“My parents will be returning home at the end of the week. I doubt they’ll even wait a full day before trying to contact us.”
“Oh, dear,” Marian whispered again.
Elizabeth didn’t like the sound of that. Wiping her damp palms on the bottom of her tunic, she tried to move the telescope. It didn’t budge.
“This way.” Bossgond’s fingers set hers on a gear. “Is the perspective acceptable?”
Clearing her throat, Elizabeth said, “For the moment. We will, ah, be able to see my apartment itself?”
“We have zoom features,” Bossgond said
“Uh-huh.” Elizabeth slowly turned the large gear; it moved easily under her fingers. She located the capitol building, moved the view until she found Denver Major, followed the streets until she reached her building. “How do we get inside?”
“You are there?” The old Circlet was eager.
“Yes. Ayes.”
Bossgond nudged her away, glanced in, hummed, went to the end of the telescope and flipped a lens. “There, try that.”
Elizabeth looked, the parking garage, her car. She could see into the elevator shaft, followed it to her floor, saw other apartments, focused on her own. A lump came to her throat. Her home. The shabby furniture, the deep blue rug, the wide windows looking out toward the mountains. How she missed that view!
To her complete astonishment, someone walked into view. Cassidy Jones. Her mouth dropped open. What was he doing there? He must have kept an extra key.
As she watched, he looked around, rubbed his face, an action he only used when he was completely stressed. He looked haggard. His lips moved a little. He was talking to himself! He stalked over to her landline phone, picked it up, punched the read-out button repeatedly. Then he shoved the phone down and put both his hands to his face, rocked a little.
She stumbled back, her hand jogging the telescope to point at the ceiling.
“What happened?” Marian asked.
Elizabeth just shook her head in disbelief. “My ex fiancé is there. He’s a doctor at Denver Major. Something must have come up.” She found she was hyperventilating and regulated her breath. “It looked like he already knows that I’m, we’re, missing. I can’t guess how soon he’ll tell my parents.”
Bossgond glared at her. “My experiments are best conducted when the target location is empty.”
Elizabeth murmured an absent apology, staring at the telescope, torn, yearning for another look. She only wanted to see her place again, not Cassidy.
“I have the coordinates now,” Bossgond said. “Go away.”
Elizabeth wetted her lips. “Will you be able to send a message through?”
The older man ignored her. Bad sign.
“Our parents will worry. A lot.”
Faucon walked through the door. Elizabeth checked his expression. She couldn’t tell how long he’d been there. As they’d begun to land, he’d grown quieter, his Song uneasy. He didn’t want her here.
Elizabeth shook her head, trying to align the two men in her mind—her past, her present so entirely different. She couldn’t. All her emotions jumbled together. The love and time and goals she’d shared with Cassidy.
The beautiful man before her in this strange land, making it bearable, who held out his hand to her. She wobbled a smile. “Just a minute.” Swallowing hard, she turned back to Bossgond and the other Circlets. “We must send some message to our parents. Please, let me show you their house.”
Bossgond hummed again. “A good idea.” He flipped back the lens. Elizabeth, knowing she wouldn’t be viewing her apartment or Cassidy again, felt a flare of mixed emotions, grief, longing, hurt, fear. Controlling her breathing, she squinted through the eyepiece, found Cheesman Park, the home she grew up in, stepped aside and waved Bossgond to the telescope.
He looked. “This house?”
“Yes.”
Again he flipped the lens. Scowled. “Odd looking furniture.”
“My living room was mostly books,” Marian murmured. “That’s the only place he’s seen.”
Elizabeth glanced into the telescope. Her insides squeezed as she saw the family room, the matching recliners and large-screen TV and electronics. “Our home,” she choked. Too painful. She didn’t want to feel. Didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to analyze any feelings. She went to Faucon.
The first couple of days of Bri’s journey were…interesting. The inn at Troque and the savvy merchant Citymasters were a more sophisticated lot, probably due to the proximity of the City States. Though down a huge escarpment wasn’t exactly what Bri called close. Still, the view was fabulous, something she’d never contemplated, and the falls of the river were as large and impressive as Niagra.
Outwardly courteous, the Citymasters had lines by eyes and mouth that didn’t relax until Bri did the Healing Hands Show. Then they became downright friendly, confiding that many who discovered they had the frink sickness had simply jumped off the escarpment, appalling Bri. Yes, this place was different.
After the visit to Troque, they went down the eastern boundary of Lladrana, the escarpment, visiting small communities not even on the map. Here people stared at Bri, some actually ran from her and two of the diseased refused to let her touch them. Bri had read Alexa’s book, but she’d said little of her “goodwill trip” so the volume was no help. By the fifth day, Bri hated the traveling. Wondered how she’d ever had itchy feet. But that was then, on Earth, and this was now, on Lladrana. At home someone usually knew English, or French, or Spanish. Here she had to listen hard to figure out accents; more, she spent time listening to personal Songs.
The flying coach was boring. Good for sleeping, for eating, but not much else. Hard to look at the view unless she hung out of it, and Sevair disapproved.
He disapproved of a lot—of her wanting to sleep late, wander the town, meet other people than the City and Townmasters. So he irritated her.
But she saw the sick and the wounded and the scared, and sometimes their emotions overwhelmed her. She flung herself into the healingstream and it was different wherever she went, sometimes Powerful, sometimes close to the trickle she’d felt on Earth. Sevair was always there, providing food, support, making excuses when she couldn’t face one more person. So she was glad he was with her. She actually relied on him.
The dichotomy was enough to wrench her.
She watched him. How he stood and moved, how his quiet confidence reassured. How he raised spirits by being open and answering any questions, patient of those he’d heard a thousand times. How was the fight against the frinkweed proceeding? What of the sickness itself? The northern boundary? The horrors?
The latter were spoken by the southerners as mythic legends, few having seen even trophies of the monsters. At each town he handed the mayor a crystal ball provided by Castleton to keep in touch. This was seen as a great bounty. This trip was knitting the cities and towns of Lladrana together as never before.
Occasionally the coach stopped at some noble estates. Then Sevair was stiff and punctilious and Bri found herself smoothing waters. When they were at a Castle, her status was considered far higher than his.
They skirted the Singer’s Abbey and headed for Krache. That city was larger and more bustling. A major seaport, it was shared with the southern country of Shud, which ignored Lladrana’s “strange” problems. They stayed at a walled mansion, with guards for Sevair, Bri and the coach. Her patients were fewer, the citizens hard-eyed and less inclined to believe in Power. Only the highest ranked had the silver mark of Power at one or both temples. Bri suspected some of the guild people colored their hair to downplay it. Bri’s own purple streaks had faded.
Krache was also the most diverse. Bri might have been able to pass for a foreigner if she was foolish enough to run away in this dangerous place. It was Krache where she’d had a long conversation with Elizabeth and found out about Cassidy visiting her sister’s apartment and the lack of progress in contacting their parents.
Elizabeth’s voi
ce had held an odd note when speaking of Cassidy, and once more Bri said nothing. She wouldn’t give any advice unless asked. As for her parents, she couldn’t think of them, anticipate their pain, or she’d go crazy.
She sat in the moon and starlight on the step of the magical carriage. Being with the vehicle that would take her back to Castleton and Elizabeth soothed her. Though if she screamed loud and long in her mind Nuare, Mud or the whole contingent of Exotiques might come rescue her. But she couldn’t leave the towns without hope. Her shoulders hunched against the weariness of the day. Lately she’d healed mostly children, a couple of elderly women, two teenagers. The sickness, like the frinks, were less harmful the further south. She rubbed her arms, covered in the undershirt and the three-quarter-length medica tunic. South in Lladrana didn’t mean warm.
Authoritative bootsteps rang across the courtyard of the inn, passed the two guards who gave her a little privacy. She didn’t have to raise her head to know it was Sevair, didn’t look up until the polished-to-meet-and-greet boots were nearly touching her own broken-in leather ones.
His expression was grave. Reaching down, he took her hands, unlinked her tight grip. “Come, Bri, it’s time you sleep.”
She couldn’t stop a great sigh from escaping, like all her lost steam that had kept her chugging along. She rose when he pulled on her hands, then didn’t know who moved, whether she stepped into his arms, or he paced forward. Didn’t matter. His head lowered, angled and her lips tingled. She knew she’d been waiting for the press of his lips on hers.
The kiss started out tender, gentle, as soft as his mouth. She set her hands on his shoulders, wide and strong, felt herself flattened against his frame, muscles as hard as his own stonework. Warmer, more wonderful. If—when—this man stripped he’d be better than any statue of masculinity.
Her weariness was lost in a rush of intoxicating passion. She opened her mouth and he explored with thorough and probing tongue. His taste was all she’d expected. His flavor was earthy, mint and man, a little gritty and that fascinated her, almost like sharp liquor—brandy maybe. Just as heady. Unexpected depths to this reliable and sturdy man.
He felt wonderful. Solid. Strong, with just that teasing wisp of wild passion that drew her.
She surrendered to herself, her needs, her desires, wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, nibbled at his lips, gloried in his stone-hard erection against her stomach. Oh, yeah!
He peeled her arms from his neck and stepped back. She staggered, her mind whirled with the excitement coursing through her, was plunked back on the carriage step. Panted.
“I am a cautious man.” His voice was thick, she had to run the words through her dazzled mind twice before she understood them. She wet her lips. Yeah. Cautious, but there was something more under that quiet exterior.
He watched her, not bothering to hide his arousal, his face impassive. She knew how affected he was—in the thumping of her heart, she heard his, the racing and ragged pace of his Song. She blinked and realized he expected some answer. Running her tongue along her teeth, the taste of him sending a quiver to her core, she cleared her throat and spoke precisely. “It’s obvious you’re a cautious man.”
“You are returning to Exotique Terre.”
27
Bri gathered her wits. Earth. Home. Her parents, her future. She stood straight as her past and future plans clashed with present wants. Meeting his gaze, his widened pupils still showing his passion, she said, “Yes. I am.”
He nodded. “I’ve had enough people leave me in my life.”
His parents and sister? They’d died and the man was dealing with abandonment issues. She couldn’t say that she blamed him. She was surprised that he realized he had such feelings. “I understand,” she croaked.
“So,” he said deliberately, “you will know that if we have sex and sleep together it will not be a casual affair.”
“It won’t be casual on my part either.” Casual sex was rare for her. She heard the warning in his tone. Not a casual affair, but not a deep connection of the heart, either. Something she always had a problem with. Her problem. “It may be short but I’ll give you all I can.”
He was holding out his hand again, cool and steady as could be, showing her his control even as his pants jutted in an interesting manner. She tossed her no-longer-purple-streaked-hair. She could match him, put her fingers in his. Immediately his Song was in stereo, hell, it felt like it was in her head, her veins, her center.
She studied him as they walked back to their guest rooms. This guy was dangerous. This guy might possibly make her forget her once and future plans. If he decided that he seriously wanted her, she could be in trouble.
Two afternoons later, Elizabeth stood in the cool cloister outside the Castle keep and sweated. Bri was due “soon,” but some patients couldn’t wait. The sickness would kill them shortly. According to the Marshalls “soon” was today, tomorrow, the next day, maybe even next week. No one could give Elizabeth a definite time and that irritated.
Five people with frink sickness lay on pallets, ready for her healing hands. The gift Bri had always told Elizabeth she had. Which she’d used with little success on Earth, but had achieved great results here on Lladrana. With Bri.
Elizabeth would be performing before a critical audience scrutinizing her every move. She set her jaw and ignored them—the medicas and the Marshalls and the Chevaliers and most especially the townsfolk radiating worry. Bri had endeared herself to them with all her quirkiness, and the people who had brought Elizabeth here didn’t have much faith in her alone.
These were her clients! Living in the Castle she’d forgotten that. Most of the time she’d kept herself in a nice little enclave, as usual. Foolish to chide herself now. Bri wasn’t here and she was and patients needed her. Her healing gift.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, checking her own chakras as she’d been taught. Almost second nature to her now, but she’d never done it at home as part of her regular medical training. She hadn’t been this nervous since the first years of med school, either.
The first time she was using her healing gift alone in Lladrana. Breathe in deeply, slowly let it out. She had practiced breath control on Earth—many of her friends had.
She’d already checked the patients as a doctor. There might be some herbs she could recommend, but she was all too aware that even on Earth she couldn’t have cured them. Treat each symptom, and somewhere down the line of that treatment they’d die.
This patient was a young man, a farmer with compromised organs. He had a film over his eyes, a coating on his tongue, moaned when she touched his abdomen. His breath was shallow, his heartbeat too rapid.
A shifting of feet came and she knew she’d hesitated too long. Nothing to do but trust her intuition, her gift. And pray.
She placed her left hand on his throat, her right on his lower abdomen. Another deep breath, then she opened herself. She knew Bri had the image of a healingstream. When they worked together, Elizabeth was swallowed by a flood. For herself, healing wasn’t water, a rushing river, but fire. Heat and light she drew from around her, the crackling of a wildfire in her head. Her hands grew warm, and she sent cleansing, bright fire that lit but did not sear down her tingling fingers. Moving her hands along her patient’s body, she sought the cobwebs inside him, shriveling them to black, to dust, to tiny motes that were attacked by his own white blood cells, defeated.
She stepped back, and as the snapping of the fire inside her mind quieted, she heard murmurs, ignored them. Blinking, she cleared her eyes, saw the sharp fascination on the medicas’ faces, almost smiled. Felt the pride and support of Faucon. Her gaze met his and he nodded. He’d had no doubt of her skill.
All of her life, no one had had complete confidence in her gift except Bri. Elizabeth herself had doubted, time and again, others hadn’t known. They might have suspected, felt the aura of her energy when she tried her gift in desperate times, wondered what she might be doing, figured nothing c
ould be done to save some patients. But Elizabeth had helped. Looking back, she understood there had been a couple of lives she had saved.
Her fingers curled, sending energy back up her nerve endings, giving her tiny shocks of renewal. She kept the Power safe from harming anyone, took cleansing breaths, moved on to the next. Her heart jolted. It was a Castle soldier, a young woman she recognized. The fire in Elizabeth burned hotter. Anger. Anger that this disease had been deliberately sent against the Lladranans. Fury that something evil loved death and dying more than the spark of life.
The soldier whimpered, looked up with suffering eyes. Elizabeth stroked her forehead, left her hand there, put her other hand on the jut of the woman’s hip. This time Elizabeth went deeper, into the bone marrow, into her own mind. Further. The flame of her danced until she thought it leapt into the the earth of Amee, giving and receiving, beyond the planet, into the heart of space itself, connecting with starfire. Her marrow burned, and she sent the healing energy from her fingertips into the soldier, swept away the sickness in a sheet of rushing flame.
Stepped back a pace, panting, wiping her arm across her forehead. Marian was there with a bota of cool, clear water, holding it to her mouth, squirting it inside. Elizabeth’s head felt light and she settled into her balance. No time for dizziness. Despite that, she felt strong, Powerful.
Her twin would fling herself into a healingstream, a rush of energy she thought of as a river. Finally, Elizabeth knew that image would never work for her. She channeled the energy of the stars.
“Very impressive,” Marian said.
“Thank you.” Elizabeth allowed herself a faint smile. She knew, now, what Marian had felt when she had come into her Power, raised her tower, became a Circlet. Elizabeth had crossed the barrier of self, found limitless Power. After a last swallow of water, she turned to her next patient, a girl about seven, thin and pale. Elizabeth tucked away compassion, which could only impede her, and studied the sickness, the disease that lived just under the skin.
Keepers of the Flame Page 25
