by Kay Williams
I glared at the pop-up, and the caller ID with a number I didn’t recognise, technically I was on call and I shouldn’t have been answering it unless I had been paged first. But at the same time if it was my boss making sure everything was going to be ready for tonight, and I didn’t answer it, I’d only land myself in more trouble.
I dragged the earpiece out of the charger mounted to the monitor and slipped it on before clicking the answer button on the pop up.
“Roberts?”
“Hannah? It's Anthony.”
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
The sudden silence felt like someone flicking my panic switch, how many times had I been called after I had had a good time only to be let down?
“I’m glad you are still at work.”
“Really?” I couldn’t keep the frown I wore from colouring my voice.
“I’m down in the cafeteria,” Carson replied. “Can you give me half an hour?”
“You’re here now?”
“Yes.”
“Sure. I’ll be down in a minute,” I was due a lunch break and the tea wasn't helping.
“What would you like to eat?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Eat, Hannah,” Carson repeated himself. “I know you must be tired and starving.”
He sounded apologetic and I wasn’t sure why so I just rattled off my usual sandwich, soup and chocolate combo for when I had a depressing morning and hung up. I put the ear-piece back into its place, lifted the monitor from the cradle and waited the couple of moments it took for the wireless to connect and register the hard drive, before sliding it into its case and looping it over one shoulder.
I grabbed my keys, locked the office on the way out and hurried down the three flights of stairs and through the museum galleries, making my way to the cafeteria.
I avoided the small queue for food and began to weave among the tables and booths catching sight of Carson as he waved to me from out on the patio. I nearly refused at the thought, the bright spring morning had blown over into a gloomy afternoon with dark clouds that threatened the worst kind of persistent thin drizzle. Carson might not have been able to feel it, or cared about the damp bite in the air, but without my jacket I knew I would.
I ducked outside prepared to shiver only to find that Carson had wound out both the overhead awnings along with the side ones and turned on the heat lamps creating a surprisingly warm shelter. He met me with a smile and led the way to a small table laid out with my own choices plus fries and a lemon muffin.
“Who else are you feeding?”
“I get carried away when I’m guilty,” he admitted shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“Guilty for what?”
“Sit,” Carson encouraged. “Eat, please. You must be exhausted. Why don’t you have a jacket?”
“It was so nice this morning I didn’t bother with it,” I answered.
Carson waited until I had sat and began with the soup before he joined me.
“If I knew you didn’t have a jacket we would be inside, but I wanted to talk to you alone.”
“It’s warm enough.”
“I have to apologise to you, Hannah.”
“For what?”
“For last night.”
The cup of soup stopped half way to my mouth, I shouldn’t have been surprised, maybe it was because I had never considered last night a date in the strictest sense, but here came yet another let down. Carson reached out and used a finger to help me remember what I was supposed to do with the cup, I swallowed a mouthful of tomato soup that sat like a stone in my stomach making me wish I hadn’t bothered.
Usually I let the guy get whatever he had to say out of his system, while nodding along as if I agreed. As if it hadn’t been fun, as if they hadn’t been flattering, as if I wasn’t disappointed, but I couldn’t do that with Carson.
“I should get back to work.”
“I let my bloodlust get the better of me and I apologise.” Taking my hands he guided the cup back to my lips. “Last night I met someone who along with being potent and powerful was also intelligent, fun and had a wonderfully inventive nature. And I took advantage of her.”
“You had someone up to the room after I left?”
“That’s not funny, Hannah.” Carson scowled. “Do you have any idea how long it has been for me since I became catatonic after a meal?”
“Ages?”
“Many ages,” he smiled. “Please eat.”
“What do you mean when you say ‘took advantage’?”
“Hannah, I pinned you down, sank my teeth in and drained you.”
“And yet I got up quickly,” I pointed out, finishing the soup and moving on.
“And you are paying for it aren’t you? You are pale and exhausted and starving.”
“Sounds like me on a good day.”
“Enough, Hannah, there are plenty of idiots on the two worlds without the good people ruining themselves. Thank you for the extra time you bought me, by the way.”
“You’re welcome.”
“There is one other thing,” Carson spoke softly. “You are one of Earthling abstracts aren’t you?”
I felt every muscle I had seize, I was suddenly cold, and I knew by the look in Carson’s eyes that he knew I was afraid.
“We call them Children of the Nexus,” he pushed on quickly. “Abstracts of magic burnt into your DNA, passed down generation to generation.”
“I know what I am.”
“So do I Hannah. You are telekinetic.” Carson leant forward and I tried to pull away but he was quicker. “Hannah, I know you are telekinetic because when I finally woke up this morning I was too.”
“I don’t understand.” Confusion made me frown.
“I drank your blood, Hannah. I took your DNA, my body is absorbing it, feeding off it. What did you think you were doing offering yourself to Dependants?”
“It was my first time!” I didn’t mean to yell or sound so childish but he made it sound like I did it on purpose. “I didn’t know it was bloody transferable!”
“Alright,” Carson replied soothingly, his thumb was working back and forth across my cold hands. “Hannah, how powerful are you?”
“Why do you ask?” I suddenly felt defensive, I would not prove myself to him.
A hesitant kind of excitement flashed in Carson’s eyes and he tugged his chair closer using his feet, and letting go of my hand long enough to pierce several fries with a fork and offer them to me.
“I can move pens.”
“Child's play,” I replied, accepting the mouthful.
“Is not!” He protested with a frown.
“Is too,” I said around my full mouth.
“Is not,” Carson smiled, piercing more fries, and offering them to me. “Maybe I need more practice.”
“Probably,” I agreed.
“Promise me you won’t go offering your neck to any other Dependant?”
“Another promise?”
“Hannah,” Carson protested softly.
“I know. There are many nasty people out there, both living and dead, who would take advantage of me if they knew. You have my word. You didn’t need to ask for it.”
“Good.” Carson breathed a small sigh of relief.
“Thank you for telling me.”
# # #
It was almost four, Carson had stayed long enough to feed me the rest of my lunch and tell me the amusing story of how the screaming alarm had woke him up. While attempting to drag himself out of bed, a stray thought about how he wanted to throw something at the offending piece of technology was brought to life when his shoe launched itself at the panel.
He had gone on to tell me his realisations, his practising and then the blinding epiphany when he realised that if I decided to offer myself to another Dependant without being warned of its outcome I could find myself in a lot of trouble, especially if I trusted the wrong person, which had resulted in his call and our lunch.
When I
had finished eating, he had thanked me again for the night before. I thought it a little unfair that he took all the blame for his loss of control, especially when it had been my wandering hands that had caused it, but Carson wouldn’t let me apologise, and even went as far as pulling me into a hug and kissing my cheek.
I got the feeling that as much as he was sorry for the state he had got himself into, he had also enjoyed it, and wouldn’t let me regret it.
Carson had tidied up my mess, opened all the doors for me on the way back to the employee door and my offhanded comment that my mother had been right when she had once told me chivalry was dead had been met with an unashamed grin as Carson clearly
enjoyed his role as the gentleman.
Carson had seemed reluctant to leave, and I wondered if that had to do with his unspoken desire for some lessons on how to control the abstract power before he finished absorbing his meal and he lost its effects.
In the end he had promised to call and I had gone back to work before I could do something stupid like ask him out.
I had to keep reminding myself that Carson was a Dependant.
That his desire to keep seeing me had more to do with making sure I was okay after what he considered his own poor behaviour, and that I had strong potent blood. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he wanted permission from me to go on his list of dinner options that he didn’t keep under a magnet on his fridge, along with the added bonus of the telekinetic power that he had absorbed.
It wouldn’t do me good to let his attentions or his compliments go to my head he wasn’t, more importantly, he couldn’t be interested in me in a sexual way.
A few bad dates and Cornwall’s snarling was no reason for me to throw myself at someone who was going to let me down.
The big lunch and the fresh air had given me the break I needed to wake up though. I had finished cataloguing the exhibits, made last minute adjustments to the cases, and I was ready to go home and put my feet up when a knock on the office door threatened to bring with it a last minute drama I wanted to hide from.
I got up and opened the security sealed door.
I was greeted by the smile of Marcus Pear. Pear was a man in his mid-sixties who had a rounded belly, short hair and could be painfully shut down and hard. Pear worked in the warehouse side of the museum with a frightening single minded dedicated to do his job.
I didn’t know his exact age but he must have been born ten years or so after the Pause itself. He would have grown up without any of the modern technological comforts I took for granted, because until the invention of the Fusion Drive, all of it had been almost non-existent due to the flux of power emitted by the Nexus and its Portals.
Fusion Drives were rechargeable batteries made of a blend of magic and technology that ran everything from mobile phones to cars, planes, power and communications.
Pear would have lived through the political turmoil, suffered under the fanatics from either side who had fought one another trying to preserve a way of life that they would never be able to return to, worried that he would have been called into service to defend his world when everything was poised on the brink of war. Pear had seen more in his short life than I ever would in mine, it was the hard work of him and the people of his generation who had somehow kept things going in the face of such destruction and adversity that meant I had the life I did.
Safe, secure and most importantly peaceful.
For that Pear had my gratitude, it was my open admiration for him that meant he was more verbal with me than with the others who I worked with, who chose to see him as a sullen old man then give him the respect he deserved.
I welcomed him and his burden in, knowing better than to ask him if I could help. Pear was prideful to a fault, besides which I felt he was fit enough to carry a dress bag and two small boxes.
“These came for you.”
“I didn’t order anything,” I replied.
I shut the door and followed him back to my desk where he put them down; personal orders had to be reported to Pear and the warehouse staff so they knew not to mix the boxes up in with the stock.
“Would you like some tea?”
“Thank you,” Pear replied.
I jumped to the task. I got the feeling part of the reason we got on so well was because I always offered him tea and always had some kind of chocolate biscuit in my desk drawer. A few minutes later we both had a drink and Pear gave up the delivery card and I sliced it open.
“It was kind of you to bring it up.”
Pear seemed to puff up a little bit.
“You always let me know when you order things. I thought it might be important.”
This was why I liked Pear, if you gave then he gave back, he just wanted a little bit of acknowledgement and consideration. I dug around in my desk and found a packet of ginger and dark chocolate cookies.
We broke into it and Pear inhaled his first two, the others thought of his table manners as appalling but I could guess that they stemmed from a time when food was rationed and when people went hungry so I always ignored it and let him enjoy what he ate without comment, instead I turned my attention to the card.
Inside there was a gilded invitation to the opening of the museum wing tonight and a short handwritten note.
Please be my plus one, Anthony.
My gaze shifted suspiciously to the accompanying parcels.
“Who is Anthony?”
“A friend. He’s Dependant.”
“And I thought you were going to tell me he was a boyfriend,” Pear snorted taking another biscuit.
“Give me a break,” I smiled taking a biscuit of my own. “How long have you known me for?”
“Good point.”
I hated the finality in his tone, which agreed that if I hadn’t had one since I had started working here, I wasn’t ever going to have one.
We finished the biscuits over another cup of tea while Pear spoke about his favourite topic: his children. He had four and so far three grandchildren and they were his pride and joy.
After Pear had left I opened the packages, the dress was beautiful. It was a sheer fall of soft blue silk that was wide at the neck so it hung just cupping the shoulders, clinched at the waist, and fell in a long elegant line to the floor, the sleeves were wide three-quarter length and open at the sides so they looked more like a shawl. The dress itself was topped with three layers of open weave lace of white, peach and muted silver, coupled with the blue silk butterflies emerging from the artful layers of fabric gave a depth to the design. One of the boxes contained a pair of high cream coloured shoes and in the other were several accessories.
How he knew my sizes was completely beyond me.
It was almost as if he had heard my mental mantra of ‘I will not fall for Anthony Carson’ and he had decided to make it hard for me.
# # #
What kind of masochist comes to work for a night out?
One who was bought a beautiful dress by a man hundreds of years older than she was.
The lobby of the museum was decorated with streamers of ribbon and cloth; waiters equipped with trays giving out glasses of champagne and expensive looking finger foods wandered amongst the gathered celebrities, the Museum's directors and Pre-Pause Society sponsors. I stood off to one side in the amazing dress Carson had sent me with the matching shoes. In the third box I had found gem encrusted combs and I had swept my long hair up. The look was ruined by the computer satchel I wore cross ways over one hip, which had my monitor inside, along with a pad of paper and a pen, but I couldn’t get away from the fact I was on call.
The crowd parted as another tour began and as my gaze glanced over the tour party as I looked for Carson I found myself meeting the eyes of a familiar figure, he was stood with a group of people I had only met once and had no desire to make a spectacle of myself in front of again.
I looked away instantly, hoping that Carson would appear and rescue me.
“Hannah?” Cornwall had snuck up on me while I desp
erately looked for Carson. He had spoke in voice that was soft and private and as Carson was nowhere in sight, I knew I was going to have talk to him.
Was a little luck too much to ask?
“Mr Cornwall,” I answered, dropping the informality of using his name.
“I deserved that,” he answered. “Can I apologise?”
“Shouldn’t you be insisting that be my line?” I replied tartly, still stung that he had decided to apologise for my behaviour when his own had been less than gracious.
“I was rude and patronising and should never have spoken to you the way I did. I am sorry. I don’t know what was wrong with me.”
“I know.”
I jumped at the voice right against my ear, even Cornwall jerked in surprise.
“Anthony.” I couldn’t quite hide my relief from my tone, but when I tried to turn Carson nudged me back around to face Cornwall.
“You look beautiful,” Carson added.
To anyone else his compliment would probably have sounded offhanded but it meant everything to me, I couldn’t remember the last time I had been complimented without a prompt or without it being directed ambiguously.
“Thank you,” I despaired of myself and the shy way those words came out, and moved on swiftly with the introductions as I tried to drag myself back to the moment. “Simon Cornwall, Anthony Carson.”
The pair shook hands and I noticed that neither of them wore gloves.
“Would you give us a minute, Mr Carson?” Cornwall asked politely.
“I know why he acts out of character,” Carson staged whispered again, ignoring Cornwall’s request.
“Hannah,” Cornwall complained.
“See how he makes my appearance your fault?” Carson continued like a kind of commentator.
Cornwall looked down and bit his lip to keep from saying anything.
“You have apologised, Mr Cornwall. Thank you, I won’t keep you from your friends any longer,” I offered.
“You are my friend too, Hannah.”
“In the loosest sense of the word,” Carson again.
