High Energy (15 page)

wouldn't push it."

"I wish you'd make up your mind, Zanita. Push it—don't push it…" He let the tone

of his voice imply that a man's work was never done.

She would ignore him again. It was the only thing to do with him when he got

like this. Horrible, teasing wretch! God, her throat hurt.

The rest of the seminar went by at a snail's pace for Zanita, feeling as poorly

as she did. LaLeche mostly jammered on, doing several "laying on of the hands,"

as he called it, to members of the audience. She was thankful he hadn't chosen

her for that part of the demonstration. She didn't think she could bear those

slimy hands on her.

This time they didn't receive any handouts. Instead, when the talk ended,

LaLeche approached several of the participants individually while they were

enjoying his largesse of free coffee and refreshments.

He hadn't approached them yet, but Tyber didn't seem particularly concerned. He

drank his coffee, patiently waiting for LaLeche to make the rounds.

"Would you like a bite of my cruller?" he innocently offered Zanita.

"I will not talk to you while you are in this mood."

She spun away from him, engaging an elderly woman in conversation, and therefore

missed his low snicker when he realized how she had interpreted his remark.

LaLeche circled his way around the room, closing in their direction. All that

was missing was a dorsal fin, Zanita thought.

"So, Dr. Evans, what did you think of what you saw here tonight?"

Tyber slowly sipped his drink. "I was impressed." By your showmanship.

"Why, thank you. Coming from you, that is a compliment. I must say, it was nice

to have a colleague in the audience—someone who completely understands the

physical aspect of the universe."

"I can see where it would be." Since you don't know jack about magnetic fields.

"Although I was quite surprised to see you had an interest in such things."

LaLeche scrutinized Tyber's face carefully, obviously looking for signs of a

hidden agenda.

"If you know anything about me"—and Tyber would have bet that since their first

meeting, LaLeche had made it his business to know a lot about him—"you know I am

the type of person who lets his curiosity lead him down various paths. Some of

them not very conventional."

"I have heard that about you. Although your particular style hasn't seemed to

hurt you in your own community; to the contrary, it seems to have enhanced your

reputation. But then, they say you are so very brilliant."

"I wouldn't believe everything you hear," Zanita piped in.

"Zanita! Thank you so much for your help." LaLeche placed his hand companionably

on her shoulder, causing her to shudder slightly. "You have a natural talent,

you know."

Tyber's stare went from LaLeche's hand on her shoulder to his smarmy face. "And

what natural talent would that be?" His dry tone was easily interpreted. LaLeche

quickly disengaged himself.

"For healing, of course. Have you two heard about my retreat up in Vermont? No?

Oh, I'll have to tell you about it— it's a small place, very rural, you know, no

annoyances or interruptions from the outside world. I run a weekend empowerment

session once a month."

"What do you do up there?" Tyber was trying to ignore the signal Zanita was

giving his toe with the heel of her boot.

"I find that such an atmosphere is conducive to finding and illuminating the

chakras. Through meditation and other techniques, we balance our light bodies to

release the astral body."

"All that, huh?"

Zanita ground her heel into his foot.

"And more! Often, in such surroundings of nurturing healing, entire sets of

inhibitions are thrown away, allowing the participant to recapture his or her

lost sexuality."

"What does that mean?" Tyber almost narrowed his eyes.

"It's a remarkable feeling of freedom! You and Zanita would enjoy it

tremendously! In fact, I'm having the next workshop a week from today. Do you

think you might be interested?"

Tyber was about to refuse; Zanita could sense it. LaLeche had crossed the line.

Before he could respond, she jumped in to say, "We'd love it!" She ignored

Tyber's arm, which had come around her waist, flattening her to him in a

punishing grip—

"Wonderful! Here are the directions." He reached into his jacket pocket,

retrieving a computer printout which he handed to Tyber. "We start around

sundown. And remember—it's very rustic."

"Ah, I have a friend who owns an inn near there," Tyber quickly said. "I

promised him that if I was ever up that way, I'd stay there. Is that going to be

a problem?"

"No, of course not. Although some of the more intimate exchanges occur in the

late evenings—it just seems to happen that way. You might miss out on those."

"You know how it is, Xavier. He's a professional acquaintance of mine. I thought

I'd do some networking at the same time." Tyber spoke to him as if they were

already old buddies.

"Absolutely! Don't worry about it! So, I'll see both of you next weekend? Good."

Tyber waited until they were in the truck driving back before he opened up his

guns.

"Do you have any idea what you've gotten us into?"

"Of course I do! It's exactly what we wanted him to do."

Tyber counted to ten before he spoke. "Do you know what kind of a place he

invited us to?"

"Yes—a retreat."

"A retreat," he repeated blandly.

"That's right. His place of operation, where we can be approached for—"

"Oh, we'll be approached, all right."

"What do you mean? And why on earth did you insist we'd stay at some inn? Do you

really have a friend up there?"

"No, I do not have a friend up there! I simply told him that because there is no

way in hell I'm going to stay overnight in that environment and neither are

you!"

Zanita was affronted by his high-handed attitude. "I'll decide that for myself,

Captan!"

"Didn't you hear him? All that talk about releasing one's lost sexuality was a

euphemism for a weekend of partner exchanging and communal sex."

"Get out of here! I didn't think he meant it that way. He was talking about

sexuality in the spiritual sense."

Tyber gave her the mysterious face of Mars look.

She swallowed. "Wasn't he?"

"No. And another thing—when he said rustic environment, you can interpret that

to mean a broken-down shack with no amenities in the middle of the wilderness."

"Don't be ridiculous! He would never take prospective marks there. It would

destroy his credibility. He would have to make it appear he was respectable."

"Oh really? Well, you're wrong about that, too. A man who might need to pick up

and move quickly does not bury his roots deep."

She lifted her chin in the air. "Meaning?"

"Meaning he would invest as little as possible of his own capital in the

venture. I bet the place doesn't even have indoor plumbing. And if you're about

to ask me how he would get away with it with marks, don't bother—I'll tell you.

He'll simply explain it away as part of the 'experience' of getting in touch

with your inner self."

Zanita's side of the truck was suspiciously silent.

"What—no comeback?"

Her shoulders sagged. "No, you're right. I didn't think of any of those angles.

I'm really not very good at this, am I?"

She looked so dejected, he instantly felt remorse. "You would have, baby, if you

were feeling better."

"I suppose so," she sighed.

"How are you feeling?"

"There is nothing wrong with me!" A sneeze punctuated her adamant statement.

"I'll tell you what—why don't you take one of your instant Zanita naps, and if

another UFO comes along, I promise I'll wake you up."

She smiled faintly. "Thanks, but I don't think I could fall asleep now."

"This is Zanita talking, isn't it? The woman who has developed the habit of

snoozing to a fine art?"

The corners of her mouth twitched. "Well, I suppose I could try."

"I have complete confidence in your abilities in this area. In fact, I can give

you a recommendation, should you ever need one."

"That's a real comforting thought, Doc." She sneezed again.

"You're sure you're not sick?" he asked in a dry tone.

"I told you, I'm fine."

"Don't you dare even think of rubbing that vile stuff on my chest!"

Tyber had entered the bedroom carrying a tray of various sickroom paraphernalia.

Thermometer. Flashlight. Tongue depressor. Tongue depressor? Tissues. Aspirin.

And a jar of disgusting ointment.

"C'mon, baby, Blooey concocted it just for you. He says it has fresh herbs in

it."

"Like what?"

"Sassafras, comfrey, horehound…"

She crossed her arms stubbornly over her chest. "It stinks!"

"Okay." He put the jar of salve on the night table. "Guess I'll have to go to

Vermont without you."

"You will not! Achoo?"

"You'll never be better by next Friday if you don't take care of yourself."

"I am taking care of myself!"

"Vermont is so pretty this time of year—peak foliage season. Too bad I'll have

to enjoy it all by myself." He sat on the bed, patiently waiting for her to come

around. It didn't take long.

"My head hurts." Her lower lip pouted.

"I know," he commiserated sadly.

"My throat feels scratchy," she explained, as if he didn't know.

"Poor thing." He dipped into the jar.

"And my joints ache, too."

"This will help." He rubbed the ointment on her chest. "Feel better?"

"A little," she grudgingly conceded.

"Let me take your temperature." He popped the thermometer into her mouth,

thinking she really looked quite adorable with her mutinous expression and

flannel granny gown buttoned up to her chin. Not that he would mention it to

her. God knew how she would interpret it. By comparison, men preferred to have

their fingernails ripped out.

When he removed the thermometer, Zanita tried to stare over his shoulder at the

reading, but he turned to the side to scrutinize it privately, as if it were a

top secret formula of some kind.

"Well, what does it say?" she demanded.

"It says you have a temperature. Say ahh…." He stuck the tongue depressor in her

mouth and peered down her throat with the flashlight.

"I hate to break this to you, Doc, but you're a Ph.D, not an M.D."

He arrogantly raised his eyebrow at her.

"You know what you're doing?"

He nodded.

"So, what's the verdict?"

"Mild case of flu."

"Mild? I'm dying!"

"Not for another sixty years—if you eat your vegetables."

"You just want to get rid of all that squash." She stuck her tongue out at him.

He clicked his tongue. "You are a terrible patient."

"So what?" She glared mutinously at him.

"My, my, my. We are cranky, aren't we?"

"I hate being sick!"

"Really? What a revelation! Excuse me while I call the Enquirer." Her mouth

quirked at that. "Haven't completely lost our sense of humor, I see. Would you

like me to sleep in one of the other bedrooms tonight?"

"No!" She belatedly flushed at the vehemence of her response. "I—I sort of…

well…" She picked at the bedcovers.

Tyber yawned. "Feel free to finish anytime."

"I like the feel of you next to me at night, all right?" she snapped.

Tyber smiled broadly. "All right." He quickly shed his clothes and got under the

covers. "You don't have to be so touchy. Jeez, women!" He took her in his arms.

Zanita cuddled against his broad, warm chest, snuggling in to go to sleep.

"Comfy?"

"Mmm-hmmm." She rubbed her face against his chest.

"Good, but you better not sneeze on me."

"I wouldn't do tha—ah… ah… achoo!"

"Zanita!"

She was dying.

Her head throbbed. Her joints throbbed. Her throat was on fire.

Worse than that, she was paralyzed from the knees down. She could not move her

legs!

Blearily, she opened her eyes and managed to lift her head a few inches off the

pillow to see an orange ball of fur lying contentedly across her feet. Hambone!

She dropped her head to the pillow and groaned.

The door opened and Tyber strolled in, all chipper with morning cheer. "Hey, how

are you doing this morning?" He placed some orange juice on the bedside table.

"Get the cat off my legs," she croaked. Hambone opened his eyes, and seeming

slightly insulted, lumbered off to lie next to her.

"Shame on you; he only wanted to see how you were feeling. I brought you some

oatmeal."

"Oatmeal? I never eat oatmeal!"

"Well, you do now." Tyber leveled a no-nonsense look at her, causing her to cave

in immediately.

"Oh, all right." She viewed the bowl sullenly until she happened to lock eyes

with the cat. A silent communication seemed to occur in that moment. They both

smiled at each other. "Just leave it there; I'll try to eat some later."

Tyber placed his hand across her forehead. "You still have a fever."

"I feel worse," she said petulantly.

"Today will be the worst day; you'll feel better tomorrow. Anyway, Blooey's

making you some chicken soup for lunch, and Hambone's here to keep you company.

Do you want to watch TV?"

Her nose arched in the air. "I don't watch daytime television."