But it was time to get back to business. Despite the loss of Peter, he was able to delve back into everything without prepared executive summaries. He’d grown accustomed to analyzing his various businesses and investments due to Peter’s diligence with the reports. Adele took over managing work crews at the house. She was proving herself capable and meeting every expectation. With everything in order, it was time for him to head back to his office in London.
The next morning Arthur waited patiently at the bottom of the stairs to take Ben to the office. He’d already loaded Ben’s suit bags to deliver at his West Brompton flat and packed luggage in the trunk of the Bentley.
“Good morning, sir!”
“Good morning, Arthur.”
The ride in gave Ben time to sort through remaining papers Marian sent for his review. Most of it was the usual fare requiring his signature, but there was also a letter from his accountant regarding his recent transactions with St. Mary in Detroit. Antiquities and art dealers sent notices related to his collecting interests. All things considered, most seemed normal.
Arriving at the office, his secretary, Marian, greeted him warmly.
“Welcome back, Mr. Stewart!”
“Hello, Marian. Things are humming along well here, I see.”
“That’s what I’m here for!” She chuckled. “But it’d be far easier if you gave more than a moment’s notice when you decide to leave the country for weeks.”
“I’m lucky to have you.”
“No truer words were ever spoken! Otherwise, your affairs would be a bit of a poxy, eh?”
“I imagine so.” He laughed settling in at his desk.
“I’ve rescheduled all your appointments. There were also some calls while you were away with requests for meetings. Shall I fit them in?”
“We can go over them later.”
“Fine… If you don’t mind Ben, I have to ask.”
“Go ahead.”
“A heart attack? Peter was one of the healthiest blokes I know. Such things don’t happen to young men.”
“It was likely a heart defect none of us knew about.”
“So sad. God rest his soul. How will we manage things without him? Will you search for a replacement?”
“Let’s see how we do on our own, shall we?” Ben replied. If things fell into place and he found Asira, none of this mattered, but he had to keep up the pretense.
“Of course. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
“Thank you, Marian.”
“Well, I’ll let you get to it then. Anything else I can get for you?”
“No, thank you. But I don’t want to be disturbed for at least an hour.”
“Certainly.” She left his office closing the door behind her.
Ben immediately placed a call following up on his offer to get information about Deborah’s sealed records. She hadn’t specifically asked for them, but he wanted them ready for her in the event she did. Why he cared was beyond him, but the truth was, he did. In the interim, he needed to reach out to the others to assure them his plan was coming to fruition.
Closing the blinds and loosening his tie, he sat down in the chair closing his eyes. To summon them all required considerable focus and tremendous energy. Within moments, his body began to spasm, and his head throbbed mercilessly. The room went black before he was within his realm again.
“Bensaí, you’ve returned to us!” Ontu said.
“Your presence has been missed,” said Mila. “Much has happened since we last saw you.”
“Tell me.”
“Did you not feel it?” Huria said.
“Feel what?”
“Asira. We all sensed Asira, not just the Nubí.”
“How?” Ben asked.
“We hoped you could tell us,” Ontu said.
The only logical explanation was, “It can only mean I am closer to my prize. My plan will unfold shortly, and this will be over.”
“We’ve heard these boastings before, Bensaí! Yet, you have not delivered,” Veshlu said leering at Ben with skepticism and derision.
Moving toward the being, he replied, “You have always been impatient and petulant, Veshlu. Tell me, how many worlds have been shaken to the core because of it?”
“These beings need to be reminded of our power!”
“Fear spawns hate. If I’ve learned nothing about sentient mortals, it’s that. It doesn’t matter what form they have. Their respect is what we must have before their obedience.”
“You sound like the Nubí! We had no worries before Asira began playing with them.”
“The Supreme granted Asira that power. But now’s not the time to quibble over foolishness. Tell me, how did you feel Asira?”
“It was a flash of immense proportion, and then it was gone. But it was powerful. It was Asira,” Huria said.
“How did the Nubí respond?”
“They were joyous, of course,” said Ontu.
“How many times did it happen?”
“We have not felt it since.”
“But it was upon the earth?”
“Yes, Bensaí. Just as you told us it would be,” offered Mila.
“Feeling Asira after all this time can only mean the Dajume is weakening. The last of them are dying,” Ben said.
“Are you sure it is the Dajume weakening?” Huria asked challenging Ben’s authority again.
A powerful blast of energy flowed from Ben’s form, pushing Huria back from him. “What are you implying?”
Backing down, Huria answered, “I imply nothing… only noting you are the only one among us who did not feel Asira’s presence.”
“You, among all, should know taking their form does not allow me to feel all things as I would… just as it does not permit all of my powers to manifest.”
“Perhaps you’ve been in that form too long,” Veshlu taunted.
Ben knew what Veshlu meant. “I must have the form to find Asira. Then I will cast it off, and I’ll be done with it.”
“What will you have us do?” the faithful Mila asked.
“Do not engage the Nubí again until I return.”
“What if they are crafting a way to awaken Asira before you do?”
“They can’t. Only I know where the secret is held… and it will be revealed to me shortly.”
With the exchange over, Ben was back in his body. He sat for a moment regaining his strength and reveling in the knowledge he was even closer than anticipated. But he also bristled thinking of Veshlu’s insinuation. He couldn’t ignore the fact he hadn’t felt Asira’s presence as the others had. The question haunting him was why? Had he become distracted because of Deborah? If that were the case, he couldn’t let it happen again. Adjusting his tie and opening the blinds, he stared out onto the bustling Kensington streets. The sooner he completed obligations in London, the sooner he’d back in Detroit to learn the secrets of the Dubois Collection.
CHAPTER 11
Trying to sleep, Deborah tossed and turned unable to release the haunting images and descriptions seen and read earlier in the day. No matter how much she tried to focus on other things, they wouldn’t fade. As exhaustion overcame her, she finally drifted off to sleep. But the night terrors returned…
“Come play with us!” the children laughed. Taking one of them by the hand, she followed them through the forest to a clearing. Dancing and playing as children do, they formed circles around her with their joyous game. With her little legs tiring, she eventually lay on the ground looking up at wispy clouds in the sky. The others soon joined her.
Breezes swayed the trees, and the sun warmed her face. Closing her eyes, it seemed as if every bird and insect sang a chorus of chirps just for her. But in the midst of her joy, she sensed overwhelming dread approaching. The sky seemed to darken with swirling figures. And then she heard it. A booming sound shook the very ground where she lay. All the children stood dazed and confused. Some began crying, all were frightened, including her.
Before she knew what was hap
pening, she was snatched up and swiftly led away into the forest. Hundreds of others were soon running alongside her, from what, she didn’t know. Whatever it was, the fear engulfed them all. A towering man running beside her fell to the ground. Wanting desperately to help, she couldn’t reach him. More people began to fall with each booming sound. But they didn’t just fall. It was as if their hearts burst from their bodies. The woman helping her fell hard to the ground dead. The woman’s fixed dead eyes seared through her soul. The cloth covering her little body became soaked in the woman’s blood. With no time to grieve or catch her breath, another set of hands swooped her up.
The running didn’t seem to stop, nor did the carnage—men, women, children, and even small infants—were falling dead around her… and yet she remained unscathed as those who remained continued running. She realized whatever was chasing them wanted her stopping at nothing to kill everything to get to her. Looking at the slew of dead bodies behind her, she noticed each had a missing hand or foot. They were all dying to save her from… She screamed so loud no other sounds could be heard but her agonizing wail. The man who now carried her led her into a thicket of trees, where she heard a cacophony of voices… then blackness fell on her… and the voices stopped.
Deborah’s screams woke her from the terrifying slumber. She sat in the bed sweating and petrified unsure where she really was at first. Trying desperately to calm her rapidly beating heart and slow her breathing, nothing worked. She started sobbing uncontrollably from somewhere deep within. She eventually stopped and got out of bed. Standing in the dark staring into nothingness, she realized the dream was different this time. Horrifying details were added.
Somehow, the images she’d seen at work of mutilated children in the Congo migrated into her dream. There was no way she could go back to sleep. It was too exhausting even to fathom risking. Going to the kitchen for a drink of water, she glanced at the clock on the microwave while flipping on its light. It was four in the morning, and she’d be at work in a few hours. Walking into the living room, she turned on the TV. Mindlessly flipping from station to station, she tried to find something to watch. But she needed sleep… sleep she knew wasn’t likely to come. With a little coffee, she hoped she could get through the day. She had to… she wanted to.
Lying on the sofa, she reached for the blanket thrown over the back of it. She immediately smelled Ben on it. The pungency of his scent calmed her as she wrapped herself in it. She smiled thinking of their last evening together. After dealing with the Rodney fiasco, they delayed eating the pizza in favor of making love on the sofa with the blanket under them. The more she thought about him, her body warmed, and her peace returned. She considered calling knowing he was already working given the time difference. Not wanting to worry him, she didn’t.
At some point, she dozed off to sleep. When she woke a few hours later, it was after eight. Rushing into work, she was frustrated to arrive after nine-thirty. Approaching the building, she saw Mr. Mugabe weeding the flower bed near the entrance. He was a sweet, humble, and hard-working old man. She had no idea how old he was, but he held his own with a landscape crew at least twice as young as him. Among the first people she met when she started working at St. Mary, he always greeted her warmly or gave an encouraging word. He also had a kind smile with the most beautiful gray eyes. No matter how tired or rushed she was, she always made time to talk with him.
“Good morning, Mr. Mugabe.”
“Miss Deborah, how’re you this fine morning?”
“A little tired. How about you? I missed seeing you. Were you out sick?”
“Just needed a little time off. These old bones get wearier these days.”
“Well, I hope your bones are feeling better today.”
“I’m doing fine. Just seeing you makes my heart happy. But you sure you’re all right? Your eyes look sad today.”
“I’m fine. Really.”
“Keep your head up, you hear? Like I told you, the ancestors’ dreams are in you!”
“Yes, sir.” She loved hearing him say it.
“You have a good day, Miss Deborah.”
“I’ll do my best. Take care, Mr. Mugabe!”
Entering the building, she walked down the corridor to the museum and archival offices. Everyone was busy working including the interns. She checked on them to make sure they were progressing well. With the semester ending soon, she wanted them to wrap up their assignments within the next few weeks. Additional staff was coming on board because of Ben’s donation, so she wanted everything in place for them.
After clearing email and phone messages, Deborah went to the secured storage area to continue her work. Dreading what lay ahead, she was nonetheless committed to getting as much work done as possible. Sitting at the table, she stared at the metal tray full of files considering where to start. She didn’t think she could take much more of the previous day’s discoveries. Maybe if I jump ahead, she thought. Knowing it made little sense, she resolved to start at the beginning and work her way through. Having no idea what Ben hoped to discover, she wasn’t sure it mattered where she began.
Reaching for a prayer book, she typed in basic information from the inventory log. Carefully flipping through its brittle pages, she noted its condition as well. In terms of content, it was just a prayer book. What made this one valuable to collectors was its hand stitched binding, intricate gold leaf covers, and extraordinary illustrations throughout. The style suggested a Parisian bookbindery similar to others in the University’s collections. She searched for any markings acknowledging the maker. Finding it, she noted the information into the database as well. This, I can do, she thought as she reached for the next prayer book.
It was late in the afternoon, and Ben finished his last meeting at his London office. His thoughts wandered watching couples huddled under umbrellas as a light rain fell. Before he knew it, he was thinking about Deborah. It made him uneasy. He couldn’t fathom why she was having such an impact on him. What if he’d been in human form for too long? What if mortal needs were beginning to override his true essence? Admittedly, being among them enhanced Ben’s understanding of their motivations, fears, desires, excesses, and penchant for destruction. He was growing concerned Veshlu was right. It was the only rational explanation he could conjure to explain why he ached for her. But he knew he had to finish what he started. He’d invested too much time.
It started with Wendell Stewart, the brash English financier with investments in the Congo. Unrestricted by time or space, the Nubí and the Bensaí could inhabit mortal forms by simple possession on any world they chose. But once they possessed a body, they were beholden to universal physics set into motion by The Supreme. When the time came to vacate bodies, the mortal’s essence remained intact. But what Ben did to Wendell was different. Among his kind, he alone had the power to transfer the life breath from mortals… and he’d done it to three generations of Stewart men in search of Asira. As far as he was concerned, killing humans was inconsequential in the grander scheme.
But Asira was different. Becoming fascinated with sentient mortals, Asira chose to be born- carried in the womb of a mortal female- rather than simply possess a body. By doing so, Asira was vulnerable even with the Dajume there to protect. Armed with that knowledge, Bensaí crafted a plan to convert or kill Asira and thereby destroy The Supreme. Attempting to carry out the plot, the Bensaí discovered the Dajume had cloaking protection over Asira as well. Ben believed The Supreme was responsible for granting that gift, giving him yet another reason to want IT destroyed.
Why hasn’t he called? Deborah thought while lying across her sofa. Looking at the clock, it was already after midnight in London. Since he’d been back, he called between six and seven Detroit time. He’s a powerful and busy man, she reasoned, but it didn’t stop her from wanting to hear his voice. Deborah wanted to laugh with him, hear his take on current events, talk about any and everything… with him. As the evening wore on, she showered and climbed into bed knowing she wouldn’t hear f
rom him… again. Two nights in a row… what is he doing?
The alarm sounded as Ben lay in bed with the sheet bundled around his waist. He was tired—in fact, weary—in ways he hadn’t been in a very long time, a sign of restless sleep interrupted by dreaming and wanting. He hadn’t spoken to Deborah in two days. Images of her wouldn’t subside as subtle pulsations of blood rushed to his penis. His body was betraying him at the least opportune time. I don’t have time for this! A complex swirl of thoughts and emotions ranging from desire to anger calmed the sensation, and he got out of bed to begin his day.
Arriving at his office, Marian had a warm cup of tea waiting for him along with pastries and fruit. Perusing the news, he thought if he only enforced a fixed regimen, the normalcy he craved would return. It served him well to maintain self-discipline. By doing so, it allowed greater clarity. But life was often messy. He was dealing with human beings. All manner of life events prevented the efficiencies he craved from his staff, associates… and now himself, but he had to remain focused. He’d be back in Detroit soon enough to learn the secrets of the Dubois Papers.
“Ben?” Marian said over the intercom.
“Yes?”
“You have a call from a Ms. Brooks.”
How did she get this number? “Take a message.”
“She says it’s urgent… regarding your Collection.”
“Put it through.” He took a deep breath and answered as dispassionately as possible- defying his true feelings. “Hello, Ms. Brooks.”
Deborah wasn’t sure if he was referring to her that way because he was at work or not. Following his lead, she chose to be as professional as possible. “Thanks for taking my call. I’m sure you’re very busy.”
“How can I help you?” He had to maintain this façade, this modicum of decorum otherwise his feelings for her could easily override his intent.
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