“No, Mrs. Kalgren. I’m really going to need a last name. The pictures aren’t getting me anywhere.” The dark-skinned woman in her mid-thirties was gently rocking a baby with one arm while holding the phone in the other. She listened to her fretful employer on the other end of the line. Her charcoal eyebrows knitted together. “Hold on, you think that might be related?”
Layla Solyst used her shoulder to hold the phone, briskly sifting through the photographs and article clippings spread out all over the kitchen table. “Yes, there is a slim possibility that she’s not human, but I think you’re just being paranoid. I know you want to protect your son, but this ‘Medea’ woman is probably a gold-digger at the very worst. I highly doubt she’s Asura.”
Two little girls ran by, screaming loudly as they chased each other, and Layla narrowed her eyes at them. “Nyssa! Behave yourself and stop bothering your sister!”
“But Olive threw a fireball at me, momma! Look, it burned a hole in my favorite green dress!”
“Both of you, go to your room!” Layla said harshly. The infant boy in her arms woke up and began to cry. Layla groaned, trying to soothe him as the girls skulked away obediently. She never seemed to have enough hands. She put the phone on speaker and placed it down on the table, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Kalgren. Remind me why I chose to marry a deva again?”
“Stamina,” came Rose Kalgren’s voice from the other end of the line.
A devious smirk came to Layla’s lips, crinkling her copper skin into creases around her mouth. “Good point. Well, I should have followed your example and had my kids over a decade apart. You never had to deal with Thorn and Mara breathing fire at each other, did you?”
“Mara was a good girl, but darling—Thorn and Ash tried to kill each other several times a day. Your kids are angels compared to those two rascals.”
“I remember the way they were in high school,” Layla said with a chuckle. “Speaking of which—you should show a little more faith in Thorn. He has always had really high standards about who he dates.”
The older woman on the other end of the phone could be heard laughing. “You’re only saying that because he dated you, sweetheart.”
“True. Too bad he didn’t meet my high standards,” Layla joked. “Anyway, Mrs. Kalgren, while I want to ease your mind, I also want you to know that I trust your instincts. There’s something wrong with this woman—something probably small, but wrong nonetheless. You were right to have her investigated. No one is this difficult to find. It’s like she doesn’t exist! My guess is that she also gave Thorn a fake name.”
“Will you keep looking into it, dear? Some rather… pressing business has come up, and I fear I won’t be able to check in with you regularly. But please do let me know if you find anything.”
“Sure, Mrs. Kalgren.” Layla smiled down at the cooing baby in her arms. She used her fingers to encircle his small arm. “You saved my life when I was seventeen and the doctors had all given up on me. Your use of new technology is nothing short of heroic, and I’ll never forget that. I’ll do anything I can to help you, always.”
Rose seemed to pause on the other end of the line. “It was nothing, dear. You were the one brave enough to let me pump your body full of metal and go all Dr. Frankenstein.”
Layla heard her youngest daughter let out a bloodcurdling scream. She sighed. “I swear, those girls will be the death of me,” she told Rose angrily. She began to sift through the case files again. “My little boy better have a thick skin when he grows up, or those two will rip him apart.”
“You’d be surprised. They’ll probably fight over him and spoil him rotten,” Rose predicted.
Layla was startled by a flash of movement just outside her open window. Her hand left the photographs on the table and traveled to the gun at her waist. “One sec, Mrs. Kalgren—stay on the line.” Withdrawing her gun, and holding her baby close to her chest, Layla moved across the room, putting her back to the wall near the window. She shifted slightly, peering through the crack in the drapes. Layla was shocked to see a strange woman hovering in the air near the window of her daughters’ room. Nyssa was staring up at her and sniffling.
“Don’t move!” Layla shouted, pointing her gun at the woman. “Hands in the air—back away from the window!”
During the second of hesitation, Layla felt her body tense up, and adrenaline pump through her as she observed the woman’s lean, muscled figure underneath a green bodysuit. When the woman turned her head toward Layla, it almost appeared to happen in slow-motion. The investigator gasped, nearly dropping her gun and her baby. She saw a familiar pair of hazel-green eyes sending her a heart-rending look. A second later, the woman had disappeared. Layla shoved her gun back in its holster and rushed to her phone, picking it up from the table and pressing it to her ear as she strode toward the girls’ room. She held her baby tightly against her chest, and the little boy seemed to be confused by the sudden change in her manner.
“What the hell is going on?” Layla yelled into her phone. “There was a female deva… Mrs. Kalgren, you’re the only one who knows my location!”
“I’m sorry, Lay—shit,” Rose cursed. “I have to go. Don’t worry—you’re safe.”
“Mrs. Kalgren!” Layla shouted, but the older woman had already ended the call. Shoving the phone into her pocket, Layla rushed through the hallway and into the girls’ room. She shoved her infant son towards her older daughter, and knelt at Nyssa’s side. She placed her hands on Nyssa’s shoulders. “Are you okay, sweetie? What did she say to you?”
“Olive was being mean,” Nyssa said with a sniffle. “Olive ruined my favorite green dress. But the nice lady said not to cry, because you bought me two of them. Is that true, momma?”
Layla swallowed and nodded slowly. The girls always ruined their clothes, and she often purchased multiples of the same outfit just in case. She glanced at the window nervously, having her fears confirmed.
“Were you gonna shoot her, momma?” Nyssa asked curiously. “The lady said lime green is her favorite color too. She said another word for it is ‘chartreuse.’”
“Chartreuse!” Layla said weakly. “She was giving you a vocabulary lesson?”
* * *
Asher had left a few of his things at her place, and this was probably the best time to get them. At least that was his running excuse. The mistress of the house wasn’t in the dimension, and he felt like he should use the rare opportunity to be close to her without her knowledge. The items he had left behind were not really of any importance; some of his favorite clothes and such were probably lying in the drawers or hanging in the closets. Nevertheless, he never intended to collect these items—for if he did, he would no longer have an excuse if he was caught.
Asher lifted his hand shakily and inserted the key in the door. He turned the key, followed by the knob, and pushed the door to enter. He immediately punched in the security key code as the alarm started beeping in warning. As he entered the digits on the keypad, he wondered worriedly if she’d changed the code yet, but when the lights stopped blinking and the alarm stopped beeping, he breathed a sigh of relief.
She hadn’t changed the passcode. The numbers still corresponded to his birthday.
He knew that he should not find significance in this; it was probably just due to laziness. Part of him was determined to use this as a sliver of hope. She did still have to punch it in every time she entered her house... wouldn’t it be disturbing to do so if she hated his guts and wanted to skin him alive? Had she forgotten what the numbers meant and just keyed them mindlessly out of habit? Or did she think of him each time she entered the digits and inwardly cringe? Amara kept extremely expensive equipment in her basement laboratory, and the alarm system was important.
Asher closed the door gently behind him, feeling like a stranger in the house he had lived in short weeks ago. He felt like a breaking-and-entering Goldilocks. Regardless, out of habit, he took off his shoes and put them in the place where they had always gone before. Had she intentionally kept that spot empty? Sakra knows she has enough shoes to fill up my spot and then some. He sighed, floating up the stairs, reminding himself not to leave any more evidence of him being there than was absolutely necessary.
He entered the room which used to be “his” room—regardless of the fact that he’d never slept in it. He’d kept some of his clothing there, but there hadn’t been much space. Amara’s fashion collection filled every room of the house, including the guest suites and the closets of the basement laboratory. Not that Asher had ever been allowed down into the basement; it was Amara’s “private space” where she liked to play mad-scientist all by her lonesome. She demanded no interruptions so that she could maintain absolute concentration.
He found a smile coming to his face as he thought of her adorable quirks. He then reminded himself why he was there. Asher noticed that the bed in “his” room had been recently slept in by someone very messy who hadn’t bothered to make the bed before leaving in a hurry. He approached the bed, and could judge from the way the pillows were arranged, and from the scent that assailed him that it was his very untidy niece that now occupied these quarters.
Something about the scent made him pause for a second. He sniffed the air curiously, trying to place the scent—where had he come across that before? It was Pax but... there was something different in it. It was subtle, but somehow familiar. It smells sweet yet... musky? Burnt sugar, maybe. I can't quite describe it... Now where have I smelt that before?
Asher shrugged, but the longer he tried to determine the scent the more it seemed to invade his nostrils. Maybe the girls are using the same body lotion or something. Girls are weird like that. Before the aroma became too overwhelming, Asher left the room and found his feet carrying him naturally to Amara’s bedroom. He entered, feeling his heart ache with the memories that flooded him.
Amara’s fragrance now engulfed him, and he felt much more comfortable inhaling that welcomed, recognized aroma. It smelled like home. It was sweet torture. Sakra, how I’ve missed her. But she can never know. I should really just grab my clothes and leave.
Amara’s bed was neatly made up, unlike Pax’s. He walked over to it, and stood there for a moment. He ran his hands over the duvet, and felt suddenly very angry with himself. He felt anguish tug at him, and he closed his eyes. He had no idea how long he’d stood there, simply breathing in Amara’s scent and fingering the duvet.
Like lemon meringue pie. Like vanilla bean ice cream. Like my deva princess. His eyes snapped open. I should really just get my clothes and leave. This is creepy and weird.
He told himself this as his hands tugged the fluffy duvet back, and he slipped off his socks and placed them on the bedside table. Just as he’d done hundreds of times before. He eased himself down onto the bed so that he could be surrounded by her scent. He turned and buried his face in the pillow, inhaling deeply.
Vincent was right when he said that I was retarded for leaving his daughter. I don’t know how I’m going to live with this decision. Anyway, I don’t need to live with it right now. I can pretend nothing’s wrong. Just for a few minutes, I'll pretend she's beside me. Just on the other side of this giant king-sized orthopedic bed.
A smile came to his lips as he vividly imagined the unfolding scene. At any moment maybe she'll turn over and hug me, or snuggle against my side. And she'll mutter something unintelligible but endearing. And I'll say something boring and uninspiring like:
“Get some rest, my angel. We have a long day tomorrow.” Or maybe I'll say, “Sweet dreams, Mara. I love you.” And maybe I’d kiss her forehead or her hair. Depending on how awake she is, she might tilt her head up to kiss my chin, then my lips. Nine out of ten times, if both of us were semi-conscious and with an iota of energy in us, which we usually were, that kiss would turn into a hundred kisses, and we’d end up making love.
Asher began to imagine how quickly he would tear her clothing off. She wouldn’t mind—any excuse to buy new clothes made her happy. He could almost feel how soft her skin was as he ran his hands down over her back, resting them gently just under her buttocks and...
But that’s just fantasy and fiction... history, really. I made sure of that. But when I’m lying here, breathing her with every breath... it doesn’t feel over, and she could really be close enough for me to touch.
Asher fell asleep there, in Amara’s bed at her waterfront home, and he dreamed of her.