Mystic

by Cheryl Brooks

  Damn. “You might be right.”

  “Not yet!” Abuti protested. “You haven’t had any cake. Trust me, it’s worth losing a little sleep over.”

  Sula threw up her hands in defeat. “Okay. Cake first; bed second.”

  Alone, alas…

  * * *

  As he passed around the dessert plates, the only thing running through Aidan’s head was the conviction that this had to be the weirdest day of his life.

  Like any other turning point.

  Funny how most people never recognized those moments for what they were. Having seen into a good many people’s futures gave him a vantage point few others could claim. Upon observing each individual’s timeline, he could’ve told any number of them which choices they ought to make. Unfortunately, his advice was so seldom heeded, he rarely offered it. On those rare occasions when he did voice an opinion, which was subsequently ignored, he’d never been one to say “I told you so” when calamity inevitably struck.

  Any benefits from his gift seemed to have been balanced with the curse of skepticism. In the past, he’d been dismissed as an ignorant child who couldn’t possibly know what he was talking about. More recently, any mention of eventual outcomes had been met with scorn. Perhaps when he was older, more people would listen to him. He could envision himself as an elderly hermit living in a cave high in the mountains, visited by pilgrims who had traveled across the galaxy to benefit from his wisdom.

  Yeah, right.

  In truth, his fondest wish was that, after years of refusing to use his mystical talent—or at least act on the information he received—he might eventually lose it.

  I should be so lucky.

  “You weren’t kidding about the cake,” Sula said, interrupting his ruminations. “It’s absolutely delicious.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” Right on cue, his scalp tightened, and his face grew warm. Fortunately, Abuti was looking down at her plate and missed his reaction. Today had been a real eye-opener where she was concerned. She liked the way he blushed? Seriously? Then again, she was Norludian. Abuti wasn’t the only Norludian Aidan had ever known, and if any of them were even capable of the blush response, he’d never witnessed it. No doubt she considered his red face to be more of a novelty than something to be admired. Nevertheless, he waited for the warmth in his cheeks to subside before he spoke again.

  “There are three other furnished bedrooms in the west wing of this floor, and each of them has its own bathroom. You ladies can pick whichever you like best. My housekeeping droid has already freshened them up.” The dome-shaped droid hadn’t been this busy since his sister’s wedding when several family members had stayed with him. Living alone and making very little mess, he normally set it to run once a month.

  Abuti leaned forward, elbow on the table and chin in hand as she gazed longingly into his eyes. “And where do you sleep?”

  “Here in the east wing,” he replied. “I don’t use the rest of the house very much. I hardly ever use this room, either. I usually eat in the kitchen.”

  The dining room was yet another of the house’s more flamboyant features. Because the rococo-style window and crown moldings provided more than enough decorative touches, he’d furnished it with as few frills as possible. However, dining tables that could seat twenty-four did tend to be rather grand.

  Sula looked up, a hint of alarm in her expressive eyes. “So that was your bathroom I used a while ago?”

  “Yeah.” With a shrug, he added, “It was the closest.”

  Her gaze softened. “Thank you, Aidan. I’m sure we’ll be very comfortable.”

  Once again, a flush warmed his cheeks. “I hope so.”

  To his relief, Abuti didn’t comment, seeming content to express her appreciation with a deep sigh.

  Qinta remained focused on her cake, which was rapidly disappearing. “Dunno why I love that cake so much. It’s just…perfect. Think you could teach me how to make it?”

  “If you like,” Aidan replied. “It’s pretty easy.”

  “Unlike you,” Abuti said. Turning toward Sula, she went on, “Twenty-six years old and he’s never even had a girlfriend.” She shook her head sadly. “Such a waste.”

  “It’s only a waste if he lives to be old and gray and dies without ever finding love,” Qinta amended, sounding like the old-sage-voice-of-reason Aidan the Hermit might be someday. How did she do that? Perhaps it was only a question of delivery. If he worked on sounding more like an oracle, he might be taken more seriously.

  “How do you know he’s never had a girlfriend?” Sula asked.

  “Common knowledge,” Abuti said with a casual wave. “Among the orphans, anyway.”

  “Only among the girls at the orphanage,” Qinta stressed. “The boys don’t give a damn.”

  Aidan had completely lost the thread of the conversation. “How did we go from talking about baking cakes to whether I’ll ever find love?”

  Qinta snorted. “Blame it on Abuti. Ever notice how Norludians tend to turn every topic into something sexual?”

  “Yes, I have,” Sula replied. “That’s why I wrote my master’s thesis on Norludians. I theorized that their sex hormones don’t have peaks and troughs the way those of most other species do.” She grinned. “Turns out I was right. The average Norludian starts pumping out hormones at birth and doesn’t stop until the day he or she dies. What’s even more astonishing is that no one ever bothered to research it before.”

  “No kidding.” Aidan had yet to run across a Norludian who wasn’t obsessed with sex, although he’d always assumed the trait was as much cultural as it was physiological.

  Abuti clapped her hands, sticking her fingertip suckers together before pulling them apart with a loud pop. “At last, we have scientific research on our side! Most other species find our preoccupation with sex annoying, even disgusting. Nice to know we can’t help it.”

  “You could talk about it less, though,” Qinta grumbled. “That much you can control.”

  Sula giggled—a throaty, musical sound Aidan found completely captivating. “That trait was the basis of another thesis. Turns out loquaciousness is also inherent.”

  “How in the world did they prove that?” Qinta asked.

  “They found three Norludian children who’d been raised by parents of a different species, and they turned out to be as chatty as the rest of them. Not conclusive, of course, but strongly indicative.”

  Abuti seemed every bit as pleased with this revelation as she had been with the previous one. “Ah, vindicated at last.” With that, she made quick work of her dessert and then asked for more. “We also tend to eat a lot,” she added as she passed her plate to Aidan.

  Having had some experience with the care and feeding of Norludian children, he couldn’t help but laugh. “I knew that part,” he said, even though Abuti’s fondness for chicken korma was unusual, since most Norludians seemed to prefer fruits and vegetables over meat. “Good thing I like to cook.”

  Maybe it’s the Indian-style sauce. If so, Abuti would undoubtedly be pleased if Sula were to take over the cooking chores. Not that he would let her—at least not for a while. He had to have something to do. Teaching Qinta to make the lemon spice cake would only take so long, and with the girls taking care of Sula and the droid keeping the house clean, he was already beginning to feel superfluous.

  He reminded himself that they were staying in his house. Perhaps that was his only function, unless it was to provide entertainment. Keeping an invalid amused wouldn’t be easy, despite the availability of the usual sources of electronic diversion.

  Sula’s yawn put an end to his musings.

  “Ready to call it a day?” he asked, carefully avoiding any suggestive phrasing.

  “I believe I am,” she replied.

  The two girls began to stir, but he was too quick for them. “I got this,” he said, waving a h
and to belay them. “The tour of the west wing will go a lot faster if I carry you.”

  Sula’s grateful expression would’ve melted the heart of a much sterner man than Aidan had ever claimed to be. “Thank you. I wasn’t looking forward to hopping that far.”

  “No need for that when I’m around.” He didn’t even attempt to mask his feelings, picking her up from her chair with tender loving care.

  Once again, the combination of her arm around his neck and her sweet scent brought entirely different images to his mind. Carrying Sula to bed. Making love with her for hours on end. Getting lost in the depths of her eyes. Letting his fingers drift through her silken hair. His hands caressing the length of her delightful body. Her intoxicating flavor bathing his tongue.

  The sudden realization that he might actually be reading scenes from her future gave him hope where there had previously been very little.

  With an irrepressible smile, he carried her down the hall.

  * * *

  I could get used to this.

  Sula couldn’t recall ever having been carried by a man in her lifetime. Her father had surely done so when she was a baby, although her memory didn’t stretch back that far. Since then, her natural independence precluded such an event, and that she’d never broken her leg before was a given. She’d loved Raj very much, but he’d never carried her. Never made her feel quite so cherished.

  Did Aidan truly cherish her, or did his Zetithian temperament deserve all the credit?

  Some, perhaps. Surely not all.

  Nevertheless, as he carried her effortlessly from room to room, describing the merits of each one, her mind remained focused on the play of his muscles against her side and the soft warmth of his gleaming curls where they lay draped over her arm. His left arm embraced her shoulders, but even more distracting was the arm that cradled her legs and the light grip of his hand on her thigh.

  So delightful were these sensations, she allowed him to carry her throughout the tour, lingering long enough in each room for her to study the fabrics and furnishings before making her careful choice.

  “I think I’ll take that first one,” she said at last. “It’s closer to the rest of the house, and there’s plenty of room to maneuver around the furniture.”

  Actually, there was sufficient space in any of the rooms, but being closer to the east wing also meant being closer to where Aidan slept, a detail that appealed to her more than any considerations of space and convenience. To be honest, she’d much rather sleep in a bed with him than in a room near him. Something about being as close to him as she was now made her feel a million different ways, all of them good. Without her own unwashed body to interfere with her olfactory sense, he smelled even better than he had before. The weird thing was that her response to him wasn’t necessarily sexual. He made her feel comfortable in ways she’d never experienced, as though everything was right with the world and nothing could ever harm her. Like being safe and snug near a crackling fire while snow shrouded the world outside.

  “Good choice,” he said. “I’ve always liked this room. It has a nice vibe.”

  “And the others don’t?” Abuti said, clearly aghast at the notion of staying in a room with bad vibes.

  “Oh, you know how it is,” Aidan said. “There are some places that just make you feel better.”

  Like being in your arms.

  Had he been reading her thoughts? Mordrials were known to have some truly remarkable mental abilities, and telepathy was one of them. Aidan hadn’t admitted to possessing that talent, but in view of the secrets he claimed to have, the possibility did exist. She probably would’ve kept quiet about it if she’d been the one to be blessed—or cursed—with the ability to read minds.

  She’d never considered what it would be like to know what others were thinking. Even knowing the nice things might be embarrassing. The bad things…well, she would prefer to leave those thoughts strictly alone. But if Aidan really did know what she was thinking…

  “You can’t read minds, can you?” Sula blurted out.

  Aidan didn’t answer right away. Being held against his chest, she was well aware that he’d missed a breath or two, perhaps even a few heartbeats.

  Qinta fixed him with a shrewd gaze. “I’ve wondered about that. Your mother can communicate telepathically with animals, and your sister is an empath. What can you do?”

  Chapter 10

  “Um…I can feel the vibes in a room?” Aidan knew it sounded a little ridiculous, but at the moment, that was the only mystical ability he was willing to acknowledge.

  Qinta’s coppery curls swung back and forth as she shook her head. “There’s a whole lot more to you than that. C’mon, Aidan. Spill it.”

  He sucked in a breath. “You wouldn’t believe me if I did.”

  The Treslanti girl folded her arms and tapped her foot in an oddly Terran manner. “Try me.”

  “Can we talk about this later?” he asked, feeling rather desperate. “Sula really needs her rest.”

  “Sure,” Qinta said with a sardonic smirk. “You go right ahead and put her to bed. Then you can tell us why you nearly always catch one of the younger kids before they get into trouble.”

  Aidan winced. “You’ve noticed that, have you?”

  “You bet we have. We’ve talked about it too. Some of us think you can read minds. Others are wondering if you’re some sort of fortune-teller.”

  “I’m no fortune-teller,” he insisted. “I can’t read palms or tea leaves or see the future in a crystal ball.”

  “No,” Qinta said. “I think your powers are more refined than that. You don’t need props or gadgets to tell someone’s fortune. Do you?” She studied him through narrowed lids. “I’m thinking it’s more along the lines of flashes of insight into the future.”

  “He has visions,” Sula offered. “He said he knew where I would be when I fell.”

  “Yes, but having visions is a Zetithian trait,” Qinta pointed out. “I’m talking about his Mordrial side.”

  “Does it really matter?” Aidan asked. “Why do you need to know?”

  “If you can read minds, I want to know before I think something I’ll regret.”

  “I can’t read minds,” he said with some asperity. “Does that satisfy you?” Instead of putting Sula down, he held her closer to his chest as though she might be stolen from him.

  Qinta still didn’t seem convinced. “You’re telling me the truth?”

  Aidan would’ve crossed his heart if he hadn’t been holding Sula, whom he had no desire to drop. “Yes, that’s the truth. I can’t read minds, and I have no idea what you’re thinking.”

  She arched a brow. “Then you know the future?”

  “No. Not like that.” His anger threatened to flare as he glared at her. “This is the real reason you volunteered for this job, isn’t it? You wanted a chance to”—he gazed upward, searching for the word he wanted—“interrogate me.”

  “I wouldn’t put it quite like that,” she replied. “But I’m understandably curious. We all are. None of us has been able to figure out why someone like you would be content to cook and clean for a bunch of orphans.”

  “Someone like me?” he echoed. “What’s so special about me? And why wouldn’t I want to help a bunch of homeless orphans? Onca and Kim do it, and so do Rashe and his wife. I have more money than I know what to do with, money I didn’t even earn. This is just my way of giving something back, offering help where it’s needed the most. Can you think of a better way to do that than by caring for homeless orphans?”

  Qinta seemed somewhat mollified by this explanation, if not entirely satisfied. “Not really. But you’re forgetting something.”

  “Like what?” Aidan snapped, annoyance making his query much sharper than he would’ve liked.

  “We care about you, and we want you to be happy.” Once again, her piercing green
eyes sought his. “You aren’t happy, are you?”

  “If you knew half of what I know, you wouldn’t be happy, either.” Vibrating with anger, he carried Sula over to the bed, where he laid her down as gently as his trembling arms would allow. She could make him happy. At least he thought she could. But even she couldn’t shield him from the onslaught of dreadful scenes he’d had no choice but to witness. The futures of people who were destined to live happily ever after in no way canceled out the bad endings that so many others were fated to endure. Thus far, the only ones he seemed able to influence were children, and even with them, he wasn’t always successful.

  Sula took his hand and pulled him down to sit on the bed beside her. “Tell me what you see.”

  Her touch steadied him. If there had ever been a person he could confide in, it was Sula. He had no idea why that was, but he knew it with absolute certainty, regardless of how much he hated to transfer any portion of his burden to someone who was rapidly becoming very dear to him.

  “Terrible things,” he whispered. “I shake someone’s hand and see images of their future. Sometimes immediate and sometimes more distant.”

  The concern in her eyes was like a balm to his jangled nerves. “Is it always bad? Never anything good?”

  “Oh, there’s some good thrown in with the bad, but its effect on me is brief. The awful things…I never forget them. They haunt me like malevolent spirits.”

  She squeezed his hand. “That’s why you fly, isn’t it? To escape?”

  He nodded. “Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn’t. Cooking also quells those memories.” He paused, frowning. “I’ve never found anything else that works as well.”

  “You’ve never been in love, have you?” Her tone suggested that love might be the best and most obvious cure of all.

  No. Although his lips moved, no sound came from them. He cleared his throat. “I think that would hurt even more. I couldn’t love someone without seeing bits of their future, and it would be wrong of me even to hint at what I know. That sort of knowledge can be very disturbing.”