by Jen Crane
“Damn, he was scary,” I said. “He’s so playful and aloof I imagined a bounding goldendoodle or something. Nu-uh. More like a giant zombie pitdoodle.” I shuddered at the memory.
“Apparently the ancient Molossians were like mastiffs…but bigger. They guarded homes, flocks. Not something you’d want to run into on a dark night,” he said.
“Nope.”
“What got into Timbra?” he asked. “What the hell was she thinking?”
“Tequila—that’s what got into her.”
“Ah,” he said, as if it explained everything. “What do you think the two of them are up to now?”
“In their states of mind? Fuckin’ or fightin,’ one of the two. Though…maybe both.”
Ewan barked a laugh. “I love your accent,” he said.
“You’re the one with an accent,” I laughed. He had moved closer to me while I spoke. When I looked up, his face was a whisper away from mine. “I don’t think this is a good idea, Ewan.” I said the words but didn’t—couldn’t—move my face from his.
“Oh, I think it’s a very good idea,” he said and rubbed his nose along mine.
“But,” I sputtered. “I’m just coming off this thing with Gresham.”
Ewan stilled, and I swear I heard a rumble deep in his chest. A rough exhale sent his hot breath across my cheek. My own breath was stuck in my throat. Much too soon Ewan began rubbing his cheek against mine, moving his nose along the sensitive skin under my chin. Goosebumps erupted along my neck and shoulders.
“And I need…to…figure things out…before I…get involved…with someone.” I was having difficulty concentrating.
“I think kissing would be all right, don’t you?” he asked, his breath hot against my ear.
“No…I mean…I guess kissing wouldn’t hurt anything,” I said, my backbone dissolving into the moss beneath it.
Ewan was on my mouth before the last word escaped it. His hair brushed my cheeks as he pressed his soft lips to mine. A sweet, chaste kiss. I closed my eyes, delighting in the simple pleasure of his skin on mine.
There have been a number of iconic kisses throughout history. Goodbye kisses, kisses of possession, tragically lost and then reunited kisses. My theory is that most of these took place when the threat—or promise—of sex was removed from the equation. Without sex as a consideration, all thought, all effort, all the force of one’s need goes into the kiss itself. It becomes performance art—something to be enjoyed both in the moment and later, when the tiny intricacies and nuances of the kiss can be replayed over and over.
This kiss was art. Ewan and I became so in tune with one another that our passion played on a loop. We kissed, learning what one another preferred. As our understanding of the other’s needs increased, so too did pleasure, which led to more—and more intense—kissing.
There were no seeking hands, and our clothes remained intact. It was the most perfect kiss, more so than I could have even imagined. When the force of it left me without breath, the kiss broke, and with it the spell we were under.
“Goodnight, Stella,” Ewan said. He pressed his swollen lips to mine once more, and then he was gone.
Chapter 22
“Stella, the location of your Monday/Thursday metamorphosis advisor meetings have changed,” Pia intoned bright and early on Monday morning.
“Oh?” I said and slipped on my favorite jeans. “To where? Who changed them?”
“The location is now the residence of Prime Minister Gaspare Shaw. You’re really moving up in the world.”
I moved closer to her so that she could see me roll my eyes. “Who changed the meetings, Pia?”
“I received a request from the prime minister’s secretary, Brinda. I took the liberty of confirming for you.”
“What makes you think that’s a change I’d want to make, Pia?”
“I’m inanimate, Stella, not stupid. When the PM says trace, you ask where to.” I barked a laugh. “Stella,” she said, her tone leading.
“Hmmm?”
“Why have you been ignoring me? You’re not confiding in me anymore. Your student journal entries are almost nonexistent. I feel we’ve grown apart.”
I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands. How to tell your personal interactive device that you fear she’s a surveillance tool for those who’d do you harm? “I’m just busy, that’s all, Pia.”
“I’m not reading too much into this neglect. I know what’s going on. Have you found a newer model? Is it that TwitBit? I heard she’ll give you a nasty rash.”
* * *
“Stella,” grated a voice laced with fury. Ugh. Gresham.
My eyes squeezed closed as I willed him to just go away. But I could never get that lucky. I was going to have to deal with this, with him. We needed to find some closure so we could both move on. I stretched my neck to each side in an effort to release the tension I suddenly felt before turning to my former lover.
“Gresham,” I said, pasting a grin on my face. “How ya been?”
His chest expanded on a breath I knew he took to avoid throttling at me. “Where were you this weekend?”
“That’s none of your business.” I took a bite of salad, making sure to stab a piece of lettuce, a cranberry, and an almond. Whoops. Forgot the feta cheese. I concentrated on my fork, my food.
Gresham’s lips flattened in irritation and the veins on his arms inflated as his fists clenched at his sides. “You can’t be careful enough. If anyone discovers what you are you’ll not make it through this. We still need to work on a plan.”
“Oh, I remember your plan,” I said and sat back in my chair. “You want me to capture my own family, to help sentence them to death.”
“Your family?” He arched a black brow. “Since when are you so chummy? Since when do you care?”
“Ah. I don’t. We’re not.” I tried to recover. Tried not get flustered and reveal more than I intended.
“Well they sure as hell didn’t hesitate to betray you,” he said low in his throat.
“I know that. You think I don’t know that? But I’m not going to hunt them down, Gresham. Two wrongs don’t make a right. I can’t do it. I won’t. I’ll find another way.”
“There is no other way. They’re killers, Stella. People will never accept them. People will never accept you if you defend them.”
“There has to be. And I don’t need you to find it. Gaspare will help me.”
“Oh, it’s ‘Gaspare’ now, is it? You’ve known him less than a week and already he’s your savior?”
“Well, he is the leader of the free world, Gresham. He’s pretty damned qualified. And he cares about me—I know he does. We’re family. We don’t have anyone else, but we have each other.”
Gresham’s face fell a moment before the clench left his fists. His shoulders sagged, and he took a step away from me. The look in his eyes was no longer fierce but—I almost thought—hurt. “You have no one? Is that what you think?” His eyes narrowed and he said just above a whisper, “You had me.”
“Don’t you dare, Rowan Gresham,” I seethed. “Don’t you dare try to make me feel bad. Not after the shit you’ve pulled, the secrets you’ve kept. I—”
“I’ve only ever tried to protect you,” he interrupted.
“Protect me? Seems more and more all the time like I needed protection from you. Why keep my relation to Gaspare a secret? Tell me that. How could that possibly have been in my best interest?”
“Think for one second, Stella.” He approached me until I could see the tiny black hairs on his square jaw. He’d gotten dangerously close to me. Too close. I backed away so I could think.
I couldn’t come up with an answer to his question and threw my hands up.
Gresham huffed out a breath. “I hadn’t told Gaspare everything about you because once I did the ‘leader of the free world’ would know your genealogy, your mother’s history, and that you were a potential threat. You don’t know him like you think you do. He didn’t become the PM by being a
nice guy. He sure as hell hasn’t kept the job that way.”
“What are you saying? Are you saying he’s crooked? Violent?”
“Crooked? No. But he isn’t the sweetheart you’re making him out to be. He’s a hardass with a keen grasp of the greater good. Care to guess what the greater good to the leader of Thayer is?” When I just scowled he went on. “No? People. The welfare of Thayer’s people is his primary concern.”
Neither of us said anything for a long time. I didn’t know where to start, or if the argument was finished. “I have to go,” I finally said. “I have a meeting.”
“With Gaspare,” Gresham ran a hand over the top of his head. “I know.”
* * *
When I arrived at the prime minister’s residence Paul was there to take me to the back gardens. The grounds had been designed for entertaining. Elegant hardscapes featured fountains, seating, and backdrops perfect for stages. Green expanses stretched behind the grounds.
It was on one of these greens that I found Gaspare.
My uncle clasped me by the shoulders and smiled when I approached. This was the hug of our current comfort level, I supposed. I was glad to see him and a smile lit my face, too.
“What do you think is the greatest advantage of being an omni, Stella?”
Straight to business, then. O-kay. “Gosh. I don’t know. Besides the obvious choice of having any animal form at your disposal, you mean?”
He nodded somberly.
I blew out a breath as I contemplated his question. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know.”
“That’s okay,” he said and folded his hands behind his back. “That’s why we’re here.”
I swallowed, but my mouth had gone dry. I hadn’t anticipated he’d be so formal after the way he behaved the last we interacted.
“Power,” he said and began to circle me. “Power, and lots of it, is the best thing about being an omni.”
“Aha,” I said, though I was far from a conclusion.
He stood in front of me and touched my face—the lightest press of his fingers to my temple. “May I?” he asked. I wasn’t sure for what he was requesting permission, but I agreed with a nod nonetheless.
I felt a pull on my mind like taffy on teeth. It was warm, pliable. Not unpleasant, but unfamiliar. After a while, the pull lost its novelty, yet I was still left with something gunky. I shook my head and backed away. I tried to dislodge him from my brain but the harder I worked to eject him, the more crevices he melted into.
I cleared my throat, worked my shoulders, shook my head once more. I finally found my voice. “Gaspare. That’s enough. I don’t like it.”
The tug on my mind snapped and I was free of him. The intrusion irritated me, and it must’ve shown on my face because he approached me in a rush. “Stella, I’m sorry. I assumed Gresham told you.”
“He didn’t. What’d you do?” I opened and closed my mouth, tried to pop my ears, to clear my head.
“I’m so sorry. I got inside your head. Saw some memories.”
“You can do that?” For god’s sake, I thought. Would the extent of this nonsense never end? Was nothing sacred?
“Yes. I can see memories, thoughts.”
“Do you have to have permission, or were you just being polite?”
He inclined his head. He’d been polite. That was scary.
“What did you see?”
“I found what I went looking for. I wanted to see your childhood.” He frowned. “It was lonelier than I expected.”
I didn’t like how that statement made me feel. “What else?”
“That’s it. I saw some things as you saw them. A child’s perspective.”
“No, what else can you do? With this power you spoke of.”
“Ah,” he said. “I’ll demonstrate.” With the flick of his hand a crack formed in the greens between us. The crevice expanded until the trees nearby shuddered and swayed. It grew so wide I couldn’t have jumped it if I tried.
I looked wildly to Gaspare, who stood grinning and relaxed. He twirled his hand again and the crevice closed together with a creak. It fit back together so seamlessly I’d never have been able to tell he’d torn it apart.
“You can move earth?” I said, hands firmly on my hips.
“A bit, yes.”
“I don’t suppose you can do any tricks with the heavens?”
“No,” he laughed. “Just the stars.”
“Just the— Are you freakin’ kidding me?”
His goofy grin was infectious. “Mostly. Our power originates from the stars. Surely you know this.” When I shook my head in bewilderment he scowled. “What are they teaching you at The Root?”
“Well, a lot of basics so far. Some practical information. Dean Miles says we’re not yet competent enough to access any real power.”
“Dean Miles? Oh, you mean Livia?” He snorted. “Livia wouldn’t know true power if it knocked her on her frigid ass.”
My laughter seemed to encourage him because he went on, “The only reason she has that job is due to her connection to Rowan. I’ll never understand what he sees in her.”
“You and me both. She’s hateful as a sober spinster.”
“That’s precisely what she is!” Gaspare laughed and his face crinkled in all the right places. “Rowan swore he’d never remarry. All these years she thought she’d change his mind. But she’s as stubborn as she is hateful.”
“Remarry?” I leaned forward to hear him better. “Gresham was married? When? To whom?”
Gaspare straightened, a serious look pulling his mouth where the grin had been. “Not my story to tell. Not today.” He looked at something beyond my shoulder. “Hi, Paul. Is he here?” I turned to see Paul nod. “All right. I’ll be right in.”
Gaspare seemed to operate on a breeze, the wind of responsibility always blowing him this way and that. He clasped my hands in his and squeezed. “Great start today, Stella. Same time Thursday?”
I smiled, shrugged, and squeezed back. “Thursday.”
Chapter 23
Timbra had been notably absent from her room over the last few days.
She hadn’t come back to our suite at the cabin Saturday after the ordeal with Boone, either. I gave up waiting for her that night; assumed she and Boone had worked through their issues. Alone with my thoughts, I lay in the cabin’s comfortable bed with the windows open and ran fingers over my lips recalling the sweetness, the emotion, the passion with which Ewan Bristol had kissed me. I fell asleep to the chorus of frogs calling to their mates near the crisp mountain lake.
By Tuesday I could contain my curiosity no longer.
“Wanna go into town for lunch today?” I asked Timbra during our eight-thirty Tools class. “I saw this great row of restaurants just off Caliph Square.”
“Oh,” she grimaced in apology. “I have plans with Boone.”
“With Boone?” I asked too loudly and he whipped his head in our direction. I waved a dismissal at him and returned to Timbra. “You two’ve barely seen the light of day this week. Don’t you think you can spare an hour for your girl?”
She stuck out her tongue at my shameless attempt to guilt her. “Of course I can. But if we run over an hour, you’re buying.” She smirked and pulled out her P.I.A., which she’d named Fawn. She made a dramatic show of adding our lunch date to her calendar. Then she obviously texted Boone because I heard his affronted huff before he shot me a playful stink-eye.
* * *
“So?” I said, once we were seated at a little bistro. “Are you gonna tell me what’s up with you and Boone or do I have to divine it myself?”
“Ugh.” She threw her head back. “I don’t know what to say. We haven’t discussed the topic of my dad. The only thing we’ve worked through is that we won’t—can’t live without each other. We want to be together, and that’s what we’re doing. We’re happy. That’s what’s important.”
“Oh, great,” I said. “I’m so happy for you.” I nodded and tried to leave the conversati
on at that.
“What?” Timbra’s ears stiffened in defiance.
“Nothing.” I shook my head. Blinked maybe a few too many times.
She took a bite of her veggie crepe.
I took a drink. Tried to mind my own business. “It’s just—well, what about when your dad finds out? ’Cause he will. He did the first time.”
She crossed lithe arms over her narrow chest. “He won’t. We’re so careful. We’re making sure not to be seen alone together. We’re not telling anyone we’re together.”
“Okay,” I said and nodded.
“You don’t think it’ll work?” Her left ear gave the slightest twitch.
“I—” I stopped. Composed my thoughts. “I just don’t think it’s a long-term plan.”
“I know that. We know that. But it’s all I’ve got right now.”
Though I’d worked hard not to ruffle her scruff, I’d still done it. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m just trying to look out for you, to help you work through this.”
“I know.” She blinked and her long eyelashes lay on her high cheekbones.
For the first time, I noticed someone sitting at a corner table in the back. The table’s occupant raised a hand to me. Recognition dawned. Stryde. Huh. What a coincidence. He moved to rise and I widened my eyes at him, shook my head to indicate he shouldn’t approach. Instead of remaining seated—and unnoticed—he lumbered to our table. I hadn’t taken a breath since I’d seen him. I looked wildly to Timbra. Back to Stryde. Closer. Closer.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he said and pasted on that same disfigured smile.
“Ah. Stryde. Hello. I…ah…didn’t expect to see you here.” I tilted my head in silent question. What are you doing here?
“Have you ladies had a nice lunch?” he asked. Just another day. Just another guy.
