Mystic Flame (Beyond Ontariese 4) (3 page)

She crossed her arms over her chest and
glared at each brother in turn.

“We have to get the journal back. That’s the
bottom line.” Trey looked into her eyes, his gaze filled with
expectation. If Tal had come alone, she’d have laughed in his face,
but she owed Trey more than anyone would ever understand. He’d
taken a chance on a foul-mouthed troublemaker when the rest of the
world wanted to pretend she didn’t exist. “You’re one of the few
people who can track him down without requiring significant
training. The fact you’ll be tracking Evan is an unhappy
coincidence.”

“Bullshit.” She punctuated the profanity
with her sweetest smile. “There is no such thing as a coincidence
when you’re involved. Tell me the rest. Where did he go and what
makes you think I can make him do anything? He’s got a few more
tricks up his sleeve than I do.”

“We don’t expect you to bring him back,” Tal
interjected. “Find him. Talk to him and find out why he left.”

She snorted. “I don’t need to leave the
shuttle to tell you that. Running and hiding is what he does.”
Tal’s breath hissed out in an exasperated sigh. Trey just shook his
head. She’d pushed them both about as far as she dared. As if being
leader of the Mystics wasn’t impressive enough, Tal was married to
High Queen Charlotte.

“Let’s agree to disagree on the subject of
Evan,” Trey suggested.

She focused on her friend and mentor. It was
too easy to lump all Mystics together, which put Tal in the same
group with Evan. “Where did the little weasel go?”

“After rescuing the journal from Malos, Evan
opened an interdimensional portal and transported himself to
Earth.”

Dro Tar grinned. It was starting to make
sense. Earth had fascinated her since she first visited the planet
eleven solar cycles before. She’d returned to different locations
in various time periods, volunteering for any assignment that took
her to Earth. Her obsession with all things Earthish grew with each
new venture.

“Now do you understand?” Trey’s stance
relaxed in tandem with hers.

“Yes, sir. No one knows more about Earth
than me and no one is more willing to go.” She paused, glancing at
the Mystic. “Won’t Malos and his lackeys know that?”

The faintest hint of a smile curved Tal’s
mouth. “If they knew Evan had transported to Earth, your concern
would be justified.”

“Baby brother is getting crafty in his old
age,” Trey teased. “He staged some sort of ritual and manipulated
the results.”

“I wanted to see how long it would take
Malos to dispatch his ‘lackeys’.”

“Was he smart enough to wait a day or two?”
she asked.

Tal shook his head. “Within hours of the
false Seeker Circle, Malos sent a team to Linusia Prime. The true
Seeker Circle revealed strange images, even I didn’t understand. I
shared the impressions with my life mate and Charlotte helped me
clarify what I had seen.”

The High Queen had spent the first thirty
solar cycles of her life on Earth, unaware of her Ontarian origins.
“I’m still waiting for the punch line. Where am I going?”

“We were unable to determine his exact
location, but we narrowed it down to one of three hotels.”

Trey wrapped his arm around her shoulders
and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “Not only are you going back
to Earth, my dear, you’re going to Las Vegas!”

Dro Tar fought back her excited laughter.
Laughing was inappropriate given the importance of her mission, so
she’d wait until the Mystics were gone before indulging her cheer.
The rebellious thought only made her excitement that much harder to
conceal. Colors bent and twisted around her and sound escalated to
an unintelligible roar as her escorts propelled her through
space.

Tal could open an interdimensional portal by
Summoning the Storm, but the resulting vortex was too large and
obvious for their purposes. They needed to be stealthy and
specific, so he’d joined with two other Mystics and created a
tight, intense conduit.

Sound receded and the blur of color slowed,
taking on shape as they neared their destination. The Mystics
uncrossed their arms, allowing her to exit the portal. She took two
wobbly steps then turned back and looked at Tal, squinting into the
shimmering glare.

“We will return for you in five days unless
we hear from you first,” he said.

The only way she could contact them was if
she found Evan. She nodded and shooed them away. Despite their
attempts to control the portal, the conduit was noisy and bright.
They locked wrists and closed the vortex, leaving Dro Tar alone in
the hotel room.

Tal had scanned ahead and located an
uninhabited room. The suite might be empty at present, but it was
obviously occupied. One of the beds was rumpled, the pillows
stacked against the headboard, as if someone had sat on the bed to
watch television.

The bathroom door swung open and a man stood
in the threshold, a towel wrapped around his hips. “What the—”

“Oh gods!” She rushed toward the main door
to the suite, wheeling her small suitcase behind her. “There’s
obviously been a horrible mistake.”

“How did you get in here?” He stepped back
into the bathroom, partially closing the door.

“Card key. You must not have flipped the
privacy thingy.” She slipped into the hallway before he could say
any more. The front desk was going to get an earful as soon as he
dried off. She better hurry.

Twenty minutes later, Dro Tar lifted her
suitcase onto the bed in her own room. Moving to the window, she
pulled back the draperies and stared out at the mesmerizing clutter
that made up the world-famous Strip. The scene was cast in hazy
twilight, the sun still visible against the far horizon. Her gaze
swept down one side of the crowded street and up the other. Had any
civilization ever created a more eclectic skyline? She couldn’t
wait to see the lights once darkness fell.

She finger-combed her hair as she walked
back to the bed. Unzipping her bag, she retrieved a handheld
scanner. A recent skirmish with the technologically advanced
Rodytes had left Ontariese with some interesting new gadgets.
Rather like Vee’s journal, the trick was going to be keeping them
out of the wrong hands. The device had been designed to look like a
cell phone, but it was far more powerful. She powered up a simple
grid. A blinking red light indicated her location.

“Activate full spectrum.” The primitive grid
morphed into a three-dimensional diagram. Turning as she moved, the
image maintained perspective, but there was no sign of Evan.
“Minimize.” The display returned to the original grid.

Moving between dimensions allowed the
Mystics to access different points in time as well as space. The
timeline remained constant on Ontariese while the vortex had
deposited her on Earth before Evan arrived. But how long before,
that was the question. She had five days to find him and discover
the truth about the journal. Setting the scanner on standby, she
made sure it would signal her at the first sign of Evan’s energy
signature.

She looked into the mirror above the small
desk and verified that her contacts were still in place. The thin
film concealed her gently swirling eyes and created the appearance
of concentric rings. Confident that she would pass for a human, she
headed for the casino.

Evan staggered out of the transport conduit
and sank to his knees. Disjointed images beset his mind, blinding
him, melding reality and vision until he couldn’t tell one from the
other. He clutched his head, bracing himself against the agonizing
waves.

“Oh my god, are you all right?” A shrill
female voice sliced through his throbbing head. “What was that
crash? It sounded like…”

The ringing in his ears distorted her words
beyond comprehension.
Think. Concentrate. What language is she
speaking? Where are you?

He slowly opened his eyes. The woman’s face
swam before him, swelling in and out of focus.

“Are you— Where did you get those
contacts?”

He groaned as her voice attacked him
again.

“What’s going on, Sheryl? Is he okay?”

English. They were speaking English. Why was
he on Earth? The pain was less penetrating with his eyes closed. He
concentrated on his breathing, pushing the pain from his body with
each exhalation.

Sheryl giggled. “I think he’s drunk, but you
should see his eyes. He must be with
Star-Crossed
.” She
touched his shoulder. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Should I go get help?” the second female
asked.

The last thing Evan needed was more
attention. He raised his head and searched for the right words. “I
will—be fine.”

Sheryl’s companion gasped when he opened his
eyes. “How do you make them do that? I’ve never seen anything like
it.”

“Contacts.” He repeated Sheryl’s word.
Earth’s languages had been gradually consolidated into one common
language during the second half of the twenty-first century. He
must have materialized before that time.

Pain eased, leaving a persistent ache and a
sense of urgency. He needed energy.

“Are you in
Star-Crossed
?” the second
woman asked.

“Of course he is,” Sheryl said. “Why else
would he be dressed like this?” She knelt beside him and reached
for his hand. “Did you hit your head when you fell? I heard a
terrible ruckus.”

“I’m feeling much better now.” The journal!
He reached down, hurriedly feeling for the device in the seam
pocket of his robe. Thank the gods of the day moon it was still
there.

“How did he get back here?” the second woman
whispered to Sheryl, her expression dubious. “If he came staggering
through the kitchen, why didn’t anyone stop him?”

As the females debated, Evan took stock of
his surroundings. He was in some sort of storeroom, surrounded by
crowded shelves and wooden crates. The women were dressed in
identical dresses, likely uniforms. Clanks and clatters emanated
from the adjacent room. He needed to think, to sort out the images
twisting through his mind.

He pushed off the floor then got his feet
beneath him. His legs trembled, barely supporting his weight.
Sheryl pulled his arm across her shoulders and wrapped hers around
his waist. The movement shocked him. It was forbidden to touch a
Mystic without permission.

“Are you staying here or should we call you
a cab?”

What was she asking? Her words made no
sense. Sounds and smells pelted his overloaded brain as they
skirted the bustling kitchen. He needed to meditate, to—he needed
energy
. Each step drained his meager strength, made his
breathing labored. The second woman held open a swinging door as
Sheryl maneuvered him past the threshold.

His stomach cramped and he leaned on the
female more heavily. Eating would never provide the concentration
of energy he required. He needed a direct transfer and he needed it
now. His training had taught him how to extract energy, but the
process could be frightening, even harmful for an untrained
donor.

The second woman trailed a bit behind. “You
can’t stuff him in a cab like this. I’m not even sure he’s drunk.
He looks sick to me.”

If he could get them to an isolated location
he could—

“There you are!” Regardless of the alien
language she spoke, Dro Tar’s voice was all too familiar. The husky
timbre had haunted his dreams and teased his mind for fifteen solar
cycles. He turned his head to the side, unsure how to react to this
unexpected development. Dro Tar came striding toward him, her eyes
narrowed and… How had she changed the appearance of her eyes? “I’ve
been looking all over for him.” She spoke English with the faintest
hint of an accent. “I told him wearing his costume off stage was
infantile and he proceeds to get rip-roaring drunk. Sort of proves
my point, don’t ya think?”

“We found him in the storeroom,” Sheryl
explained. “I have no idea how he made it through the kitchen
without someone stopping him.”

“They’re getting ready for the dinner rush.
No time to deal with a sloppy drunk.” Dro Tar had mastered their
vernacular. She was as difficult to understand as the humans. He
didn’t care that her posture was stiff and hostility simmered
beneath her welcoming façade. He had never been more relieved to
see anyone in his life.

Dro Tar shoved her shoulder into Evan’s
armpit and wrapped her arm around his waist.

“Are you sure he’s all right?” the waitress
asked as Dro Tar pivoted, leaving her no choice but to step
back.

“He just needs to sleep it off. Thanks for
your help.” She maneuvered Evan away from his rescuers and started
across the dining room. Heads turned and conversations hushed. They
reached a man who gaped comically. “Haven’t you ever seen a drunk
alien before?” She intentionally projected her voice across the
room. The man smiled and people returned to their plates piled high
from the buffet.

She half led, half dragged him to the
nearest elevator and leaned him against the wall as the car began a
rapid ascent. “You look like shit.” His skin was so pale it was
almost gray and the rotation of his eyes had nearly stopped.

“Kiss me,” he whispered in Ontarian as his
eyelids drooped.

He wasn’t asking for affection, she
understood what he needed. Framing his face with her hands, she
covered his mouth with hers. Warm yet lax, his lips didn’t move at
first. She leaned closer, pressing her breasts against his chest,
willing him to respond. “Do it.”

His lips parted and his arms wrapped around
her back. He tilted his head, fitting his mouth more tightly to
hers. Tingles erupted deep in her belly, curling and building. She
arched, pushing her fingers into his hair.

Night after endless night, she’d dreamed of
his taste, longed for the urgent demand always evident in his
touch. No one affected her like Evan. No one understood what she
craved.
This isn’t sex! He needs energy. There is nothing more
to it than that
.