9 Incarnate: Caitlin Diggs Series 4

by Gary Starta

  Additionally, I wanted to find out what their plans for planet Earth might be. Would our little blue orb serve as their ultimate spacecraft? Were they here to stay or was there still yet another destination mapped out in their travel log? Was Charlize on board, bound and gagged?

  Before I could answer any of these questions, I needed to lose all my fears of flying and motion sickness quick—fast. I took some medication for motion sickness despite the nagging voice in my head—which sounded a lot like Briana and Brahms in tandem.

  Stay pure. Keep yourself cleansed.

  I was swallowing the pill with water and a lump of guilt in my throat when the doorbell rang.

  My mind raced as to who it might be. I ruled out Briana, she was essentially living at Charlize’s home… Speaking of which…could it be…Charlize? I rushed toward the door without hesitation despite a part of my mind which warned me it might be the media or even Chuck bringing more bad news from Seals. I so wasn’t prepared for the dreamy brown eyes illuminated by the yellowy glow of a porch light.

  It was Stanford Carter. I hadn’t seen him for days, since he laid the news on me about his purification. Well, maybe “laid” wasn’t the best choice of words here. I felt a twinge in my stomach. But this time, the twinge was good, perhaps something even on the border of anticipated decadence.

  Stop this!

  I heard the Briana/Brahms “warning voice” in my mind again. For all I knew it was the voice of Isis. But for an unbridled moment I didn’t care who it was.

  “Caitlin, I heard the terrible news about Charlize. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  I stared a moment, focusing on just his eyes. They were so sincere, so full of concern and so alluring.

  He took my pause as a sign to continue. “I know I don’t have my special powers anymore.”

  I laughed. He could be very self-deprecating even when talking about a condition which had made him part-demon. I had no choice but to love him.

  My lips pursed into something resembling ooh in that nanosecond of revelation. Okay, so I also loved Chuck. But I probably would have been with Stanford if he hadn’t been infected by a demon. It was his hybrid makeup which I allowed to break up what could have been the start of a promising romance. Stanford was not only good-looking and charming. He was a humanitarian—even when he was part-demon—and probably the kindest soul I’d ever met, with the exception of his alternate self who lived in my old world.

  I didn’t want to reveal all this to Carter, especially at a time of crisis like this. So I explained my surprised reaction as a consequence of time. “I really appreciate your offer, Stanford. But I’m prepping for my first space ride.”

  I laughed, watching confusion pour all over his face. It was still handsome.

  I raised a hand to hide the blush I was feeling on my cheeks. “Okay, it’s not going to be a ride. Just a slow dance of sorts…” Our eyes locked hard on the words, slow dance. “We’ll be orbiting the DC area. I’m going to board via shuttle.”

  He interrupted. “Do you suspect they’re holding Charlize on this ship?”

  “You can take the demon out of the man, but you can’t take the cop of the investigator. Oh…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so callous about your…condition.”

  He took my hand into his. “I know you’ve got a million mysteries to solve. But I’ve been doing some personal inventory over the past few days. And I do believe my return to humanity is for a reason. At least, to give me…to give us…another… Caitlin, I want to try again.”

  Ooh. There he said it.

  He verbalized the lust crawling somewhere in the shadows of my over-occupied mind. I felt myself squeezing his hand tighter. I let myself go. Despite my case load, my body share with a goddess, my perception that Chuck and I were it…

  I let him kiss me. It lasted a whole lot longer than a friendly smooch.

  We parted and our eyes remained connected. I believed part of my connection to this Stanford was a reflection of my past; not only my past with an alternate Stanford Carter but with everything that used to symbolize who I once was. He was a living, breathing image of Tara, my Celeste, my time as an agent when I not only didn’t investigate the paranormal, but I wasn’t the paranormal. I had lost a lot with my crossover to this universe. I was pretending to be another woman. This man knew I wasn’t her. This relationship didn’t scream complication like my one with Chuck. I felt giddy in this moment because I felt like me again.

  “Yes, I think you can help. Just not right now, Stan.” I released his hand from mine.

  “I didn’t plan on being that forward,” he said, smiling.

  “I didn’t plan on resuming our relationship either. In that way, I mean,” I replied, stumbling over my words. “But I’ve got to tell you things have changed in the past few months.” I removed an errant lock of hair from my face. “I’m dating a man at the Bureau. I think it’s getting serious. And I shouldn’t have allowed myself that moment of weakness. It was so unfair to you. I don’t know how I’m going…” I stood there with hands on hips, imagining him drawing a virtual weapon.

  He caressed my arm with a strong hand. “I’m sorry then, Caitlin. I should have suspected that you would have moved on.”

  “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. But I want you to know no matter what happens, I can’t lose you as a friend.”

  “Then you won’t.”

  I blinked to halt some tears. I took both his hands into mine this time. “I’m a very confused woman, Stanford. I don’t know if you’d want to be involved with someone like me anyway.”

  “Oh, just because you share residence with an Egyptian goddess you think I’d be concerned…” He smiled with his eyes.

  “You’re such a great person. You’re willing to overlook my connection with Isis. I wasn’t…I just wasn’t willing to overlook your demon DNA. I hate myself, Stanford. I am not a good as person as you are.”

  He shook my hands gently for emphasis. “But you aspire to be. That counts. Believe me it does, especially with me.”

  “Okay, let me get a breath here,” I said, and smiled with a tinge of pain in my heart.

  “Sure, I’ll go. We’ll be in touch soon.”

  “Yes, we will. And Stanford, I know you can help. You were once an investigator here, like your alternate in my world. If you’re only half as good as a detective as him, you can do wonders.”

  “Keep me posted.” He raised an eyebrow. “My gut tells me you’re going to find something on that ship that’ll warrant my help.”

  “And my gut tells me you are the best friend a woman trapped in an alternate universe could ever hope to find.”

  * * * *

  I made my way to the airport via a taxi to board a shuttle. My destination, a ship the Ennead named Vimana. I googled on my phone to find the name meant—flying machine.

  I was still flying emotionally over my time with Stanford. He didn’t seem affected by whatever grip the Ennead had on the population. Was it just his strong character or something else? I pondered some more during the ride and concluded that his missing demon DNA might have precluded him from any mind alteration. I assumed my involvement with Isis shielded me. But that left me wondering about Brahms. He didn’t seem affected. What could explain his immunity?

  * * * *

  The shuttle was steel gray and didn’t seem any more foreign than the United States spacecraft I observed on TV as a child. It also helped that I wouldn’t be the only one making the trip to the Vimana.

  A courier hauled cardboard containers to the shuttle via a dolly while a group of gray-haired women in print dresses mingled around some clear-glass containers.

  I found both distractions merited investigation. The courier huffed and puffed in and out of the craft via a red-carpeted detachable runway. Questioning him would have to wait until we aboard the craft so I ventured over to the senior convention. As I neared the containers, I recognized the contents to be tiny plants.

  “My,” I said and
smiled, allowing the warmest emotions to gather in my eyes, “I’m sure whatever’s growing in these containers is going to be beautiful.”

  They saw through me as easily as I saw through their containers. One woman in an orange shawl grabbed me by the arm. “Oh, dear, it’s an honor.” She exchanged glances with the other three women who now had smiles plastered on their faces. I so felt like I’d drifted into a cult. When they announced themselves as master gardeners I felt I really had.

  “You’re that FBI agent, the one Nephthys calls Isis. My stars, our guests didn’t inform us we’d be sharing a shuttle with such excellence.”

  I nodded, smiling feebly, feeling more like a dork at this moment than any deity.

  A woman in a blue dress introduced herself as Jayne. “I can see you’re not a horticulturist. But in time, I think you might be.” The women cackled in unison.

  “What do you mean?” I asked them.

  “Why, this plant isn’t being procured for beauty alone. It’s for sustenance.”

  A woman in green chimed in, “To sustain our visitors, it’s an Echinacea plant.”

  I felt my eyebrows arching and internally, I said, hmmm…

  “The master gardeners are honored to share our bounty with the Ennead and their guests, Agent Diggs, and we would be glad to send you home with a little plant of your own.”

  My first instinct was to refuse their gift. My black thumb just might kill the plant in minutes. I still couldn’t fathom my luck in growing the Egyptian Star Clusters. That had been freak luck. My investigator makeup resigned me to accept, however. It could be evidence or at least something Brahms could use to determine why gods required an herbal garden.

  “Sure,” I replied and laughed. “I’d be honored. You know my FBI partner is Wiccan and loves how master gardeners like yourselves are keeping our planet so green. You are to be revered.”

  I really wasn’t fibbing. Briana had explained to me that master gardeners are in league with the Dali Lama in this universe. In my universe, gardening was just some hobby, not a means of holistic holiness. But what did the Ennead need with such holiness, being they were already gods and goddesses? My mind flashed back to my conversation with Nephthys. She retreated to the bathroom in search of some remedy. Could it have been an herbal fix and not just a simple ingestion of aspirin as I might have incorrectly assumed? Maybe I was on to something, thanks to my new lean, green friends.

  We continued chatting about FBI business and how the Bureau was investigating the demon disappearance. I declined to elaborate in detail with a stern politeness, noting agents are never allowed to discuss open cases—especially with civilians.

  The gentle warning circumvented their need to question me further on the subject but necessitated an obvious detour to the subject of gardening where I wouldn’t recognize a perennial from a pierogi. But I nodded a lot and said “uh huh” in all the appropriate pauses. “I’d love to learn the craft,” I said, hearing the sentence reverberate in my mind as the epitome of ignorance. If Briana were here, she would have mentally slapped me.

  Finally, we were cleared for boarding of the shuttle. I dropped my phone on purpose to strike up a conversation with the courier. He introduced himself as Sam—with a vice-grip handshake. “Pleased to meet you, Isis, uh, queen…or is it your highness?”

  “Neither,” I replied, waving a dismissive hand. “It’s Agent Diggs and I’m glad to make your acquaintance, Sam. Gee, it really looks like the Ennead are giving you quite a workout these days.”

  “Nah, nothing I can’t handle. Besides, it’s an honor to serve.”

  “So, I’m curious. Does your shipping manifest tell you what’s in all these cartons?”

  Sam straightened his cap and reached for a pad. “Let’s see. Today it’s vitamins, of all sorts. And some crates of oranges…and some…” he tapped his pad with a pen, “juicers. I guess gods really live healthy.”

  I cocked my head in wonder. He didn’t find it odd that gods required vitamins. I suppose it could have been for the Entourage, the non-gods living aboard, but I did witness Nephthys ingesting some type of fortification. After she took it, her eyes lit up the room like a Christmas tree. There had to be a connection but as a former junk food junkie I couldn’t readily discern what that connection was.

  Sam continued without warning, jolting me from my thoughts. “Well, the cargo was a lot heavier yesterday when I delivered gym equipment. Can you imagine a goddess on a treadmill?” Sam paused. His serious tone and facial expression told me he wasn’t joking. Then he continued with his eyes in daydream mode. “What I wouldn’t give to see such a sight.” My mental frown must have touched him because the joy evaporated from his eyes in an instant. Well, I know I could lose a few pounds but a woman couldn’t help but feel insulted by his remark. He tried to rebound. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend. Not that you’re not a goddess, my Isis. It’s just that these beings aren’t from here. It kind of makes the imagination wander.” He pointed to his temple and twirled a finger. I smiled back, hoping he couldn’t read my mind which screamed crazy man.

  His servitude cautioned me to probe further. He might even report any acts which appeared the least bit defiant.

  I redirected my conversation back to the master gardeners until an electronic droning voice announced we were docked.

  But I believed I’d gleaned quite a bit about the Ennead before boarding a ship I would find comparable to one any science fiction movie ever imagined.

  * * * *

  White, everything was white. It made me squint and reach in my bag for sunglasses. But I resisted. Too bad I couldn’t resist more.

  We started with lunch. A twirling dish carriage—at least that’s what it looked like to me—descended from the ceiling. Prepared and hot, dishes were ready for our taking. American favorites like seafood and steak graced the plates along with heaping helpings of veggies. I waited until the gardeners chose their meals. Even Sam, the courier was invited to partake. But he excused himself noting he was still on the clock.

  I ended up with the last plate—seafood. I bet Bast would have loved it but I wasn’t about to request a doggie bag.

  “Don’t you wonder how they prepare all this scrumptious food?” I said, sticking a fork into a broccoli stalk.

  “Oh,” Jayne replied, “I do wonder. But I don’t think it would be polite to ask.”

  “I’m sure it’s all high tech,” I added, hoping to lead the women into further discussion. As I munched on my veggie, orange-shawl Betty cocked her head and spoke with hesitation. “I don’t know about high tech. But I am glad the Ennead embraces nature and all things organic. “Aren’t you girls?” The girls nodded in unison, continuing to eat. At that moment, I envisioned The Golden Girls meet The Stepford Wives. Although, I also had to wonder if these shows even existed in this alternate world. That line of thinking began to invite a migraine. What was unique to this world that brought the Ennead here? If there weren’t alternate versions of worlds, why did this version of the the Ennead choose this planet in particular? Was it because it was more environmentally sustainable than my old world? And then, before I could even slice a sliver of my swordfish, it dawned on me, crushing me with more guilt than my devilish kiss with Stanford.

  I led them here.

  Because I somehow awakened Isis with a short joining with a crystal artifact, the Ennead probably had no other choice but to inhabit this universe. If so, I was responsible for billions of missing demons, a dead president and whatever happened to Charlize. The chill overtook me, affecting my posture. I strained to hold myself like a Bureau agent, but struggled with the ton of guilt on my shoulders. Atlas Shrugged—my ass.

  So if the Ennead were here to reunite with Isis, what would be their ultimate goal? My instincts as an investigator told me there was a motive and it was more intricate than simply sharing a sustainable environment with humans. They had to have a compelling purpose to be here. And I was certain it was similar in strength to my own compulsio
n. Here I was in another universe, yet still an investigator. I couldn’t change who I was even when I removed myself from the trappings of my old world. I’d bet even money that the Ennead couldn’t either. If they had staged diabolical events such as the president’s assassination and the demon disappearance, these events would no doubt put them in positions of power. They wouldn’t have to fight a horde of demons to rule our world. And because they could offer assistance to solve these mysteries, they’d been able to keep themselves off a suspect list. The murder of Tut further fortified their position by portraying them as victims.

  But I wasn’t enthralled by any of their mind control. I had to take advantage of my situation and save these poor gardeners and Sam the courier from becoming unwilling pawns in a galactic chess game.

  With my Isis connection, I was indeed a piece on an allegorical board game. Sam was right. I was a queen. I had power because I was part of the Ennead. They couldn’t sever ties with me without consequence if I was the very reason they had come here. The dream vision of the battling ships hinted that the Ennead may have wronged more than one race of people. Is so, were they here to repeat history?

  * * * *

  The remainder of the visit aboard the ship was uneventful except for several strange observances. I watched the Entourage perform some cardiovascular in a high tech gym and, in another room, the remaining non-gods bowed before Hathor in earnest devotion.

  The appearance of Hathor disturbed me more than the worshipping. Her irises were again a different color—this time, violet. And when she caught me peering at her through a doorway, she interrupted the session, excusing herself with a curt bow. I engaged her in a hallway for a brief moment. She apologized for not spending time with me on the tour, noting that her followers needed their worship time. I had to wonder if the dependence was mutual. Did the gods and goddesses require this devotion to sustain their superior bodies just like nourishment via food? They continued their session, devoid of emotion, as soon as Hathor returned. Again, an unsettling feeling rushed against my spine like a streaming gush of ice water. What was with all the unexpressive faces? Was emotion some kind of toxin to these beings?