Afterwards, I headed to the training grounds to practice. As I made my way over, I thanked God for bringing Virgil on board with me. I hadn’t realized how very lonely I had felt before, not having had anyone with whom I could share my thoughts and enthusiasms. I could talk to the Captains about many things, but they were my rebbes, my teachers, my mentors—not my buddies. A guy needs a buddy.
I had sensed early on that Virgil was different from the others. I knew now that it was no coincidence that of all the cupids I could have been assigned to as a roommate, fate had determined that we would be bunkies.
Although dashingly handsome, a good student, a strong and brave soldier, Virgil maintained an authentic humility and insouciance that distinguished him from the other cupids. Free from affectation, his easy-going nature and infectious optimism made him a magnet for friendships.
Yet, despite being one of the most popular cupids at the Academy, Virgil dared to not only befriend a drip like me, but a drip that was not a regular member of the Cupid Corps. An outsider.
The gulf of experience that had separated Virgil and I had now closed. He crossed an invisible boundary, and there was no going back for him. He still had to put in time with his classmates at the Academy so that no one would become suspicious, but every chance he had he came to the archives to study and train with me.
After arriving at the training grounds and doing some basic calisthenics, I walked over to the armory. I opened its heavy wooden door, retrieved two lightning whips, and went back outside. It had been a long time since the wedding where I tried to crack a lightning whip, and I recalled with a chuckle my pathetic sprinkle of sparks.
As I mentioned, in the old days, the manipulation of the lightning whip was used as verification that a cupid had attained a certain level of mastery of his divine, internal energies—his ruach. Since my humiliating debut, I had spent hundreds of hours working with the weapon.
I held a lightning stick in each hand, and could feel the hollow metallic handles begin to warm. I let out a deep breath, centering myself and directing my energies into the ancient weapon. I raised my arms, and in a single, fluid movement took a step backwards as I bowed and crossed my arms before me, simultaneously giving the lightning sticks a sharp snap as I shouted, “Opa!”
Immediately, two long, bright, ruby-red cords shot uncoiling from their handles. I danced between the lashing flames, the whips’ long tethers curling and spitting all around me.
47
Scout’s Honor
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Cyrus,” Ellen Veetal said, answering the knock at her office door. She was immediately drawn to Cyrus’s bright eyes and his soft, handsome smile. To override the temptation to linger in his magnetic pull, she quickly added, “Follow me, please. We are going to hold our little interview in Professor Matterson’s office, if that’s okay with you.”
“Wherever you like.” He stood aside to let her pass and lead the way.
Ellen thought she’d engage in a bit of small talk as they walked. “How was work today?”
“Great. A lot of fun.”
“Fun? One rarely hears that word to describe work, especially the sort you do.”
“Well, I get to work with my hands and with my head, and a lot of interesting people too. And we are building something. Creation of any kind intrigues me.”
“I admire your attitude. Did you get another promotion?” she asked snidely.
“I did, yes. But unofficially because I’m not licensed.”
“You’re serious,” she said, surprised. “…Or a liar.”
“Or a serious liar, if it makes you feel any better.”
Ellen felt she owed the man an apology for her snarky comments, but she couldn’t bring herself to offering one.
“Here we are,” she said, halting in front of the last door in the corridor. She knocked and waited for the muffled call to enter.
Professor Matterson cleared his computer screen, removed his reading glasses, and rose from his desk to greet them. He shook Cyrus’s hand and offered him a seat. Ellen helped herself to the professor’s couch. Chauncey returned to his ergonomic office chair and spun to face Cyrus.
Having visited the professor’s office when he was a cupid, he noticed that nothing had changed in the interim. Quadruple the size of Ellen’s office, it was also much tidier. At the rear of the room were a small fridge, a sink, and a floor to ceiling bookcase filled with psychology books. The center of the room looked like a tiny salon with a round floor rug, two stuffed chairs, and a glass coffee table. Beneath curtained windows stood the black leather couch, and against another wall, Matterson’s desk and computer. The stretch of wall alongside the door boasted the professor’s numerous diplomas, awards, and framed photos of him with different celebrities or other persons of prestige.
“Right on time, Mr. Cyrus,” Professor Matterson said. “You’re a man of your word. Tell me, were you a Boy Scout when you were a kid?”
“No, but you were for a year.”
Matterson hid his surprise as his mind raced to think of a way the man could have possibly known such a thing.
“Indeed, I was,” he said, and flashed the three-finger salute in the way of levity. He began to recite the Boy Scout Pledge. “On my honor, I will do my duty to…” He chuckled. “I forget the rest.”
Cyrus said, “To do my duty to God and my country. To obey the Scout Law. To help other people at all times. To keep myself physically strong, mentally awake and morally straight.”
“Impressive,” Matterson said. “Especially, if as you say, you were never a Boy Scout. “I suppose you also know the Scout Motto.”
Cyrus recited: “A scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent.” He then added, “The world could sure use a lot more Boy Scouts, don’t you think?”
“I think not,” Professor Matterson answered sorely. “And I’m glad that fascist organization has been abolished. At least here in the NPF.”
Ellen chuckled and said, “I don’t know, but I would sure love to see a picture of little Chauncey Matterson in his Scout uniform.”
“Well, you never will,” Matterson said.
“Why only a year?” she asked.
“Oh, I don’t remember,” Matterson said. “It was too long ago. I probably had trouble with the God and reverence part.”
“He quit after catching a cold on a camping trip,” Cyrus said.
“I did not,” Matterson retorted.
“It was a two-night, three-day trip and you felt wretched the entire time. You tested for a merit badge in astronomy and failed because you were unable to point out Venus. On the second night, your troop, Troop 261, got rained on and all your clothes got soaked. You were miserable, and upon returning home, you announced to your parents, William and Cynthia Matterson, that you were quitting.”
Ellen turned to Chauncey, “Is that true?”
“I have no idea what he’s talking about,” Matterson maintained. “Now, are we going to have this interview or not?”
“I think we are already well into it,” Ellen said. She turned to their subject. “Mr. Cyrus, can you explain to Professor Matterson how you know all these things about us that you purport to know?”
“No, I can’t,” he replied simply.
“Can’t or won’t?” Matterson pressed.
“I can’t so I won’t.”
“But surely you must have some idea.”
“Perhaps I somehow managed to tap into a sort of fifth dimensional data base that holds the records of every individual.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Matterson said. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“You asked for an idea, and that is the only idea that I can think of.”
“How long have you had this ability?” Ellen asked.
“A few weeks now, I guess. As you know, I don’t remember anything prior to my appearance at that basketball game.”
Matterson
spun around in his chair and pulled up a video on his computer monitor.
“I’ve had a good look at that moment of your appearance,” he said. “I had some students break the film down for me.” He clicked a button on the player and the three of them watched the footage frame by frame. “Nothing, nothing, nothing,” Chauncey narrated, “and look—poof!—there you are.” He spun back around and faced Cyrus. “How did you pull that off?”
“I don’t know,” Cyrus said. “But I can guarantee you that it wasn’t easy, and that I will never be able to do it again.”
Ellen and Chauncey exchanged glances, and then the professor decided to take another tack. “You know,” he said, taking off his glasses and tapping one of its arms at his lips, “my credentials and position here at the university have allowed me to have friends in some pretty high places. My friends might be very interested in this film footage, and your very curious story.”
“What kind of friends?” Cyrus asked.
“Government friends,” Matterson answered. He let his words sink in.
“Chance!” Ellen said, appalled. “This is not an interrogation.”
Matterson held up his hand to silence her, his eyes never leaving Cyrus’s. “What was it you said about that scout oath? To do my duty to my country? Perhaps the little Boy Scout in me ought to make some phone calls.”
“Professor,” Ellen said, trying to remain professional, “really, this is not why we asked Mr. Cyrus to come. Please don’t be treating him like some sort of terrorist.”
“I’m doing nothing of the kind,” Matterson said evenly. “I’m simply asking Mr. Cyrus here, or whatever his real name may be, to be more forthright with us. Well, Mr. Cyrus, what do you have to say?”
Ellen Veetal wasn’t the only one in the room surprised by Matterson’s innuendo and assertions. Captain Volk and I were equally concerned. We had slipped in behind Cyrus and Ellen Veetal as they entered the professor’s office. We sat on folding chairs in front of the bookcase, observing the meeting with deep interest.
Captain Volk’s initial thrill at seeing his old friend alive and well did not last long as he considered the situation Cyrus had put himself in. What was Cyrus up to? Why did he surrender his anonymity in this manner?
“Is the professor bluffing, Captain?” I asked, speaking in thought mode.
“I don’t know. The Academy dossier that I read did not go into such details, though I do recall that the professor has indeed worked as a consultant for various government agencies.”
“What can we do?”
“Nothing.”
Cyrus replied calmly, “What kind of threat do you think I pose, Professor?”
Matterson met Cyrus’s calm with his own brand of equanimity. “You’re being a little paranoid, don’t you think?”
Cyrus said, “Perhaps you’d like to call your friend, Dr. Gretchen Lamb, at Homeland Security. She was very impressed with the speech you gave to the training class about your opposition to profiling. So much so, that later that evening, a bottle of Dom Perignon in hand, she paid a visit to you in your Hilton hotel room, whereupon finishing the bottle, she bared her own unclothed profile.
“Or, maybe Mr. John Calloway, a senior staffer for a certain NPF senator. He was equally impressed by your two-day seminar on diversity training. Those seminars have been a nice little gig for you. You now make more money from your corporate diversity seminars than you do from teaching.
“But,” he concluded, ”these folks are rather small fry compared to some of your other acquaintances, like Jim Snow at the CIA, and Harry Marrs over at the FBI. If you’re really serious, I suppose it will be one of those gentlemen you’ll want to speak to.”
“You are not doing yourself any favors, Mr. Cyrus,” Matterson said.
“Oh, I’d say he is,” Ellen said. “I’m beginning to wonder who is the one we should be interrogating here.”
“Ellen, you know well that I am often called upon for consulting work. The real question is where does a supposed simpleton like Mr. Cyrus get his information. And don’t believe that nonsense about the hotel room. It’s pure fiction.”
Ellen looked at Cyrus for confirmation.
Cyrus held up the three-fingered Scout sign. “Scout’s honor,” he said with a smile.
“This is a huge waste of my time,” Matterson huffed. “He can sit there all day long and make up stories about me, and it will always come down to his word against mine.”
“He could talk about me, then,” Ellen said. “I’ll tell you if he is telling the truth.”
“No,” Matterson said. “That is not verifiable either.”
“Are you suggesting that I would lie?” Ellen said indignantly.
“No, Ellen, I’m saying that is not science.”
“Well, what if he could tell us details of a time when we were together? We would both have been witness to that.” Without waiting for a reply, she turned to Cyrus. “Can you do that?”
Cyrus said, “There was the two of you at the wedding of your friend, Jill Taylor. The professor left the room to make a phone call because his reception was bad. When he tried to get back in, the door was locked. Afterwards, you went to Starbucks. A double latte for you, and a Frappuccino for the professor. How about your recent time together in the library? You were doing research when ‘Dr. Danger’ came in unexpectedly. He brought you some orange juice. While you were talking, the room’s printer suddenly awoke. You were speaking about ‘flying pigs’ at the time. A minute later a student came in to pick up his printout. It was for a marketing project called, Soaring pig dot-com. It was an amusing coincidence that the professor called ‘serendipity.’ Shall I go on?”
Ellen turned to Professor Matterson. “Well?”
“But of course, there is a logical explanation,” he said. “The room was bugged.”
“Why would it be bugged? No one knew we’d be in there.”
“I’m saying it’s an explanation,” Chauncey insisted. “‘Why’ is an entirely different question, and one that only he can answer.”
“And the wedding and the Starbucks were bugged too?” Ellen said, incredulous.
“The logical explanation is that twinkle eyes here is a stalker. And I will add right now, therefore, that if I see him again anywhere near you or me, I will be forced to inform the police. What do you say to that, Mr. Cyrus? Am I understood?”
Cyrus rose. “I understand. I am sorry if I have frightened you. It was not my intention. I’ll be going now.” He walked to the door and opened it.
“Wait,” Ellen said. She turned to Chauncey. “Don’t I get a say in this?”
“No, you don’t. I don’t trust this man.”
“Well, I do,” she retorted. “Who says you’re a better judge of character than I?”
“Can’t you see there is something very strange about this guy? He’s not normal.”
“That’s the whole point, Chauncey. He’s unique, and I want to know why.”
Cyrus cleared his throat, interrupting their spat. “Excuse me,” he said. “Ellen, Professor Matterson is right. I have no special powers, just a better than average memory. I suggest that you forget you ever met me.”
“A good memory doesn’t cover the sort of things you know about us,” she said. “What you have told us would go under the heading of clairvoyance or claircognizance.”
“What ever it is, it is not more important than your wedding. So good luck, and I apologize for any trouble that I might have caused.” He gave the rim of his baseball cap a respectful tug and left the room.
48
Alley Oops
Captain Volk and I followed Cyrus out of the building. The icy glare that Ellen Veetal shot at her fiancé told us that their wedding plans were on the skids. We felt there was no reason to observe the wreck.
“Hello, boys,” Cyrus said blithely as he hit the sidewalk that passed through the university’s campus.
“What?” I said, looking at Captain Volk in amazement. “Captain Cyrus,
can you hear us?” I waved my hand in front of his face.
Cyrus smiled. “Kohai, please don’t wave your hand in front of my face. It’s rude.”
“Captain Volk!” I said excitedly. “He can see us! He can hear us! How—?”
“No, Kohai,” Cyrus said, “I can’t see you or hear you. As far as I know, I’m just talking out loud and making a spectacle of myself. I am going on the assumption that you have found me, and knowing you well, Kohai, I’m just imagining your reaction. I really have no idea. If you’re out there, you are going to have to find a way to communicate with me. I’m trying on my end, but for now, this is the best I can do, and I must say, I feel damn stupid doing it. At least when I talk to God, I know He’s listening. Weird, huh?” He chuckled.
“So,” Cyrus continued. “You must be wondering what I’m up to, and why I’ve put myself in this precarious situation. It’s simple. The fate of the world and of my fellow angels are at stake. I can’t sit back and do nothing. If Ellen Veetal is the Swerver, then she must be free to find her match and strike the mystical spark that rejuvenates the world. As you may have noticed, Chauncey Matterson does not appear to be a fitting candidate. I inserted myself into the equation without physically interfering, in the hopes of snapping her out of the delusion that has taken hold of her.”
Cyrus tipped his cap to a couple of pretty coeds in black spandex pants and wooly turtleneck sweaters who smiled coquettishly at him as they sashayed past.
“Kohai,” he scolded, “eyes front and center.” He continued. “I don’t know if I have succeeded, but I may have at least bought some time until we figure out what is going on. Hopefully, you have made some progress in this regard. I must admit, however, that I have begun to question my own thesis. I’ve come to wonder, even doubt, that Ms. Veetal is indeed the Swerver.”
Shooting Eros - The Emuna Chronicles: Book 1: Hell-bent (Shooting Eros Series) Page 30
