by Daco
“Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Bitterman.” The Mayor disconnected the call.
Suddenly dead tired from a long, trying day—despite all the coffee—The Mayor went to his sleeping quarters. He’d meet Bitterman at the crack of dawn to make the exchange. Later in the morning, he would address the Town Council and explain why The Magpie had failed and why it wouldn’t have any impact on Kensington City. But first, he’d pay a special visit to Alexa Manchester.
The Mayor pulled open the top drawer of the dresser. He tapped on the emblem at the back of it, revealing a secret compartment. Inside was a small case that held his family’s heirlooms. He selected an emerald ring embellished with mounds of diamonds and held it up to the light. It had once belonged to his beloved grandmother. Now it was his, and he intended to present it to the woman he planned to marry.
Mayor Baumgartner smiled to himself. “Alexa Manchester, you’re going to make me the richest man in the country. No, in the entire world!” He’d soon have her money, along with his own, including The Momaxita’s payoff for the Electromite. He’d rise from mayor to prime minister of Britannia. He’d be the most powerful man in the world, and the beautiful Alexa Manchester would be his loyal, devoted wife, serving him and his career. One day, he might even come to love her, but for now, none of that mattered.
The Mayor placed the ring on top of the container holding the Electromite and retired for the night. He thought about locking the rock and the ring in his safe, but decided to keep them within reach. It was late now, but he’d get whatever rest he could in the few short hours left of darkness. As he’d feared, tranquil sleep was not in store for him. And it wasn’t just the aftereffects of the coffee. When The Mayor closed his eyes, his mind began to wander. Soon, he was lost between wakefulness and sleep, tossing and turning, until fatigue sent him into a fitful dream.
• • •
Mayor Bobby Baumgartner’s dream was an old memory that tugged at his consciousness.
When Bobby was just a toddler—no more than two and a half—Cindy Cupp, his nanny, was bending over and smelling the newly bloomed roses in the Baumgartner garden. She’d parked the pram in the sun so little Bobby could soak up some rays. He sat contentedly, enjoying the afternoon sun as he drank his milk and snacked on a handful of marshmallows. A big man appeared out of nowhere. He came up behind Miss Cupp, wrapped his arms around her waist, and drew her close against his body. Too close. She looked as though she were about to scream, but he used a hand to cover her mouth and whispered in her ear.
“Hush,” he said. “It’s only me.”
Still enfolded in the man’s arms, Miss Cupp glanced back to see Mr. Montgomery Manchester, Mickey’s younger brother. Blushing, she said, “Sir, someone might see us.” She giggled.
“Who’s looking?” he said, flashing a playful smile.
“The gardener is around.”
“Not a worry. He’s tending to the petunias near the gazebo. That man doesn’t notice anything except aphids and tulip bulbs.”
Miss Cupp giggled again. Montgomery Manchester bent down and planted little kisses on her neck that made her moan. When she looked up at him again, he kissed her lips. She turned to face him, her body writhing against his, as the kisses became more passionate, even feral. His hands strayed, caressing her body. She returned his touches each time.
Even at his tender age, little Bobby sensed that his nanny and the older neighbor shouldn’t be fondling and kissing each other near the rose bushes. As he watched his nanny and Montgomery Manchester, a grasshopper landed on his pram’s tray. He jerked back, but his seatbelt kept him trapped. He hated bugs, especially big, ugly, spitting, green grasshoppers. He tried to swat the bug, but the insect didn’t move.
“Cupp, Cupp,” he whined, but when he looked for his protector, all he saw was the nanny following Mr. Manchester behind the juniper bushes.
The grasshopper still rested on his pram, its evil eyes fixed on him, menacing, ready to attack.
“Cupp, Cupp!” he shrieked.
No response.
Out of nowhere, a dozen more grasshoppers appeared and landed on his pram. They were followed by twenty more and then a hundred more. And then the cloud became too massive to count, if little Bobby had been old enough to count. It was as if one of the ten plagues had descended on him. The hideous green monsters swarmed not only on the pram, but on the child himself. The toddler writhed as the bugs invaded every inch of his little body—crawling and hopping across his exposed skin, over his face, inside his ears, probing at his nostrils, his eyes, becoming entangled in his hair, falling down his shirt, and then worst of all, down the back of his diaper. They spit and scratched, yet despite the child’s screams of pain and anguish, Miss Cupp didn’t come to him, only moaned loudly from behind the bushes—had the grasshoppers attacked her, too?
The dream always ended there. The Mayor thrashed in his bed, crying out in his sleep. “Get off me! Get off!” He tossed and turned until he involuntarily sprang out of the bed. He bounced incredibly high, fighting to regain his balance, and landed on the floor with bent legs that absorbed the shock and prevented a fractured ankle. He began to stand erect, but his body thrust upward as though he were leaping, and his head struck something hard. He awoke later in his bed when the morning light seeped through the edges of the curtains.
“Another one of those horrible dreams,” he said aloud. “They’re back!” The nightmares had plagued him on and off over the years since that fateful incident, indistinct and fuzzy at first, but inexplicably growing sharper over time.
It had been years later that Bobby found out what had happened after the bugs descended. Benny Belson, the gardener, had come to his rescue, brushing away the grasshoppers, picking up the hysterical child and comforting him. Ms. Cupp had claimed that she thought she’d heard her mistress, little Bobby’s mother, calling her, that she’d turned her back only for a moment, but Belson had seen her emerge from the bushes in a state of dishabille with Montgomery Manchester. Her services were deemed no longer needed, and she was terminated immediately.
Unfortunately, the fear of grasshoppers—green things—never truly left The Mayor. The nightmares finally disappeared when his grandmother left him the emerald ring—the most sacred of their family’s heirlooms. But now the nightmare had returned. Why? Could it have been exposure to the Electromite? Impossible! He didn’t believe in fairy tales and magic rocks. Still, the timing was suspicious.
A moment later, the clock in the hall downstairs struck six. It was time to make a very important trade. Then he’d soon propose marriage to Alexa Manchester.
Chapter 4
The next morning ...
Alexa winced when Gladys Gadberry, mistress of Manchester household affairs, threw back the curtains of her bedroom suite and opened the French doors that led to the balcony. Gladys was Alexa’s own Mary Poppins without the frumpy dresses and magical incantations. She had an exquisite High-English warble that made one want to accept hot tea and scones whenever offered. But Gladys was more than just her former nanny, chief administrator, and confidante. Ever since Alexa’s mother had died, Gladys had served as Alexa’s maternal role model.
Margo Mallory-Manchester had been an Americana high-fashion bombshell model and socialite. She’d retired from the fashion show/party scene at the ripe old age of twenty-two and come to Britannia to earn a master’s degree in physics from Oxania University. She and Mickey had fallen in love after meeting at a lecture on quantum mechanics.
Margo had died in a boating accident when Alexa was only ten, though her body was never recovered. Like the disappearance of Alexa’s father, the circumstances of her mother’s death were shrouded in mystery. For this reason, Alexa held out the somewhat childish hope that one day her father and mother would show up at her doorstep, as impossible as that might seem. She’d shared this faint hope only with Gladys.
“The flowers are particularly fragrant today, Alexa,” Gladys said, walking back inside from the balcony that overl
ooked an expansive garden in full bloom.
The view from the veranda was heavenly, utter bliss to awaken to. Gardenias and camellias, lilacs and roses, lilies and violets all scented the air with a perfume more exquisite than an ounce of Baccarat Les Larmes Sacrees de Thebes. A center walkway lined with manicured trees led to a marble water fountain that was sculpted in the shape of young angelic women, reminiscent of a Michelangelo sculpture. The path connected with other walkways that led the casual stroller to more private gardens. One path circled a koi fish pond that was shaded by weeping willows and silver oaks.
Today, though, Alexa wanted to remain in bed. She shielded her eyes from the burning sunlight now spilling into the room.
Gladys walked toward the bed. “Breakfast is ready, dear. Chef Yurdlemon has outdone himself.”
Alexa rolled onto her side and once again lifted the covers over her head. “I’m not well, Gladys. Draw the curtains on your way out, will you please?”
Gladys sat down on the side of the bed. “What’s wrong, Alexa? You have meetings to attend. You are scheduled to speak with the media. The explosion yesterday has the entire city on edge, and everyone expects you to make a statement.”
“I can’t.”
Gladys felt Alexa’s forehead. “Your temperature is normal. Alexa, you cannot hide. You must be strong.”
“I’m not hiding. I’m ill.”
Alexa was completely exhausted from the events of the night before. She was still struggling to comprehend what exactly had occurred.
Had it all been a dream?
The only logical explanation for yesterday’s events was that the Electromite must’ve emitted an anomalous energy surge that caused The Magpie to malfunction. Its internal structure must have failed, perhaps even melted down. Whatever had occurred, an electromagnetic umbrella of energy must’ve shrouded the generator so that anyone coming near it got zapped. There had to be a logical explanation. Because the Electromite certainly wasn’t some magical stone with properties capable of casting spells on human beings or investing people with supernatural powers not of this universe. This nonsensical fantasy that she’d magically turned into some sort of superhero was the product of trauma and little sleep.
“I promised your dear mother that I would always look after you as though you were my own,” Gladys said. “And as any good parent would, I want you to carry out your responsibilities. You have many.” She crossed her arms. “I also want an explanation about what happened last night. And don’t think for a moment that I missed seeing you come home unclad and in the arms of Sigfred Sawyer!”
That Alexa did remember. Oh, how her head hurt.
She also remembered those awful men trying to attack her. That was no dream, either. If it hadn’t been for Sigfred, those thugs might’ve killed her. Her head began pounding all the more.
Sigfred had saved her! He’d also seen her naked. Sigfred of all men. He was like her older brother. Her heart began to pound, and her cheeks burned, no doubt crimson with embarrassment. Yet, she’d felt no embarrassment last night when Sigfred wrapped her in his jacket.
Sigfred wasn’t her brother, and now at the naughty notion that he’d seen her body and she hadn’t felt ashamed, she felt electric currents of lust coursing down her body, and that current intensified and reached her loins as she pictured herself in Sigfred’s muscular arms, his hands on her exposed skin.
Gladys held up Alexa’s dressing robe and waited for her to sit up. “The public is waiting, Alexa.”
“All right, all right, you win,” Alexa said. She struggled to a sitting position and tried to banish these preposterous thoughts about Sigfred, and yet she blurted out, “Have you spoken with Sigfred this morning?”
“I did not. He seems to have taken off early this morning. Why, I don’t know. Maybe he feared that his job is at stake based on his poor behavior last night.”
“Nonsense. Sigfred was my hero last night.”
“What do you mean by hero?”
“Last night at The Mick ...” Alexa caught herself. If she described what happened, she’d sound insane.
“Go on.”
Another current of electricity sparked inside of Alexa, racing down to the tips of her toes and back up to the top of her neck. It was almost as if a complete electrical circuit had been formed. Only this wasn’t the spark of eroticism, but rather the spark of anger, though Gladys was only trying to protect her.
“I don’t owe you an explanation,” Alexa said irritably. “I’m a grown woman and your employer to boot.”
Gladys flinched at this, but straightened her body. “This behavior isn’t like you. You have your reputation in the community to think about. You’re a person of stature. You’ve always been a rational, well-behaved, levelheaded woman. You were quite pragmatic even as a little girl. Now, I see you cavorting around with some man in public, intoxicated.”
“I was not drunk, and Sigfred isn’t some man. Anyway that’s not what happened. As for my stature in my community and my following the rules, where has it gotten me? Maybe it’s time to start breaking the rules.”
“Don’t think for a moment the board of directors won’t vote you off your own company’s board if they believe you’re unfit or that your behavior reflects badly on your reputation.”
Alexa started toward her dressing room. Now she wasn’t just irritated, she was angry at Gladys. Angry at herself. Angry at the world, at everything and everyone. But the odd thing was, she didn’t know why she was angry, and that just made her angrier. The electrical current racing around inside of her began pulsing at her fingertips. She was losing control of her body, which was now morphing into—what? Her legs seemed to be lengthening, her waist becoming thinner. The sensation was familiar, the same as she’d experienced last night. Maybe last night hadn’t been a dream. Or maybe she was dreaming now.
“Alexa, what’s the matter?” Gladys cried in alarm.
Alexa stumbled back and then dropped down to her settee.
“Oh, dear,” Gladys said.
Gladys stood with mouth agape. Alexa raised her hands. Sparks of electricity were shooting out of her fingertips. She took a deep breath, and her anger turned to surprise, but more strangely, the shift in her mood seemed to halt the physical transformation. Within seconds, the sparks dissipated along with the electrical current.
One thing was certain—this wasn’t a dream. And for some unexplainable reason, it was as if Alexa understood Gladys’s thoughts. She realized that Gladys meant her no harm. Gladys cared deeply for Alexa. Of course she did. Alexa had always known this. How could Alexa have doubted her? Suddenly, as if a curtain was closing, all the electrical sensations pulsing through her body had fully dissipated. Alexa lifted her hands toward her face.
“No, don’t touch your face!” Gladys said, rushing to grab Alexa’s wrist.
“What’s wrong with me?”
Gladys examined Alexa’s hands and fingers. “You’re not burned? You don’t feel pain? How could you ...?”
“I’m fine.”
Gladys collapsed onto the settee. “I don’t understand. Impossible.”
Alexa shook her head, unable to believe it herself. She raised the sleeves of her robe and looked at her arms. Then she lifted the robe from around her legs. Everything seemed normal.
“This happened last night at The Magpie too.” Alexa went on to recount the events of the previous night. The more she spoke, the more lucid her memory became. She’d remembered everything, right down to the transformation of her body’s form, how her clothes seemed to dissolve, how her hair turned platinum. She remembered shooting bolts of electricity at the goons who were attacking Sigfred. And then she recalled the strangest events of the night—how she’d been absorbed inside The Magpie and heard her father’s voice.
“Father called me Electromancer,” Alexa said.
Gladys looked dubious. “You’ve had a great shock with the explosion, combined with all the pressure of launching the new generator, trying to run you
r father’s company ...”
“You don’t believe that this happened.”
“I believe that you believe it, Alexa. I also believe that you need to see a doctor.”
“No. There’s nothing a doctor can do for me.”
“Just to be sure you’re okay,” Gladys said. “That’s all.” Gladys’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry I doubted you when you said you were ill.”
When Gladys tried to rise, Alexa pulled her back down.
“How could you not believe me ... all of this, Gladys? You just saw it with your own eyes—there was electricity shooting from my fingertips, for heaven’s sake.”
“Yes, dear. Assuredly, something dreadful has happened to you. Perhaps you’ve suffered some ill effects from radiation.” But she didn’t meet Alexa’s eyes as she spoke. “It might only be temporary, but you need to be examined by a doctor. We can’t know everything about that cursed Electromite, what it can do, whether it’s harmful. I tried to warn your father, even though it wasn’t my place.”
“What do you mean? Did he have electricity shooting from his fingertips?”
“No, no, no, nothing like that. Before he died, he’d become obsessed with his work to the point of exhaustion. I worried about his health. You’d already lost your mother, and I couldn’t fathom you losing your father, too. And yet, he did die—because of his work.”
“But don’t you see? Now we know that he’s not dead. I can positively tell you that he’s alive. I spoke with him last night.”
Gladys closed her eyes for a moment. “This is why I’m certain you need to see someone.”
“Please don’t patronize me, Gladys. It’s you who’s denying reality, not the other way around.”
The women stared at each other, a stalemate.
“Keep an open mind on this, Gladys. For my sake.”
Gladys slowly nodded, then reached out and took Alexa’s hand. “Alexa, what happened to your mother’s jewelry? You weren’t wearing it when you came home.”
Alexa touched her neck, then her ears. The platinum and diamond necklace and matching earrings were gone. Not once had she thought of them. “I haven’t a clue.”