by Cara Bristol
He wished he knew how Inferno was faring at the church, if Mandy’s vision had panned out. With two weeks to kill before he could depart, it wouldn’t hurt to let her try to help him.
“So…what brought you to Earth?” she asked.
“My planet was destroyed.”
She clapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry. That’s terrible!”
Horrific. And to use an Earth idiom, he’d had a front-row seat to the destruction.
“Many died, but those of us who came here found a good home.”
“I’m…glad,” she said, her pretty features still contorted with sympathy. “I think the tea is ready.” She poured the liquid into two cups, one a delicate, breakable vessel resting on a small plate and the other a stout, heavy mug.
To his relief, she handed him the latter. He took a sip and tried not to make a face at the grassy, tart, slightly bitter taste.
“There’s sweetener if you like. Honey and agave syrup.”
He added a large dollop from both bottles.
“You boys like it sweet,” she commented.
He tried it again. Better. Still not great.
“Why don’t we sit?” She gestured to two small sofas separated by a table in a tiny side room. She was being polite, but her smile sent a curl of heat to his groin.
“So, you’re new to Argent,” he said breathing in her vanilla-and-spice scent. If a tea could taste the way she smelled, that would be a beverage worth drinking. Actually, he’d gladly drink the one she’d given him because she’d made it esspecially for him. He took another swallow and stifled a grimace.
“Yes! I moved in this past Sunday. The grand opening of the store is Monday.” Bracelets jangled on her wrist as she tucked her hair back. She even had cute ears. Herian, he wished he had a choice, wished he wasn’t dying, wished he didn’t need a genmate to save his life, wished he could pick his own mate. He’d pick Mandy in an instant.
He fidgeted on the love seat, and when his knee brushed hers under the table, he felt an instant surge of heat. Surreptitiously he probed the underside of his jaw. No swelling at all. Zippo. Zilch. He swallowed, noticing the thickness in his throat was gone, as if it had never been.
The beverage didn’t taste good, but the liquid had washed down whatever had been stuck in his throat. He took another gulp for good measure. He was getting used to the odd flavor, but he couldn’t say he liked it yet.
“How’s the tea?” she asked, almost as if she could read his mind.
“Great,” he lied to be polite.
Her eyes crinkled with pleasure. She was proud of her tea. “I’ll give you some to take home.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I want to.” She touched his hand ever so briefly, and a curl of heat shot through his groin.
“Inferno sure was excited,” he said, disconcerted.
“He told me six of you came to Earth at the same time, that you’re brothers in spirit.”
“Yes, we formed a family. We all lived together at first, but now Chameleon and Wingman live with their mates. Psy is mated, too, but he and Meadow chose to stay in the farmhouse.”
“I imagine it would be hard to leave your family behind and move to a new planet.”
They hadn’t left their birth families. They’d died in the first blast of the bombardment. “It was,” he said, avoiding getting into the tragic circumstances. “Do you have family?”
Her smile lit up her face, entrancing him with her beauty. “A son. He’s an artist. I’m so proud of him. My parents passed on a few years ago. I have a brother who’s in the service and is stationed overseas.”
He forced himself to look away and surveyed the store, taking in its unusual merchandise. Several titles on the bookshelf jumped out at him: Healing Herbs, Adventures in Astral Travel, Seeing with Your Third Eye, From Hunches to Clairvoyance, The Psychic in You, Dealing with Skeptics and Nonbelievers, and Tarot Wisdom.
“Kevanne told me you can find missing people,” he said.
“Sometimes.” She sipped her tea. “You’re searching for someone?”
“I’m looking for the female with whom I share a genetic marker that will enable me to bond with her.”
She blinked, and then her open expression snapped closed. “That’s a pretty specific order.”
“My needs are specific.”
“It sounds like you need a geneticist. Or at least one of those DNA ancestry matching sites.”
“I’ve investigated those. Your science isn’t advanced enough,” he explained, hoping she wouldn’t feel insulted. “The human genome isn’t fully mapped, and your scientists aren’t aware of the Vaporian genome.
“I’m impressed by how quickly you found Inferno’s genmate,” he said.
“Possibly. Maybe not. We don’t know yet.” She traced the rim of her cup with a slender finger. Her nails, painted dark blue, had stars on them. “I see images—often indistinct—and words, and I sense emotions. It’s like getting a few pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. I get a sliver of the picture, and it’s open to interpretation, mine and the person’s to whom the message is directed.” Her cup clattered as she returned it to the saucer. “Sometimes the information comes too late to do any good.”
“Then, why do people come to you?” he asked and then realized how rude it sounded.
“Um, generally they don’t. I share what I see, but I don’t hang out a shingle. I don’t advertise what I do.”
“Oh,” he said. Kevanne had given him an entirely different impression.
Was Mandy trying to discourage him? Did she not wish to help him? Had she guessed he’d decided to seek her assistance, and this was her way of politely refusing? Or maybe she’d already gotten a read. Perhaps her psychic vision had confirmed what he feared—that he was doomed.
Ask her.
What if she says no? He snuck another peek at her face. He could stare at her all day. She had the prettiest eyes. His gaze drifted to her mouth. Were her lips as soft as they looked? He was getting distracted.
Ask her.
If she refused to help, he would be no worse off. So, why the hesitation? Why did he feel so reluctant, so uncomfortable?
Because of her. For some reason, having her search for his mate made him uncomfortable. He realized he didn’t fear she’d say no, he hoped she would.
Every other possibility had been exhausted. Leaving Earth offered a long shot at best. By the time the ship was ready, he might not be alive. At a minimum, he would lose two critical weeks. He had to do this. He had to explore all options.
Shadow gripped his knees under the table. “Please, will you help me find my genmate?”
Chapter Five
Uncle Mike poked his head into Geneva’s closet-sized office. “I’m leaving for the hospital. Do you need anything before I go?”
Geneva peered at him over the ancient desktop computer. “No, I’ve got everything under control. I’m wrapping up the bulletin. It will be ready for you to review when you get back. Also, I ordered new hymnals to replace the ones that are falling apart.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re a blessing,” he said.
“It works both ways.” She smiled at him fondly. Her father’s older brother, Uncle Mike had been like a second dad to her. As a kid, she’d spent many summers in Argent with him and Aunt Harriet.
Her aunt had passed away five years ago. A few years later, just as Geneva had been going through a nasty divorce with Trenton, Uncle Mike’s secretary had retired. He’d called and begged her to fill in at the church where he’d been pastor for thirty years. He could have hired a secretary anywhere—he’d offered her a job to give her time and space to recoup and recover. She’d intended to stay only until the divorce got settled, but a few months had melted into two years, and here she was. She related to the slow pace of small-town life, the friendliness of the people. So what if some of them believed they’d seen aliens?
“Say hi to Mrs. Peterson,” she said.
“Tell her I wish her a speedy recovery and hope she’s up and around real soon.” Whenever an Argent resident, parishioner or not, landed in the hospital, Uncle Mike always paid him or her a visit.
“Oh, I’m sure she’s up and around already. They insist you walk right away after hip replacement surgery.”
“True.”
“I’ll be gone at least a couple of hours. I have my phone.” He patted his upper jacket pocket then the lower one. Bushy gray brows wrinkled. “I thought I did.”
“Is it in your pants pocket?”
He patted his backside and pulled out his phone. He grinned sheepishly. “Good guess.”
It wasn’t much of a guess. It was where his phone always went when he lost it. She hid a grin. He was a bit absentminded, but she sure loved that man. He was such a sweetie.
Uncle Mike left, and Geneva returned to the monthly bulletin. Besides her uncle’s inspirational column, it included news about parishioners—births, anniversaries, vacations, hospitalizations (Mrs. Peterson was in this issue)—recipes, family-friendly jokes, and local non-church events. The popular bulletin had more email subscribers than the church had members, which caused her uncle to rejoice because he figured God used the bulletin to shepherd home his lost lambs.
Geneva opined people subscribed for the local news and the calendar of events, since Argent lacked a proper newspaper. The secret never shared with her pastor uncle was that she was a nonbeliever.
When she’d first started working at the church, she’d suffered pangs of conscience, questioning if assisting with the promulgation of religious faith equated to hypocrisy. But after witnessing the good her uncle Mike performed in the community, she concluded church practices of charity, kindness, and fellowship did align with her values. Whenever anyone, church member or not, needed help, Uncle Mike and his parishioners were right there offering a helping hand. When Delia Mason’s daughter Izzy had been kidnapped, the entire congregation had turned out to search for her.
Besides, life often wasn’t fair, and people suffered all kinds of tragedies through no fault of their own. If they found comfort in faith, she wouldn’t take that away from them.
But not a day passed that she didn’t appreciate the irony of an atheist working for a church.
Geneva read through the bulletin one last time then shot a copy to her uncle. Next, she printed out a welcome letter to the new resident in town, inviting her to visit the Church of Argent.
Mandy Ellison lived above the Inner Journey, the store she owned. It didn’t open until Monday, but Geneva had peeked in the big picture window the other day. It looked like one of those New Age, woo-woo kind of shops. She didn’t believe in ESP or psychics, either.
She’d give the woman time to settle in and then she’d contact her about doing an interview for the Angels Sing Herald bulletin. Everyone would be curious to hear about her. Argent got a lot of skiers and tourists passing through, but few new residents—unless you counted the aliens.
Geneva snorted and shook her head. The rumor around town was that extraterrestrials lived on the outskirts of Argent. Even the parishioners got into it, some claiming to have seen a blue man with a tail at Millie’s Diner, while others reported having sighted an angel alien flying down Main Street. Thus far, nobody had reported having been beamed aboard a flying saucer and experimented on, but she figured that was coming.
She would have to see an extraterrestrial with her own eyes before she’d believe it, and in two years of living in Argent, nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Either she’d never been in the right place at the right time and missed seeing them or they didn’t exist. Her money was on the latter.
She addressed an envelope to Mandy Ellison and stuffed the welcome letter inside.
That done, she called up the program for the Sunday service and sent it to the printer. Other than the quiet hum of the machine and the occasional creak of old timber, the building was silent, and, as she worked alone in the church, she became acutely aware of her singleness, of being in limbo, for lack of a better term. Argent was a family town, with nearly everyone coupled up. It was a wonderful place to call home, terrible for meeting men.
She had Uncle Mike, but by thirty-eight, she’d expected to be happily married to her soul mate. The irony did not escape her—she was a skeptic who had believed in fated love. The facts had proven how ridiculous that notion was.
Once upon a time, she’d believed her feckless ex was her fated mate. She’d been deliriously happy in the marriage—until Trenton informed her he wanted out. How could his professed adoration have withered to apathy? How could her love for him have turned to loathing in the blink of an eye? How could she ever trust that feelings were true?
She thought it was Ernest Hemingway who’d said, “People fall in love, but they have to climb out.” With her uncle’s support, and the balm of small-town life, she had climbed out.
So now that she was out, what should she do? Where should she go? She loved Argent, but life was passing her by, one day at a time, each indistinguishable from the next.
If her foolish heart wouldn’t let go of the notion Mr. Right would find her wherever she lived, her head insisted she face facts—if she stayed in Argent, she had a better chance of meeting an alien than her dream man.
The printer belched out the last program, and she shuffled the papers into a neat stack to fold after she grabbed some lunch from Millie’s Diner.
“Hello? Anybody here?” a man’s voice called. Smooth and oddly accented, it caressed her in places that hadn’t been touched in a long time. “Hello?”
Another hot zing shot to her nether region.
She didn’t recognize the voice—she’d remember an accent like that. “Coming!” she yelled. Almost literally. That voice! “Be right there!”
Geneva entered the sanctuary near the altar. A tall man in black stood in the side aisle, his back to her. Her stomach fluttered with sexual awareness—and she hadn’t seen his face yet!
Light filtering through stained glass of the serpent tempting Eve lit a halo around his head. Many people missed the big sign out front or ignored it, but he’d removed his ball cap and clutched it at his side. He had jet-black hair. A red tail of something poked out from under his shirt. A length of rope? A braid of leather?
Hurrying around the pews, she curved her lips into a welcoming smile. “I’m Geneva. Can I help you?”
He spun around, and skepticism collided with biblical horror stories. Devilish horns curved out of his head. Black-black brows arched fiendishly over piercing eyes set deep in a demonically red face. “I’m Inferno. My genmate, I’ve come for you.” He reached out.
She screamed and threw up her hands to form a cross. “Back! Get back, Satan! Oh god! Our Father who art in heaven…” A prayer tripped off her lips as she scuttled away, almost tripping over her own feet. How had a demon spawn managed to enter a church, a hallowed building?
As she retreated, he stalked her, his unholy gaze tracking her.
“Get away from me!” She grabbed a distressed hymnal from a pew and threw it at him. It broke apart, and pages went flying. She lobbed another book, not realizing it was a Bible until it hit him square in the chest and tumbled to the floor.
He bent and picked it up. What was wrong with her that she noticed he had beautiful hands, long fingers like a pianist? What was wrong with him that he didn’t sizzle as he held the good book but stared at her with a hurt, puppy-dog expression? “I don’t understand. You’re supposed to be my genmate.”
“Leave. You have no place here.” At the altar, she grabbed a heavy brass candelabra and brandished it. “Don’t make me use this!”
His broad shoulders hunched, and the inner corners of his dark eyes pulled together. He set the Bible on a pew, turned, and walked slowly down the aisle. And that braided rope sticking out from under his shirt? It was a freaking tail.
The vestibule lit up as he pushed through the double wooden doors and exited the church. Horns. Red skin. Tail. H
er breath came in gasps, and she sucked in air, now questioning what she’d seen, doubting her own sanity. She could not have encountered a demon. Could not. It was impossible!
Legs trembling, she hurried up the aisle and locked the doors. Returning to the nave, she collapsed onto a pew.
Chapter Six
“Will you help find my genmate?” Shadow asked.
The request hit with a heavy thud of disappointment. Hello? What am I, chopped liver?
Mandy had promised Kevanne she’d try to help her friend, but she hadn’t expected his “missing person” would be a girlfriend—one he hadn’t even met yet! She’d guessed he was going to ask for her assistance and had tried to subtly discourage him.
Her entire body hummed with sexual reckoning. She’d never felt an attraction this strong and had been almost certain he’d felt the same. His gaze smoldered when he looked at her, and his knee had repeatedly brushed hers under the table.
Obviously she’d misread the situation, and the chemistry was one-sided. Only her beaker was bubbling.
“Have you tried the Intergalactic Dating Agency?” she asked.
He shook his head. “They can’t help me.”
And he thought she could? The IDA received stellar reviews for finding mates for hard-to-match singles. “Aren’t you leaving in two weeks?” That’s what she’d gathered from what she’d overheard.
“If you can locate my genmate, I’ll stay. That’s the reason for leaving—to search for her.”
How much plainer could he make it that he had no interest in her? The whole gene explanation had sounded preposterous—now she realized it was his way of discouraging her without hurting her feelings. It took me a while to catch on, but you don’t need to hit me over the head with a sledgehammer. I get it. You don’t like me.
As she was on the verge of telling him to take a ride on the spaceship he flew in on, a hint of grief in his imploring gaze stopped her. It wasn’t in her genetics to ignore a person who was hurting. Something painful had happened to this man. Call her a pushover, but she automatically responded to people in need. Whether she could find him the girlfriend he was searching for would be a gamble, but it couldn’t hurt to try. And the stakes were low. This wasn’t a real missing person case where somebody could end up dead.
