Shadow: Alien Castaways 4 (Intergalactic Dating Agency)

by Cara Bristol

  “Thank you! I’ll talk to him.” Kevanne’s aura brightened.

  After she left, Mandy dropped into one of the alcove love seats. What did I get myself into?

  Chapter Two

  Astride the hover scooter flying over the country road, Shadow’s fingers and toes began to tingle with pins and needles.

  No, no, no. Not now. He swerved onto the grassy bank and set down. Like bubbles popping against his skin, the effervescent sensation spread up his extremities to his torso, his neck, his head. Tightly packed molecules vibrated faster and faster, breaking out of their organized structure and dissolving into vapor.

  The distant hum of a plane and the rustle of wind and the creature in the brush fell silent. Vision fogged. He could no longer feel the long seat upon which he sat or floorboards under his feet. Even the sensation of effervescence had vanished. He no longer felt anything.

  Except fear. Enough consciousness remained for panic to flare. Would this be the end?

  I have to pull myself together. Focus. Focus… Focus. I am one. I am whole... I am solid.

  I…am…one…am…whole. Consciousness drifted with the particles of his being. Lured by the great void, his willpower began to dissolve as well.

  Why not slip into nothingness? Why keep fighting? Why not let go? It was inevitable anyway. He could end the struggle and fear if he surrendered, just let go…

  No! Fight. I have to fight. Dredging up the vestiges of willpower, he focused hard and called to his body to reform, drawing in and recapturing the drifting molecules.

  Scent, the most primitive of the senses, returned first, and he sucked in the piney fragrances of the evergreen forest and the chalky dust of the graveled road. Buoyed by progress, his focus strengthened, and he bonded more molecules. The sweetness of birdsong touched his ears. He would have cheered, except his voice hadn’t returned yet.

  His foggy vision cleared about the same time as he became aware of his buttocks and thighs pressing against the scooter seat. He slapped his torso and knees, reassuring himself of his solid state, then gripped the steering bar to stem the trembling in his hands.

  I’m alive. Still here. Still here. His chest heaved as he sucked in cold air, the sharp chill affording more reassurance. He welcomed any sensation, cold, pressure, even pain.

  Pulling himself together was getting more difficult—had been harder than the previous time. He shuddered. How much longer do I have?

  Even when Xenos had bombarded his planet, and he and a small group of ’Topians had barely escaped with their lives, he hadn’t been this scared. At least then, they’d had some control. They’d been able to take action—launch and fly the Castaway. Doing mitigated worrying.

  He was powerless to prevent detonation of the time bomb the Xenos had programmed into his genetics. He took another deep breath of cold forest-scented air, and, after switching the hover scooter to autopilot, he fired it up and headed for home.

  * * * *

  His brothers and their mates waited for him in the great room of the farmhouse.

  “How did it go?” Inferno jumped up from the recliner. “Was the Intergalactic Dating Agency able to help?”

  Shadow shook his head. “Another dead end.” Literally. The IDA, which arranged love matches between Earth women and extraterrestrials, had been unable to locate a single genetic match, human or alien, in its vast database. “I figured it was a long shot, but…” He lifted his hands and let them fall.

  “I’m so sorry, man.” Inferno grabbed him in a quick hug before slapping his shoulder. The Luciferan’s body temp ran hotter than most people found comfortable, so physical contact had to be brief. “I hate those damn Xenos!” Sparks of flame shot from Inferno’s fingertips. “No offense, Cam.” He glanced at Chameleon, a former Xeno High Council member, one of the few Xenos with a conscience. If not for his help, they would have perished.

  “None taken,” Cam replied. “I’m sorry. New females arrive all the time on Earth. They’ll keep searching, won’t they?”

  “Yeah. If a potential match shows up, they promised to call me right away, but they were honest they don’t expect that to happen. There aren’t that many Vaporians left in the galaxy—for obvious reasons.” He twisted his mouth.

  “And the odds of a non-Vaporian matching you are even slimmer.” Wingman perched on a bench, his wings folded tight to his body to avoid destroying the room. Earth dwellings weren’t constructed to accommodate an Avian’s broad wingspan.

  That was one reason Wingman had moved to a more spacious abode when he met his genmate, Delia. Chameleon didn’t live at the farmhouse, either, choosing to reside with Kevanne at her lavender farm.

  “Yep,” Shadow agreed glumly.

  “Here. You need this.” Tigre shoved a beer into his hand.

  “Thanks.” He popped the top and knocked back a mouthful, more to be polite than anything else. Alcoholic beverages were supposed to give one a buzz, making circumstances seem better—even if they weren’t—but fermented barley, grapes, or potatoes had no effect on his Vaporian physiology.

  “And nobody in Mysk’s group is a possible genetic match?” Delia asked dully, her comment more statement than question. Everyone knew the gravity of his situation.

  Edwin Mysk led a group of ’Topians who’d escaped at the same time as the castaways but due to curvatures in jump space had landed on Earth fifty years before them. In the five decades, he’d established himself as an innovative leader who’d founded a tech empire. Shadow had met with all the Vaporians who’d come to Earth with Mysk.

  “Either they’ve already paired or they’ve died.”

  Extinction by sublimation. Vaporians had the ability to transform from solid to gas. Due to genetic fuckery perpetuated by the Xenos, as Vaporians matured, they lost the ability to control sublimation—unless they bonded with a genmate. While all the races had to find a match to mate, Vaporians were the only ones who would die if they didn’t.

  The pool of Vaporian females, limited to start with, had been decimated in the bombardment that also wiped out the Avians, Veritals, Saberians, and Luciferans.

  The Xenos were a godlike master race who, for their own amusement, mixed and matched DNA from across the galaxy to create new life-forms, which they then seeded on terraformed planets. But when ’Topians surpassed projections and evolved too quickly, the Xenos felt threatened and decided to destroy their creations.

  “I wish the med pod could have done something!” said Meadow, Psy’s mate. The med pod, which had been on their spaceship, could heal any ailment. It had fixed Wingman’s broken ankle and eradicated the mumps Meadow had contracted.

  But, it couldn’t help him because sublimation wasn’t the result of illness or injury, it was a natural event, a physiological process programmed into his DNA. Normal for Vaporians. The med pod couldn’t fix normal.

  Shadow took a gulp of beer and announced, “I’m going to leave Earth.”

  “No,” his brothers said almost in unison.

  “No, you can’t leave. Not yet,” Delia cried. “There has to be something else you can try.”

  “I’ve looked everywhere, and I’ve run out of time. Leaving is the only option left,” he said. “I’ve spoken with Mysk. He’ll give me a spaceship to search for the ’Topians who were evacuated before the bombardment.”

  “Were there many of them?” Delia asked. “Enough for you to find a mate among them?”

  Not nearly enough, but it was his best chance.

  “We saved about four thousand,” Cam said.

  “But they’re all spread out, aren’t they?” Wingman said.

  “Yes,” Cam acknowledged, his blue skin graying. “There was an equal distribution of Veritals, Saberians, Avians, and Vaporians among the ’Topian diaspora, but locating them will be like trying to find a speck of space dust in a nebula. There were a dozen ships sent to a dozen planets.”

  “I still have to try. It’s my best—and only option at this point.”

  “No, you
might have one more,” Kevanne said. “I met a woman on Sunday. She…knows stuff.”

  “What kind of stuff?” he asked.

  “Well, she’s kind of psychic.”

  “Kind of?” Wingman arched his eyebrows.

  “Okay, not kind of, she is.”

  “You mean like a fortune teller.” The Avian scowled. “They’re not real. They’re charlatans.”

  “Wingman! How can you say that?” Delia chided. “Don’t you remember Psy telling fortunes at Kevanne’s Lavender Fest? Before he met my daughter, he knew her name and age.”

  “Psy isn’t human. He’s a Verital. His mind-reading abilities are real.”

  “Glad you think so,” Psy said drily.

  They’d all seen what Psy could do. The Verital had helped his genmate Meadow recover repressed memories of being abducted. Named Cassie by her kidnapper, Meadow had taken back her birth name given to her by her real parents.

  “Mandy’s abilities are genuine, too! I never told her, but she knew Cam was an alien and that he and I were mates.”

  “Half of Argent knows you married an alien—they attended the wedding,” Wingman pointed out. “Anybody could have told her. You know how news travels.”

  She glanced at Shadow. “She picked up that I was feeling sad…”

  “You’re not real good at hiding your feelings,” Chameleon said gently.

  Shadow’s friends understood he faced a likely imminent death, and they had begun to grieve already—presenting another reason to leave Earth. His departure would afford them the plausibility of hope. When he disappeared, never to be heard from again, they could talk themselves into believing he’d found a genmate and was living happily ever after on a little planet somewhere. The odds of it happening were infinitesimal—like finding a single speck of stardust in a nebula as Cam had said.

  “Even if her psychic abilities are real,” Tigre said, “how does that benefit Shadow?”

  Psy nodded. “Mysk and I both read minds. If we could have used our power to help him, we would have.”

  “Because she’s not reading minds, she’s getting insight from”—Kevanne twirled a hand—“people on the other side.”

  “The other side of where?” Tigre asked.

  “Of life! She’s a spirit medium—I guess. I didn’t…ask.” She lifted her shoulders.

  “It sounds rather dubious to me.” Wingman folded his arms. Shadow was inclined to agree.

  “She’s willing to meet with him, to see what she can see. It can’t hurt. Psychics work with police departments to locate kidnap victims and track down criminals,” Kevanne said. “She might be able to tell Shadow where to find his genmate.”

  “Has she done that? Can she guarantee she can find someone?” asked Wingman.

  “I don’t know what cases, if any, she’s worked on,” Kevanne admitted. “And she said she can’t guarantee anything. But it’s a chance! It’s something he hasn’t tried.”

  “My genmate isn’t missing; she doesn’t exist,” he said.

  “Don’t assume that.” She planted her hands on her hips and glowered at him.

  “All of the Vaporians who came with Mysk are mated or dead, none of the other ’Topians are a match, and the Intergalactic Dating Agency, which has an extensive database, has no one compatible.”

  “So? Extensive doesn’t mean complete! Most Earth women aren’t in the system. Cam and I didn’t meet through the IDA, and neither did Delia and Wingman or Meadow and Psy. We’re all genmates. We found each other.”

  “It’s much harder for Vaporians,” he said quietly.

  “And Tigre and Inferno still haven’t found genmates,” Wingman pointed out. “Just because some of us have been fortunate doesn’t mean all will be. Many in Mysk’s group haven’t met genmates, and they’ve been on Earth half a century.”

  “There’s still time,” she countered.

  “For Inferno and Tigre but not me,” he said. “Time is what I don’t have. I sublimated on the way home. That makes three times this week.” Three times last week. Twice the week before. Judging from the frequency and the increasing difficulty of resolidifying, he guessed he had a few months left to live.

  “That often?” Tigre’s tail and whiskers twitched with alarm.

  He nodded. “If I wait any longer to leave, it will be too late. If my genmate is on another planet, I won’t have time to find her. I appreciate your efforts, Kevanne, but it sounds like the chances of your psychic finding me a genmate are remote. If I’d known about her months ago, I might have been able to pursue it, but I have to leave Earth while I still can.”

  Chapter Three

  “Inner Journey—there it is! And there’s parking by the door.” Shadow pointed to the store on the left side of Main Street, a couple of doors down from Gus’s Bait and Tackle shop.

  “I see it. Hang on.” Inferno whipped a U-y in the middle of the street, hit the brakes, and skidded the van next to the curb.

  Shadow jumped out and slid open the side door. When Kevanne had called and asked for a favor—to deliver a few boxes of product to a store in Argent—he’d agreed and then realized he shouldn’t be operating a vehicle. If he sublimated, he could lose control and hurt somebody. The hover scooter could be operated on autopilot, but the vehicle didn’t have the storage capacity for the quantity of boxes Kevanne needed delivered. So he’d asked Inferno for help.

  He grabbed a carton as his brother bounded onto the sidewalk and tugged his ball cap low to hide his horns. “So, why couldn’t Cam help Kevanne today?” Inferno asked.

  Shadow shrugged. “I never did get the story straight. First, she said he planned to repair the gazebo roof damaged in the hailstorm, then, she said he needed to run into Spokane to get supplies for the upcoming annual Spring Fling craft fair. In any case, she was in a big panic, fearing she couldn’t get the lavender to Inner Journey before its grand opening.”

  Inferno grabbed a box marked potpourri sachets. “This one’s really light!”

  “Add it on top of mine. If we double up, we can do this in one trip. Thanks again for driving. I’m sure glad you knew how.”

  “No problem. I’m happy to help.” Inferno placed the carton atop Shadow’s and grabbed another. “Today was my first time piloting an Earth vehicle.”

  “I couldn’t tell. You drove like a pro.”

  “Thanks. I still need to figure out what the red, yellow, and green lights at the intersections mean, and why so many drivers honk their horns.” Inferno set his box on the sidewalk, grabbed the last one, placed it on top, and then closed the van. Picking up both boxes, he gestured with his chin. “Lead the way.”

  * * * *

  Leaning on the counter, Mandy sipped her morning herbal tea and watched the two men unloading the van. Burning rubber, they’d screeched to a halt in the middle of the street and parked haphazardly, not anywhere close to the curb. The rear end stuck out so far it would have obstructed traffic, if there had been any. Luckily for them, Argent was too small to have a parking enforcement officer, or they’d be ticketed for sure.

  LAVENDER BLISS FARM was emblazoned across the side of the light-purple van, so she knew Kevanne had sent them, but she wondered if she had any idea what poor drivers her employees were.

  For some reason, she’d assumed Kevanne herself would deliver the inventory—not that it mattered, although she would have liked to talk to her again. They’d hit it off, and Mandy had gotten the sense the two of them could become good friends. But she supposed there would be plenty of opportunity for them to connect, and in the meantime, she enjoyed the beefcake show, the flex of muscle and manliness as the two buff guys bent and lifted boxes. She didn’t feel the slightest bit ashamed for ogling through the big window.

  The taller guy had a hat pulled low, hiding most of his face, but she was drawn to the other man anyway. He stood a shade over average height—perfect kissing height. He had a graceful yet masculine way of moving, and, despite his parka, she could tell he had muscles to spare. She�
�d caught a glimpse of his face before he’d turned to open the van, and heat had flared in her belly. He had a squared jaw, full lips, and hooded mysterious eyes—yowza! She was a sucker for the dark, brooding type—in looks, not personality or lifestyle. No drama. No issues.

  Silvered with enough gray to hint he might be mid-forties, his thick, mostly brown hair formed a widow’s peak. In folklore, that hairline in a woman meant she would outlive her husband. In a man, it pointed to sexual prowess. Alas, there was no truth to those old tales. Darn it. She finished the cold dregs of herbal tea and checked out the buddy with the ball cap.

  With his hat pushed a bit back on his head, she got a view of his face and winced. Ouch! The poor guy sported one hell of a sunburn. She wondered where he’d been vacationing. Spring may have sprung by the calendar, but no one had told that to the cold, gray North Idaho weather. She jotted a mental note to send him on his way with some aloe vera gel samples. Maybe some aloe tea, too.

  Loaded up with boxes, three each, the guys couldn’t open the door, so she rushed to help. “Come on in! I got the door. You can set the stuff by the counter,” she instructed.

  Up close, the poor guy with the sunburn was even redder than he appeared through the window. Even his hands were burned.

  And Mr. Sexy was more droolworthy. Chiseled masculine features, and those eyes! They were fathomless, almost haunting. When his gaze met hers around the stack of boxes, her stomach clenched, and her mouth dried, leaving her feeling like a shy, tongue-tied teenager instead of a woman in her forties with a grown son.

  What was with the nerves? She had experience, in both the life and sexual categories, although she’d had a bit of a dry spell since Jack had bailed. His defection had added insult to injury. But good riddance. If he lacked cojones and was going to abandon her just when she needed him most, well, then she didn’t want him around. Hit the road, Jack!

  The two men set the boxes down and stood there.

  Mandy smoothed her hands down her full tie-dyed skirt. “You must be from Lavender Bliss Farm.” Duh. How brilliant.