by Elana Brooks
The tinny voice from the speaker said, “Are you sure, ma’am? We can have someone there in a few minutes if you need help.”
“No. I’m fine.” Rosalia’s arms wrapped around Dr. Miller’s neck. “This was all a simple misunderstanding. Thank you, but there’s no need for anyone to come.”
Dr. Miller moved the phone to his ear. “That’s right, officer. Sorry for the false alarm. Goodbye.” He shut the phone off and slid it into his pocket.
Rosalia heart thudded in her ears. Her thighs pressed into his, her hips ground against his, her breasts pressed into his chest. He was breathing hard, the pressure against her ribs rising and falling. She didn’t move.
His other arm slid around her waist to join the first. “Do you want me to let you go?”
This was insane. He was a professor, for God’s sake, and she was a student. He could lose his job if anyone found out. She’d barely met him. She didn’t even like him. He hated and feared her powers so much he denied their existence.
But the voice in her head speaking logical good sense was drowned out by the raging lust surging through her body and mind, demanding satisfaction. Maybe she could resist, could leash the wild beast and bring it under control, if she threw all her strength into self-denial.
But she didn’t want to. So she didn’t try.
She tightened his arms around his neck. “No. I want you to kiss me.”
He didn’t answer, just closed his eyes and bent his head to hers. Their mouths met. She’d thought she’d burned before, but it was nothing next to the fire that consumed her at the touch of his lips and tongue. She breathed in flames, delighting in the heat and light that radiated through her body and mind. For a long time thought ceased, and she existed as pure, glorious sensation.
Finally he drew back and glanced up and down the hallway. No one was there, but he pulled her into the little room and shut the door behind them. He fumbled in his pocket for a ring of keys, selected one, and turned it in the lock.
Maybe Rosalia should have been afraid, but nothing was further from her mind. She rejoiced in the privacy and the freedom it gave them. Maybe he should be afraid of her. She shot him a sultry grin and reached for him again.
He caught her hands. “Ms. Escamillo—“
“Rosalia,” she corrected him.
He swallowed. “Rosalia.” Her name rolled from his mouth as if he were tasting every syllable and devouring their flavor. “We need to talk.”
Rosalia shrugged elaborately, enjoying the way his eyes were dragged down from her face to follow the movement of her shoulders and chest. “What can words say that we don’t already know? I want you, and you want me.”
He closed his eyes with a grimace. “God damn it. We can’t do this. I am ethically forbidden to take advantage of a student.”
“I’m not your student,” she pointed out. “Until a few months ago, you were a student, too. And you aren’t taking advantage of me.”
“But you’re a subject of my experiment. That’s even worse.”
“If I don’t care, why should you?”
“Because I’m a decent human being, that’s why. Because I take my responsibilities seriously.”
Respect for his adherence to his principles warred with frustration in Rosalia’s heart. She didn’t want to think. She wanted desire to overwhelm them both and drive them to gloriously abandon all restraint. They could regret it later. “I’ll take responsibility. You can honestly say it was all my idea. That you had no choice.”
“Because you bewitched me with your powers? Controlled my mind with your paranormal abilities? I think we’ve already established that’s impossible.”
“Are you so sure?” Rosalia teased at his shield, drawing her thoughts seductively against the rigid barrier, but it was as impervious as it had been to direct attack. “Open up your mind to me and I’ll show you the truth.”
“I’m sure. The truth is that you can’t make me do anything I choose not to.”
Rosalia’s shoulders slumped. Her rational mind was forcing its way back into control, little as she wanted it to. “No. I suppose I can’t.”
He dropped her hands and stepped back. “This was a mistake. We need to go our separate ways and forget it ever happened.”
Rosalia swallowed against the ache in her throat. “I can’t forget. Dr.—I can’t keep calling you Dr. Miller.”
“Steve,” he said grudgingly.
“Steve. When desire between two people is this strong, it shouldn’t be wasted. That would be like throwing away a diamond. Plowing up a garden to build a parking lot. Spitting in God’s face when he’s offered you a precious gift.”
“Is that some sort of Mexican cultural belief?” He glowered at her.
“It’s my belief.” She refused to rise to his bait.
He sneered. “I suppose you’ve acted on it before.”
“Yes. And I’ve never regretted it.” She stepped forward and laid her hands flat on his chest. “You wouldn’t regret it, either.”
He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. “God, Rosalia, I’m tempted,” he whispered.
She closed her eyes, too, the longing in his voice curling into and through her, entwining with her own longing until she didn’t know where one ended and the other began. “Please,” she whispered, knowing he would refuse.
His arms engulfed her and drew her hard against him. His mouth found hers, urgent, desperate. She sank into his embrace and met his kiss with equal urgency, tumbling headlong back into mindless passion.
She yanked his shirt out of his belt and thrust her hands underneath, reveling in the touch of his bare skin beneath her fingertips and palms. He groaned and raised a hand to caress her breast, hesitantly at first, then with increasing firmness as she arched her back and breathed a moan of pleasure.
Footsteps and voices sounded in the corridor outside. Steve and Rosalia both froze.
“Dr. Miller? Ms. Escamillo?”
Steve swore and pulled away. “Campus police,” he growled. “I guess they thought they had to come anyway.” He shoved his shirt back into his pants. “Damn it, do I look decent?”
Rosalia finger-combed the hair her eager hands had tousled. “There. What about me?”
He looked her up and down, his eyes hot with interrupted desire, as Rosalia straightened her blouse and brushed back the wisps of hair her braid didn’t contain. “Perfect.”
She gave him a wry smile as he picked up the flip book and went to unlock the door. He opened it, speaking in a loud voice. “So you see, Ms. Escamillo, these images have been specially designed to be easy to reproduce. I’m sorry I misled you into believing they’d be more complicated.”
She took the hint. Tossing her head, she shrugged dramatically. “I couldn’t believe such a distinguished researcher would use such childish pictures. I was certain you were blocking the details from my mind.”
“Of course.” Steve looked up in feigned surprise at the campus police officers coming down the hall from his office. “Is there a problem, officers? I told you we’d settled our disagreement.”
“Just a precaution, Dr. Miller. When there’s a report we like to come out and take a look. You know how it is. Sometimes there’s more going on than people are willing to talk about over the phone.” The officer looked carefully back and forth between Rosalia and Steve. “But it looks like both of you are all right.”
“Yes. I was just showing Ms. Escamillo around and answering her questions. We’re finished now. He nodded to Rosalia. “Thank you for your time. I need to be getting back to work.” He extended a hand.
She had no choice but to play along. She accepted his outstretched hand and shook it, feeling joy and grief mingled at that one last touch. “It’s been a pleasure.”
“We’ll be glad to escort you out, ma’am.” The officer’s voice was polite and nonthreatening, but it left no room for argument.
Rosalia didn’t try to resist. “Thank you.” She turned to Steve. “You have my number if you
need to contact me.”
“There shouldn’t be any need.” His face was as closed as his mind, blank and unreadable.
Rosalia silently cursed as she followed the officers to the elevator and made polite conversation on the ride down. But by the time they’d accompanied her out of the building and she’d declined their offer to continue with her to her residence hall, her raging frustration had faded and relief was creeping in to take its place. She hated to admit it, but maybe it was just as well she and Steve had been stopped before they went any farther. She wouldn’t have regretted it, but he would have. He was probably thanking God this minute that he’d been rescued before he could fall to her temptation.
There was no way she’d ever go into that cold, sterile building again. Not even to seek him out. And she didn’t know where else to look for him. Better to let him go. A lost opportunity that was never meant to be.
Her phone chirped. Her heart froze, then raced. She pulled it out slowly.
The text message glowed on the screen. I’ll be at Antonio’s at 7 tonight. Meet me there if you’d like to discuss following up on our experiment.
Chapter 4
Present
Banks of lights glared into Steve’s eyes, half blinding him. Hundreds of microphones and even more cameras pointed at him and the other seven people standing on a temporary stage in the foyer of the HBQ headquarters building. Reporters crammed the elegant space, their faces intent and hungry, avid for the scoop of a lifetime. The news announced at this press conference would change the world, and enough rumors had leaked that every one of them knew it.
HBQ’s media relations director finished talking to a handful of reporters and came to smile at the Eight. “Everyone ready? We can go live any time.”
Steve responded with a curt nod. Solomon looked at each of them in turn, then gave her a gracious smile. “We’re ready.”
“Good. Break a leg, everyone.” She hurried off to set the final wheels in motion.
Steve wondered if the others felt as sick to their stomachs as he did. Solomon looked cheerful, though Steve knew very well the deep trauma he was hiding. Beverly was visibly nervous, but she’d only had a month to prepare for this. All the rest would appear impassive to a casual eye. He knew them well enough to pick up the signs of tension—Farid’s scowl a shade deeper than usual, Ana Luiza’s lip ring trembling as her tongue worried it, Kostas’s fixed smile and glazed eyes, Savriti’s deep, measured breathing, Esi’s rhythmically tapping fingers. They’d been waiting years for this moment, some of them decades. Everything they’d work toward for a lifetime would succeed or fail over the next few months. This was the beginning.
“All right, people. In three… two… one…” She pointed at them. Dozens of camera lights glowed red.
Solomon raised a cordless microphone to his mouth. His warm voice with its cultured Russian accent rang clear into the expectant hush. “Good morning, everyone. Greetings to the people of Earth from HBQ, the Covenant of the Rainbow, and the Eight.” He gestured broadly to include Steve and the others. “We bear grave news. News many of you will find difficult if not impossible to believe at first. But I ask your indulgence to hear us out. We’ll provide ample evidence to convince you we speak the truth.”
He indicated a large screen behind them. “Eight days ago astronomers identified a new comet entering the outer reaches of our solar system.” A diagram appeared on the screen, showing curving orbits of planets with a straight line cutting across them. “After several days of careful observation, measurement, and calculation, they concluded that it’s not in orbit around the sun, but has traveled here from deep space. Furthermore, it’s not maintaining a constant speed, but decelerating at a rapid rate.” Numbers appeared all over the diagram. “Here’s a picture taken by the Hubble Space Telescope yesterday.” In one corner of the screen a black rectangle overlaid the diagram. In its center was a slightly fuzzy, featureless white disk. “Experts at NASA and a number of other space agencies have confirmed that the object cannot be any natural phenomenon with which they are familiar, and they are unable to speculate on its true nature.”
He paused and took a deep breath. “In fact, it is an alien spaceship.”
A long moment of stunned silence was followed by a babble of voices. Solomon raised his hand to quiet them. “The organization which we represent, the Covenant of the Rainbow, has anticipated the arrival of these aliens for many years and is prepared to deal with them on behalf of the people of Earth. We’ve cultivated contacts within every government on the planet. Right now we’re turning over all information we’ve accumulated about the aliens.”
The screen behind him switched to a moving image with the word “Live” in one corner. A woman Steve recognized as a high-level Covenant member passed an enormous stack of documents to a White House official. The feed quickly shifted to similar scenes elsewhere—Moscow, Tokyo, London, Beijing, Paris. After that he lost track, but the montage continued as Solomon went on.
“We of the Covenant ask the help and cooperation of every citizen of Earth. We must stand united if we wish to survive. For these aliens are hostile. They want to take Earth for their own and remake it to suit their needs, in ways which will destroy human lives and civilization.”
An agitated buzz of voices rose, persisting despite Solomon’s quelling gesture. “My colleague, Savitri Lal, will now speak concerning the history of human interaction with the aliens.”
Solomon passed the microphone to Savitri. She was dressed in her most formal sari, the purple silk gleaming in the glaring lights. She spoke with assurance in a rich, low voice. “A small number of aliens came to Earth approximately eight thousand years ago. An account of their visit was recorded and has been passed down to us. Every member of the Covenant receives this information as part of their initiation. I will relate it to you now.”
She launched into a narration of the events of the first Memory. On the screen behind her a series of paintings appeared, illustrating her story. Steve was impressed. The artist had done an excellent job of capturing the familiar images.
The reporters listened, spellbound, as Savitri wove the tale. A communal indrawn breath met the first appearance of Gabeel to Noh. The illustration showed his astral form hovering in the darkness, his long snake-like body bent into gracefully curves, his three pairs of fins spread wide and gently fluttering, his intelligent eyes bright above his long reptilian snout.
Steve shivered. It was an image from his nightmares. Even now, years after he’d learned the truth about the Seraphim, after he’d met several of them in person, befriended one, fought and defeated others, their faces still had the power to terrify him. They might be named for angels, but to him they would always be the dragons that had haunted his childhood.
Savitri continued into the events of the second Memory without a break. Most of the reporters remained silent, but a few of them whispered to each other. Steve picked up the skepticism in their tone. Hardly surprising, when they were being asked to believe that a tale straight out of mythology was the literal truth. He still found it hard to believe himself, even though intellectually he’d accepted the account as factual. Even after his recent encounters with the Seraphim. Events experienced while in astral form always took on a certain dreamlike quality after you returned to your body.
Maybe he’d only dreamed that Rosalia had kissed him again.
He forced his attention back to Savitri’s narration. She was nearly finished with the events of the third Memory. Soon it would be his turn.
The last illustration appeared on the screen. The original Eight gathered on the shore of the sea, hands linked as they made their vow to each other and to God, a rainbow arching overhead. They would be the weapon guarding Earth against its enemies, ensuring the Flood never came again.
Steve fingered the medallion in his pocket. The palm-sized gold disk had been crafted in ancient Egypt. It depicted an arrow nocked on a bowstring, the bow drawn into a deep half-circle. Narrow bands of brill
iantly colored gemstones striped the weapon, the beauty of diffracted light shining from the rainbow’s deadly namesake.
Savitri gestured at the rest of them. “The Eight each passed their legacy to a chosen successor. The trust was handed down through the ages until it came to the eight of us who stand before you now. The Memories, and the warning, and the knowledge of how to use and teach the powers of the mind. My colleague, Dr. Steve Miller, will now explain and demonstrate our psychic abilities for you.”
The whispers fell silent. Every eye was on Steve as he accepted the microphone from Savitri. He took a deep breath and spoke the words he’d prepared. “I have a doctorate in psychology from the University of California Los Angeles. I’ve conducted a great deal of research into psychic abilities. At first I was just as skeptical as I’m sure all of you are. More so. Until a man skilled in the psychic arts showed me evidence I couldn’t deny that they do, in fact, exist.”
He reached out with his mind, pulled energy from the astral plane, and wrapped it around the microphone. He opened his hand. The microphone remained suspended in space.
A collective gasp echoed around the room. Steve spread his hands. “Telekinesis is the easiest mental skill to demonstrate. Most of the others can only be perceived by those who’ve learned to use their psychic senses.” He nodded at the floating microphone. “By itself, this proves nothing. All of you have seen far more spectacular tricks performed by stage magicians or Hollywood special effects. I know it’s useless to try to dazzle you with flashy stunts.”
He concentrated, and the reporter he’d chosen, an investigator for one of the major networks famous for her relentless pursuit of truth, rose into the air and hovered high above the heads of the rest.
A few startled shrieks broke out. Cameras swiveled to capture the dramatic event. The reporter, after a moment of paralyzed shock, looked around intently, sweeping her hands overhead and around, seeking wires or anything else supporting her. Every head in the room was craned back, every eye wide and staring, every mouth gaping open.
