“Well, you love me, right? You said that was important to you and you wanted to wait till it felt right.”
“I’m not ready and I know you aren’t. Besides, with the new information about your mission, the last thing you need is more problems.”
“How would you and I becoming closer create more problems?”
“Ask Beth.”
The bottom drops out of my stomach and I exhale an exasperated, “What?”
“No, I didn’t sleep with Beth. She could help you understand the problems that come from relationships moving to the next level, that’s all.”
“But I didn’t even ask you about . . . are you using a prism? Are you repeating?”
“Why would you think that?”
I jump out of my seat and open the bag containing the prisms. All twelve are there. I turn around to face Chris, only to find him standing directly behind me.
“Don’t you trust me, Calli? Would you immediately assume I’m lying instead of doubting your own mind-blocking abilities?”
“But I thought my block was solid. You just told me so. Were you lying about that?” My blood pressure seems to rise. “Is my mind not really blocked and you’re using my inability to keep tabs on my thoughts? Who doesn’t trust who, Chris?”
He runs his hand through his hair. “This is what I’m talking about, Calli. Neither one of us is ready to move this relationship forward.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I can’t give you an answer. Lying or obscuring truth is part of everyday life, especially our lives. Overall, white lies make the world go around. Sometimes we’re ordered to lie, like when you carried the diamond. Sometimes we choose to lie to prevent someone from getting their feelings hurt. But, before you go demanding to know what’s going on in my mind, whether I’m lying, or can be trusted, think about the situations you’ve been in and what you know about the world of Diamond Bearers. And please remember that if I’ve been ordered to lie to you, for whatever reason, I can’t disobey.”
Why would he have been ordered to lie? “I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. Just know I wouldn’t do anything to intentionally hurt you. I now know I will never be asked to betray you, like I had to do with Neema, or be put in a position where that would happen. You’re far more important than me in this Diamond Bearer game.” He takes my hands in his and says in a near-whisper, “And please go easy on me later when your question gets answered.”
I exhale and feel a sense of relief, even though I realize I’m being left out of some “plan” involving me. Chris envelops me in a comforting embrace and I return the gesture. “I’m sorry I doubted you, Chris. It’s just that your behavior reminded me so much of Brand.”
“It’s all right. I’d be worried about you if you ever lost your critical eye and attention to detail. That includes scrutinizing me, if it’s called for.”
We sit back down after grabbing a couple juices from the fridge. I take the laptop out of the bag and turn it on. “I’d better look over this information like Crimson asked. We only have a four-hour flight.”
“I’ll help you,” Chris volunteers.
* * *
We arrive in Miami where Crimson is waiting near the hangar with a rental car.
“I’m really curious about her flying, Calli,” Chris whispers.
“Ask her about it. You never know, she might give us more details.”
“Calli,” Crimson says, “Grab the bundle of prisms and put them in your pocket.”
“Okay. What about the other documents in the boxes?”
“Leave them on the plane.”
Once in the backseat of the car and on our way to Uncle Don’s, Chris squeezes my hand and addresses Crimson. “Is the flying power within the Primal Stone, Crimson?”
“Yes.” She doesn’t take her eyes off the road.
“Is it an Elemental power?”
“Yes. It’s rooted in gravity and atmospheric control.
“How fast can you go?” Chris leans forward with his hands on his knees.
“Pretty fast.”
I become alarmed because I sense obsidian in my future. “Crimson, I sense trouble. Obsidian.”
“I do too,” Chris says, after concentrating for a moment. “Wait, Uncle Don wears obsidian on his necklace. Maybe that’s what we’re sensing.”
Crimson pulls the car into Don’s driveway and turns the engine off. “We must not ever assume anything,” she says. “Always be cautious. Do you have your Runner topazes?” she asks both of us.
“Yes,” Chris says, and I nod my head.
“All right. Let’s go.”
We walk up the perfectly-placed stone walkway and I press the purple gemstone doorbell.
The door opens. Don fills the doorway, wearing a ratty T-shirt that at one time was probably white. One hand holds garden shears and the other is cloaked in an old garden glove. In a flash, my keen eyesight spots a couple thorns dangling from the fabric. Coupled with the floral aroma hitting my nose, I conclude Don is in the middle of trimming roses.
“Hello, Chris. Good to see you again.” Don reaches out and wraps his arms around Chris. I move my head to narrowly miss the shears as they move past my face. Don squeezes Chris in a manly hug, then releases him. Don’s eyes shift in my direction momentarily, then move to Crimson.
It’s the necklace, Chris confirms in my mind. He says, “Uncle Don, you remember Calli Courtnae.” Don nods, but his eyes are still on Crimson. Chris adds, “This is my good friend, Jo Jo.”
“Any friend of Chris’s is a friend of mine. Come in.” Don steps back, opening the door to let us in.
Chris enters Don’s house first and glances around the room. “Are you alone, Uncle Don?”
“Yes.”
Chris motions for Crimson and me to enter.
As I walk past Uncle Don, he pats my shoulder twice in a kind gesture. My powers rush out, rush in, rush out, rush in. I’ve never experienced this kind of nauseating on-off sensation before. My healing power is necessary to calm my stomach. I speak to Crimson’s mind, You already knew we didn’t have anything to worry about with the obsidian. Am I right?
Yes. However, I won’t always be by your side and you must take your safety seriously. Chris demonstrated proper precautions.
Don closes the front door and mumbles to Chris, “You didn’t tell me you’d be bringing a guest.”
“Sorry.” Chris’s bottom jaw moves sideways as he grimaces.
Don leads the way through the house and out onto the back porch where he shows us his rose bushes. His long-stemmed roses are worthy of a gardening magazine. Don sets his shears and gloves on his workbench and says, “I’ll be right back. Please, make yourself comfortable.” He enters his house.
I look at Chris who stands beside me and shrug my shoulders. Chris speaks to my mind, He’s not comfortable with strangers.
I return my focus to the deep red roses in front of me. I reach my hand to caress the velvet petals. A half-opened rose is behind another. I reach into the plant and free the struggling bud from the leaves that seem to be preventing the petals from opening. When I pull my hand out of the bush, thorns snag deep into my forearm, bending the roses in my direction.
Chris lets a pained hiss out of his teeth and reaches to free my arm from the thorns. He pulls my hand toward him to examine my injuries. “That’s got to hurt, Calli.”
“Actually, no, it doesn’t.”
He searches my skin for scratches or blood. My hand and arm are completely normal. Chris casts a confused glance at me.
“I guess I’m pretty good with my healing ability.” I try to lighten the mood, but I’m just as puzzled.
Uncle Don reappears, wearing a different button-up shirt. He has misaligned the buttons. His hair is wet and freshly combed, indicating he’s definitely flustered with Crimson’s presence. I wish I could read his mind, but his obsidian piece prevents that from happening.
Don shows Crimson
around the yard, giving her the tour of his small open shop where he works with gems and rocks. She asks him a few questions out of politeness, to which he stumbles over his answers and drops two different tools, then trips on a protruding stone slab.
“Oh, watch your step, Jo Jo,” Don warns, reaching his arm in her direction.
He likes you, Crimson, I tell her mind.
She doesn’t respond. She only throws a “don’t encourage it” glance my direction.
Chris interrupts, “Uncle Don, we need your expertise on something.
“Certainly, Chris. Let’s sit down.” He motions to the table and chairs on the patio. “Can I get drinks for anyone?”
Crimson says, “I would love a glass of water, Don.”
Hearing his name seems to bother him further. He goes inside the house. Chris follows him.
Crimson and I sit down.
“Calli,” she says, “pull out one of the quartz prisms.”
I reach into my pocket, pull out the bundled prisms, and begin to unwrap the secured crystals. My mind connects with Chris. He’s talking to Don in the kitchen.
“Who is she?” Don asks.
“She lives down the street from Mom. She’s like me, Uncle Don.”
“I figured as much. Chris. I’m sorry about your dad. Even though he was a sociopath, he still didn’t deserve to be shot down.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you’d already heard about him.”
“Yeah, I was contacted by an investigator.”
“Agent Whitman?”
“Yes. He said you witnessed the shooting.”
“I was there. Dad had mixed himself up with some pretty frightening people. He used to tell me, ‘You can’t scratch the devil’s back from a distance.’” Chris mimics his father’s voice rather eerily. “Dad got too close to the enemy, and he lost his life. Occupational hazard, I suppose.”
Neither speak for a moment, then Don says, “How are you holding up, Chris?”
“I’m good. I’ve got Calli.”
“I’m relieved to hear that. Well, if you ever find yourself in need of a listening ear, don’t hesitate to give me a call.”
“Thanks.”
I can’t help but feel guilty for eavesdropping on their conversation. I separate one prism from the rest, rewrap the others, and put them back in my pocket. I look up as they return to the patio with four glasses and a pitcher of ice water. Chris sits adjacent to me and across from Crimson. Uncle Don sits across from me.
I ask Don, “What can you tell us about quartz?” I scoot the prism across the table.
“What do you want to know?” he says, picking up the quartz.
“Everything.” I smile after my single-word reply.
“This is a beautifully clear prism, one I’d give my left arm to find in nature. Double terminated.” He runs his fingers over the six-sided points at each end. “Perfect faces . . . where did you get this?”
“We found it at General Harding’s compound in Denver.”
Don twists the crystal between his fingers. “Quartz is silicon dioxide and the most abundant mineral on earth.”
Crimson interrupts. “Excuse me, but feldspar is the most abundant.”
“Well, technically you’re right. Feldspars as a group are more plentiful, but quartz as an individual mineral is the most common. I apologize, Jo Jo. I don’t mean to split hairs.”
“No apology needed, Don. Please continue,” Crimson says, leaning forward in her chair.
“All right. Quartz is resistant to most corrosives and can withstand high temperatures. It outlasts other minerals and filters down through sedimentary layers, filling in gaps. Quartz is found in . . . ” he pauses and sets the quartz on the table. “This would be easier if I knew what information you really want. I could go on and on about this subject, but I’m guessing you’re here for a specific reason concerning this quartz.”
Crimson doesn’t waste a second. She points to the prism in front of Don and asks, “Where does one find a crystal like that?”
“In a laboratory.” Don leans back in his chair, stretching his back.
“Excuse me?”
“That is a manmade quartz, grown in an autoclave—a pressure cooker.”
Chris asks, “How can you tell?”
He leans forward and picks up the quartz again. He balances it on one end. “There are no obvious horizontal striations.” He drags his fingertip across the short side of the prism several times. “It’s too perfect. Plus, if you look closely at this end, you’ll see it’s chipped where it had to be broken free from the autoclave.” Don carefully lays the crystal down on the table once again.
Crimson asks, “Are you certain this quartz is man-made?”
“I’m sure. I’ve seen rather smooth quartz from Brazil at gemstone conventions but nothing this perfect. From what I’ve learned, the controlled environment and sped-up growth process that occurs in an autoclave creates crystals like this. The manufacturer can pre-determine the length of the finished crystals by how long they are allowed to grow.”
I ask, “Why is quartz grown in labs? It’s not like they’re valuable or anything. They’re not diamonds.”
Don says, “Don’t be fooled by the inflated price tags on diamonds, Calli. Diamonds aren’t as valuable as you might think―well, except for blue diamonds. Those are being grown in labs for their semi-conductor qualities. But I digress. Back to quartz.”
I’m stunned to hear him talk about blue diamonds. Crimson says to my mind, We’ll ask him about that later. Let him finish about the quartz.
He continues. “When sliced at the perfect angle to the crystalline axis, quartz can be used for its piezoelectric properties.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Quartz is one of a few minerals that produces a charge or voltage when compressed or bent. Additionally, when a voltage is applied to quartz, the quartz will bend. Not just any quartz can be used for piezoelectricity, though. Only high quality, clear specimens,” he picks up the quartz, “like this one.” Then he sets it down. “The demand for high-quality quartz in the manufacturing of watches, clocks, and other electronics created the need for lab-grown crystals.”
Chris squeezes his eyes shut in frustration. “You’ve lost me with the pie-zee-oh-whatever stuff.”
“Pie-eezo-electric, Chris.”
“Whatever. How is it used?”
“Timepieces, for one. Watches, clocks, and timers usually have a quartz crystal inside which maintains a steady megahertz, keeping accurate time without one having to wind the watch. My question is: What’s the deal with that particular quartz?” He points, but doesn’t touch the quartz. “Why do I feel strange when I hold it?”
Crimson says, “This quartz has an electric charge.”
“But it’s not being hit with voltage.”
“Not any longer. It was being used in a machine that removes cosmic powers from individuals.”
“What kind of a machine?”
“We’re not entirely sure,” Crimson says. She pulls a couple papers out of her bag which have schematics about the machine. “This is what it looks like.”
Don takes the papers and looks them over thoroughly. “Who is the manufacturer?”
“We don’t know yet.” Crimson pours more water into her glass.
“Did the machine work? Did it do its job?”
“Yes.”
“I’m intrigued with this, Jo Jo. I’ll do some research tonight and see what I can come up with.”
Chris clears his throat. “Uncle Don, would we be able to spend the night here?”
“Sure, well, if you don’t mind sleeping on the couch.”
Crimson says, “You don’t have to worry about me, Don.”
Disappointment washes over his face. “Oh, do you need to leave?”
“I have other things I can work on through the night.”
“All right, then. Calli, you can have my bed. Chris can take the couch.” He looks at Chris and says, “Your mother wo
uld have my hide if she knew I put you two in the same room before you’re married.”
My eyes shoot to the floor, not wanting to look at Chris.
“Don’t worry about it, Uncle Don,” Chris says. “The last thing I want is for you to be in trouble with my mom.”
* * *
When morning arrives, we’re about to leave when Chris stops and turns around to Uncle Don. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He digs deep into his pocket and pulls out what looks like a topaz. “When we were here before, you said you wanted an Imperial topaz. I have one for you. It’s charged with healing.”
Uncle Don’s eyes mist over, making me feel like I’m intruding on a personal bonding moment. He whispers, “Thank you, Chris.”
“The topaz on the necklace you gave Calli saved her life. I figured it was the least I could do to thank you.”
Don clears his throat. “Healing, huh? So, how do I use it?”
Chris eyes Don’s hand and points to an obvious thorn scratch from yesterday’s pruning. “In your mind, think about your scratch healing. Make it heal.”
I am amazed with how easily Don is to be able to heal his minor injury, and how thrilled he becomes. I’d forgotten how excited I felt the first time I used the power.
Chapter 7 – They Are Among Us
We say goodbye to Don and leave. Crimson escorts us to the airport and to Maetha’s waiting airplane. Before Chris and I climb out of the car, Crimson says, “Calli, give me the prisms. I’ll keep them safe until you’re ready to meet with the clans.”
I obediently pull the small bundle from my pocket and hand them over the back of the seat. We say our goodbyes and get out of the car. Rodger Rutherfield waits next to the stairs to the plane. The light breeze brings the smell of Rodger’s cologne to my nose. I identify the scent as the same one my father wears.
“Ms. Courtnae, Mr. Harding,” Rodger greets us and shakes our hands.
“Captain Rutherfield, good to see you again,” Chris says.
“Please, call me Rodger.”
We board the plane and take our seats, fasten our belts, and wait for clearance to depart. Chris and I sit quietly. After a few minutes, Rodger’s deep smooth voice sounds through the speakers. “We’re cleared for takeoff. Seatbelts, please.”
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