Rebirth (Cross Book 1)

by Hildred Billings

  “Look here now,” and Troy stuck an exasperated finger underneath her nose, “you are going to play with your coworkers, and you are going to like it. You can’t spend all your weekends going out and trying to save the world.”

  “I don’t care. Who’s going to be here besides you and me? Ben? Whoopie. Dean? Like I don’t see him enough.”

  “Probably Hottie, too. You know how far she and Ben go back.”

  “Oh, great. Even better. Now she can see me in a bathing suit.”

  Troy opened Danielle’s door. “Yeah, right. You’re wearing shorts and a heavy-artillery sports bra. You’re so sexy.”

  “Excuse me for leaving my bikini at home.”

  “I bet you don’t even own one.”

  “I do, too.”

  “Oh yeah? What color?”

  Danielle huffed. “It’s black.”

  “Like your soul, eh?”

  “Shut up.” Danielle exited the car. Once she was out of the way, Troy followed, bringing their shared sack of supplies of nothing more glorious than water, sunscreen and towels.

  They walked the length of the parked cars while the pleasant sounds of screaming children, police sirens, and shouting lifeguards chimed in their ears. The smell of salt and garbage hit their nostrils like a slap to the face. No hope for any fun that day.

  “Come on,” Troy said, “they’re at the south end. Since we’re military cool and it’s Memorial Day weekend, we’ve weaseled our way into a private part of the beach.”

  “Joy. Danger.”

  “Not like you haven’t been living it lately.”

  Danielle slumped her shoulders as they shuffled down the boardwalk. She wondered, as the sun began to beat upon her, whether to take off her white over shirt now or when they arrived at their destination. She soon regretted not taking it off as they continued down the boardwalk.

  “How far away is it?” She tried to keep in step with Troy. “We in shark country yet?”

  “Eh, a few more yards. What’s wrong? You getting old?”

  “You’re one to talk.”

  They finally arrived at the cordoned off section that allowed the twenty military personnel present to have private playing room on one of the bay’s more popular beaches.

  “Half the department must be here.” Danielle followed her friend to the spot on the beach marked for bags, towels, and whatever personal items people didn’t mind loading with sand. “Half the floor, at least.” That was a lot of tanned and toned bodies running around in swim trunks and not much else.

  “Here comes more of the party!” Ben Kallman cried from the edge of the beach volleyball court. “Set your shit down and get over here. We need to pick teams. You gonna play, Cromwell?”

  She surveyed the area. Troy frolicked through the hot sand toward their coworkers, stripping off his tank top and throwing it aside to the hoots and hollers of other men in dog tags and nondescript swim trunks.

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “Okay, suit yourself.” Ben left Danielle by herself at the edge of the court. She pulled out the towel from her bag and found a spot far enough away from the court to stay safe, but close enough to watch events unfold.

  She put the towel down on the north side where Troy, Ben, and two other men from their department huddled up to decide who would play what position.

  Since the other side was down a person, Ben was forced to begrudgingly call, “Hey, Hottie! You gonna join us or not?”

  Another figure shifted on the other side of the net. “Yeah, yeah, keep your head on your neck.” Miranda moved listlessly through the humid air. Clad in nothing more than a barely-there black bikini, she looked more like a damned lingerie model than the covetous commander most of them recognized. Was she even allowed to dress like that in front of her subordinates? Danielle sweated under more than the onus of the sun, and she hated herself for it.

  Miranda had agreed to join the other team when a new group of people arrived. Danielle stayed out of the greetings since she did not know the new arrivals well. So much for the four-by-four game, though! Both teams expanded to six-by-six, but since there were only eleven participants at that point, Ben finally pleaded to Danielle to come play. She mulled it over for a bit before agreeing to go over and play for Ben and Troy’s team.

  “Watch out for Hottie,” somebody mumbled behind her. “She played for some high school championship team back in Japan.”

  “Really? How do you know?” asked one of the other guys.

  “’Cause… she’s Japanese. Everyone knows all the chicks play volleyball over there.”

  Danielle shot the idiot a hardened glare on Miranda’s behalf.

  A piece of Danielle’s fragile intelligence died right there, whether from the sun, the blatant stupidity behind her, or a combination of both. She focused on the outline of the net in front of her as everyone went into position, Miranda’s nearly naked body on the other side not helping Danielle concentrate.

  “Goddamnit,” she muttered. “I need to get laid.”

  Her thoughts were promptly interrupted when Ben put the ball into play. Shouts erupted as everyone scattered to help the ball volley back and forth.

  “That’s a point for us!” called the racist behind Danielle. “Just pack it in, guys, we’re obviously better.”

  Troy released a serve that almost went out of bounds. Danielle’s opposition floundered as they struggled to keep the ball from giving her team another point.

  “For fuck’s sake!” Miranda called. “Set me up!”

  Someone tapped the ball into the air and aimed it for Miranda. She spiked it with a crazy smack of the hand. The ball whistled over the net to meet its unintended target: Danielle’s face.

  “Shit!” The ball plopped into the sand. Both teams remained motionless to assess what happened. Danielle removed her fingers from her face.

  Blood.

  “Mother fucker!” she protested.

  Miranda regained her composure. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” She ducked beneath the net and pried Danielle’s arm away from her body as blood dripped onto the sand. Fearing the steady stream of blood coming from Danielle’s nostrils was the result of a broken nose, Miranda took her by the wrist and dragged her away.

  “I’m fine!”

  Before Danielle could stew in insolence, Miranda plopped her down on the beach towel and rummaged through a black pack. Danielle wiped her nose again, fingers still covered in blood.

  “I thought you saw that coming.” Miranda had cotton balls and alcohol in her hands.

  While Danielle was not happy about the circumstance, she wasn’t about to turn away free aid. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not good at volleyball at all, unlike you.”

  Miranda discarded the first bloody cotton ball. “Whatever. I only played a year in high school, and I never played in a game. I was basically towel girl.”

  “If that’s how towel girls play over there, then no wonder we suck in comparison.”

  “I got lucky.”

  Danielle made no comment.

  “You’re bleeding like a spigot, but I don’t think your nose is broken.” Miranda discarded another bloody cotton ball. “Or at least your profile doesn’t look distorted.”

  “Thanks?”

  “Look, I’m gonna run out of cotton balls soon.” Miranda turned toward her other bag. “I think I might have a tampon on hand.”

  “What?” Danielle wretched at the thought. “I’m not sticking a tampon up my nose.”

  “I probably don’t have one anyway.”

  Danielle lifted her head and knew her body was about to betray her once more. Miranda doused the last cotton ball with alcohol. Not difficult to see Miranda’s cleavage jutting down into a shadowy pit between her breasts.

  “Damnit.” Danielle was unable to look away. Sometimes, red-blooded women were as guilty as their male counterparts when it came to staring at great tits.

  The shock of alcohol brought her back to the present. Miran
da asked her one more time if she needed anything, but Danielle said she would rather sit for a few minutes to make her brain stop swirling in soup. What she did not tell her, however, was her brain did not swirl from blood loss, but from spending half a minute checking out someone’s cleavage.

  Danielle pressed her fingers to her nose before finally getting up. As she walked away through the hot sand, Miranda’s cell phone rang, chiming through the beach and almost knocking Danielle back onto her ass.

  She returned to her own towel and watched the game wrap up with cheers and high-fives. She flagged down Troy before he had the chance to run off with some of the other guys for beer.

  “So, uh, how’s that present Hottie gave you?”

  “Fine. She said it doesn’t seem broken. Does it look broken to you?”

  “Nah. Just red.”

  Danielle thought back to her awkward moment eyeing Miranda’s cleavage like she hid behind a locker room window. Troy caught her gazing in their captain’s direction.

  “Nothing will happen if you keep acting like you’re too good for her.” He pointed to Miranda, reclining on her beach towel. “I’m thinking about finding a way to get you transferred so you’ll finally go out on a date with her.”

  “Not this again. Now would not be a good time, anyway.”

  “You said so yourself that you need to get laid or whatever.”

  “Not with her. She’s cavorting, whether she realizes it or not, with the enemy.”

  Troy shrugged. “Tomorrow’s her birthday. Don’t say I never tried to help you out.” Fatigued with Danielle’s stubbornness, Troy brushed sand off his rear and went to find some male coworkers. A line of disgust went down Danielle’s spine. She didn’t care how desperate she got, or how enticing Miranda looked in her skimpy black bikini, or that it was her birthday the next day, or that Jupiter was lining up with the inner planets… Danielle was not going somewhere that could mean the end of her sanity. Or, worse, her job.

  On the other hand, Danielle wasn’t against friendliness. For a moment, she considered going over to talk to her boss since they were both alone. But she didn’t want to give Miranda any false hope. Or herself, for that matter.

  By now, though, Miranda was off the phone and staring toward the ocean. Her skin gleamed a healthy gold, and her hair was tinted to show off her fading red highlights on top of dark brown dye.

  Danielle cursed herself again.

  Yet she still stood up, feet trudging through the warm sand. Miranda did not notice her, however, for she had her sunglasses on and her eyes closed beneath them. Danielle averted her path at the last minute and headed toward a small creek.

  She waved down Troy and told him she was leaving, even after Ben begged her to stay and go to the after-party. Although Troy was willing to go, Danielle declined again and told her friend she would take the tram home.

  With everything settled, Danielle grabbed her things and headed down the beach.

  From her perch above the boardwalk, Syrfila lowered her binoculars. Something needed to be done about the girl constantly getting in her way. Perhaps it was time to talk to the boss about hitting Phase Two of their grand, destructive plan.

  Starting with the second Relic, the manifestation of one person’s cataclysmic spiritual energy. As it happened, Syrfila knew exactly where to find it. She could thank her boss’s hedpah hazes for that.

  ***

  Fifteen minutes before showtime that night, Serge showed up with Andy on his arm.

  “We are so sorry, guys!” Serge plopped his guitar case on a bench. “We got caught in a wallop of traffic. Some accident over on the eastside.”

  “Just thank God you’re here,” Clyde said. “We were getting worried.”

  “You should look at all the people out there!” Andy jerked her thumb toward the covered stage. “I don’t think they’re here for you guys, but the place is packed. I am so acting like a rabid fan in the front row in hopes of hive-minding all the women out there.”

  “Aw, thanks, sweetie!” Serge finished preparing his guitar and kissed his girlfriend on the cheek. “You’re going to be cheering the loudest for me, right?”

  “Yup! And screaming that I’m sleeping with the lead guitarist as loudly as I can.”

  It took them that last ten minutes to adjust their instruments while attempting to steal peeks at the crowd. Were there really as many people as Serge and Andy said? Clyde’s mouth dropped when he walked out on stage, and when Devon followed, his eyes widened to see a sea of college students talking with drinks in hand. There were about sixty people in the standing area, most of them young, bored, and female. Half the room wore the same softball tournament shirt, the happiest accident to ever grace a young band.

  Devon adjusted his mic stand, guitar slung in front of him. He glanced out across the crowd, searching faces he didn’t recognize. Initially, he looked for Alicia’s bobbed black hair, but was not surprised by her absence. Good thing he had a couple sad songs to play that night.

  A head of blond entered. Danielle met Devon’s eyes and turned away.

  At seven, the mics turned on, Devon’s breath echoing through the loud bar. The unsuspecting audience sank into a curious hush while he overcame the last of his stage fright, cleared his throat, and greeted anyone who would listen.

  “Good evening.” Clyde stifled a snicker behind his friend when he squeaked. “We’d like to thank everyone that’s here tonight for witnessing our first live.” Andy shrieked in the first row. “Anyway, we’re called Karma, and we’re ready to rock whenever you are.”

  The audience politely clapped. “Okay” music was better than no music for drinking.

  The applause had barely subsided when a young woman stepped out of the restrooms. She glanced at the stage and the four band members, heart fluttering as she drew her white hood around her face. She shuffled toward the back, intending to stand unseen behind a group of girls in matching pink T-shirts. Unfortunately for her intentions, she saw Danielle sitting by herself at the bar.

  Alicia froze.

  “I’d like to introduce our first song of the night before we get started,” Devon continued. Who had given him control of the mic, again? “We call it ‘Slide.’”

  Although he had done it hundreds of times before, the seventy pairs of eyes looking in his direction made Devon’s fingers a tad slippery at the start of the song.

  The audience had no way of knowing this, of course, as Devon’s intro started with enough plucked notes to get the crowd clapping. The rest of the band exploded into an aural array of guitar, bass, and drum, crowd cheering and holding up their beers in appreciation. Before the first verse even kicked in, enough young women climbed up on their boyfriends’ shoulders or jumped on the floor as they pretended to be at their favorite band’s concert.

  What shocked the room the most, however, was Devon’s voice. It wasn’t deep. Not even when he spoke did he have a deep timbre that set himself apart from other young men his age. But his singing voice betrayed any level of timid thoughts in his mind. He plowed through lyrics about living life and enjoying the moments available, a theme many college-aged kids agreed with based on their level of cheering.

  Alicia stood a few feet away, debating whether to watch Devon in his moment of glory or to steal glimpses of Danielle in the corner of the room. She looked about as out of place as a tiger in a dolphin tank, drowning in a sea of loud music and screaming young adults.

  If they were still dating, Alicia would’ve held her hand to assure Danielle she wasn’t alone in the throng of sexed-up coeds.

  Devon singing made her feel worse. He was her boyfriend; he was her lover. She was supposed to be up front with Andy, cheering them on with more gusto than anyone else. Devon would become a prime sexual target after their concert was over and the tipsy coeds decided they wanted a man with a guitar. Alicia was supposed to fight them off, declaring her territory and taking Devon back for congratulatory sex for a performance well done. She was supposed to want to do
that.

  But she didn’t. She stayed back, clutching the locket around her neck and imbruing it with her conflicting thoughts for two of the universe’s most conflicting people.

  TWENTY-SIX

  “Best fucking show ever!” Serge declared the moment Andy rushed backstage to hug him. “So fucking killer, man! Did you see those chicks freaking out? Dream come true!”

  Clyde wrapped his arm around Devon’s shoulders. “My man, I am so damn proud of you. You made it through forty-five minutes of singing and strumming hell. And Rodney!” It was the drummer’s turn to get a slap on the back. “Rodney, you crazy man, I can’t believe you learned all those songs in time.”

  They made their way to Devon’s empty apartment, where cheap beer and reliving their success commenced. By the time they were on the last case of beer, Serge tipped over in his seat while Andy pleaded with him to not throw up in her lap. Rodney kept silent until he decided it was time for him to go home. Andy declared she needed to get Serge home before he vomited, passed out, or both at the same time. Without either Clyde or Devon’s help, she pulled her boyfriend out of the apartment and to the parking lot.

  The only thing Devon and Clyde could do was play video games. In their buzzed haze, killing each other on the TV became a whole new game as characters with machine guns ran in circles and shot at walls they thought were people.

  At about ten-thirty, somebody knocked on the door.

  Devon paused the game. He was too buzzed to assume it might be a considerate assassin come to crash his party. An assassin so considerate that she waited for him to have his moment of musical glory!

  He didn’t know whether to be surprised to see Danielle standing before him.

  “What’s up?”

  She shook herself awake again. Even now, one of Alicia’s winter coats hung on the rack by the door, a solemn symbol of what else existed between two reincarnated mercenaries. “I thought I’d drop by and congratulate you on your concert. Can I come in?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Devon stepped out of the way.

  Clyde tossed his controller onto the floor. No chance of the game resuming anytime soon. Devon’s intoxicated heart would make sure of that.