by Jade Kerrion
Dee’s gaze shuttled between Jason and Danyael. “What should I expect from Lucien?”
Jason glanced at Danyael. “Didn’t you tell her?”
Danyael shook his head.
“Danyael never tells me anything,” Dee said, even though she knew the accusation was unfair. “I know that Danyael and Lucien were best friends once—”
Jason supplied the history that Danyael had been reluctant to provide. “Lucien saved Danyael from an orphanage, and they were best friends until the Mutant Assault Group installed psychic blocks in Lucien’s head and changed how Lucien felt about Danyael.”
“Changed? How?”
Danyael said quietly, “Lucien hates me now.”
“But you’re an empath. You can change how he feels about you, right?” Dee asked.
Danyael shook his head. “Lucien is immune to my empathic powers. It made him the perfect friend at a time when I had no control over my empathic powers, but now that he hates me, it also means that I can’t change the way he feels.”
“Can’t anyone do something about the psychic blocks in Lucien’s head?”
“The psychic blocks are too deeply embedded in his psyche, and no alpha telepath will take the risk of shattering Lucien’s mind while trying to bring down the psychic blocks.”
Dee’s brow furrowed. “If he hates you, why would he support this proposal for the foundation?”
“I don’t know. I once hoped Lucien would be able to get past his hatred of me to help others in need.”
“Like Reyes,” Dee said.
Danyael nodded. “Lucien wouldn’t help Reyes then, but I hope he’ll help you now.”
Jason snorted. “For no reason other than out of the goodness of his heart?”
Danyael released his breath in a sigh. “Lucien’s too rich and too powerful to be ignored. If there’s any chance at all that he would help, or at least agree not to get in the way, we have to take it.”
Dee’s eyes widened when Jason pulled into Lucien’s driveway. An elegant Spanish-revival mansion, surrounded by charming cottages, presided over impeccably manicured lawns. The terracotta-tiled roof exuded warmth and welcome; the curves and arches instilled elegance. The decorative ledges beneath the tower-like chimneys displayed rustic planters spilling over with white gardenias. The complex was massive, but it had a uniformity of design that made it beautiful. Dee breathed out a sigh. “It’s huge and gorgeous.”
Danyael chuckled. “That’s right, you never did see Lucien’s Aspen cabin.”
“It’s even bigger?”
The empath shrugged. “Lucien’s Aspen estate has more land. McLean, on the other hand, is developed enough for land to be in short supply.”
Jason leaned over as Danyael and Dee stepped out of the car. “I’ll be in downtown McLean. Call me when you’re done here, and I’ll come back for you.”
Surprise flashed through Danyael’s eyes. “Thank you.”
“You don’t expect much, do you?” Dee asked after Jason had driven away.
“Expect what?”
“Basic kindness from others.” She regretted the words when Danyael flinched. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
Danyael sighed. “I didn’t want to train your brother because I didn’t know what kind of influence I could be on him. I have more issues than a millipede has legs. I’m trying to work through many of them, but most days, it feels like I take a step forward, and slide two steps back. Helping Dum, though, has helped me. It’s given me a chance to recall a time when I had challenges, but they didn’t seem insurmountable. It’s reminded me of a time when I did get past those challenges and had a normal life, at least for a while.”
“This is the most I’ve ever heard you say about anything.”
Danyael laughed. It was a musical sound laced with genuine humor. “What I’m trying to say is thank you for emotionally blackmailing me into training your brother.”
She flushed and managed a sheepish grin. “Uh, you’re welcome.” Dee twitched, shifting her weight as she waited for someone to answer the doorbell. “Is Lucien going to see us?”
“That’s what we’re about to find out.”
An older gentleman in a pressed suit answered the door, and his eyes widened when he saw Danyael.
Danyael inclined his head in a greeting. “Good morning, Jacob. I’m here to see Lucien.”
“Is…is he expecting you?” Jacob stammered.
Danyael shook his head. “No.”
“I…”
“Please, Jacob. This is Dee. She’s starting a foundation and has a request to make of Lucien. I’m just here to make the introductions.”
The man hesitated for several moments before nodding sharply and stepping aside to allow Danyael and Dee to enter. He stared at Danyael as the empath limped past him, and then, as if suddenly recalling his manners, he averted his gaze. “Would you like to wait in Lucien’s study?”
“Yes, please. Thank you.”
Lucien’s house was a marvel of tasteful elegance, of arched brick entryways, painted tiles, and hand-hewn stone floors. The colors were warm and rich, shades of red and brown that contrasted with the cream-colored, hand-scraped walls. Lucien’s home left no doubt as to the wealth required to create and maintain it, but managed to welcome its visitors warmly nevertheless.
Danyael did not seem to notice or care about his surroundings, and when he and Dee were ushered into Lucien’s study, he did not sit. Jacob withdrew, murmuring something about locating Lucien. Danyael limped toward a window that overlooked a trellised courtyard, and Dee watched him surreptitiously while browsing through rare first-edition books that lined the oak shelves. Danyael did not fidget when nervous. In fact, he was a marvel of stillness and control. No emotion displayed on his face. If she had not known better, she would have imagined that he was preparing to meet a distant acquaintance rather than someone who had once been his best friend, and who now considered him an enemy.
She stared at a photograph of Lucien and Danyael, arms slung around each other’s shoulders. “Danyael…”
He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze drifting to the photograph. He shook his head. “That’s Galahad.”
Dee squinted at the photograph and realized that he was right. The man who looked like Danyael was tanned, his blond hair sun-streaked. He oozed health and vitality. Danyael had never been that fortunate.
The door of the study opened. Dee spun around.
Like Danyael, Lucien Winter skimmed just over six feet, and like most in vitros, he was good-looking, his chiseled features bearing testament to his mixed racial heritage. His dark hair was slicked back, and his blue eyes narrowed with irritation. “What are you doing here?”
Danyael took a single unsteady step forward. “I’d like you to meet Dee. She’s creating a foundation to provide scholarships for orphans, and you have experience with foundations. I thought you’d be a good person for her to talk to.”
The awareness of a stranger’s presence seemed to recall Lucien’s manners. He glanced toward Dee, and she shrank under his withering gaze. Danyael placed a hand on Dee’s shoulder, and a jolt shot through her. She straightened and met Lucien’s gaze without flinching.
Lucien chuckled as if he knew what Danyael had done. He waved a hand toward the leather chairs in front of the unlit fireplace. “Tell me about your foundation.”
Dee sat. Danyael did not. Lucien paid his former best friend no attention and sat across from Dee. With his attention focused on her, Dee found Lucien both charismatic and compelling. He listened attentively; his questions were incisive, and his comments insightful.
It seemed that none of the others she had spoken to previously had actual experience in starting and managing a foundation, whereas Lucien had. The nightmare of bureaucratic red tape loomed large and real, and Dee quailed at the task ahead of her.
“Next year, perhaps,” Lucien told her. He could see no conceivable way for her to clear all those hurdles in two months, certainly not in time for
the Christmas Eve dance party she had envisioned.
Dee swallowed hard against the flutter of panic that beat against her chest. She wrung her fingers to keep them from tapping a nervous rhythm against the armrest. Her plans unraveled, fraying quickly and irretrievably at the seams. By the time Lucien was finished, a cold and hard ball had lodged in the pit of her stomach.
It could not be done.
The sound of footsteps, heels clicking against Spanish tile, moved past the open door of the study. A soft voice cooed. “Da…”
Dee looked up and saw a bright-eyed infant in the arms of a middle-aged woman who had paused by the door of the study.
The child grinned, displaying two lower teeth. He reached out a chubby hand to Lucien. “Dada.”
Lucien pushed to his feet. “I’ll take him, Betty.” With easy expertise, he transferred the infant into his arms and turned around. His smile was thin, almost brittle. “This is Luke.”
Danyael’s eyes widened. “No,” he breathed.
Dee inched away from the tension that flooded the study.
Danyael limped forward, awkward in his haste. He stared at the blond haired, dark-eyed child in Lucien’s arms. He reached out hesitantly as if to caress the child’s cheek, but did not quite make contact.
Danyael’s dark gaze shot to Lucien. When he spoke, his soft tenor trembled with scarcely controlled fury. “You had no right.”
“You know better. In our world, wealth dictates what can be done.”
“Those are my genes!”
Danyael’s genes? Dee’s eyes widened. Was the infant Danyael’s clone?
She inched forward to peer into the cherubic face, which held the infant promise of Danyael’s heartbreaking masculine beauty. If the child had Danyael’s genes, didn’t it mean that the child was also an alpha empath?
Apparently, Danyael had come to the same conclusion. “Why would you create a clone of me? How could you subject someone else to my life?”
Lucien snorted. “His life won’t be your life, Danyael. Luke will be raised among people who understand what he is. He is protected and loved. You needn’t fear; he will be nothing like you.”
“He’s an alpha empath. You have no idea what it’s like to be an alpha empath. The emotional isolation is cruel and unnatural. Why are you doing this?”
“Because I can.”
Danyael shook his head, his teeth gritted. “I know you hate me. Come after me. Don’t take it out on a child who has my genes. He has nothing to do with what happened between us.”
“And what do you intend to do about it, Danyael? Sue for custody of your clone? You can barely afford child support payments for Laura. You can’t handle a child with special needs.”
“And you can?”
“I am immune to his empathic powers, just as I am immune to yours. I can protect him. He will have no better father.”
Danyael looked away. His agreement was a confession wrung from the depths of his soul, offered in a wretched, misery filled whisper. “I know.”
“You will stay out of his life.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“And you know that I can clear the way for Dee to establish her foundation in time for a Christmas Eve concert this year. I want you to stay away from him. I will not raise this child with your interference every step of the way.”
Danyael hesitated. “Will you at least tell me how he’s doing?”
“No, I owe you no explanations.”
Anguished turmoil flashed through Danyael’s dark eyes. He looked up at Lucien, his face pale but apparently at peace, his decision made. “No, I can’t. I owe it to him, and to myself, to ensure a better life for him.”
Lucien smiled without humor. He glanced at Dee. “And there is your answer.”
“I’m sorry, Dee.” Bitter irony laced Danyael’s voice. He took a step back from the child and limped out of the study without another word to Lucien.
Dee shrugged and was about to scramble after Danyael when Lucien stopped her with a question. “Aren’t you angry with him for screwing up your plans?”
“No. It was a pretty rotten deal you tried to shove down his throat. You know Danyael would never walk away from a child whom he thought was his responsibility.”
“But Luke is not his responsibility.”
“Luke is his clone and an alpha empath. There is no one better able to understand and train an empath than Danyael. He has done wonders for my brother. Danyael could really help Luke too when the time is right. Anyway—” She reached out to tickle Luke under the chin. The baby cooed and giggled, kicking his chubby feet. “You’re cute, and you’re a lucky boy,” she told the infant. “Your daddy and your donor both want what’s best for you, and most of the time, it will probably be the same thing.” She grinned up at Lucien without malice or hatred, said goodbye, and then hurried out after Danyael.
Danyael was waiting for her outside the front door. She peered up at his face. “Are you okay?” she asked and then rolled her eyes at the inanity of the question. Of course, he wasn’t all right. How could he be?
“I never wanted to be a father,” he said so quietly that she had to strain to hear him. He stared out unseeing, his eyes bleak. “But it appears that life intends for me to be a father of sorts—not once, but twice.”
Dee shrugged. “The world could use more fathers like you. I like to think that mine was pretty cool too, but I don’t really remember him. Mom never remarried. Maybe she couldn’t find someone who lived up to Dad’s memory, or maybe she just didn’t want what happened in the past to happen again.” She breathed out loudly. “I think it’s going to be okay. Luke is still young, and you and Lucien will have time to find a way to get along, for Luke’s sake. I think the kid could use a role model.”
“Of what not to become,” Danyael murmured.
She nudged him in the ribs. “Dum and I like you, so you can’t be all bad.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you going to tell Jason and Zara?”
Danyael shook his head.
“They’ll find out eventually,” she warned him. She did not think that Zara would handle the news well.
“That’s Lucien’s problem. He can decide when to tell them, if at all. He may conclude that it’s none of their business either.”
“It wouldn’t be the best decision.”
“He’s got enough money to ensure that any decision he makes is the right one.” Danyael dragged his hand across his face, the gesture weary. “I’m sorry about the dance party. Lucien could have really helped make it happen, but we’ll see what else we can do.”
“This year, next year, it doesn’t really matter, as long as it happens eventually.” In the grand scheme of things, she supposed a year or two made little difference. She sighed, bracing against the ache in her chest. She had come so close, only to see her dreams fade away.
Dee brooded over her predicament for a while, but within hours, she had recovered her usual exuberance. Perhaps Lucien was right and she could not organize a twenty thousand-person dance party by Christmas Eve, but she could do something smaller. It’s just like waiting tables while saving up for college. You have to start somewhere.
With Dum in tow, she headed out to Cherry Hill Park. The wide-open spaces dotted with tents and recreational vehicles amid quiet pools of water and colorful playgrounds reminded her, oddly, of Elysium. The lively chatter of campers and laughter of children exuded warmth and welcome. She grinned and squeezed her brother’s hand. “I’ve got a good feeling that this place could really work out for us.”
The reception was quiet on Sunday afternoon, and Dee fixed a smile on her face as she approached the two women sitting behind the front desk. “Hi, I’m interested in your banquet room, and was wondering if it’s available on Christmas Eve?”
The older of the two women reached for a folder, flipping through its pages. “Yes, it is.” She peered at Dee over the rim of her eyeglasses. Her hair was grey-streaked and her smile motherly.
“It’ll be $2,000 for the night, and we’d need a $1,000 deposit to reserve it.”
Dee pressed her lips together. “We don’t really have the money right now, but I was wondering if you could make an exception for us to pay you after the event.”
“And what event would that be?”
Dee beamed. “My brother’s a deejay. We’d like to host a dance party to raise money for a foundation to send orphans to college.”
The younger woman snorted. “Yet another foundation with questionable causes.”
Dee glanced at her and wondered why she looked so familiar. She was in her forties, and her blond hair was tugged into a neat ponytail. “There aren’t many scholarship opportunities for derivatives, and we thought—”
“And this is for derivatives?” The woman rolled her eyes. “You’re not going to get any traction there.”
“And your attitude is one of the many reasons why humans and derivatives have been pecking at each other like bad-tempered turkeys for decades,” Dee snapped. “America paid lip service to racial equality, but barely made traction until people intermarried and their children checked off multiple boxes when asked about their race. The same is finally happening on the genetic front. Marriages and families are blurring the lines that should never have existed in the first place.” Dee jabbed her thumb at Dum. “My brother’s a mutant. I’m human. My mother died because she was a mutant, and my human father died because pro-humanists thought he was a mutant.” Dee swallowed with some difficulty. Tears would not help the professional image she had hoped to project. When she continued, her voice was pitched lower. “There’s been enough dying. It’s time to give families—and those without families—a chance.” She reached out and squeezed Dum’s hand, drawing strength and comfort from him. “I just want my brother to be normal. I want him to speak again.”
“Your brother doesn’t talk?” The blond woman asked.
“No, he stopped talking at the age of five when pro-humanists made him shoot our father.” Her explanation was brusque and while Dee regretted the abrupt tone, she did not want to dwell on the past. “He’s much better now, though. Music is his voice, and it’s changing Anacostia. The gangs come out to listen to him, and they don’t fight as much as they used to. We think he could help more than just Anacostia. If we could hold a dance party, and invite the humans, clones, in vitros, and mutants, perhaps it could be a start of something better.”
