Terran Realm Vol 1-6

by Dee, Bonnie

  “Viv Shiron? James Macalister. We met last night at the Take Five? I doubt you remember me.”

  Aviva infused her voice with happiness. “Of course I remember you! I don’t give my CD to just anybody! Your piano was marvelous. I am so glad you called. Did you listen to the CD? Did your employer hear it? I can’t wait to learn what you think.” Aviva made a face at the phone. If she had gushed any more she would have thrown up.

  “Yes, Mr. Lowery and I both listened and he was very impressed. He wondered if you would like to come up to the estate as his guest later this week so he could hear you perform in person and perhaps discuss future recording plans with you. We’d send a car to pick you up, of course. What do you say? I have to warn you, Mr. Lowery won’t take no for an answer.”

  Aviva hesitated. When James said that last sentence she could hear a hint of fright in his voice. If she said no, would Nolen hurt James in retaliation? Would he try to coerce her himself? It would be interesting to see what he would do. “I don’t know, James. I do have a busy week. When would this be?”

  “Friday. We’d bring you back Saturday morning after a gourmet breakfast. Lorraine Foley, Mr. Lowery’s chef, is one of the finest on the East Coast. Please say you’ll come.”

  Aviva was certain now. James sounded desperate. “Let me think about it and call you back later today.”

  “Wait just a minute.”

  Aviva strained to hear the muffled conversation going on. James had merely placed his hand over the phone’s speaker. Try as she might, nothing intelligible came through.

  “Ms. Shiron? Arven Lowery here. James tells me you’re playing hard to get. I assure you, it would be worth your while to join me this week.” He chuckled. “Why, I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t hear your lovely voice in person.”

  Aviva’s hold on the slim phone loosened. Nolen’s voice slithered from the phone, his Speaker ability evident even if his power over her was non-existent. If she were to compare his Speaker strength to anything, it would be to Ethan’s Singer talent.

  The hold he must have over James! And perhaps this Foley woman too. No more delay, she’d have to respond as if he had compelled her to agree. She took a deep breath and tightened her hold on the phone once more. “Mr. Lowery? You’ve convinced me. I’ll just rearrange some plans I had made. Ein be’ayot. No problems. What time should I be ready?”

  “Excellent! And, please call me Arven. There will be a car for you around noon.” He paused. “Please bring a cocktail dress. We dress for dinner. Part of my European upbringing.”

  Aviva made a swift decision and infused her next words with her Singer talent. She purred, her voice laced with seduction. “Oh, I don’t mind at all. I have just the right dress. I was waiting for an opportunity to wear it. It’s a bit … daring, but perfect for an intimate dinner. I suppose it will be … intimate?”

  “Just James and me, Ms. Shiron. May I call you Viv?”

  Success! Nolen’s voice reeked with arousal.

  “Of course … Arven. Until later.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  Aviva severed the connection, only realizing afterward that her palms were sweating. She wiped them against the bed sheets. Her entire body trembled and her knees quaked. She started as she felt a soft head insinuate itself beneath her hands. Khat.

  Aviva scooped him up and gripped him hard, but he made no move to escape her clutches. He butted his head against her chin and licked her clammy skin. One paw moved to her breast and stroked it, claws concealed for a change. If she didn’t know better she would have thought he was trying to comfort her.

  It was working. She put him down and caressed his fine-shaped skull. “Todah rabah, neshama sheli. Do you understand Hebrew? Do you know I said thank you, my soul? Do you even understand English? No matter. I do thank you. Now to tell my friends that the rat has taken the cheese.”

  Khat growled.

  Aviva threw back her head and laughed. “Perhaps you do understand English.”

  * * * *

  Manhattan, East 92nd Street

  “We don’t have a lot of time.”

  Gabe stated the obvious, but Ethan refrained from responding with a wisecrack. “We have to send the house plans to Aviva so she can memorize them,” he replied instead. He strummed Ceol Mhor, gaining comfort from the contact.

  “We need to find out something about this Lorraine Foley. I doubt she’s only Nolen’s cook. I’m going to try to track down some info on her.” Brigid booted her laptop and tapped her fingers on the keyboard, typing in Foley’s name in the search engine and sucked in her breath as several sites popped up.

  “Well, she’s definitely associated with food. Lorraine Foley’s a free-lance food critic with a degree from the School for Culinary Arts. She’s studied at the Cordon Bleu in France. Her favorite place to dine is a very exclusive restaurant called ‘At Your Service.’ It’s members only and the waiting list to join is miles long. You have to wait until a member dies before you can apply. They offer an open dinner once a month to anyone with enough clout and money. Foley reviews these dinners for various gourmet magazines. Let me see if I can get more information about the club.”

  Brigid kept digging, her fingers flying, the tapping of the keys like raindrops on a roof.

  The rain stopped. “This is odd. I found an old article in the Gotham Gazette—it was a small neighborhood weekly out of business now—from nineteen seventy-four. A body was found in an alley behind the town house in which the restaurant is situated. Listen. This is from the article. ‘The body of a nude male, mid-fifties with fresh welts on the buttocks and bruises on the wrists, was discovered early this morning by Mrs. Eve Weatherly when her champion Standard Poodle, Prince of Thieves, slipped his leash and Mrs. Weatherly followed Prince into the alley. Upon viewing the corpse, mercifully facedown, Mrs. Weatherly called the police using the phone at ‘At Your Service.’ The manager of the well-known exclusive eatery expressed his horror regarding the incident and has cooperated with the authorities. News of an arrest is expected momentarily.’ ” Brigid looked over at Gabe and Ethan. “Sound fishy to you? Sounds fishy to me.”

  “Sounds kinky to me,” Ethan replied. “But all we know for sure is that Nolen’s chef is assuredly exceptionally talented.”

  “Let’s also assume that Nolen has used his Speaker ability on her and she’s probably been instructed to protect him.” Gabe steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair. “For the next few days we do nothing but examine and re-examine Nolen’s files. He must have set down his plans. I can’t believe that they’re so simple he wouldn’t need to refer to a checklist or timetable or something!”

  Ethan agreed, grim-faced. “We have all the files available. We’ll start from scratch. Each of us checking everything Nolen ever inputted. We have to know exactly who and what we’re dealing with.”

  Gabe turned back to his monitor screen. “Winnow out anything that looks useful.”

  Ethan snorted. “And if you find a file that says ‘Master Plan,’ make sure you don’t delete it.”

  “As if.” Brigid sniffed.

  “Enough.” Gabe commanded, “Let’s get to work.”

  Silence settled over the three of them. Every now and then Ethan would pluck Ceol Mhor’s string. Just a phrase or two, but the notes served to encourage them to dig deeper, wider, more closely into Nolen’s files.

  Marty brought them lunch. “Listen, I want every sandwich on this tray eaten and every drop of tea drained. And in case you were wondering, the drink is an energy booster. You have one hour before I come back.”

  Brigid, Gabe and Ethan waited until the door closed before they burst into tension-relieving laughter. “If Marty weren’t so slim and sophisticated and her hair was gray, I’d think we were just bullied by Aunt Bea.” Brigid went off into giggles.

  “Aunt Bea?” Ethan looked at Gabe.

  “A character from an old TV program called The Andy Griffith Show. Aunt Bea kept house for Andy Griffith’s ch
aracter and his little son, Opie. She was pretty much a petty tyrant.”

  Ethan considered the information. “Aye. I think it fits. Marty can be a bit bossy. Of course, she only has our best interests at heart.”

  “Of course,” Gabe agreed, his features solemn.

  “Too bad she’s not Nolen’s housekeeper. I think he’d come crawling to us for safety!”

  “Cut it out, guys. Eat your sandwiches and drink your drink. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to face Marty’s wrath.”

  “Aye. I always think better on a full stomach.”

  Gabe eyed the thick sandwich in his hand and took a huge bite. Corned beef and Swiss on homemade rye bread slathered with mustard went a long way to recharging the batteries. He closed his eyes with bliss. “The Maker bless Marty.”

  * * * *

  “I’ve had it for today.” Brigid shut down the laptop and scowled at the blank screen. “He’s got sub folders and sub files and documents and snatches of paragraphs from different sources referring to all sorts of information that lead nowhere.”

  “I still haven’t heard back from my sources about the fluichlari.” Ethan sighed. “I only have the names of two people who could really help us out. I left word with the secretary of one of them and the husband of the other. Problem is, Joe Delahunty is out somewhere in India incommunicado. He checks in once a week and, to quote his secretary, ‘Will only accept contact to alert him to the end of the world.’”

  “Well, didn’t you tell her it was?” Brigid asked, only half kidding.

  “No. I didn’t think she’d believe me. We may have some luck with Siobhan McKenna. Her husband expects to hear from her tomorrow.” He smirked. “He’s got his orders also not to bother her with petty things that would distract her from her participation at a dig in Brittany. We just have to be patient.”

  “Well, I’m tired, my legs have fallen asleep and all I want is a nice, hot bath.” She glanced at Gabe and Ethan. “Any takers?”

  With a speed almost comical, the men shut down their computers and followed their personal goddess to the master bath.

  * * * *

  Donegal, Ireland

  Dagda’s Cave

  Casey took a moment to make sure that each of the new recruits had been taken in hand by one of the other Terran-mheasctha and continued on into the inner chamber. Dagda and Eileen were gathered around one of the laptops. Hearing his footsteps, they turned, greeting him with smiles.

  “Three more Terran-mheasctha. I’m not sure what their elements are. That’s Mach’s job.” Casey glanced around the chamber. “Where is he?”

  Eileen shrugged. “He took the portable CD player and disappeared. I’m sure he’s somewhere about.”

  “But we’ve news!” Dagda exclaimed. “Brigid and the others have located Nolen. They plan to infiltrate his home base later this week. Aviva, the Desert Terran Singer who’s working with them, will be visiting him this coming weekend.”

  Casey shook his head. “Gone just three days and we’ve made tremendous progress.”

  “Aye, lad. But they’re still trying to decode the information from Nolen’s—what is it called again? His strong drive?”

  Eileen laughed. “Close. It’s called a hard drive. They’re still digging through files, folders, websites—the man never got rid of anything!”

  “Probably thought everything he did was necessary for some grandiose plan or another.” A look of disgust crossed Casey’s face. “Reminds me of the history we learned about the Nazis. They recorded every one of their bastard projects. They kept such meticulous records that it was easy to prove the atrocities they committed.”

  “I’ve been studying our Terran history and it’s pretty clear that dictators like Hitler were Terran Destroyers. Hitler must have been a Speaker to have such control over the humans in his command.”

  “It makes sense.” Casey smiled. “I’d suppose folks like Gandhi must have been Spirit Keepers. Speaking of which, I think I’ll head down to our chamber. Maybe Mach’s there. Later.”

  Casey exited the room without a backward glance.

  *

  Dagda turned to Eileen. “Should you not have told him about the music?”

  “He’ll find out soon enough when Mach plays them for him. Casey is always wound up so tightly, it will do him a world of good to let down his guard.”

  “Do you think he will? They’re powerful spells.”

  “Just what that boyo needs.” Eileen paused. “You know, I might just have a listen again. See if I’ve missed any of the nuances in Aviva’s performance. I’ll stay if you need me to help you with the recruits’ files.”

  Dagda took in the heightened sense of arousal gleaming in Eileen’s eyes. He well knew that look. And a small part of him envied the young female. Each day he felt more alive. And more desperate to experience those emotions he remembered from years ago. The last time he had touched a woman with tenderness in his heart and desire in his body was with Brigid’s ancestress over a hundred and sixty years before. How could he keep Eileen from experiencing those feelings he so sorely missed? “Go on with you. I’m taking a break myself. I’m thinking I’ll try my hand at that new game you downloaded for me. Go ahead.”

  “You sure?”

  “Aye. Have fun.”

  “I will. Later.” And she, too, disappeared, leaving the chamber empty.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Donegal, Ireland

  Dagda’s Cave

  Casey hurried down the tunnel leading to the chamber he now shared with Eileen and Mach. They’d made the decision to move in together just before he’d left to recruit the three newest Terran-mheasctha.

  He chuckled as he increased his stride. Had Eileen put up curtains on make-believe windows? he wondered. Were flowers gracing the rough table he’d set up to use as a desk? And would Mach be as horny as he was at this very second? He could never have imagined how much he needed to be with him—hell, with both of them. Right now, though, it was Mach’s arms he wanted to be in.

  Going to Dublin had awakened memories of Lark and the times they should have shared. Christ, seeing that waiter Kelly at the cyber café almost had him turning tail and running. Sometimes non-existent memories were more potent than real ones.

  The music hit him as he turned around a sharp bend in the tunnel. Happiness, intense and pure washed over him. He gave into the need to laugh, clutching his sides as he guffawed. He staggered, the laughter weakening his knees, and he sank to the rough floor. He pounded the ground with his fists as wave after wave of hilarity smashed over him. Underneath the laughter, a tiny kernel of sanity wondered what the hell was going on.

  The last notes of the music died away, and Casey stared at his dusty fists and the rocky surface beneath his knees. How the hell had he fallen? With a muttered oath, he staggered to his feet, brushing off the dry dirt clinging to his clothes and moved once again down the tunnel. Slowly.

  If Mach were in their room maybe he could tell him why he had no memory of the last few minutes or how he had come to fall to his knees? Somebody better have some answers.

  * * * *

  Mach stared at the CD player sitting so innocently on the table. He’d played the first track again, marveling even as the music took hold of him on the strength of the two Singers involved with creating the incantations.

  They had no Singers among the Irish Spirit Keepers. Somehow, over the course of centuries, not a one had been born to them. Did a Singer need the infusion of diversity and controversy to come into being? The only Singer melodies surviving the time before the descent were like weak children’s rhymes compared to Aviva’s and Ethan’s work.

  These songs were the most powerful spells he had ever heard. If he hadn’t known what to expect, he wouldn’t have been able to understand why his memories of the incident had vanished when the music ended.

  And if Nolen and Ba’al won, the music would be silenced forever.

  He couldn’t allow it to happen. The Spirit Keeper
s had to agree to join with the other Terrans.

  The effect on Eileen had been potent. And a bit embarrassing. She’d laughed so hard, she had to excuse herself and use one of the portable washrooms. He and Dagda had pretended ignorance when she rushed off, but even they were deeply affected. He fisted his hand beneath his chin wondering how Casey, the missing part of his spirit, would react.

  “Mach! Thank Christ you’re here. Something fecking weird just happened to me and I hope to hell you can explain it.” Casey paused to catch his breath. “The last thing I remember is hearing some music, the next thing, I’m on my knees on the bloody ground, my hands are dirty and scraped like I’ve been hitting at something, and my sides are hurting as if I’ve run a race.” Casey ran his fingers through the russet waves that were growing out, and collapsed onto the chair opposite the older Terran. “Do you have any idea what the bloody hell happened?”

  Mach took in Casey’s disheveled appearance and his flushed face. He had the answer to his earlier question. Casey had responded even more strongly than Eileen. He wanted to know why, but now was not the time for questions.

  He pushed the CD player toward Casey. “This is what happened. You heard a track of music composed and arranged by two Terran Singers. The song you heard was specifically bespelled to induce laughter in the listeners and make them forget exactly what occurred when they lost control.” He shook his head. “I’ve never heard of such power. And this was a first for me, also. We’ve no Singers in the Spirit Keeper domain. I reacted almost as you did.”

  “Almost?” Mach’s gaze was riveted to Casey’s face as his last sentence sank in. “You mean it affected me more than you?”

  Mach inclined his head in agreement. “Eileen felt more strongly than either Dagda or me, and the other Terran-mheasctha that heard the music reacted in various degrees.” He shrugged. “I’m not sure why it hit you so hard.”