Flames of Hope

by Cassandra L Shaw

  She read it. “You’re still convinced something stinks in there?”

  “Someone, or a herd or flock of them, stinks.”

  “A herd, flock?” As they drove past, Father Morgan exited the building and headed for the parking lot.

  “Cattle or sheep who follow their leader—sometimes blindly.”

  “So, who’s the leader? Reverend Morgan just left.”

  “That’s the question.”

  “Or there’s no question, because that is just a church, with a religious leader, and his congregation of believers.”

  “Exactly what I’m afraid of. We’re singing hymns and eating pie, and Crea and Eli are still missing and going missing.”

  18

  Chapter Eighteen

  Xylvar left an hour earlier to throw around some weights at the local gym. Something he did every couple of days. He said using the different types of equipment he didn’t have at home helped him maintain his strength, and kept the tendons and muscles in his lower body stretched and flexible. Jasmine figured it also helped burn off suppressed anger.

  She needed a good workout herself, but Storm’s persona didn’t quite fit the beat the crap out of a boxing bag type gal. So, she just used the smaller weights and exercise equipment Xylvar had in their unit.

  Jasmine made a cup of coffee and stood gazing out the window at the blue sky trying to overtake the grey. Vanessa and James exited their front door, hopped into their car, and drove off.

  Excellent. Their and Xylvar’s timing couldn’t have been better. She was down for her volunteer slot at the warehouse, and hadn’t yet told Xylvar she’d signed on.

  She dressed with her CeeCee persona in mind. The jeans were super-tight. The top, one she’d bought sneakily on a grocery expedition, cleavage-revealing low. The inbuilt bra corset lifted her till she thought if she looked down she’d smother in her own breasts. Not exactly agent wear, or fight clothing, but it suited her sex worker cover. She called a taxi and arranged for it to meet her six houses down, where she could stand under the cover of a low hanging tree.

  Stains and enhancers in place, thick and contoured as she could manage without resembling a clown, and the red wig stuffed into her handbag to put on later, she walked out of the flat and headed for her shift.

  Halfway up the road, muttering things she should have said to Xylvar last night under her breath, she saw Vanessa waving from their car as they parked.

  “Hey, neighbor.”

  Damn them, they’d returned. Jasmine ducked her head to hide the disguise. “Hey.”

  “Nice day.”

  “Yeah, great.” Go away.

  Head low, hair covering her face, she hurried down the road. The neon blue cab pulled up, and she got into the back seat. After giving the driver the address of the warehouse, she turned enough to see the front yard of their duplex. Vanessa had gotten out of her car and stood watching the cab drive off.

  What in all hell was up that woman’s butt?

  Once settled in the backseat, Jaz pulled her hair back into a tight bun, put on the bright red wig, and prayed she’d managed to completely hide her real hair. She had the cab driver drop her off a block up from the warehouse. Entering the ladies’ room before she started her shift, she checked herself out, and took off the large shirt covering her real outfit, putting it into her bag, and into the locker she’d been assigned.

  Three sets of cool eyes ran over her clothes and face before all three, with their lips rimmed in white lines of primness, went back to their tasks.

  A lady she’d yet to meet walked over. “Hi. You’re CeeCee?”

  “Sure am.” Jasmine gave her a friendly smile.

  “Fine. I’ll show you the ropes.”

  Twenty minutes later, Jasmine had her first four boxes on a trolley and a list of items to go inside. At the cooler section, she located packets of grated cheese, butter, and milk, putting one each into every box.

  A deep gray metallic car pulled up. The brand, one of two now providing mid-range luxury cars to individuals able to afford more than a basic vehicle in a world still recovering from the Worldwide War.

  After placing a reusable ice block in each hamper, Jasmine started to clip on the lids when she heard the distinctive, rumbling voice of Father Morgan. She saw him looking her way. She dropped her head forward hoping the wig’s red bob proved long enough to conceal her face. Please don’t come over, please don’t come over.

  She heard footsteps nearing while she closed another hamper. Keep walking, keep walking.

  “And this is our new volunteer, CeeCee.”

  Shit.

  A long, thin, pale hand reached out, and Jasmine took it, keeping her head down and her eyes locked on their hands rather than looking at his face. The shake was as limp and fishy as the first time she shook his hand.

  “Always glad to find new help with our work. We provide many important basics in life for the community, not only food. Spiritual, housing, friendship, guidance, and for some there’s that need to connect with one’s own species.”

  Own species? Damn, she’d have to reply. Would he recognize her voice? She tightened her throat, kept her head down. “Um, yes. I’ve heard many good things.” And hoped the change in pitch was enough of a disguise that Father Morgan wouldn’t recognize it.

  He patted her hand and made Jasmine’s skin crawl. “We encourage all of the Lord’s flock, no matter their position in life, to attend our churches and receive some guidance. But do carry on, the van’s waiting for the next delivery.” He turned, over-tall and cadaver-thin, and walked off toward the office at the front of the warehouse.

  She let out her held breath. Playing two roles in the same production might not be the safest or sanist thing she’d ever done. Father Morgan went over to the van and spoke to the driver with the scratches on his face.

  Father Morgan gave her bad vibes, even though he’d been nothing but nice to her, had done nothing to hint at any villainous activities. He started to chat with the other volunteers. They all replied with ease, laughed, and showed a great deal of respect for the man. She shook her head and started to fill the fresh vegetable baskets to go with the hampers.

  A man with thinning blond hair, and a wide, friendly smile took Jasmine’s completed boxes and hampers and loaded them into the van. He stopped, eyes squinted, while he watched Father Morgan head for his vehicle.

  “Nice car,” said Jasmine, to break the charged silence.

  “Yeah, but where does someone get that many credits? Last year he drove a fifteen-year-old near wreck. This year, a car worth more’n my house.”

  Jasmine shrugged. “Donations, maybe?” Though surely taking the money to buy a fancy car wouldn’t be ethical.

  “Makes one want to be become a churchgoer when you see that.”

  “You don’t attend one of his churches?”

  “No. I’m a paid contractor. Most of the drivers are. Hell, even the vans are contracted through Comet.”

  “Comet?”

  “Just a guy.” He pushed the door of the car down. “Gotta say, you’re a sight for sore eyes after all the prissy old hags around here.”

  As Jasmine turned to go back into the warehouse to do the next lot of boxes the van driver’s voice followed her. “You watch your back around here. Reckon things ain’t all they seem.” With that pithy, dark comment, he hurried into his van and drove off.

  19

  Chapter Nineteen

  Xylvar met Kaid in the back of the nightclub where Bliss would sing that night. Her rehearsals were a heavy beat, and a throaty, feminine rumble in the background. Xylvar sipped the light brew Kaid put on the table.

  The triple-barred metal door leading to the outside was locked, the alarm a soft green light stating it was on and set to stun. The door leading into the main bar was shut, not locked. Outside, three cleaners were hard at work, and two of Kaid’s key soldiers stood by, their relaxed stances a lie. Tense times had everyone almost as paranoid as Xylvar.

  “Why
the meet?” He’d left Jaz at the flat, but had a feeling she was up to something. He’d found a bright red hair on one of her shirts the other day. A bag of makeup he’d never seen her wear. The containers were new, but the contents recently used.

  And then there was that red dress. A mere six inches wide when she wasn’t wearing it; on, it would reveal more than paint. She had a boyfriend, or lover, or was meeting someone incognito.

  Could Jaz be the Katoom clan’s leak? Or just a girl with needs finding a real man who could provide a solution?

  Xylvar tapped his nail on the table in front of him, used the other hand to down half the beer in one savage gulp. She’d be caught, and the people spying on Todd and Storm would realize no woman would in any reality stay with Todd. Todd or Xylvar.

  A pain started behind his chest. He grunted, thumped his hand on his chest. Kaid lifted a brow.

  “Don’t piss yourself, I’m not going to croak on your shift. Drank the beer too fast, that’s all.” He started to tap the table again. Kaid flicked a glance as Xylvar’s fingers, then back at the monitor.

  “I dug into your medical records, sent them through to the surgeon and his team regarding the procedure you hope to have done.”

  Xylvar stopped tapping. He met Kaid’s blue, silver-rimmed gaze, reading the male’s emotions. Kaid blinked, shook his head, and checked the doors again. “Stay out of my head.”

  “Fine, stay out of my business.”

  “Which business would that be?” Kaid gave Xylvar a penetrating look.

  “My spine is my business.”

  “True, but clan is paying for a good portion of the procedure.”

  “Way I see it, me working for you is nothing more than a business transaction, where I use my fee as I see fit.”

  Kaid put his hands up. “Agreed. But since you are in my employ or contract, I felt I needed to know what was expected when it came to such an experimental procedure. Clan wouldn’t be happy if we encouraged someone to do something to harm themselves.” Kaid lifted his beer took a good pull. “Bad for publicity.”

  Xylvar rolled his lips back, the silver blooming on his hands. “What I do with my body is my decision. I couldn’t give a fuck about your reputation.”

  Kaid gave him a hard yet amused stare. “There are people who want to help you, want the best for you, even though you’re a total prick.” Kaid took a long draw on his beer, relaxing back in his chair when he finished. His body language might be casual, but he missed nothing. Saw all, constantly checking the exits, the monitor on the wall with a view of the outside bar room and stage area.

  “You’re jumpy.”

  “There’s a lot of ugly shit going on. My mate is small for an Eli, and she associates with too many Crea. Crea seem to be the prime targets of these kidnappers. She’s been kidnapped once. She will not be taken again.”

  “Taking Crea makes sense if you’re trying to pay for weapons and recruit new followers. Gold dust is worth more than silver.” He started to tap the table again. Taking in Kaid. What was this Eli up to?

  Kaid took another pull on his beer. “Clan has prepaid your assessment at the clinic.” He slid a large envelope across the table. “Round trip flights to and from Boston. Two nights’ accommodation next to the clinic, and all the details you need for the appointment on Thursday.”

  “An appointment?” In three days’ time? He’d been told he would need to make an appointment at least two months in advance.

  “An appointment with the key specialist. You’ll be in for several hours for tests.”

  Xylvar picked up the envelope, looked at it, then at Kaid. “Thanks.” It sounded weak. He was grateful for the appointment, but gratitude didn’t really mesh with his psyche. He worked for payment, and they’d agreed to pay for a large portion of his procedure. He just hadn’t thought he’d get a deposit until the task was completed.

  “If you’re suitable for the procedure, they will book you in. But that could take a couple of months.”

  Xylvar’s heart, unexcited by most things not Jaz-related, pounded. Within a few months, he might once more stand and walk. And one day…no. He couldn’t let himself get that far ahead. He’d done it once before at the clinic, before they inserted the third device into his thick head.

  Hope’s a cruel, merciless, prick.

  They finished their beers, and Xylvar wheeled out into the day-dark club. Onstage, wearing jeans and loose sweater Bliss, leaning against the wall next to the drummer, sipped from a bottle of water. She waved at Xylvar, and gave her mate, Kaid, a beaming smile.

  The love they radiated almost turned Xylvar’s stomach. Kaid and Bliss’s rare twin flame bond meant Kaid was constantly concerned for his mate if she was out of sight. They kissed each other as Xylvar rolled out of the door and into the bright midday sun.

  Yeah, love. Too much of a hassle.

  The image of Jaz her dark curls bouncing while she laughed came to him.

  #

  Xylvar drove into the duplex’s parking space and found their side locked up. Inside he couldn’t find a note, but everything looked like it should, except more of the makeup he’d never seen her wear had been used.

  Where had she gone?

  His scalped tingled the way it did when his own form of intuition told him something was up. He’d lied to her about how long he expected to be out. So she didn’t expect to come with him to his meeting with Kaid.

  And then it clicked. She could have gone to meet the man. The boyfriend or lover. After all, he hadn’t asked, and she hadn’t shared anything about her private life past rejoining Katoom’s Eli clan and working for the FBPI.

  The need to know who’d she’d gone to meet, to assess if they were a risk, gnawed at his insides like rats on a lump of cheese. But, shit. Now wasn’t the time to get laid. They had a cover to maintain. And a woman like Jaz stood out, got noticed.

  Man must be a great fuck to risk their cover. Something dark and vicious crawled around inside his heart.

  Guess he’d wait and see what happened when she returned to the duplex. First, he’d make it so she wouldn’t know he was home. He turned, went back out and hid the van around the block, and then wheeled back, entering the unit.

  Once he was settled with a cup of coffee to his left, he smiled grimly at the flashing lights of his cyberlink while it scanned for encrypted, self-destructing messages.

  If she bedded some lucky bastard, Xylvar might hunt the man down, rip off his dick, and shove it into a meat grinder.

  The door opened. Jaz, a loose shirt hiding her outfit, a bag in her hand showing an expensive shop’s logo, walked into the duplex. She glanced up, her over-enhanced eyes widening when she met Xylvar’s gaze.

  “Oh, hi. I…um, went to the mall.”

  “No note to tell me?” He rolled closer to her. Flared his nostrils to allow his bit of Eli to draw in her scent, and that of any other dead piece of meat who might have touched her. She smelled of enhancer and food.

  “Oh, well I wasn’t going to be long…”

  “Really? I’ve been back for over two hours. That’s a lot of enhancement for someone who rarely uses any.”

  She scowled. “You notice how much enhancement I use?”

  He noticed everything about her. Was a sad and pathetic man. “I’m trained to notice such things, as are you.”

  “Right. Of course.” She let out a laugh and headed for the guest bedroom. Xylvar, chair in quiet mode, followed. He stopped at the door while she peeled off her large knit top.

  Underneath she wore some sort of soft jeans that molded and shaped to her body, hugging her intimately. The constricting top thing she wore underneath, made of elastic strips, shaped her already gorgeous body into a cinched waist, pressing her breasts high, showcasing their milky skin. He wanted to bury his face in them, cut that ridiculous outfit off her with a sharp knife, and run his hand all over her body.

  The sort of outfit street tarts and sex workers wore. Or a woman who was out to seduce a man for a qui
ck tumble.

  Knuckles gone white as he gripped his chair’s arm rests, Xylvar sucked in a loud breath. Jasmine jumped and spun. Her face ready for murder she took two steps toward him, put her foot on his footrest, shoved him backward, and slammed the door in his face.

  After glaring at the door, he headed back to the living room. The guest bathroom’s shower come on. Jaz hadn’t smelled of another man, but all that shit on her face, those clothes pressing her lush breasts up halfway to her chin, yeah, she’d been screwing someone. Or trying to.

  Xylvar hit the cooler, slammed the door shut. Fuck beer. He threw open the pantry and grabbed the bottle of scotch. One savage twist and the lid was off. He drank straight from the bottle, like a homeless bum guzzling cheap wine. The amber fluid burned his throat, warmed his stomach, and liquefied his heart.

  This was worse than when she belonged to Anthony. At least he’d known Anthony was a good guy, someone Jaz deserved. Xylvar knew nothing about this guy, other than he expected his woman to dress like a whore. Might be the bastard’s kink.

  Half the bottle gone, he put it on the table and went to stare out the window. Good thing he was going away for a few days, get away from her and their little marriage charade.

  Jaz strode into the living room. She put a bright red wig on the table.

  “That’s a quite a kink your lover has there. Must dress like a whore, hide her hair, does he make you bend over and do it from behind.”

  She spun and slapped him across the face. “You filthy-minded…”

  “What, can’t think of a bad enough word?” Her chest started to rise and fall, and he could see she wore no bra, no stays, her breasts were so full, and…oh, God—she was cold.

  “No.”

  “Who is this man…who…who. Fuck. Who’s the guy you’re fucking?”

  “I’m not fucking anyone. And I noticed your eyeballs nearly fell out when you saw me.”

  “I’m not blind, or dead. My dick’s dead, but I still see a woman. Still…”

  “Still what?”