by Elana Brooks
Rosalia shook her head in confusion. “But we haven’t been doing that recently in America, have we?”
“No.”
“And besides, I joined the Covenant as soon as you told me about it.” She scowled at him. “And I would have much earlier, if you’d bothered to contact me. Or at least had someone else do it, if you couldn’t bear to admit you were wrong to my face.”
“I’ve already apologized for that. And I will again, as many times as you need, if you ask me. But that’s not what this is about.”
“I guess not.” She frowned. “So if it wasn’t someone from the Covenant who blocked my memories, then who?”
Steve sighed, his eyes shadowed and his mouth grim. “Let’s find out. Not here, though. We need to go somewhere safe and private.” He eyed her cautiously. “The Covenant office is closed for the night, but I can call someone to let us in.”
Undoubtedly that would be wisest, but Rosalia was far too tired to bother with trekking all the way downtown and back again. She and Steve had already established that their relationship was going to get physical again eventually. This was sooner than she’d expected, but if it happened tonight she would welcome it. Her face heated and her pulse accelerated at the thought. “I’d rather just go up to my room, unless you think we need guardians watching us.”
His breath quickened. “We shouldn’t. We won’t be leaving our bodies.”
“All right, then.” She rose and extended her hand. His enveloped hers as he rose, warm and strong, sending electric tingles through her body.
But even Steve’s touch couldn’t distract Rosalia for long from the burning need to find out what had been done to her. Someone had stolen a portion of her life. She had to learn who and what and why. So when they reached her room, she strode past the bed to one of the chairs flanking a small round table and plopped into it. “Let’s do this.”
Steve fastened the door’s inner latch and came to join her. He turned the other chair to face her and settled into it. He laid his hands on the table, palms up. “I’m ready.”
Rosalia scooted her chair around, took a deep breath, and settled her hands over his. His fingers curled around hers. He looked into her eyes. May I?
She gulped. Yes.
For the second time that day, his mind entered hers. Together they returned to the moment when the papers had swirled into the shape that had given her such a strange sense of familiarity. She focused on the bizarre sensation of recognizing something she couldn’t recall.
There. Keep trying to remember. Push against the block as hard as you can. I’ll add my strength to yours.
She forced her mind to search her past for the moment she’d seen that symbol before. Almost, almost…
The discomfort centered around a particular time about seven years ago. She’d just finished her MBA and had taken her first corporate job, working for a company that was building a high-tech computer factory in Santiago, Chile. She’d traveled there to train with the people on site and see for herself what they were doing. She’d thoroughly enjoyed her first venture out of the United States, spending every free moment visiting tourist sites, eating at restaurants, meeting and talking to as many local people as she could—
Rosalia came up hard against a blank wall. Why couldn’t she remember? If she just thought hard enough…
Steve’s mind slipped in and leaned against the barrier with her. His massive psychic power augmented hers. Together they gave a final mighty shove, and the memory block collapsed.
Chapter 8
Seven years ago
A symbol floated before Rosalia, glowing white against a black, starry sky. A narrow circular band enclosed the silhouette of an angel, wings spread wide, robes flowing. The temporal sense associated with the vision was intense and immediate, the significance profound. Whatever the image symbolized was going to happen very soon. The results would reverberate throughout the rest of her life.
“Excuse me, señora. Are you well?”
Rosalia blinked. The man spoke Spanish with a distinct Castilian accent. He leaned over her table and peered into her face. “Do you wish me to summon a physician?”
“No. I’m fine.” Rosalia waved her hand dismissively. Precognitive visions didn’t hit her in public very often, but she had an excuse ready to use when they did. “It was just a minor seizure. I’m on medication to control them, but occasionally one happens anyway.” She made a show of shaking her head and rubbing her temples. “They pass quickly. Nothing to worry about.”
His dark eyes studied her with far more perception than she liked. “I see.” He looked around, taking in the empty place across from Rosalia and the crowded restaurant. “Do you have someone with you to assist you if your condition becomes more severe? I should think it unwise to go about in public alone if one is likely to become incapacitated without warning.”
She laughed dismissively and shrugged. “I assure you, I’m perfectly safe. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“So, you’re currently without a dinner companion.” He smiled charmingly and executed an elegant bow. “Might I apply for the position? My name is Carlos Miguel Villaverde Morales. I’m originally from Valencia in Spain. I came to Santiago three years ago to represent the interests of my company in this region.”
Rosalia eyed him. He was attractive in a smooth, practiced way. She was willing to bet money this wasn’t the first time he’d approached a strange woman in a restaurant. Or in a bar, or on the street. But he seemed well-spoken, intelligent, and persuasive rather than pushy, so an evening spent in his company could well prove enjoyable.
And her vision suggested something significant was going to happen very soon. Carlos might or might not be a part of it. If he was, and she sent him away, she might miss out on whatever profound, life-changing experience the vision promised.
She nodded. “Have a seat.”
He seated himself gracefully. “Might I inquire with whom I have the pleasure of dining?”
He’d used the full formal version of his name, so she did the same. “Rosalia Pilar Escamillo Gonzalez. I’m from Los Angeles. I’m in town for a couple of weeks on business.”
“And are you enjoying your time in Santiago, Rosalia?”
“Very much. This is the first time I’ve traveled internationally. The city is beautiful, and the people here are all very friendly.”
“I would never have guessed you to be a novice traveler. You appear very assured.” He gestured to the menu in front of her. “Have you ordered?”
“Not yet. I’m having a hard time making up my mind. Everything looks delicious.”
“I’m sure you won’t be disappointed, whatever you choose. This is one of the finest restaurants in Santiago.”
“That’s what the concierge at the hotel said when I asked for a recommendation.”
“He directed you well. Might I help you decide? I dine here often, and I’m familiar with most of the dishes.”
“That would be great.” Rosalia turned the menu so she and Carlos could both read it.
They discussed Rosalia’s preferences for several minutes, after which Carlos recommended a specific entrée. He signaled the waiter, who hurried to their table and took their orders, addressing Carlos by name. Apparently he wasn’t kidding about being a regular. Carlos asked for a white wine that from the waiter’s pleased reaction Rosalia suspected was quite expensive.
It proved well worth whatever it cost, complementing her spicy seafood dish perfectly. Carlos was an excellent conversationalist. He regaled her with information about Santiago and the rest of Chile, interspersed with interesting tidbits about his life in Spain. He was flatteringly attentive to everything she said about herself and her home. By the time they came to the end of the meal, Rosalia had decided that if Carlos made any further overtures, she’d accept them. She hadn’t been so attracted to a man since—
She forcefully broke off that line of thought. Carlos was nothing like Steve, thank goodness. Her attraction to him was mil
d and pleasant. She never again wanted to deal with the sort of over-the-top lust she’d felt for Steve. She’d learned her lesson. If anyone provoked a reaction that came anywhere close, she would run the other way and never look back.
Of course, in three years, no one had.
Carlos narrowed his eyes at her. “Unpleasant memories?”
She waved a dismissive hand. “No.”
He obviously didn’t believe her, but he let it pass. “Tell me more about your grandmother. It sounds like you two are very close.”
Rosalia smiled fondly, glad of a safer subject. “We are. She’s taught me so much.”
“About business?”
Rosalia had waxed descriptive about Abuela’s shop, although she’d omitted any reference to her real work. “Yes, that. And other things.”
When she didn’t continue, Carlos gently prompted, “Our elders can often pass on wisdom our peers would ridicule.”
“Are you saying you won’t?” Rosalia eyed him skeptically.
He spread his hands. “I would never mock something you find worthwhile, no matter how dubious I might consider it.” He lowered his voice. “And I have experience which suggests that certain things the modern world dismisses as superstition are in fact quite worthwhile topics of study.”
Rosalia stared at him. “What sort of things?”
He shrugged. “Things grandmothers might know. Ways of understanding beyond the normal five senses. Knowledge gained through channels not available to everyone.”
Rosalia swallowed. “Visions of the future?” she whispered.
He shrugged again and nodded. “Perhaps.”
“My grandmother has them. She advises people based on her visions. She’s famous for her ability to help people.” Rosalia kept her voice soft and stared at her plate.
“A valuable gift. Did she teach you its ways?”
“Yes.” Rosalia dared a glance at his face. He looked attentive and accepting, without even a trace of surprise. “I have them, too. I see things that are going to happen.”
“I thought you might. I know others who possess similar gifts. The trance you were in when I first spotted you reminded me of those experienced by one of my friends. That was a vision, yes?”
“Yes.” Rosalia’s heart accelerated. “You don’t think that’s strange? You really know other people with psychic abilities?”
“Indeed.” Carlos smiled at her. “If fact, I possess certain abilities of that sort myself.”
Rosalia sat up straight and glared at him. “Now you are mocking me.” Aren’t you?
Not at all.
She jerked back, staring at him incredulously. The telepathic communication had been clear and precise, in Carlos’s cultured voice. Obviously intentionally sent, not an inadvertent broadcast. You can hear me?
I can. And you can hear me in return.
But how… where… who taught you?
Some of the friends I mentioned. Would you like to learn more about them and the organization to which we belong?
Organization? Rosalia’s head swam. A whole organization of people who would believe her, who shared her secret? Yes. Hell, yes.
This was what her vision had heralded. The angel image must symbolize his organization somehow. Truly this encounter would change her life.
Carlos shifted to vocal speech. “Would you like to accompany me home? We can discuss matters in more depth there.”
A few minutes ago Rosalia would have accepted without hesitation. Sex with Carlos was an appealing proposition. But suddenly the issue was far more complicated. She couldn’t pass up the opportunity to learn more about this mysterious organization. But she was deeply wary of getting involved with another psychic. Telepathy enhanced sex, but it created intimacy too deep for a casual encounter. She wasn’t stupid enough to set herself up for another explosive backlash.
Carlos easily interpreted her hesitation. “Only conversation. I neither seek nor offer more.”
She didn’t entirely believe him, but he backed up his words with a telepathic aura of truthfulness that was difficult to disbelieve. She didn’t know whether it was possible to lie telepathically, but it was certainly much harder than with words. All sorts of emotional undercurrents accompanied thoughts. Everything she was picking up from Carlos aligned with what she would expect from someone telling the truth.
Normally she didn’t worry too much about men turning dangerous. She could defend herself from any ordinary threat with telekinesis. But Carlos or his friends might be able and willing to use telekinesis against her. His mental presence was strong. She wouldn’t be surprised if he could overpower her psychically as well as physically.
Damn it, why was she dithering? She wasn’t going to turn down this opportunity. Whatever risk she had to take was worth it. “All right.”
His smile flashed. “Excellent. Allow me to settle the check, and we can go.”
“Thank you for offering, but no. I’d prefer to pay for my share.”
Carlos went up several steps in her estimation when he didn’t argue, only nodded pleasantly. “Very well.” He called the waiter back and efficiently arranged for the split payment. Rosalia handed over her credit card and signed the slip when the waiter returned. Carlos signed his slip, rose, and extended his arm to her. “My home is only a short drive away. I’ll be happy to take you to your hotel when our visit is complete. Or if you’d prefer, I’ll call you a cab.”
“Either would be fine.” Rosalia took his arm and let him lead her out of the restaurant and into a neighboring parking garage. He unlocked a small but elegant car and opened the passenger side door with a flourish. She climbed in, her heart racing. “My company would have rented me a car, but everyone said the public transportation here was so convenient I wouldn’t need one. So far they’ve been right.”
“It’s not the best I’ve used, but certainly better than Los Angeles, if your home’s reputation is accurate.” He pulled out of the tight parking space into traffic.
She shrugged. “I’ve been taking buses all my life, so it doesn’t seem so bad to me, but here is definitely better.” She twisted her hands together in her lap. “All right. You belong to an organization of people with psychic abilities. Tell me about it.”
He was silent for a few moments. When he finally spoke, his words were carefully chosen. “As you no doubt understand very well, this world holds many dangers for those of us who violate the common understanding of what is normal. People fear that which they don’t understand. Particularly when it makes them feel inferior. Weak. Threatened.”
Rosalia thought about the hate mail her grandmother received from time to time accusing her of getting her powers from Satan, the ugly scrawled graffiti with pentagrams and leering devil’s faces, the time someone had thrown a Molotov cocktail from a passing car and nearly burned the shop down. “Yes.”
“For the time being, we feel the most prudent option is to keep our organization a secret. What I’ve told you so far is the most we ever disclose to a potential member before we ask for and receive certain guarantees.”
“I promise to keep whatever you tell me private, of course. I certainly don’t want you to be the target of persecution. But I was hoping your organization was working toward public recognition of our talents.”
He waved vaguely. “In the long term, yes. But much work remains to be done first. And while I trust your promise, my organization has learned by bitter experience that more stringent precautions than mere verbal promises are required to protect our interests.”
A cold thread of fear wormed through Rosalia’s stomach. “What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing harmful. I merely require your consent to alter your memory of our interaction, if you should choose not to join us. The procedure is simple and painless. You would grant me access to your mind, and I would erase your memories of everything from the time we met until the time we parted. Or not erase, precisely, but seal them behind a barrier that would render them inaccessible to yo
ur conscious mind. I would overlay the missing hours with a false memory of a solitary meal and an uneventful return to your hotel. It would fade in time, as normal memories do. You’d never realize you’d lost a few hours of your life.”
She shivered. “That’s only if I don’t join you, though, right? If I do, I keep all my memories.”
“Of course. Our own members take vows to keep our secrets. We only block memories as necessary to keep the knowledge of our organization’s existence out of the hands of those who aren’t bound by loyalty to it.”
“That seems reasonable enough.” Rosalia couldn’t imagine refusing to become a part of a group dedicated to advancing the welfare of those with psychic powers. “All right. You can block my memory if I decide not to join.”
“Excellent.” Carlos beamed at her. “I’m certain you won’t regret your decision.” He turned into a driveway. “Come inside and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
Rosalia climbed out of the car. The house Carlos led her into was unostentatious but luxurious, like everything associated with him. The clean, modern decor gave a feeling of spaciousness to the modest bungalow. The living room where he ushered her was furnished with a white leather sofa and chairs, a nubby wool rug over marble tile, and low glass and metal tables bearing gracefully asymmetric abstract sculptures. He made a brief detour to the kitchen and returned with two glasses of red wine.
He handed her one and sat down on the sofa next to her. “Make yourself comfortable. The story I have to tell is rather lengthy and involved. I don’t expect you to believe everything I have to say, at least not right away. I only ask you to listen with an open mind and heart. If when I’m done you can honestly tell me that you wish to share our goals and work toward our ends, I’ll be able to offer further proof that my words are true.”
