Descended

by Evangeline Anderson

  “Uh, I mean…” I took a step back, my hand still in my purse. “I didn’t think anyone but my friend Sebastian, the other intern, knew where I lived. Did you ask him?”

  But of course he couldn’t have asked Sebastian, I suddenly remembered. He had been sent home to sleep the same time I was. Also, how would Carlos ask anyone from the hospital where I lived since he was driving home when he had his flat tire? There should have been no way he knew where my apartment was. So how had he found me? Had he been…following me?

  “Sure, I asked him,” he said, nodding agreeably and taking another step toward me. “He told me just where to find you.”

  I took another step back, my polite smile frozen on my face and my hand still in my purse.

  “Um, if you don’t mind, it’s kind of a mess in here,” I said, my voice coming out high and tight. “If you, uh, want to wait in the living room, I’ll bring you the phone when I find it. I know it’s in here somewhere.” I gestured at my overstuffed purse and tried to laugh but it came out sounding nervous and fake.

  Carlos shrugged and smiled, not actually answering. He didn’t move either—he just stood there, staring at me. His eyes were brown but when he moved his head, I saw a flash of silver in them which was…weird. Really weird.

  “Um…” My searching hand finally found something but it wasn’t my phone—it was the taser I had bought after I was attacked in college. A Vipertek VTS (in black—not pink because screw the companies that think everything a woman uses has to be pink and girly.) It looked a little like a small, black flashlight and it fit right in the palm of my hand. I gripped it now, my fingers sweaty with anxiety.

  Carlos—was it really Carlos?—took another step towards me. He was close now—too close. Well inside my personal space.

  “Carlos,” I said, trying to make my voice firmer. “If you could just go back to the living room I would really appreciate it. I’m not comfortable having you in this part of my home.”

  Instead of backing off, he took another step forward and grinned. It was a terrifying expression because it didn’t reach his eyes at all. They were cold and emotionless and…and silver. They were pure silver now!

  I gasped and took a step back, bringing the taser out of my purse with one swift gesture. I pointed at the person I was pretty sure wasn’t actually Carlos and waved it menacingly.

  “Get back,” I said, wishing my voice didn’t sound so high and frightened. “Get away from me.”

  “Empress,” it whispered and its voice sounded nothing like the kindly old janitor’s now. “Goddess…”

  The words sent a shiver down my back. Goddess—that was what Kristoff had called me! What did it mean? What the Hell was going on?

  The Carlos-thing took another step towards me and I couldn’t take it anymore. I thrust the taser right in its face and pressed the trigger button.

  Often just firing the taser off into the air is enough to back down a would-be attacker. I knew because I had used it once or twice on dates that tried to get too handsy—(this was before I gave up on dating in favor of practicing medicine and not thinking about how I couldn’t get sexually excited, of course.)

  The taser is supposed to emit a bright surge of electric charge and make a loud, intimidating crackling that sounds like the world’s biggest bug zapper frying the world’s biggest bug. Lots of guys run for the hills when they see it, so there’s no need to even actually use it on them.

  To my dismay, instead of the bright bluish-white crackle of electrical current between the two test prongs, all I got was a slight, sputtering sizzle. Oh no—when was the last time I had charged the damn thing? I usually plugged it up and charged it every night religiously but lately my schedule at the hospital had been so topsy-turvy I must have forgotten to do it.

  I tried again with the same effect—the weak, sparking sizzle—not very scary at all. At least, not to the Carlos-thing, which just kept coming.

  “Goddess,” it said again and put out its hands to grab me.

  “Get back!” I shouted, jumping back myself. Just then a movement behind the Carlos-thing’s back caught my eye. My heart stuttered in my chest as I recognized Kristoff, my patient of the night before. His skin was a normal deep tan now and he was wearing scrubs and a lab jacket which he must have stolen from the hospital. But it wasn’t what he looked like or what he was wearing that interested me—it was the fact that he was somehow in my home and he appeared to be stalking the thing that was stalking me.

  Catching my eye, he gave a slight shake of his head and put a finger to his lips. The message was clear—don’t say a word and just keep the thing’s attention.

  “Who are you?” I demanded of the Carlos thing, still backing slowly away, just out of reach of its grasping hands. “Who sent you? What do you want with me?”

  To my surprise, it answered me—well, sort of.

  “I am not programmed to answer such questions,” it said in a stilted, mechanical voice, all traces of Carlos’ soft accent completely gone now.

  “Well, what are you programmed to do?” I asked it.

  Behind it, Kristoff was closing in. There was a knife block sitting on my kitchen counter—it had been my mother’s and she gave it to me when I left for college, even though I had never had much interest in cooking. Kristoff grabbed the hilt of the biggest knife and slid it silently out of its sheath.

  “I am programmed to kill,” the Carlos-thing said and rushed at me.

  Everything seemed to happen at once.

  I screamed and ducked to one side, just barely managing to get out of the way of the charging Carlos-thing

  At the same time, Kristoff stepped smoothly forward and buried the knife to the hilt in the back of its neck.

  There was a popping, grinding sound and suddenly the thing’s silver eyes started blinking and glowing, emitting beams of colored light that flashed off and on like some kind of demented disco ball. At the same time it jerked and writhed, as though it was inventing a new dance. And then, from behind the paper thin wall that separated my apartment from Mr. Peterson’s, a car commercial came on playing the song, Funky Town. “Gotta make a move to a town that’s right for me…” the commercial crooned while the assassin-droid flashed and jerked.

  It was freaking surreal.

  Oh my God—this is crazy! This can’t be happening, can it? I thought, trying to get as far as I could from my would-be killer’s flailing limbs while the car commercial invited me to go to Funky Town. This has to be some kind of a dream.

  But it was no dream. Despite my evasive maneuvers, the Carlos-thing still managed to brush my cheek with the fingers of one flailing hand. The place where it touched me burned like fire and I gave a cry and grabbed for my face.

  “Goddess-damn it!” Kristoff growled. He made a ruthless gesture, twisting the knife hard.

  Suddenly, the lights stopped and the Carlos-thing went completely limp, sagging like a marionette whose strings had been cut. The image of Carlos—stooped shoulders, gray hair, kindly wrinkled face—flickered and was gone. In its place was a smooth, glossy silver figure. It was vaguely man-shaped—it had two arms, two legs, a torso and head, anyway. But it had no face at all—it was just smooth, blank silver.

  “Oh my God,” I whispered but Kristoff didn’t waste any time looking at the now-limp silver figure. He dropped it to the floor and strode over to me, stepping over the fallen ex-Carlos as though it wasn’t even there.

  I looked up at him, wide-eyed.

  “What are you—” I began but before I could finish, he was already taking my face in his big, warm hands and examining my cheek. “Hey!” I protested, as he turned my chin from side to side, as though looking for something. “What the Hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “The droid brushed your cheek with its hand. I saw it.” His deep voice was grim. “I have to be certain it didn’t inject you with nanites. If it did—”

  “Nanites? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Your face—your c
heek is red. Do you have a portable magnetic field?” he demanded.

  “Do I have a what? No—of course not! You think I keep an MRI machine in my pocket or something?” I demanded. “And why would I need one, anyway?”

  “To corrupt their memory and short out their circuitry, of course,” he said, sounding impatient, as though I ought to know this stuff already. “Look, if the nanites reach your brain, or even your mucus membranes, you’re going to be in big trouble.”

  I wanted to brush him off and tell myself he was talking crazy—the things he was saying certainly sounded crazy, anyway. Then I remembered that he had tried to warn me about Carlos—or the thing that had looked like Carlos, anyway. That hadn’t turned out to be so crazy, now had it?

  Also, my cheek was still burning like fire where the thing had touched me which seemed like a really bad sign. So I supposed I had better take him seriously.

  “Microwave rays will work too,” he said urgently. “Or an electromagnetic pulse.”

  “I don’t have either of those,” I said blankly. “I mean, I have a microwave but I’m not going to stick my head inside it. Even if I wanted to, it won’t turn on unless the door is shut.”

  “You must have something I can use.” He sounded frustrated beyond belief. “Think, my Lady! Though some have named you a Goddess, you are all too mortal and easy to kill.”

  “Well, short of running back to the hospital and walking into the MRI room…” I started but then my eyes fell on my refrigerator which was right behind him.

  I don’t go for knick-knacks much, but I do like to get souvenirs when I travel or do something memorable. Fridge magnets are small, cheap, and easy to transport—I have a pretty good collection of them. In fact, they cover the whole front of my refrigerator.

  “Would one of those smaller magnets do?” I asked, pointing at my crowded fridge. I had one from San Francisco that was rainbow colored and one from London that was shaped like Big Ben. Another—a gift from Zoe—had a picture of a happy 50’s housewife standing in front of the stove saying, “Make your own damn dinner.”

  “These are magnetic?” Kristoff turned to my fridge and grabbed a white phantom mask from the time Zoe and Leah and I had splurged and gone to see The Phantom of the Opera at the Straz—the Tampa Performing Arts center.

  “Well, yes—weakly magnetic,” I said. “They—”

  But he was already rubbing the magnetic side of the phantom mask over my cheek. His other large hand was buried in the hair at the nape of my neck to hold me still and there was a look of intense concentration on his finely chiseled features that somehow kept me from complaining.

  At last he stopped and dropped the magnet on the counter. Taking my face in both hands, he examined me again, his eyes whirling rainbows.

  “How are you?” he demanded. “How do you feel?”

  “Fine, I think.” I took a deep breath and reached up to touch my cheek. It didn’t burn anymore, so that was good. “Did you, uh, get them out?”

  “I incapacitated them,” he said. “Disrupted their functions. As long as you don’t feel a burning sensation you should be fine.”

  “I don’t.” I touched my cheek again. “I feel normal.” Well, as normal as I could with a seven-foot tall muscular giant looming over me and cupping my face in his hands.

  “Good.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “I was almost too late. You should not have incapacitated me with drugs last night, my Lady. How can I protect you if I am unable to stand by your side and fight?”

  “I didn’t know you were sent to protect me from that…that thing.” I nodded at the collapsed silver figure and shivered. “I thought you were just some crazy guy—you grabbed my friend Sebastian by the neck!”

  “He was disrespecting you,” Kristoff said, as though that excused nearly strangling someone to death. “He got off lightly by Majoran standards. No one dares to act or speak so disrespectfully in the presence of the Goddess-Empress on Femme One, lest they lose their head.”

  “What? Why do you keep calling me that?” I demanded. “And who are you, anyway?”

  Kristoff took a deep breath and ran a hand through his blue-black hair. Then he looked at me directly.

  “My Lady,” he rumbled. “A better question might be who are you and what is your true identity?”

  Chapter Seven

  Kristoff

  I could see by the expression in her wide green eyes—half frightened and half defiant—that my words had shaken her to the core.

  “What…what do you mean?” she whispered.

  “I mean,” I said. “That you are the true Incarnation of the Goddess-Empress. You are Sundalla the 1000th, she who is the rightful ruler of the Goddess’s Cloak.”

  I dropped to my knees before her, prepared to make my vow of fealty. I was glad, at least, that my erection had gone down—the fight with the assassin-droid had taken all my concentration which had helped. But I felt it stirring again when I looked at her—she was wearing a short lacy black robe which hugged her lush curves and showed her long, lovely legs. It was enough to give me blasphemous thoughts—thoughts which I pushed quickly out of my mind.

  “My Lady,” I began but Charlotte was shaking her head.

  “The Goddess’s Cloak? What’s that?” She was still looking at me uncertainly. I reminded myself that she came from a closed world and so was ignorant of much of the workings of our galaxy. But surely she had gotten some information from the message her friend Leah had sent to her via the Commercians? The little bastards were mercenary but they were also thorough—they wouldn’t have stopped communicating with her until she understood.

  “The Goddess’s Cloak is what most of the Twelve Peoples call the galaxy we all live in,” I told her. “What do your people call it?”

  “The Milky Way,” she said, sounding distracted. “I’m sorry, but did you just tell me I’m supposed to be the ruler of the entire galaxy?”

  “You will be if I can get you back to Femme One to undergo the trials and prove to the Council you are the true Incarnation,” I said grimly. “Unfortunately, there are already those who would rather see you dead than sitting in your rightful place on the Golden Throne.”

  “Oh my God…” Charlotte shook her head, backing away from me. “I…I can’t believe this. This is crazy.”

  “I know it seems overwhelming.” I rose from the floor and went to her, moving carefully so as not to frighten her even more. Already I was attuned to her, though I had yet to give her my vow. I could feel her fear and disbelief in the air between us. Without conscious effort on my part, my skin turned a deep purplish blue to reflect her emotion.

  “Oh!” Charlotte jumped and put a hand to her mouth, her green eyes getting wide.

  Again, my body responded unbidden, my skin giving a bright flash of yellow in response to her fear and surprise.

  “Why are you doing that?” she asked in a wavering voice. “What does that mean?”

  “You mean my skin color?” I could have asked the same thing. It seemed strange to me that I was already so attuned to her that my body changed my skin tone without conscious effort on my part. But then I remembered the blood she had given me—that must be the cause.

  “Yes, I mean your freaking skin color!” Charlotte exclaimed. “Why does it keep changing?”

  “My body is simply reacting to your moods—reflecting your emotions as you have them,” I explained.

  “What? That…that’s bizarre! Why?” she demanded.

  “Because I am yours, Goddess,” I told her simply.

  It was what every Majoran male says to the female he chooses to give his life to and acknowledge as his own personal goddess but my words seemed to bother Charlotte deeply.

  “You’re mine? What does that mean?” she demanded. “I don’t even know you!”

  “No, but you will. Come…” I led her to the small, padded couch she had behind her food-prep area. Once she was settled, I went to my knees before her once more.

  “What are you
doing?” She looked at me nervously. “Why do I get the feeling you’re about to propose?”

  “Propose?” I frowned at her. “You fear I am asking you to be my bonded mate?”

  “Um…I guess that’s one way to put it.” She nibbled her full lower lip nervously and I had to fight to keep my body from flashing orange in response to her emotion.

  “Please don’t fear that,” I told her. “Though my life and my chastity are sworn to your service, I would never be a candidate for Royal Consort—my blood is not exalted enough. As I told you before, my mother was only a lesser noble.”

  “Um…” She still seemed not to understand. “So then…why are you on your knees in front of me like that? It’s kind of, uh, making me nervous.”

  “I know,” I said. “I can tell.”

  Feeling the emotions of the Empress, even though none of us is her fated mate, is one of the unique attributes of the Imperial Guards. Most other males of the Twelve Peoples only feel the emotions of their chosen females after they bond. But for us, the ties of loyalty run so deep, we are intimately connected to she who sits upon the Golden Throne.

  “Kristoff,” she began but I took her hands in mine, sending a charged tingle through both of us.

  I knew well enough what that tingle meant—that the new Empress was a La-ti-zal, a female specially blessed with gifts from the Ancient Ones—and that we were sexually compatible.

  I had never felt that tingle with my old mistress but then, she was forty years my senior and desired no one after her Consort had died. It was a shock to feel it when I touched my new mistress, but I refused to let it show on my face, even though Charlotte gave a little gasp.

  “My Empress…my Goddess,” I began formally, looking into her lovely green eyes. “I, Kristoff Xander Verrai, am yours to command. My body shall be your shield. My blood is yours to spill, my shoulders shall carry your burdens, and my lips shall keep your secrets. My heart shall beat only for you. I will never leave you or forsake you—I will follow and protect you until the end of my days. Unswerving Loyalty, Unquestioning Devotion, Unremitting Obedience, and…” I paused for a moment, my throat working. “And Unending Love,” I said, though I hadn’t meant to say it. “These are the code and the credo of the Imperial Guard. Until I die, my Lady, I am yours.”