The Aeon Star

by Hart, Lauren T.

  Paul's room was much more like a hotel room in its appearance although the décor was far plusher. Pale blue and green were still a theme, but the bed was against the wall opposite a television. A loveseat and two end chairs encircled a small table under the window. Alicia put the tray of food on the small table and left.

  Paul was lying in bed, cleaned and dressed, in jeans and a button up shirt. It was more formal than she'd ever seen him. Amber was draped across his uninjured side wearing a cream colored silky thing that looked more negligee than dress. Janie was on the couch, also newly re-outfitted, in black pants and a green top.

  Paul had the distinct look of someone who was comforting more than he was actually being comforted.

  "Can you give us the room please?" Paul said.

  Amber pouted. "Okay." She slid off of him, smiled at Genevieve as she passed, and left along with Janie.

  "Paul, where are we? Who are all these women? And what is..." wrong with them, seemed too judgmental for all their kindness. "What's their deal? And what's your deal?"

  Paul suppressed a laugh, "Why don't you just find out for yourself?"

  "Why don't you just tell me?" she scowled.

  "That's a lot of questions." Paul chided.

  Genevieve plunked herself down on the couch and helped herself to a piece of chocolate, and then some fruit.

  Paul watched her for a long moment.

  "I'm sorry about earlier." She met his eyes.

  "Oh yeah? So can I have my pain back now?"

  "No." She crossed to him with the tray of food. "You want some?" She set the tray between them and climbed onto the bed.

  "Is that it then?" he asked.

  "You think I'm being unfair?"

  "Yes."

  She pulled at the neck of her shirt, exposing her shoulder, and traced her hand along the healing wound. "This is where the bullet hit me, before it hit you. I probably won't even have a scar. Is that fair?"

  "Chicks dig scars."

  She rolled her eyes. "I guess that settles it then."

  "No it doesn't," Paul said, popping a piece of meat into his mouth. "How do you do it?" he asked, "One minute you're you, you know, normal, nothing out of the ordinary; you're just a girl. And the next you're soul shifting — in solid form — right in front of me, to take on two armed assassins, as easy as if you were taking their order."

  "Soul shifting?" Genevieve interrupted.

  "And what is that?" Paul eyed her. "Are you fucking with me? Or do you really not know what that is?"

  Gen shook her head. "Okay, wait, is that like when Ange children project themselves when they're sleeping? But how does that work? I wasn't sleeping." What made her different? "Paul, I have to know. Am I... an Angemon?"

  "What?" Paul looked like he was choking on something. He cleared his throat. "Don't bullshit me," he warned. "Did you ask me to say your name because you didn't know it?"

  "I knew part of it."

  Paul shook his head.

  A light knock interrupted them. It was Janie. "David's here. He's waiting for the both of you in his office."

  "I need to see him first," Paul winced as he sat up.

  Genevieve felt it, and reached to help him.

  "I've got it," he eyed her. "You've been enough help."

  "Paul—" She reached across the bed and grabbed his hand, causing them both to wince as the movement sent a pulse of pain through his shoulder.

  "Sorry," she crawled across the bed and moved close to him, talking softly so that Janie wouldn't hear her. Tears pooled in her eyes. "I don't want to do this. I can't do this. I just want to go—" she wanted to say 'home.' But where was home now?

  "Hey," Paul wiped a tear from her cheek. "It's okay. Everything's going to be okay, I promise. Go with Janie and freshen up, I'll see you in just a minute."

  She nodded, and let go of his hand.

  "I love this room," Janie sighed with a smile as she practically pranced into the room that had been designated for Genevieve. "I love your necklace. It's so beautiful. Let's pull your hair up off your neck and let it be seen," Janie suggested as she grabbed a brush.

  Genevieve decided not to argue with her.

  Janie was quick, twisting her hair in segments and clipping them to her head.

  "Do you... work here?" Genevieve asked.

  "Yes. All of us both work and live here." Janie smiled. "David is very generous."

  "So whose room is this?" Genevieve asked.

  "It doesn't work like that here." Janie smiled. "Right now, it's yours. A room is just a room that serves a function, that's all. Last night, Alicia, David and I were here. The night before that it was me and Kara. Tonight and for as long as you decide, it will be you. Or will it be you and Paul?" she asked.

  "No." Genevieve lifted her hand unconsciously to the necklace on her chest.

  After her hair, Janie insisted on a few make-up basics, and suggested a black backless dress for dinner.

  After several insistences by Genevieve that she was quite happy with the outfit she had on Janie escorted her to David's office. Janie prodded her through the door by poking her in the back with her long fingernails. She shut the door as soon as Genevieve had cleared its swing.

  An electrical charge shot through her, causing her heart to leap and her stomach to somersault, just as it had done when she first met Lewis Xavier.

  David's office was reminiscent of the ballroom with tall windows and doors that overlooked a terrace and the ocean beyond. The floor was inlayed with the Aeon cluster; recessed lights above in the same formation accented the design on the floor.

  Her eyes darted toward Paul, he'd been sitting on a long white couch with a beer in his hand but he put it down and stood when she entered.

  David Barrett Xavier stood at the opposite end of the room in front of a large ornate desk. He looked like his father and like a model. His button front shirt hung loose and undone revealing his lean and well-defined stature. He was gorgeous and blond, with deep brown eyes.

  David eyed her; sizing her up in the same way Marcus had done on the beach. But his gaze didn't feel creepy, like Marcus's. There was a measure of intimidation, of superiority almost, but his stare reminded her more of Nick's. Always watching her, trying to read her, to figure her out by her expressions and her gestures. "Paul," he said sternly, his eyes still firmly affixed on her.

  "I know." Paul said. "She's amazing isn't she? Just look at her, she's scared shitless."

  "Yes, I can see that Paul, thank you." David rubbed his brow, frustrated. It was a gesture she recognized from her own habits. "Please," David motioned to the furniture grouping where Paul was standing. "Sit if you'd like."

  She took the chair closest to the door, David took its opposite and Paul settled himself back on the couch.

  "That's a beautiful necklace," David said. "Was it a gift?"

  She nodded, realizing then that she had been unconsciously fingering the silver strand at her neck.

  "Do you know who I am?" he asked.

  She felt a burst of warmth, pulse through her. "Yes. You're David Xavier."

  She's a decoy. She heard David's words in her head just as clear as if he had said them out loud. "Do you know why you're here?"

  How had she heard his thoughts so clearly when she hadn't been trying to read him at all? "I'm here because Paul brought me here," she said, distracted by his thoughts.

  David looked thoroughly un-amused. "Paul believes that you're my cousin." Paul, don't you see? You've been duped. Brainwashed, David thought.

  She looked to Paul, who cleared his throat and started shaking his head as if he too had heard David's thoughts.

  "David—" Paul started.

  "But you don't," Genevieve cut him off.

  "No." David leaned forward in his chair, "I don't."

  "Oh well. As it happens, I have no interest in trying to convince you otherwise, so I guess we're at an impasse."

  "Gen," Paul sounded desperate.

  "Is that short for..
. Jennifer?" David smirked.

  "It used to be."

  "It's short for Genevieve." Paul said over top of her.

  David sighed, stood and crossed to his desk as if he were extremely bored by all if it. "She's a decoy, Paul, and we really don't have time for this."

  "No, David. She's not," Paul countered. "I saw her soul shift, she feels different when she soul shifts. It's her David. I'd bet my life on it."

  "Don't be ridiculous," David said casually, leafing through a pile of papers, practically ignoring them.

  "Ow!" Gen winced as an unexpected stab of pain shot through her right shoulder.

  David turned around, just as she turned to see Paul poking himself in the shoulder. "Paul, stop it, you're just going to hurt yourself," she scolded.

  "See, David?" Paul said. "I told you. She's taken on half my pain."

  "So... you've both been brainwashed." David concluded.

  "Damn it." Paul growled, frustrated. "Gen, you have to understand. You don't feel like the Aeon Princess – you don't even feel like an Ange, you feel more like a Star Soul. Barely."

  "I don't care Paul. I'm not interested in being your Princess. Think back, I've never been interested. In any of it. Everything I have ever known, ever believed, and ever loved has been taken from me, because of your stupid cult. My family, my life," she shook her head, desperately trying to repress her tears. "Even my humanity..." her voice trailed.

  David made the same half-grunt, half-cough noise she'd heard him make over the phone and mumbled the word "cult."

  "Wait, humanity? When did you figure that one out?" Paul asked.

  Genevieve sighed. "This morning," she said quietly, reluctantly. She reached in her purse and palmed the golden star that cast a brilliant white glow the moment she touched it and pulled it from her purse.

  "Damn that's cool," Paul said.

  David's eyes went wide at the site of the glowing white star in her hands.

  "I sort of figured it out after I found this." She set the star on the table in front of her. Immediately it became a simple golden star once again. "I probably should have figured it out sooner, but being different and thinking I must be an alien because of it," she cringed, "isn't exactly a conclusion I'd normally jump to."

  David stood motionless, staring at her.

  Paul leaned forward and picked up the star. It glinted, as if it had caught a ray of sunlight.

  Her stomach twisted at the stars subtle reaction in mostly human hands.

  "Is this what I think it is?" Paul asked.

  David crossed to Paul and took the golden star from him. It glowed brightly in his hands, though not as bright as it had in hers, and with the slightest hint of pink. The display of light it made in David's hands made her feel a little less singular in the world, but not any better about the situation.

  "This was my father's." David's voice was soft, reminiscent, as he turned the star over in his hand.

  Genevieve fought against the memories — the dreams — she now knew weren't dreams at all. "I know."

  David's mouth broadened into a smile then quickly faded again. "But, what happened, Paul? Why doesn't she feel right?"

  "I don't know. It's like she's got split personalities — really convincing ones, too. I've known her for six months, David. I never thought she was anything other than a Star Soul, not until she soul shifted."

  "What about Nick?" David asked, setting the star on the table — plain gold once again.

  "He knew something was different," Paul offered. "He thought she might be a New Soul, like Marcus."

  Like Marcus? Gen winced.

  "That wasn't me," Paul said.

  "Yes it was," she countered.

  "Oh," Paul realized. "Sorry. If it makes you feel better, I thought he was wrong."

  "If Nick hasn't figured it out, that's definitely to our advantage."

  "He'll figure it out as soon as he gets home," Genevieve cut in. "If he was worried about me – Jennifer — I'm sure he already suspects Genevieve. He just won't realize that I'm her, until he finds the picture of Xavier — of your father — among my things."

  "Do you really think that Nick will turn her in?" Paul asked. "He's in love with her."

  "I don't know," David said. "But I'd rather be prepared for the worst." David crossed to her. "You'll need to be prepared. I'm not exactly sure what to do about your current... condition, but at least we can bring you up to speed on things... Obviously the souls who raised you neglected to teach you very much about our culture."

  "Your culture?" She added air quotes, while over-emphasizing the cult part of culture. "I was a preacher's kid, I was practically raised in a church. I'm pretty sure they didn't even know your culture existed."

  "Wow." Paul said, stifling a laugh.

  David looked horrified. "You were raised by humans? Christian humans?"

  Genevieve scowled. "I guess there just weren't any Martian families available, at the time."

  "I didn't mean it like that," David said quickly. "I'm just surprised that they took that kind of risk—" he winced, "I mean, letting you be raised by people who didn't know who you were or what you were. Who didn't know your..." David waved his arms in front of him in another familiar gesture of hers, which meant he either didn't know what to say, or everything he was thinking of was something he'd rather not say, "...Potential."

  What did that mean? Who she was — what she was — what was she? "My potential?" her pulse quickened, and a surge of electricity shot through her.

  "Gen—" Paul started.

  A burst of warmth filled her, a memory of something she couldn't quite remember... a ticking time bomb... Her thoughts taunted her. A monster. The beast...

  "No." David and Paul said in unison, though Paul's words seemed to have a slight echo.

  That wasn't an answer to her question. She stood, sidestepping the chair, toward the center of the room. Were they answering her thoughts?

  "Genevieve?" David looked concerned, confused.

  Paul stood. "Settle down, Cupcake."

  "Excuse me." David looked dumbfounded. "Did you just call the Aeon Princess, Cupcake?"

  Paul crossed to her. Deep breaths. She heard his words echo through her head again, but this time, his mouth hadn't moved.

  She gasped as she realized what was happening, and how unaware she had become of her own awareness.

  "Genevieve," David spoke just above a whisper, but his thoughts were louder. Something had changed. She felt different, more like an Ange.

  She could feel it too. Like the day she'd been in St. Mary's Square.

  Change. Something different, it was an overriding theme of the masses, going home, going out, going nowhere.

  Going to find her.

  Find her!

  The Hunter. He was there, among the masses. His thoughts were stronger than the rest, pulling her to him. She was so close now. So close! He could almost smell her. No mistakes this time. Soon enough he would have her and then he would slit her throat and watch the life drain from her eyes.

  "No!" she gasped, pulling her awareness back. "No!" her whole body trembled, terrified by the taunts and threats of the monster who had hunted her for as long as she could remember. A bad dream that just like the rest of her dreams — wasn't a dream at all.

  How cruel and unfair it all was.

  "Gen?"

  She met Paul's eyes. He looked as horrified as she felt, his jaw was tight, his eyes red with emotion. "I will never let him get to you," he said.

  "Paul?" David questioned, confused.

  Paul pulled her into his arms, protectively hugging her. "She's had enough for today."

  Without another word, Paul escorted her back to her room, his arm wrapped securely, protectively, around her.

  Chapter 29

  Perspective

  "You see what I see," she said as she settled herself onto the end of the bed. It wasn't a question. She'd figured it out.

  "Yes." Paul sat down beside her. "It started whe
n I was seven, and then, except for the occasional dream, it mostly stopped when I was nine. Until a few months ago, and then..."

  "St. Mary's."

  He nodded. "It wasn't too bad to begin with. Mostly it was very peaceful, warm and safe, loving. My parents and teacher's thought I was just daydreaming." He shrugged. "And then when I was nine, I remember it was a Saturday, I was watching cartoons and I started to get the pins and needles in my brain that meant another daydream was coming. But this one was different... violent, scary. It freaked me out. I told my moms about it, and they told me it was just a bad dream. Then they grounded my older brother for a week for letting me watch scary movies. It took me six weeks to convince my brother to let me watch horror movies with him again." Paul shook his head. "They didn't get it, nobody got it, and so I didn't talk about it again. It only happened twice again after that, not as bad but still scary, terrifying. And then it was just the dreams after that."

  "I don't remember anything before the dreams."

  "Maybe that's for the best."

  She tilted her head to look at him. "Tell me anyway."

  He met her gaze. Reluctantly nodding after a moment, he put his hand out to her, with his palm up.

  She felt the prickling the moment she placed her hand in his. Nine-year-old Paul, sitting far too close to the TV watching cartoons, filled her being for a moment and then there was burst of electricity and a new image filled her thoughts.

  She was very small, and was being held very tight. She was in her mother's arms. Her mother was screaming and crying — and running. Running for their lives. There was a man running next to them, shouting at them to "Run!" and "Keep moving!"

  Anger and rage pressed in on her. The Hunter had missed his shot. But that wasn't going to stop him. He'd kill them all if he had to.

  Something slammed into them, hard, her mother's grip loosened momentarily, before gripping her even tighter as they fell to the ground. All she could see was the ground and her mother's pale blue shirt but she knew that someone had been shot. She could feel it.

  Barrett Whitting. He knew he was dying. And he was afraid — afraid for them. He'd failed to protect them, to see them to safety. All he could do now was shield them.

  Then there was the sound of screeching tires and gunshots. Strong arms pulled them into a vehicle, and they quickly sped away.