Mystical Love

by Rachel James

  Logan tapped the other Judgement card peeping from beneath the other. “The wake-up call. But who’s blowing the trumpet?”

  “In both our worlds, it would be a professional therapist, one with the know-how to lead the client out of their dark world and into the light of a new one.”

  “Sykes fit that bill to a T,” Logan said. “And if we believe him, once you empty the mind, you are free to replace it with any ‘light,’ good or bad.”

  She tapped the third card. “This High Priestess goes beyond the one we labeled as ‘secrets.’ Remember how Foster said a green door was always used to trigger the memory shift? As you can see, this is the only card with an actual door. It shows Persephone entering the underworld through a door and then down a set of steps.”

  “That’s pretty straightforward,” Logan stated. “However, she looks like she’s going down those steps willingly.”

  “She is,” Sonny agreed. “In myth, she was abducted by Hades, who, after seeing her beauty, desired her as his consort. He brought her to the underworld, where she ate the forbidden pomegranate fruit, and after that, well, she came to his bed willingly.”

  “Lucky Hades,” Logan teased.

  Sonny grinned at him. “More Svengali than lucky,” she chided. “Now, look at this Death card compared to the first. Here we see Hades collecting coins at the River Styx. In the underworld, no one could enter hell without paying the ferryman, Charon, a toll first. Once the toll was paid, the dead were free to leave their old lives behind and be reborn into a new life.”

  “Another straightforward strategy,” Logan said. “A reprogramming of the mind through a new and unique set of memories.”

  “Here’s where it gets interesting,” Sonny said, slapping the new Tower card down. “This image shows the labyrinth, a tower built by King Minos to imprison a horrible creature known as the Minotaur. I won’t thrill you with how the creature came to have a man’s body and a bull’s head; instead, I’ll concentrate on the tower built to hide the hideous creature away from the world. Needless to say, as time marched on, the structure and its location couldn’t remain in a stagnant state forever, not when it housed such a shameful secret at its core. The kingdom of Minos eventually fractured, and thus the myth of Theseus was born.”

  “I know that myth,” Logan said. “Princess Ariadne gave Theseus a magical golden thread which he used as a talisman to locate the labyrinth and slay the beast.”

  “And when he did, Poseidon rose up from the sea and used his trusty trident to crack the tower open.”

  “Thereby causing a collapse of old forms to give way to the new,” Logan said. “It’s clear the builders of the Pandora paradox thought that if they could take the ugly part of our selves, those false values we hide in our psyche, and rework them in some new, soul-defining way, we’d be … what? More godlike?”

  “It’s more likely you were right before. They reworked the memories for some selfish reason, something that benefited them, not the patient. But what kind of memories would accomplish that deed?” Sonny asked. “If we believe Foster that I was the first successful transference, why did they choose my memories to move along a spiritual path?”

  “Perhaps, when they tried to reprogram your memories, your guardian angels added something to the mix—to protect you. Some sort of talisman. As you said earlier, the mind is an unfathomable world. God knows we haven’t even begun to explore a quarter of what’s lurking there.” He switched thoughts. “Is it possible for the mind to bring along some talisman for protection, in case things go horribly wrong after the transference?”

  “You’re thinking of my nosebleeds now,” Sonny said.

  “Don’t jump the gun,” Logan told her. He tapped the card. “Is the sea god Poseidon symbolic of Sykes’ part in the paradox?”

  “No. The god’s eruption from the sea suggests a powerful, instinctual force emerging from the unconscious, stronger than the will’s desire to repress it.”

  “So the nosebleeds could be a warning to you, a message that Pandora has a time limit.”

  Sonny’s head reared back, and she quickly picked up the last two cards on the table and flashed them at him.

  “You’ve hit the nail on the head,” she said, amazed. “These are the two cards we found in the computer. We agreed that the Hermit card represented Foster, but if we substitute this card for it, we see the god Cronos, whose name means ‘time.’ In myth, Uranus and Gaea mated and produced the first race of Titans. Cronos was the youngest of them. Now, Uranus regarded his progeny with horror, for they were ugly and imperfect, and made of flesh, so he shut the Titans up in the depths of the underworld, so that they might not offend his eyes. As you can imagine, Gaea got pretty pissed, so she fashioned a scythe from her bosom and gave it to Cronos, who, with her aid, castrated his father and cast his bleeding genitals into the sea.”

  “That’s a lovely picture.” Logan smirked. “But how does that apply to the nosebleeds?”

  “Everything has its season and time—which is true if we think universally. Everything is born: star clusters, new plants, new babies, and then everything dies and gets reborn again in some fashion. I think Foster was referring to that when he said, ‘There’ll be nosebleeds first.’”

  “First? Are we to assume other physical ailments will show up?”

  “I hope not,” Sonny replied, shivering.

  “I won’t let things get that far,” Logan said. He pointed to the one card remaining in her hand. “And the last card?”

  “The Ten of Swords. The mythic image here focuses on the wrath of the Furies. These lovely ladies believed women were far superior to men, so when they learned Orestes had committed matricide, they sought revenge in the best way they knew how.”

  “They constantly tortured his mind,” Logan surmised.

  “And then some. As you can see by the image, Orestes is nearly dead from the curse they put on him.”

  “So who is this lovely creature with the sword?”

  “The goddess Athena. She felt so sorry for Orestes that she became his champion and protector. See how she’s holding back the Furies’ rage against him with her sword of justice, like a bodyguard? Remind you of anyone?” She paused, giving him a measured glance. Logan caught her meaning at once.

  “If you’re about to say I represent a goddess, don’t. I promise you I don’t have a noble bone in my body.”

  “But you do have a gun and a badge,” Sonny countered. “And you were assigned to work with me.”

  “A situation that I’m starting to regret,” Logan muttered. Her expression fell at his words, and he held up his hand. “Now, don’t go thinking I regret meeting you. What I meant is I like my cases where one plus one equals two. I like solving murders that are messy with emotions. Hatred, revenge, jealousy, passion—I can understand those reasons.”

  “So can I, and it’s clear that this is one of those cases.” She ticked off on her fingers, “First, someone hates me enough to kill me. Second, they took revenge on me by killing my father. And third … ” She paused. “Well, I don’t know where the jealousy is yet.”

  Logan eyed her warily. “It’s not your aunt, and it certainly isn’t your uncle. Your aunt is overprotective, yes, but she’s not jealous of you. And as for your uncle, he’s more interested in dating you.”

  “What a rotten thing to say!” Sonny exclaimed. “And how would you even know he’s interested in dating me?”

  “Because I’m interested in dating you.”

  Sonny sniffed at him. “Envy is a man’s game. Pandora was probably started by a woman, but you can bet an envious man soon stole it from her so he could use it for his own twisted reasons … ” The sound of music had Sonny breaking off mid-sentence and glancing towards her purse on the foyer table by the front door. “It’s Aunt Charlotte’s ring tone,” she said.

  “Answer it,” Logan said. “She’s checking to see that you’re not buried under a deluge of hail.”

  Sonny sprang from the settee, grabb
ed her purse, and returned to the couch with it. “Hello, Aunt Charlotte. Are you safe and dry? No, we’re at The Harbor, waiting out the storm ... ” She paused, listening, and Logan saw her expression sour dramatically. “No, I haven’t heard from him, why should I? Uncle Brad knows how I abhor his checking up on me every five minutes.” Her gaze found Logan’s. “Do me a favor, Aunt Charlotte. Stay at Rosita until the storm is over. You and Ned can come here when the roads can be traveled again safely.”

  Logan heard a high-pitched, angry tirade through the receiver. Sonny hung up the phone a moment later, her expression pained, as though she had been wounded.

  “What now?” Logan queried, his brows knitted in a frown.

  “Ned and Aunt Charlotte are coming, but not until the rain stops,” Sonny replied. She turned and left Logan, her walk slow and swaying. Logan followed her quickly.

  “What’s really going on?” he asked.

  “It’s me. I’m so tired of being inundated with feelings. It’s like I’m mourning my own death.”

  Logan draped his hands on her shoulders and spun her about. He cupped her face with his hands.

  “Look at me,” he said. She met his flinty gaze head-on. “You are the most amazing person I have ever met. You live life with an unshakeable faith in the goodness of Spirit, and you carry a burden that would take Hercules down.” A flash of lightning lit the room, highlighting Sonny’s cool green eyes. He studied her face silently, and she studied him back. He lifted her chin and caressed her bottom lip. “Now, the rain is hammering on the roof, the roads are flooding, and we’ve some time on our hands. So, pull back your energy, and let me kiss you. No visions. No images. No flying monkeys.”

  “There might be a white rabbit,” she said breathlessly.

  “I can handle that,” he replied. He lowered his head and planted taunting kisses along her cheek, and then he settled his mouth on hers. It was a light kiss, but a tender, lingering one, and it produced a mutual shudder between them.

  Spellbound, the pair stood close, their bodies pressing against one another. And then Sonny slid her arms around his neck, parted her lips, and let him possess her mouth. His heart reacted immediately, and with a lazy, sensuous movement, his tongue entered her mouth. Another shudder shook their frames, and he felt her pull back, as if tugging on an invisible thread, and even though he wanted to unleash his hunger and satisfy it, he didn’t. Instead, he lifted his lips, and liking the textures, juices, and spices of her, he gave her a heartfelt hug, which ended with a firm pat on her fanny. She jumped at the tap, a lazy laughter sweeping her eyes.

  “Ouch,” she declared, a blush of pleasure staining her cheeks.

  Logan winced. “Ouch? Don’t you mean: ‘Wouldn’t you like to come to my bedroom and see my sound system?”

  Sonny patted his shirt absently. “Will you wear your Flash Gordon outfit?”

  “Is the Pope Catholic?”

  She laughed again, shrugging out of his arms. He brought her back quickly, dipped is head, and planted a soft kiss on her lips. When they were eye to eye again, she gave him a dazzling smile.

  “Are we attempting one of our rare excursions into humor?” she asked.

  Logan grinned. “It’s nice to hear you laugh again.”

  She spun out of his arms, raised her hands over her head, and stretched lazily. “Um, when I feel this delicious, I laugh at practically anything; sometimes nothing at all.”

  A crack of thunder shook the rafters. Both their grins faded.

  “As much as I’d like to glory in the feel of your silken skin,” Logan said, glancing out the window, “These bawling winds sound like engines rising, passing through a cry and into a scream. Are they always this hyped up?”

  A splatter of hail on the roof was his answer. Seeing him wince, Sonny laughed again.

  “There is a strange, dreamlike lunacy to it,” Sonny answered, leaving his arms. “As if you’ve entered the twilight world of the half-alive.”

  Logan arched his back to relieve a kink. “I see now why you’re so fond of siestas,” he said. “No one could sleep through this racket.”

  “But you can recharge your batteries with a quick lie-down,” Sonny teased.

  Logan twisted his back to relieve another kink. “Well, I’m not the Energizer Bunny, but I’ll give it a try.” He reached out and snatched Sonny back into his arms. In seconds, he had fallen back onto the couch and brought her with him. “If I can’t make love to you all night, at least we can fool around until the clock strikes midnight and you disappear into the night, leaving only a glass slipper behind.” His hand swept to the back of her neck, and her chest melded to his. Their lips met in a drugging kiss, and before he could stop himself, his hands were fumbling for the buttons on her blouse. She moved against him, and he thought she meant to halt his fingers, but when she slanted her lips across his instead, he slid his fingers inside her bra and searched for a nipple. The kiss deepened, and his palm followed the curve of her breast, finding a taut nipple puckered with desire. He stroked it, and then, as if hit by a cold bucket of water, Sonny tore her lips from his and sprang from the sofa with a troubled gasp. With a watchful hesitation, she presented her back to him and buttoned her blouse again. Neither of them spoke for a moment. And then she did.

  “So dark out there. So dark and so forever.”

  Sighing, Logan sat up. He’d not ask what that enigmatic statement meant. She was experiencing some distant memory, while his body craved sex. Nothing but a cold shower would power down his current arousal. As for her, he didn’t know what would help her senses power down.

  “I didn’t mean to lead you on, Logan,” Sonny stated. “My emotions are a mess, and I’ve never felt such an exhilarating response to any man. I’m teetering between untethered desire and angry warmth. The effect is like a graveyard.”

  Seeing her trembling limbs, Logan bolted from the sofa. He stopped behind her. “You don’t owe me an explanation—or an apology,” he said. “You’re still the most amazing person I’ve ever met, and no pleasurable make-out session will ever alter that fact. I should apologize to you, but I’m not going to, because I intend to kiss you as often as you’ll let me. And I assure you, you are going to let me.” She whirled around then, floored by his words. Seeing her mouth open, he placed a finger over her lips and grinned. “No, it’s our fantasies that make life bearable.” He winked at her, and her laugh was like a whinny. “Now let me get some shut-eye,” he said. “Kissing you has worn me out. And don’t stray from this room,” he added, seeing her move. “It’s clear someone would love to get you alone.”

  She took up residence in the nearby window embrasure, ignoring him and studying the pelting rain outside.

  Grinning, Logan swung his legs up onto the couch. In seconds, he had settled back and let his senses reach into the raging storm. Two minutes later, the real world drifted into oblivion.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The storm raged over the cabin, rattling glass windows and continuing to pelt the ground with hail the size of golf balls. From her vantage point in the window embrasure, Sonny studied the jagged streaks of light permeating the eastern skyline. Would the storm never budge from their location? Its fury had become relentless.

  Her gaze scoured the oppressive cloud cover, and she lifted her fingers and brushed her lips. She could still feel Logan’s kiss and the excitement that mounted within him. The dormant sexuality of her body had been awakened at that moment, leaving her to realize she liked the curve of his mouth, the rush of warmth between them, and the graceful strength of his hands as he explored her breasts.

  A booming thunderclap doused the arcing light, and she winced. She hadn’t enjoyed the interruption of the moment, though. One minute, her heart had slammed into her ribs, and the next, a feeling of great torment had saturated her body. A terrible sense of humiliation had followed, and the strong gnawing had severed the wild surge of pleasure between Logan and her.

  The sky dumped another round of hail onto the rafte
rs of the roof. Mother Nature had gone wet and wild, and though beautiful to watch, Sonny knew the hidden treachery behind the storm.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the man sleeping on the leather sofa. She wished she had his power to ignore problems and sleep like a baby. She hopped from the window suddenly. The room was turning cold under the damp, charged air outside. She passed a wingback chair, grabbed a crocheted lap robe off the back, and laid it gently across Logan’s sleeping form. As the coverlet fell, she scanned the dark shadows on his cheek and his long, sooty eyelashes. She wondered how she could be offering the man warmth of a blanket, when by all rights she should be smothering him with it. He had declared his intention to kiss her as often as possible, arrogant enough to believe she would let him.

  She listened to his even breathing, observing the rise and fall of his chest. He was dead to the world, and not even rain, wind, and thunder could put a dent in his blissful euphoria.

  Whirling around, Sonny’s glance found the ornate clock on the mantle. Two a.m. Morning was only hours away. What would be the best way to field Ned’s and her aunt’s questions without drawing suspicion? She knew if she went at them head-on, she would be goaded into revealing she knew about The Pandora Project.

  Had Foster told the truth? Was she Amanda King? That’s the $64,000 question, kiddo, her inner voice advised.

  Yes, and if we’re ever to get through the rest of our life without going insane, we need to learn the answer.

  Hearing the sound of wind whistling up the lower staircase, Sonny shivered. It felt like the lower outside door had blown open from the howling winds. Though Logan had warned her to stay nearby, she had to check it, or the mud room would be flooded. Besides, she needed time away from the toad. His good looks were a distraction, and she needed to get her mind around Foster’s revelation and then create a plan of action to obtain the Pandora disc.