”

  “Of course. I want to make amends for leaving you in the lurch.”

  “No harm, no foul. I was able to make other arrangements, and I totally understand you’d want to spend time with your son. I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet him. I kept meaning to stop by. Did you have a good visit?”

  “Yes. I was disappointed when he had to leave, but his work had texted him and asked him to come in.” She chuckled. “His visit came out of the blue, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised when his leaving went the same way. It was so good to see him though.” She shook her head. “He’s had a tough go lately. Bad, bad breakup with the ex. She accused him of horrible things.”

  “I’m sorry. Divorces can get contentious.”

  “His was really nasty.”

  “That’s rough,” she replied noncommittally. Scott’s situation sounded sad, but there were usually two sides to a story. Nobody was totally angelic, and breakups could get bitter and bring out the worst in people.

  “He came to visit to get away from it all.”

  She glanced at the sky. Thus far, the rain had held, but she wondered what time it was. Her phone was buried in her handbag, so she tried to peek at Trudy’s wristwatch, but the woman gestured as she spoke, and Delia couldn’t make out the time.

  “My Scotty is a good boy.” Trudy pressed her lips together.

  A clap of thunder sounded in the distance. That’s my cue… “I’m so sorry. I hate to cut you off, but I have to get Izzy. She’ll be standing outside in the rain,” she fibbed.

  “Oh, my heavens, of course. Listen to me rattle on. You should have said something.” She shooed her. “Go. Give Izzy a big hug and kiss for me, and tell her I missed her.”

  “Will do. I’ll let you know soon about this weekend.” She hurried home and went straight to the garage, not even stopping to check on Charlie. She hoped the thunderstorm didn’t scare him, but the clock on the dash said she’d gone from early to late by ten minutes.

  Outside the gym, a dozen girls, including Molly, waited for their rides. Normally, her daughter would be with Molly because the two had become inseparable, but she had told Izzy to wait inside. She was pleased she’d listened. She waved to the other girl and proceeded into the gym.

  Three camp counselors conferred in a huddle, but there were no kids. A chilly finger inched up her spine before her anxious gaze alighted on the GIRLS sign. She strode to the restroom. “Izzy! Izzy, It’s Mom!” She checked the stalls. Empty.

  Heart pounding, she made a beeline for the counselors. “Excuse me! I came to pick up my daughter, Izzy Mason.”

  “She went outside with the other girls when camp let out ten minutes ago.”

  “I told her to stay inside!” If it was raining. It wasn’t raining. That was the kind of technicality to lead Izzy astray.

  She dashed outside. “Izzy! Izzy! Isabella!” The number of girls had dwindled, and Molly was climbing into a pickup driven by her mother, Ramona. “Molly, wait! Molly!” She sprinted to the vehicle. “Do you know where Izzy is?”

  “She left already.”

  “Left? Left? When?”

  “Before you got here.”

  Don’t panic. “She decided to walk home?” Izzy knew the rules! As soon as she got done hugging her, Delia would ground her. She’d graduate high school before she was allowed out of the house!

  “No, some guy picked her up.”

  She felt the blood drain from her face. “Who? Do you know who?”

  Molly’s mother blanched and cut the engine.

  “No, I never saw him before.”

  Maybe, maybe she was leaping to conclusions. Maybe it wasn’t bad. “Did he—did he have wings?” Please let it be Wingman. Please.

  “No.” Molly shook her head.

  “Have you tried calling her?” Ramona asked.

  “Oh god, no, I didn’t!” She emptied her purse on the sidewalk and grabbed her phone.

  The phone rang and rang, but there was no answer. Izzy didn’t have voice mail. Delia hadn’t thought she’d need it. Fear clawed at her throat. “She’s not answering.” She texted her. Where are you? Call me now!

  She called Wingman. His phone rang and rang. He didn’t have voice mail, either. She texted him. Please tell me you have Izzy! I’m at the school. She’s not here. She called Izzy’s phone again. No answer.

  The three camp counselors ran over. “Did you find her?”

  No, I didn’t find her! She could scream. “I’m calling the police.”

  She punched 9-1-1. “My daughter is missing,” she said as soon as dispatch answered. “She’s only six years old. I came to pick her up at camp, and she’s not here.” She burst into tears.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It took twelve steps to cross the living room. He’d been pacing for the last hour, waiting for Tigre and Psy. His feathers tingled, and he dashed to the door and threw it open. The air over the driveway shimmered and then two hover scooters materialized. Tigre and Psy dismounted.

  None of them owned cars, preferring hover scooters. Although the top speed wasn’t much faster than a typical automobile, the light refractors rendered the scooters invisible, enabling the rider to zip around traffic. Since it hovered, it could also travel off road, so overall it was a much more efficient, quicker mode of transportation. They’d had only one aboard the Castaway, but they’d been able to produce more in the large replicator.

  “I expected you earlier,” Wingman said.

  He’d dreaded the mind wipe, but now he wished to get it over and done with. He hadn’t contacted Delia because, uncertain of the effects, he’d avoided making promises he couldn’t keep. He had to settle this first. If he contacted her, he might cave and rush to see her, and what if a flashback happened again?

  Every second without her increased his yearning. His mating glands were swollen again, his skin itched, and the calami of his feathers where they attached to the bone ached. He needed his genmate!

  Whatever the side effects of memory erasure, they couldn’t be any worse than this!


  “The meeting with Mysk ran over because we had a lot to hammer out,” Tigre said as he and Psy entered the house. “He proposed a joint venture—the manufacture of small spacecraft. If we pool resources—his ship, ours, his, and our replicators, combined with Earth’s fledgling technology, he’s confident his factory can build two-to-four person spaceships enabling any of us to leave Earth wherever we want.”

  Forget spaceships! He had to get Psy to fix him so he could go see Delia. “Anyone can leave now. The Castaway has been repaired, and Mysk’s ship was always operational,” he impatiently pointed out.

  “Those are our only ships. If the person who left didn’t return, we’d lose the craft and its technology. If we can build new, small space pods, all of us will have the freedom to come and go as we please.”

  “Like Shadow,” he finally realized.

  “He was the first who came to mind.” Tigre nodded.

  “There aren’t any potential mates among Mysk’s people then?” he asked, setting aside his own needs. The situation Shadow faced was more dire than his own. If the Vaporian couldn’t find a mate, he would dissipate until he ceased to exist.

  Tigre shook his head. “So far, no. Only two females remain whom he hasn’t met. They live in a ’Topian colony in Alaska. That’s why he didn’t come back with us. He traveled up there to meet them, but he doesn’t hold out much hope. It’s been fifty Earth years since Mysk and his people got here. The female Vaporians have already paired up with males. With these new space pods, Shadow could go to another planet if he has to.”

  Shadow hadn’t said a word the mate search hadn’t gone well, but they weren’t confidants. Still, if he left, Wingman would miss him. He looked at Psy. “Can’t you tell if two people are genmates? Can’t you help Shadow find a mate?”