Transcender Trilogy Complete Box Set

by Vicky Savage

  He laughs out loud. “Relax, Jade. They’re Imperial Storm Troopers. There’s a Star Wars convention at the Civic Center.”

  The server ignores my outburst and swipes Ash’s card. “Have a good day,” she says brightly.

  “Sorry, Ash. That was pretty lame. I guess I’m still a little paranoid after being attacked in Madison.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s good to be cautious. But you’re safe here. Shall we walk over to Trope’s? It’s not far.”

  As we approach the door to the shop, a large shadow floats low overhead, and I duck reflexively.

  Asher takes my arm. “It’s okay, Jade. It’s just an air taxi. This building has a port on its roof.”

  I look up to see the undercarriage of a small hovercraft as it lifts higher and then skates onto the top of the building. “Oh, cool. I’ve never seen one of those.”

  “You’re so jumpy today.” He opens the door for me.

  “I know. I guess my little mishap in the broom closet has made me kind of skittish, and honestly, I’m feeling pretty out of place here.”

  “You’ll get used to things soon enough. Try to relax. This will be fun.”

  The Trope’s saleslady recognizes Asher as we step inside. “What may I do for you today, Mr. Steele?” she asks.

  “We’re shopping for my friend here,” he says. “She’s partial to classic Italian design but nothing too slick or traditional. She also leans toward the brighter colors.”

  The saleslady rubs her hands together enthusiastically. “Ah, we have just received some wonderful new imports. Come, I think you will be pleased.”

  We follow her to the “Eclectic Section,” and Asher quickly goes to work pulling together accessories, small furniture pieces, and art that he thinks will work in my place. He doesn’t give me much time to make up my mind about things. “Go with your gut reaction,” he says. “If you don’t instantly love it, you never will.”

  After two hours, we’re finally finished, and none too soon. My head is swirling, and I can’t say for sure what I actually ended up choosing. I sip on an espresso while Ash and the saleslady work out the delivery and payment details.

  “Here.” Asher hands me a carefully wrapped brown package. “I thought you’d like to take home that vase you loved so much.”

  “Oh, sweet. I didn’t go over my budget, did I? This place doesn’t look like it has Ikea pricing.”

  “Nah, you’re good. They love Transcenders here, so they worked with us a little on some of the prices, and the vase is a gift from me.”

  “Ash, no,” I say. “I can’t accept it. It’s too much. I’ve got some extra money …”

  He clutches his chest dramatically. “You wound me. Of course you can accept it. It’s a house warming present.”

  I lower my eyes. It doesn’t feel right taking a gift from him. I don’t want to send the wrong message.

  He places a finger under my chin and raises my eyes to his. “Hey, you can accept a gift from me,” he says softly. “It doesn’t mean anything other than I want you to have it.”

  My lips twitch into a smile. “I do love it, Ash. Thanks … for everything. I never could have done this on my own, and the vase is exquisite.”

  “It was fun for me. I’m glad you asked me along.” He checks his watch and tips his head toward the door. “We’d better get back to the Chateau. I’ve got to be someplace in about an hour.”

  I follow him outside. “Does that mean you won’t be at dinner tonight?”

  “’Fraid not. You’ll have to fill me in if anything earth-shattering happens.”

  Unexpectedly, he grasps my arm and pulls me into a small deserted alley. “I don’t normally like to do this in public when I’m in Arumel,” he whispers, turning his head both ways to make sure we’re alone.

  He puts an arm around my waist, and for one frozen second I think he’s going to kiss me. Instead, he says, “Do you mind if we shift back? I need time to shower and change.”

  “Sure. Let’s go.” I smile with relief.

  “Hang on.” Zzzt.

  THIRTY-SIX

  After dinner, I check the Chateau’s front door several times before changing for bed, but Callie’s a no-show. I feel kind of rejected and more than a little lonely, so I send out a few emails to people in Connecticut, not really expecting any responses tonight.

  The quiet of the huge house is a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of Warrington Palace, and it’s hard to keep my thoughts from wandering to Domerica. The pain of Ryder’s absence throbs deeply in my soul, and I fret about Lorelei and all she’s facing as queen. The fact that I’m forbidden to set foot there, makes me a little crazy.

  Nights are still the worst. I stare out my window at the darkened Chateau grounds and watch the lights of the Emerald City sparkle and dance in the distance. Air-taxis take off and land atop the skyscrapers, like fireflies in the inky sky. It’s all so beautiful, but still so foreign to me. Sometimes it’s hard to get my arms around which part of my life was or is real. I’m not really anchored to one specific earth or reality right now, leaving me feeling kind of displaced and homeless.

  My mood drifts from melancholy to border-line depression, and I realize it’s not wise to sit here and mope all night. Maybe some of Ralston’s famous chamomile tea will help with my insomnia. It’s late, I know, but how much sleep do automatons really need?

  “Vasa, call Ralston.” I say.

  “Good evening, Jaden,” Vasa says. “Calling Ralston.” After several rings, she informs me that there’s no answer. “Shall I leave a message?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll see him tomorrow.” He and Gil missed dinner because they had gone out to the opera. They must be making a late night of it.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?” Vasa asks.

  I consider striking up a little conversation with her, but quickly realize what a loser that makes me. “No thanks. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Jaden.”

  It occurs to me that the main kitchen downstairs probably has a supply of chamomile tea. It won’t be Ralston’s special blend, but it may help make me drowsy. I might even happen upon a little company if I’m lucky. Surely I’m not the only one in the Chateau still awake at this hour. I throw my fluffy bathrobe over my tank top and pajama bottoms and pad downstairs in my slippers.

  The kitchen’s dark and deserted, and I’m nearly blinded when I flip on the overhead lights. I quickly shut them off, opting instead for the soft under-counter lighting. A bank of high-tech ovens—microwave, convection, and others I don’t recognize—lines one wall, but I like my tea the old fashioned way, plus, I have all the time in the world. I fill the kettle with water and put it on the stove top to heat while I search the cupboards for tea.

  Locating the drawer of teas is easy. Finding what I want isn’t. Dozens of boxes of green tea, black tea, white tea, and rooibos are crammed side-by-side into the wide drawer. It takes me several minutes to locate the herbals and find the chamomile half-way back in the row. I have my choice of loose leaves or bags. Again, I go old-school and fill a silver tea ball with some of the fragrant leaves.

  While I’m waiting for the water to boil, I stroll over to the small lounge adjoining the kitchen in hopes of finding another night owl or two. A lamp burns softly in the corner, but the fire has turned to embers, and not a soul is present in the cozy room. Guess I am the only insomniac in the place.

  Wisps of steam waft from the kettle spout, and I pull a blue and white chipped mug from the cupboard. For the first time, I become aware of a slight but consistent rasping noise coming from the direction of a work room off the rear of the kitchen. Maybe someone is awake after all, or maybe we just have really big mice. I follow the sound and peer into the dimly lit room with its tool-lined walls and scarred work tables.

  I barely make out the silhouette of a man laboring at something under the lamp of a work bench. It’s Urick. Oh great. Mr. Taciturn. Not exactly my first choice for stimulating midnight conversat
ion, but I do like him, and maybe I can get him to tell me more about his weird home earth.

  I head back to the kitchen and take another mug from the cabinet. After filling a second infuser with chamomile, I pour the now boiling water into both mugs. While the tea steeps, I locate a pitcher of milk and a bowl of raw sugar crystals. I like my tea sweet and milky, but I decide to leave Urick’s plain. He doesn’t strike me as the milk and sugar type. Hell, he’d probably prefer rust shavings in his tea, but he’ll have to add his own. I grasp a mug in each hand and head fearlessly into the unknown.

  Urick’s head jerks up the second I enter the room. He acknowledges me with only the slightest glance and then goes back to his task.

  “Hi,” I say, setting his mug on the bench next to him.

  “Good evening,” he says without looking up. He’s wearing a sleeveless tunic, and his arms are seriously impressive—huge biceps and ropy muscular forearms. He methodically works a papery cloth up and down the length of a shiny blade.

  “What’re you working on?” I ask.

  He holds up a long curved weapon with a serrated tip and a razor sharp edge. The lamplight glints from its mirror finish as he turns it from side to side. “It’s a Throkkin. Used in Demonstadt, where I’m from.”

  It’s the same sword he used to sever the robot’s head in Madison. “Looks heavy,” I say, noting the unusual thickness of the grooved blade.

  “That is what makes it so lethal.” He goes back to his polishing. His hunched posture silently telegraphs leave me to my work, but I’m not ready to give up just yet. There must be a glimmer of personality behind all that splendid brawn.

  I stare for a moment at a fearsome battle scene tattooed from shoulder to wrist on Urick’s left arm. I’ve never seen his tattoo before because I’ve never seen him out of uniform. I recognize the piece from somewhere.

  “I like your sleeve,” I say.

  He looks at his arms, then up at me, like Huh? I’m not wearing any sleeves.

  I gesture my mug in the direction of his arm. “Your tattoo, your ink.”

  “Oh, thank you,” he says quietly.

  “It looks like a painting I remember from art class. Isn’t that the Clash of the Amazons?”

  “The Battle of the Amazons,” he corrects. “Peter Paul Rubens.”

  “Oh yeah. Beautiful work.”

  He gazes at me a moment with his penetrating eyes. “You should not do this,” he says finally.

  “Uh, do what?”

  “Play the temptress with me.”

  That makes me laugh, and I nearly spit a mouthful of tea across the room. “The temptress?” I choke. “You think I’m flirting with you?”

  He half shrugs. “It is late at night, and you have no man. You have come here alone dressed only in your nightclothes.”

  I look down at my bulky pink robe with its embroidered blue bunnies.

  “Great powers of deduction, Sherlock. I hate to break it to you, though, I’m not looking for a boyfriend or a quick bop between the sheets, and if I were, it wouldn’t be with anyone as scary as you.” I fold my arms across my chest and stare at him defiantly.

  He tilts his head. “You think me frightening?”

  The glint in his eyes tells me he’d like it if I say yes. “Well, maybe a little with that blade in your hand, but mostly I think you’re just kind of cranky.”

  “Cranky?” Not what he expected. His face splits into a huge grin. It looks good on him. He has great teeth. “I suppose I can be.”

  “Look Urick, you’ve done a lot for me over these past weeks, and I appreciate it. I’m just trying to be friends here.”

  His smile fades. “A man and woman cannot be friends. They can come together for pleasure or for procreation, but not friendship.”

  I snort like any good temptress would. “Maybe it’s like that in Demon-ville, or wherever you come from, but it’s not like that on my earth, and it’s certainly not like that here. Asher and I are friends.”

  He lowers his head, and looks up at me through thick lashes. “Asher would bed you in a heartbeat if you would allow it.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but if I’m serious about being friends with this guy, honesty’s a good start. “That may or may not be true, but it’s completely irrelevant to this discussion because you wouldn’t.”

  He narrows his golden eyes at me, as if contemplating this. “No. I wouldn’t,” he says with conviction.

  I should probably be insulted, but I’m not. I know Urick thinks of me as kind of an annoying kid sister, someone he needs to protect and defend. He’s been doing that since the first day we met. Sort of the way Patrick did.

  “Well all right then. Friends it is.” I raise my mug in salute.

  He responds with a curt nod and goes back to his work. I’m not sure if it’s a nod of agreement, or a nod of dismissal, but I decide not to press the issue tonight. Instead, I slide the untouched mug of tea closer to him on the bench and turn for the door.

  When I reach the threshold, he calls after me, “I like milk and honey in mine.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ll remember that for next time,” I say over my shoulder, smiling to myself. “Night Urick.”

  “Goodnight, Jaden.” It’s the first time he’s ever said my first name.

  Okay, this is good. I think I just made a new friend.

  * * *

  The chamomile works like a charm on me, and I sleep restfully through the night, until an insistent scratching at my door makes me roll out of bed to see what’s up. I open up to find Callie waiting in the hall, her whole body wagging. Someone must have let her inside the Chateau. I’m glad she knows the way to my door.

  “Hey, girl. Where were you last night? I missed you.” I crouch down beside her. She flicks her wet tongue across my cheek, and prances inside to the kitchen, which appears to be a demand for food.

  Once we’ve finished breakfast, I pull my gun case from its shelf. “I’ve got a busy day, girl, but I hope you’ll stick around or at least come back tonight.” We head downstairs, and I kiss her forehead before shifting to the police barracks.

  Firearms Training goes surprisingly well now that I have a pistol that suits me. Eloise promises we’ll do some outdoor practice tomorrow, to mix things up a little.

  I feel apprehensive on my way to Luci’s office for Spontaneous Shifting. A broom closet’s one thing, but what if I land in some serious trouble today?

  “Good morning, SG. How’s the knee?” she says when I arrive.

  “It feels okay this morning.”

  “Great! Well, I think I have this all figured out now. We’re going to adopt a more gradual approach. We’ll prioritize our locations, and the first few times you’ll shift with your bracelet. Then, when you’re comfortable, we’ll try it without the bracelet and see how that works.”

  “Wait a minute, have you ever taught anyone Spontaneous Shifting before?”

  “Well, no. Mathew, the guy who usually teaches it, is off on an exploration for three weeks. Narowyn asked me to sub for him.”

  I do an internal eye roll. That explains a lot. “All right. The gradual approach sounds reasonable. What do we do first?”

  We agree that the main foyer of the Chateau is the best place to start, since I’ll likely be coming and going mostly from there. I pick a spot next to a table with an enormous vase of flowers on top. This is my home spot for today’s session. After we move the flowers out of the way, I practice shifting to and from various locations, always landing back by the table. I use my TPD bracelet until I’m sure I have the location and the feeling down. After that, I try it on my own. The method works fairly well. I overshoot the table a few times, but I always land in the foyer and don’t have any calamities like yesterday. This is progress.

  I arrive at my Alternate Earths class early to make up for being late yesterday. The classroom is still mostly empty, and I approach Gil at his desk.

  “How was the opera last night?” I ask.

  “Oh, delightful
. I love Carmen, don’t you?”

  “Um, I’ve never seen it.”

  “You really should. Constantine was most impressed with our opera company. He says it’s one of the best he’s seen.”

  “That’s nice. I’m glad you and Ralston enjoy some of the same things.”

  “I have the materials we discussed yesterday,” he says, handing me another small black memory card. “Everything you ever need to know about Earth A1W5 is on that card. I hope you find it enlightening.”

  “Thanks Gil. Asher took me downtown yesterday, and I felt like a real country bumpkin. The more I learn about Arumel, both the city and the country, the quicker I’ll adjust—I hope.”