by Linn Chapel
“Don’t feel too badly, Peter. You’ve probably never been forced to fight for your life, as I have. I daresay that gives me an advantage.” Holt tossed his rod aside and it clattered down next to the other rod. Then he jumped lightly from the table to the floor.
Tressa’s voice called out from the doorway, just then. Peter turned to see her bearing down on them with a look of dismay.
“What’s going on? Why were you fighting like that?”
Peter leapt off the table and retrieved the pair of dowel rods from the floor. “We were just having a little fun, Tressa. What’s wrong with that?”
She turned an accusing look upon Holt. “That didn’t look like fun to me.”
Holt deftly steered her toward the studio door, murmuring some reply. From the doorway, he shot a savvy look over his shoulder. “It’s been a pleasure once again, Peter.”
Alone in his studio, Peter gritted his teeth.
After stacking the dowel rods against the wall, he turned off the lights and left the studio. There was no sign of Holt and Tressa in the hallway as he headed for the rear exit.
Circling behind the building in the dark, he came around to the street where he caught sight of them walking toward Tressa’s car. He’d wait until her car had pulled away from the curb before he slipped into his own car and started the engine.
A cool night breeze blew through Tressa’s hair as she exited the building next to Holt.
He hadn’t touched her once, or shown any sign of affection. He must have steeled himself to keep his distance. Or maybe it wasn’t even a struggle for him tonight. Maybe his feelings for her had cooled.
Whatever the reason, Holt’s mood seemed just as chilly as the night breeze.
“How did you know I was at Peter’s studio?” she asked as they neared her car.
“I happened to see the message you sent him before we left for the theater. As for his studio, it wasn’t hard to find, knowing that it was near the wharves.” Holt slid into the passenger seat.
Tressa circled her car and entered the driver’s seat. How badly she wanted to seek out Holt’s intentions with her psychic ability!
But as she started the car’s engine and pulled away from the curb, she knew she couldn’t do that. So many secrets already lay between them, after all. She’d have to ask him directly.
“But, Holt, why did you try to find me tonight?”
As she drove on, she heard him utter a low laugh. “It was a failure, Tressa. A true one.”
A true failure is always something personal.
“You just ran through a stop sign,” he added dryly. “Maybe I should drive.”
Tressa tightened her hands on the steering wheel as she drove onward. “I’ll manage. How deep does this failure go?” she asked in a quiet voice. “Will you fail to board your plane on Thursday?”
She looked over to see that Holt was shaking his head. Her heart sank.
In a voice that was devoid of emotion, Holt said, “I’m not the master of my fate.” With a glance over his shoulder, he added, “Your brother came outside to watch us, by the way. He’ll probably follow us in his car to your place.”
“Peter? He’s going too far!”
She checked the rearview mirror several times on the way to her apartment. If Peter was following them, he was being very cautious, for she never spotted his car.
Maybe the suspicion that Peter was trailing after them was the reason why Holt was so cool and distant. Maybe he didn’t want to stir up Peter’s temper any more than he already had. Or maybe Holt was more distant because he was beginning to feel some symptoms at last.
As she drove on, she asked him about his work with old texts. When she learned that his progress had been slow, that he’d begun to have headaches and sleepy spells that mystified him, she felt sure that the symptoms had begun. Whether or not they were deadening his former feelings for her, she had no way of knowing, but her very uncertainty only increased her longing for some clue to his emotions.
They soon arrived at her place and Holt ran his gaze over the nooks and shadows near the entrance to the old apartment building. He drew in an impatient breath, as if something had displeased him, but he merely said, “There’s no sign of your brother, at least.”
Tressa unlocked and swung open the entrance door with a rueful frown. “If Peter shows up, I’ll think of some way to send him packing. Just don’t start fighting again,” she said.
He laughed. “Men are bound to make a contest of things, you know.”
“But you’re so quick, Holt! Peter never really had a chance. You should have evened up the odds,” she protested as she led the way through the foyer to the stairs.
“I’ll make it up to you instead, Tressa. What would you say to a race up the stairs? You can start at the first landing while I begin down here,” he said temptingly.
Tressa gave the broad old staircase a thoughtful look. “I’d only have to run up one flight of stairs, and you’d have to run up two?”
“That’s right. I could even count to five before starting, to give you better odds.”
Holt must be assuming that she’d be so busy racing up the stairs that she wouldn’t notice how quickly he moved behind her. But with such a head start, she might still beat him.
“What happens if I win?”
He paused before answering. “Then I must give you a kiss.”
Her eyes flew up to his. The cold and distant look had disappeared.
An obstruction seemed to be lodged in her throat, making it hard to speak. “What happens if I lose?”
“Then you must kiss me.”
She felt a smile trembling on her lips. “And if we don’t race at all?”
“Not race? Refusing to take up a challenge is a serious matter. I’m afraid you’ll have to forfeit some treasure. A kiss, shall we say.”
“Alright. I’ll race you, if you insist.”
She went to her starting place at the top of the first flight of stairs and waited. At his signal, she sped as quickly as she could up the second flight. By the time she had reached the top, her chest was heaving but she was still in the lead.
She was just about to swing open the door at the top of the stairs when Holt reached her side. Quickly he swung the door open for her.
“Ladies first,” he said in a voice that wasn’t even winded.
Tressa couldn’t help laughing as she stumbled through the doorway. Holt slipped an arm under her knees and lifted her off her feet to swing her around in a circle.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she hung on tightly as he kissed her.
“You won, after all,” he said, lowering her gently to the floor.
“No, I didn’t. You just let me.”
“You’re wrong, Tressa. You’ve always had the upper hand.” He held her very tightly and gave her a longer, more lingering kiss.
Drawing back just a bit, he caressed her cheek. “I should have stayed away from you, but I couldn’t.” He nodded toward her apartment door. “Let’s go inside, where I can fail even more miserably.”
Walking to her door with his arm around her shoulders, Tressa felt lightheaded with happiness. Her thoughts were blossoming with fresh possibilities. Several nights remained before Holt’s departure to England, and she’d see him every night. And if she gave him her phone number and made him promise to keep in touch with her while he was overseas, he’d do it. She was sure of it.
“You have so many talents, Holt,” she murmured as they walked.
“Not at all.”
“Yes, you do,” she insisted, laughing. “You can take the stairs faster than anyone I’ve ever met, and you’re more than a match for Peter. He’s never met anyone with better reflexes than himself, before now. You can even translate Italian verses without a blink. Is there anything you can’t do?”
Low laughter rumbled in his chest. “Plenty of things, Tressa. For instance, there are developments in modern science the names of which I cannot even pronounce. And most of my t
alents are out of step with modern times. I could never perform the contortions your brother Peter asked of you at his studio, although I could waltz with you until dawn with perfect ease.”
Holt began to hum. He stopped for a moment and added, “Did you know that the waltz was quite scandalous when it first came to England?”
“Scandalous?”
“Yes. A gentleman was suddenly free to place his hand upon a lady’s waist. Shocking, wouldn’t you agree?”
There was a gleam in his eye as he paused to settle his hand on her waist. “Like this, and now step to the side,” he instructed. In a rich and effortless voice, he began to sing a lilting tune.
When she turned the wrong way, Holt murmured, “No, this way, Tressa. Now you have it,” he said, satisfied. He began to sing again, and soon they were waltzing down the hallway, spinning past all the closed doors by the light of the vintage sconces.
One of the doors suddenly opened and a tenant peered out at them, frowning. Holt ended his singing and slowed their progress to a sedate walk. The door closed.
As they arrived at Tressa’s door, Holt murmured wryly, “I expect we’ll have only a few minutes to ourselves before we’re interrupted by Peter. No, Tressa, don’t turn on a light. Not yet.”
She had been about to switch on a lamp, but at Holt’s warning, she let her hand drop. Alarm trickled down her neck as she watched Holt move swiftly across the dark living room. Standing behind a curtain, he gazed down at the street.
She crossed the room to stand near him. “What’s wrong?” she murmured.
“There was someone watching us as we entered the building, but it didn’t seem to be Peter or Stix. I saw the same man just now, when I came to the window,” Holt said a low, terse voice. “He’s standing with a second man in the shadows across the street. I’ve seen them both before, near my place, but when I went outside to investigate, they disappeared.”
The tropical dreamscape suddenly shimmered again in Tressa’s memory. She’d seen two men stalking Holt, armed with weapons that had looked very much like the tranq guns used by the Operation. A chill swept over her.
Maybe that was real.
If the two men outside her apartment were working for Operation M, it was always possible that they were engaged in routine surveillance, the kind that usually took place with the help of a tracking bead. But if they weren’t, they could be following another agenda... a secret one.
Holt turned away from the window and headed toward the door.
“What are you going to do?” she asked quickly, following him.
“I won’t let them disappear this time. It’s best for them to forget their plans and go home. Helping them to do so won’t be difficult.”
No, it wouldn’t be difficult at all for Holt to mesmerize them and blur their memories – as long as they weren’t carrying tranq guns.
“Wait for me here, Tressa. I’ll return in a few minutes.” Holt opened the door. Light glowed outside in the hallway and for an instant, Holt’s silhouette was framed in the doorway, tall and lithe and black as night, before he closed the door behind him.
Tressa bolted the door and sat down on the sofa to wait for his return. Twenty minutes had passed when she heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway, and then a key turned in the lock. Filled with relief, she ran to the door.
“Tressa, what’s going on? Why haven’t you turned on any lights?” Her brother strode into the apartment.
“I thought you were Holt!” she cried out softly.
Peter switched on a lamp and closed the door. “Where is he? I thought he was with you.”
“He spotted a pair of men outside, watching my place. Peter, is he under routine surveillance by the Operation?”
Peter gave her a curt nod. “It’s part of the post-mission protocol. But he keeps slipping away from his tail. And it’s no wonder, since you never planted the tracking bead on him.” His eyes narrowed on her reproachfully.
“But Peter – there were two men outside tonight. I thought there was only supposed to be one tail for each subject, because the Operation doesn’t have the resources for more.”
Peter frowned. “Was Holt certain that he saw two men?”
“Yes, and he went outside to find them. I think he’s going to try to mesmerize them and erase their memories. But if they’re operatives, they could be carrying tranq guns.”
Peter’s eyes ran over her face, then darted away.
“What is it, Peter?”
He paced around the room, looking grim. “I found another shipment of pharmaceuticals in one of the storage rooms at headquarters today, but when I went back to take a closer look, the package was gone.”
“Peter, you’ve got to find out what those men outside are up to!”
Her brother strode resolutely to the door. “I have an Operation communicator in my car. If those men are operatives, I’ll be able to eavesdrop on them.”
Peter left, and Tressa was once again alone. Nervously she listened for any sound at the door, but all she could hear was the steady ticking of the vintage clock on the wall.
An hour passed, and then another. But Holt did not return. Neither did Peter.
Twelve
Walking swiftly against the wind, Tressa made her way down the city street. Bright sunlight shone onto the sidewalk and the rush of early morning traffic filled her ears.
She had finally gone to bed without ever knowing what had happened to Holt or Peter. As soon as she had woken, she had tried to reach Peter several times by phone, but he hadn’t answered.
Desperate for news, she was on her way to call the only person she knew who could give her the kind of advice she needed right now. Knowing that she’d have to give her helper some background information, she had been wary about using her phone. Because of the high-tech surveillance employed by the Operation, their conversation might not be as private as she wanted. In the end, she had decided to contact him without a phone.
That method had its own dangers, but at least there’d be no chance anyone could spy on them, and stationing herself within a sanctuary would provide her with some measure of protection.
Leaving the street with its morning sunshine and rush of traffic, Tressa entered the cool, hushed interior of the historic church that had been dedicated to St. Cecelia. Blue shadows lay in the recesses and behind the statues, and high above her head, the ribs of the vaulted ceiling arched over the nave. Tressa felt wrapped and comforted by the familiar atmosphere, for she came here each weekend for mass and again in the middle of the week to light votive candles for those who had died at the hospital.
The church was empty at this hour, which was all for the best. She’d have no trouble concentrating on her task. But before she could begin, she’d need to find a bright focal point.
Taking a seat in a pew, she ran her gaze over the row of stained-glass windows in the nearby stone wall. Each of the tall windows showed a different scene from the life of St. Cecelia, and the rays of morning sunshine made the colored glass shine in jewel-like tones of ruby, sapphire and emerald.
In the nearest window, the young Roman woman was seated comfortably in a chair in her role as the Patroness of Music, with a golden lute in her lap. In the middle of the round body of the lute, Tressa found what she had been looking for: a spot of sunlight brighter than the rest, a focal point that would help her proceed with her task.
She trained her gaze on the bright, golden spot. After a few moments of concentration, she was able to widen its circumference, steadily enlarging it until a bright doorway had formed. The eyelids of her Earthly body drifted shut as she moved forward, passing through the doorway.
The eyes of her other body opened. Billows of fog drifted slowly past, and around her legs there swirled the thick blanket of misty vapor that was always present in this world, moving slowly over the hidden ground.
Turning around, she saw that the bright doorway had already disappeared. Beyond the spot where it had stood, the hidden ground sloped upwa
rd, covered in its blanket of mist. Here and there, rocky promontories showed through the vapor and the ice-like flows of a sanctuary gleamed in the crevices, shining with an iridescent light.
A small, white bird flew overhead and disappeared into the vaporous drifts hovering about the upper reaches of the sanctuary slope. Somewhere out of sight, she could hear the sound of liquid trickling.
Tressa had viewed other such mounts before, for every holy site was anchored by two sanctuaries, one in each world. If she hadn’t been so preoccupied with her worries, she would have climbed upward to explore the sanctuary of St. Cecelia’s in this world, but there was no time for that now.
Turning away from the slope and its safety, she walked cautiously forward into the mist, making the sign of the cross as she did so.
“Ab hoste maligno defende me.” From evil spirits protect me.
Preoccupied with her present worries, she had forgotten that she couldn’t touch herself in this world, and when she brought her fingers to her forehead, she felt a strange quivering sensation as her fingertips passed into her body without resistance.
She could still hear the whispered Latin words vibrating softly in the strange air, as if speaking them had ruffled a set of invisible strings. Did voices sound more beautiful here – or more eerie? She had never been able to decide.
“Brother Brendan!” she called out loudly. The words thrummed in the fog.
She repeated the summons, and to her relief, it wasn’t long before she spied a figure moving steadily toward her, holding a candle up in one hand, and wearing the long, light gray habit of a Franciscan friar.
Soon she could make out his bald head and long, white beard. She was not surprised to find that Brother Brendan was frowning at her with his bushy white eyebrows drawn together in disapproval.
“Why didn’t you use the phone? You’re not supposed to wander alone in the Unseen World, Tressa.” His words thrummed just like hers, but in deeper tones – sterner ones, too.
