Keepers of the Flame (36 page)

“My
parents will be returning home at the end of the week. I doubt they’ll even
wait a full day before trying to contact us.”

“Oh,
dear,” Marian whispered again.

Elizabeth
didn’t like the sound of that. Wiping her damp palms on the bottom of her
tunic, she tried to move the telescope. It didn’t budge.

“This
way.” Bossgond’s fingers set hers on a gear. “Is the perspective acceptable?”

Clearing
her throat, Elizabeth said, “For the moment. We will, ah, be able to see my
apartment itself?”

“We
have zoom features,” Bossgond said

“Uh-huh.”
Elizabeth slowly turned the large gear; it moved easily under her fingers. She
located the capitol building, moved the view until she found Denver Major,
followed the streets until she reached her building. “How do we get inside?”

“You
are there?” The old Circlet was eager.

“Yes.
Ayes.”

Bossgond
nudged her away, glanced in, hummed, went to the end of the telescope and
flipped a lens. “There, try that.”

Elizabeth
looked, the parking garage, her car. She could see into the elevator shaft,
followed it to her floor, saw other apartments, focused on her own. A lump came
to her throat.
Her
home. The shabby furniture, the deep blue rug, the
wide windows looking out toward the mountains. How she missed that view!

To
her complete astonishment, someone walked into view. Cassidy Jones. Her mouth
dropped open. What was
he
doing there? He must have kept an extra key.

As
she watched, he looked around, rubbed his face, an action he only used when he
was completely stressed. He looked haggard. His lips moved a little. He was
talking to himself! He stalked over to her landline phone, picked it up,
punched the read-out button repeatedly. Then he shoved the phone down and put
both his hands to his face, rocked a little.

She
stumbled back, her hand jogging the telescope to point at the ceiling.

“What
happened?” Marian asked.

Elizabeth
just shook her head in disbelief. “My ex fiancé is there. He’s a doctor at Denver
Major. Something must have come up.” She found she was hyperventilating and
regulated her breath. “It looked like he already knows that I’m, we’re,
missing. I can’t guess how soon he’ll tell my parents.”

Bossgond
glared at her. “My experiments are best conducted when the target location is
empty.”

Elizabeth
murmured an absent apology, staring at the telescope, torn, yearning for
another look. She only wanted to see her place again, not Cassidy.

“I
have the coordinates now,” Bossgond said. “Go away.”

Elizabeth
wetted her lips. “Will you be able to send a message through?”

The
older man ignored her. Bad sign.

“Our
parents will worry. A lot.”

Faucon
walked through the door. Elizabeth checked his expression. She couldn’t tell
how long he’d been there. As they’d begun to land, he’d grown quieter, his Song
uneasy. He didn’t want her here.

Elizabeth
shook her head, trying to align the two men in her mind—her past, her present
so entirely different. She couldn’t. All her emotions jumbled together. The
love and time and goals she’d shared with Cassidy.

The
beautiful man before her in this strange land, making it bearable, who held out
his hand to her. She wobbled a smile. “Just a minute.” Swallowing hard, she
turned back to Bossgond and the other Circlets. “We must send some message to
our parents. Please, let me show you their house.”

Bossgond
hummed again. “A good idea.” He flipped back the lens. Elizabeth, knowing she
wouldn’t be viewing her apartment or Cassidy again, felt a flare of mixed
emotions, grief, longing, hurt, fear. Controlling her breathing, she squinted
through the eyepiece, found Cheesman Park, the home she grew up in, stepped
aside and waved Bossgond to the telescope.

He
looked. “This house?”

“Yes.”

Again
he flipped the lens. Scowled. “Odd looking furniture.”

“My
living room was mostly books,” Marian murmured. “That’s the only place he’s
seen.”

Elizabeth
glanced into the telescope. Her insides squeezed as she saw the family room,
the matching recliners and large-screen TV and electronics. “Our home,” she
choked. Too painful. She didn’t want to feel. Didn’t want to think. Didn’t want
to analyze any feelings. She went to Faucon.

T
he first couple
of days of Bri’s journey were…interesting. The inn at Troque and the savvy
merchant Citymasters were a more sophisticated lot, probably due to the
proximity of the City States. Though down a huge escarpment wasn’t exactly what
Bri called close. Still, the view was fabulous, something she’d never
contemplated, and the falls of the river were as large and impressive as
Niagra.

Outwardly
courteous, the Citymasters had lines by eyes and mouth that didn’t relax until
Bri did the Healing Hands Show. Then they became downright friendly, confiding
that many who discovered they had the frink sickness had simply jumped off the
escarpment, appalling Bri. Yes, this place was different.

After
the visit to Troque, they went down the eastern boundary of Lladrana, the
escarpment, visiting small communities not even on the map. Here people stared
at Bri, some actually ran from her and two of the diseased refused to let her
touch them. Bri had read Alexa’s book, but she’d said little of her “goodwill
trip” so the volume was no help. By the fifth day, Bri hated the traveling.
Wondered how she’d ever had itchy feet. But that was then, on Earth, and this
was now, on Lladrana. At home someone usually knew English, or French, or
Spanish. Here she had to listen
hard
to figure out accents; more, she
spent time listening to personal Songs.

The
flying coach was boring. Good for sleeping, for eating, but not much else. Hard
to look at the view unless she hung out of it, and Sevair disapproved.

He
disapproved of a lot—of her wanting to sleep late, wander the town, meet other
people than the City and Townmasters. So he irritated her.

But
she saw the sick and the wounded and the scared, and sometimes their emotions
overwhelmed her. She flung herself into the healingstream and it was different
wherever she went, sometimes Powerful, sometimes close to the trickle she’d
felt on Earth. Sevair was always there, providing food, support, making excuses
when she couldn’t face one more person. So she was glad he was with her. She
actually relied on him.

The
dichotomy was enough to wrench her.

She
watched him. How he stood and moved, how his quiet confidence reassured. How he
raised spirits by being open and answering any questions, patient of those he’d
heard a thousand times. How was the fight against the frinkweed proceeding?
What of the sickness itself? The northern boundary? The horrors?

The
latter were spoken by the southerners as mythic legends, few having seen even
trophies of the monsters. At each town he handed the mayor a crystal ball
provided by Castleton to keep in touch. This was seen as a great bounty. This
trip was knitting the cities and towns of Lladrana together as never before.

Occasionally
the coach stopped at some noble estates. Then Sevair was stiff and punctilious
and Bri found herself smoothing waters. When they were at a Castle, her status
was considered far higher than his.

They
skirted the Singer’s Abbey and headed for Krache. That city was larger and more
bustling. A major seaport, it was shared with the southern country of Shud,
which ignored Lladrana’s “strange” problems. They stayed at a walled mansion,
with guards for Sevair, Bri and the coach. Her patients were fewer, the
citizens hard-eyed and less inclined to believe in Power. Only the highest
ranked had the silver mark of Power at one or both temples. Bri suspected some
of the guild people colored their hair to downplay it. Bri’s own purple streaks
had faded.

Krache
was also the most diverse. Bri might have been able to pass for a foreigner if
she was foolish enough to run away in this dangerous place. It was Krache where
she’d had a long conversation with Elizabeth and found out about Cassidy
visiting her sister’s apartment and the lack of progress in contacting their
parents.

Elizabeth’s
voice had held an odd note when speaking of Cassidy, and once more Bri said
nothing. She wouldn’t give any advice unless asked. As for her parents, she
couldn’t think of them, anticipate their pain, or she’d go crazy.

She
sat in the moon and starlight on the step of the magical carriage. Being with
the vehicle that would take her back to Castleton and Elizabeth soothed her.
Though if she screamed loud and long in her mind Nuare, Mud or the whole
contingent of Exotiques might come rescue her. But she couldn’t leave the towns
without hope. Her shoulders hunched against the weariness of the day. Lately
she’d healed mostly children, a couple of elderly women, two teenagers. The
sickness, like the frinks, were less harmful the further south. She rubbed her
arms, covered in the undershirt and the three-quarter-length medica tunic.
South in Lladrana didn’t mean warm.

Authoritative
bootsteps rang across the courtyard of the inn, passed the two guards who gave
her a little privacy. She didn’t have to raise her head to know it was Sevair,
didn’t look up until the polished-to-meet-and-greet boots were nearly touching
her own broken-in leather ones.

His
expression was grave. Reaching down, he took her hands, unlinked her tight
grip. “Come, Bri, it’s time you sleep.”

She
couldn’t stop a great sigh from escaping, like all her lost steam that had kept
her chugging along. She rose when he pulled on her hands, then didn’t know who
moved, whether she stepped into his arms, or he paced forward. Didn’t matter.
His head lowered, angled and her lips tingled. She knew she’d been waiting for
the press of his lips on hers.

The
kiss started out tender, gentle, as soft as his mouth. She set her hands on his
shoulders, wide and strong, felt herself flattened against his frame, muscles
as hard as his own stonework. Warmer, more wonderful. If—when—this man stripped
he’d be better than any statue of masculinity.

Her
weariness was lost in a rush of intoxicating passion. She opened her mouth and
he explored with thorough and probing tongue. His taste was all she’d expected.
His flavor was earthy, mint and man, a little gritty and that fascinated her,
almost like sharp liquor—brandy maybe. Just as heady. Unexpected depths to this
reliable and sturdy man.

He
felt wonderful. Solid. Strong, with just that teasing wisp of wild passion that
drew her.

She
surrendered to herself, her needs, her desires, wrapped her arms tightly around
his neck, nibbled at his lips, gloried in his stone-hard erection against her
stomach. Oh,
yeah
!

He
peeled her arms from his neck and stepped back. She staggered, her mind whirled
with the excitement coursing through her, was plunked back on the carriage
step. Panted.

“I
am a cautious man.” His voice was thick, she had to run the words through her
dazzled mind twice before she understood them. She wet her lips. Yeah.
Cautious, but there was something more under that quiet exterior.

He
watched her, not bothering to hide his arousal, his face impassive. She knew
how affected he was—in the thumping of her heart, she heard his, the racing and
ragged pace of his Song. She blinked and realized he expected some answer.
Running her tongue along her teeth, the taste of him sending a quiver to her
core, she cleared her throat and spoke precisely. “It’s obvious you’re a
cautious man.”

“You
are returning to Exotique Terre.”

27

B
ri gathered her
wits. Earth. Home. Her parents, her future. She stood straight as her past and
future plans clashed with present wants. Meeting his gaze, his widened pupils
still showing his passion, she said, “Yes. I am.”

He
nodded. “I’ve had enough people leave me in my life.”

His
parents and sister? They’d died and the man was dealing with abandonment
issues. She couldn’t say that she blamed him. She was surprised that he
realized he had such feelings. “I understand,” she croaked.

“So,”
he said deliberately, “you will know that if we have sex and sleep together it
will not be a casual affair.”

“It
won’t be casual on my part either.” Casual sex was rare for her. She heard the
warning in his tone. Not a casual affair, but not a deep connection of the
heart, either. Something she always had a problem with. Her problem. “It may be
short but I’ll give you all I can.”

He
was holding out his hand again, cool and steady as could be, showing her his
control even as his pants jutted in an interesting manner. She tossed her
no-longer-purple-streaked-hair. She could match him, put her fingers in his.
Immediately his Song was in stereo, hell, it felt like it was in her head, her
veins, her center.

She
studied him as they walked back to their guest rooms. This guy was dangerous.
This guy might possibly make her forget her once and future plans. If he
decided that he seriously wanted her, she could be in trouble.