by Dee, Bonnie
Ian ran down an alley. Dumpsters and trash littered the narrow passage and the smell of urine and garbage was choking. On the opposite end of the alley was another street, but instead of heading toward it, Ian pushed through a side door into the building, hoping to fool their followers into thinking they’d taken a shortcut. He slammed the door closed, but couldn’t lock it as the latch was broken. For a moment he leaned against the door, panting and sweating and shot a sideways glance at the woman.
Her back was pressed against the wall, eyes closed and mouth open as she gasped for breath. It would be easy to run, to leave her behind, get his ass out of here and let her face whatever trouble she’d made for herself alone. But damned if just then she didn’t open her eyes and look at him with wide brown eyes that asked, What next?
“Jesus,” he muttered. “What the hell did you take?” Without waiting for an answer, he made a decision. “All right. Fuck it. Come on.” He grabbed her hand once more and led her down the hallway.
* * * *
After exiting from the opposite side of the building and taking a winding path over several city blocks, always on the lookout for the black Mercedes or the men in suits, Ian finally dragged the exhausted woman up the narrow staircase to his apartment, certain they hadn’t been followed.
He checked his security system—a sliver of paper on the top right corner of the door—to make sure no one had entered his apartment, then unlocked the door and let her inside. It felt weird. He never brought women home. Any business he had with them took place in their space, their beds. His home was private. It was also his workplace. There were piles of stolen merchandise stacked against one wall: DVD players, gaming systems, iPods and Palm Pilots. The living room also contained a couch and an HDTV with surround sound. That was all. A tiny kitchenette opened off the main room, two doors on the opposite wall led to the bath and bedroom.
Ian locked the door and turned to face the woman.
She immediately began to talk. “My name is Mirabai Kashi. I belong to an organization called KOTE. It’s imperative I get this box to headquarters in…”
Ian held up his hand. “I don’t wanna know. The less I know, the safer I am.”
“It’s too late now.” She fingered the smooth wooden box in her hands. “As long as they think you’re part of this, you’re in as much danger as if you’d taken the box yourself.”
Ian knew she was right. Besides, he was burning with curiosity. “Fine. Whatever.” He walked past her and dropped down on the couch. “Fill me in. Then call your people and get out of here.”
She followed him to the couch and perched on the edge. “What’s your name?”
“You don’t need to know.” He leaned against the back of the couch with his legs sprawled out, feigning nonchalance. He didn’t want her to know how uncomfortable it made him having her there.
A smile curved her lips. “Fair enough.” She paused. “Could I have a drink of water?”
He frowned. “You almost get me killed and now I have to play host?” He went to the kitchen and came back with a glass of tap water. It looked a little murky and he was kind of embarrassed he didn’t have bottled water to offer, but she took it and drained the glass.
Ian was transfixed for a moment, watching her throat work as she swallowed and her hand wipe her lips when she was finished. He took the empty glass then sat on the couch beside her again.
“All right.” Her voice had a trace of the lilting accent of India underlying the flat American drawl. “What I’m going to tell you will be difficult to believe, but trust me. It’s all true.”
“Uh-huh.”
“There is much more to this world than most humans know, things beyond their understanding because they’ve forgotten all they once knew.” She scooted back on the couch, turning to face him and gazing earnestly into his eyes.
Great. A zealot. Ian was paralyzed with the excruciating numbness only a door-to-door religion peddler could bring.
“There is a balance that must be maintained in order for the world to function smoothly. The elements of earth, air, water, fire and spirit are safe-guarded by Keepers, each with a special power over a particular element.”
Ian’s eyes glazed. It was worse than he’d thought. Not only a zealot, but a nut. He smiled and nodded to keep her happy.
“There are races other than human who occupy the planet. Protectors aid the Keepers in their work of balancing the elements, while Destroyers undermine the balance. Their acquisitive nature drives the world toward chaos. These three types are of a species called Terrans. We live alongside humans—always have. We are what many legends are based on. You’ve probably met Terrans in your life, but wouldn’t know it.”
“Interesting.” Ian glanced at the door, his legs itching to run again.
“In addition to Terrans there are many other inhabitants of the world; shapeshifters and elemental beings you might refer to as fairies, for example. But that’s…” She trailed off, looking deep into Ian’s eyes. “I’m losing you, aren’t I?”
“Not at all.” His fake smile stretched wider.
Mirabai paused and looked at the polished wood box on the coffee table then up at him again. “Is the box real?”
“Um. Yeah.”
“Were the men chasing us real?”
He nodded.
“Then listen to what I’m telling you and try to keep an open mind.” She reached out and rested a hand on his arm.
He stilled beneath her touch, feeling suddenly unaccountably calm, and waited for her to go on.
“When I ran to you, you heard me call for help inside your head as well as out loud,” she said. “You often receive flashes of what people are thinking, isn’t that true?”
Ian remained silent, alarmed that this woman was voicing a secret he’d hidden even from himself. He’d always had intuitive flashes but never wanted to think about them. It was simply a quirky gift he possessed, which helped when playing poker or deciding if someone was lying to him or not.
“I sensed that about you. My particular gift as a Keeper is bound to the metaphysical. I work to keep the spiritual world in balance, healing peoples’ psyches, opening their minds, raising consciousness of the ‘bigger picture’ so-to-speak. Understand?”
He blinked acknowledgement, although his mind still denied her words.
“Sometimes my work requires me to infiltrate the negative—what I’ll call the dark side for lack of a better term. Someone has to keep tabs on what they’re up to.” Mirabai smiled, accepting Ian’s incredulity. “I know how it sounds. I don’t blame you for doubting.”
“So, what’s in the box?” he asked, skirting the issue.
“I don’t know yet, but it’s important. I’ve been investigating Raymond Brody’s organization…”
“The TV guy! I just saw him tonight. He’s so full of shit.” Almost as much as you are.
“He’s not what he appears to be,” she agreed. “The man is trouble, but he’s only a small cog in a much bigger and more dangerous machine. I went to work for the Reno branch of the Center for Human Wellbeing and stumbled across more than a charlatan fleecing people for money.”
Her eyes were shadowed and she looked suddenly deeply exhausted. “Whatever is contained in this box is essential to the Destroyers. I overheard a conversation, seized an opportunity to take the box and ran. Now I need to call KOTE and deliver the box safely to headquarters.”
Whether Mirabai was crazy or not, the box was a fact—a mysterious fact with a locked golden clasp. Ian leaned over and picked it up. It was much heavier than he’d expected. He shook it.
“Don’t!”
He ignored her, getting up to go to the kitchen for a knife to pry the box open.
She followed him. “Don’t! This is not something to mess with.”
But Ian was already inserting a blade into the thin line where the lid closed and digging viciously at it. “Maybe I can pick the lock,” he muttered, tossing the useless knife down and digging throu
gh a drawer in search of something to use as a pick. “You have any hairpins?”
She grabbed the box from his hands. “Stop trying to open it. Haven’t you ever heard the story of Pandora’s box?”
“No.”
“A girl was told not to open a chest and when she disobeyed she unleashed all the evils of the world.”
“Huh. Interesting.” Ian snatched the box back and started cracking the seam against the edge of the counter.
“Would you … stop it?” She struggled for possession of the box.
For a moment they both had hold of it, then neither did and the box crashed to the kitchen floor. They stared down at it, but it hadn’t shattered. It sat on the floor, squat and unbreakable.
“Damn!” Ian said.
Mirabai leaned down and swept it up, glaring at him and cradling the box protectively. “Do you have a phone I can use or do I need to find a pay phone?”
He glared at the mysterious box. “Yeah.” Digging in his front jeans pocket for his cell phone, he handed it to her. “Needs recharging, but it should work for a few more calls.”
Mirabai gave him a hard look. “You said you didn’t have a phone on you.”
“I lied. I tend to do that.”
He left her in the kitchen to make her call, walked over to the closed blinds of the window overlooking the street and peered through the slats. He didn’t believe most of what she’d told him, but knew the men chasing her desperately wanted whatever was in that box. Although he was almost certain he’d lost them, he’d learned the “better safe than sorry” lesson long ago in hard ways.
The street was clear, but it didn’t mean much if these guys were already in the building. Ian wondered what had possessed him to bring Mirabai home with him. It was impulsive, stupid and soft—three qualities he never connected with himself. He wanted her out as soon as possible—her and her crazy stories and mysterious box.
She returned from the kitchen. “Someone is on his way to meet me. Justin Foster. He’s a Protector KOTE is sending to escort me to San Francisco.”
“Good.”
Now what was he supposed to do with her while she was waiting? Ian pictured how a normal evening would’ve passed for him. After meeting Quinlan in the park, he might have gone back to the bar for another couple of drinks and to watch the rest of the game, maybe hooked up with Sharysse or some other chick and had sex. Ian looked at Mirabai and wondered if the evening had to be a total loss.
“Do you mind if I use your bathroom to wash up?” She held up her dirty hands.
Ian considered saying, Only if I can scrub your back, but held his tongue and nodded. “I’ll find you a clean shirt to wear,” he said with a glance at her grimy, white blouse.
She smiled and her face was gloriously altered from average prettiness to exotic beauty. White teeth flashed against brown skin. Her dark eyes shone and crinkled at the corners. Ian forgot to breathe for a moment as she bestowed her smile on him like an amazing gift. When she turned away it was as if someone had doused the sun. A jolt of actual pain pierced his chest. He frowned at his over-the-top reaction to a simple smile. What the hell was that?
After directing her toward the bathroom, he went to his bedroom and rummaged through his dresser until he found a too-tight T-shirt. He knocked on the bathroom door.
Mirabai opened it and took the shirt he offered. Her face and hands were scrubbed clean, her hairline damp from the quick washing up. “Thanks.” Once more she smiled and he felt something like electric voltage surge through him. She closed the door and he stared at it. Christ, he needed a drink.
In the kitchen he took a bottle of whiskey and a glass from the cupboard, poured a couple of fingers and tossed it back. The liquid burned down his throat like molten gold and settled in his stomach, calming his frayed nerves. All he needed now was a cigarette and he’d be perfectly happy. He pulled the crumpled pack of Nicorette from his pocket and found only empty foil. Crap!
A moment later Mirabai came out of the bathroom wearing his Giants T-shirt. It hung on her small frame, the scoop of the neckline revealing most of her shoulders and her delicate collarbones. He had an urge to run his finger along the sharp ridge of bone. The thin fabric of the shirt molded against her chest for a moment, revealing two little points. He swallowed hard and his cock leaped to attention. Then she turned and the material became loose and sexless once more.
Ian poured another shot of whiskey for himself, then, remembering his host duties, held up the bottle. “Want one?”
“No thanks, but I’m quite hungry if you have anything on hand.”
He set down his glass and opened the fridge. There was most of a carton of fried rice that wasn’t more than a few days old. He handed it to her.
“Thank you.”
“Microwave’s there.” He pointed then retrieved a fork from a drawer for her.
Her back was to him as she set the food in the microwave. The T-shirt had slipped all the way off one shoulder. The sight of the smooth, brown curve was riveting. An intricate braided metal ring of what looked like brass, copper and gold clasped her upper arm.
“You can call me Mira, by the way. Mirabai is a little difficult for most Westerners.” She closed the microwave door and set the timer before turning around. “And do you think you could tell me your name now? It seems a little silly for me not to know it.”
He hesitated then shrugged. “Ian Black.”
She repeated his name. “Ian.” He liked the foreign lilt her slight accent gave it. “I suppose you have a lot of questions about all of this.”
“No questions. Not really. I’d rather not know what you’ve already told me. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.”
She cocked her head to one side. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
“No. But I know you’ve managed to piss somebody off big time. The sooner you’re out of here, the better.”
“Thank you for helping me,” Mira said. “I don’t know how long I could have kept running. And thank you for letting me use your phone to call KOTE.”
Despite his protestation of lack of curiosity, Ian actually had a lot of questions. He chose an easy one. “What’s the acronym stand for?”
“Keepers of the Environment. It’s sort of a governing board for all Keepers. Like the U.N.”
The woman really had her little imaginary world well thought out. Mira picked up his sketchbook, lying on the kitchen counter and flipped idly through it.
He stepped forward and snatched it from her hands. No one had ever looked at his sketches and as far as he was concerned no one ever would. His drawing habit was embarrassing and something he kept totally to himself. He opened a drawer and tossed the book into it. “So, you work for KOTE. You’re a … Keeper.”
“That’s right.” She half-smiled as she looked at him, as if she knew perfectly well he was humoring her.
The timer rang and she took the rice from the microwave.
“You control the elements like Storm in the X-Men?” No harm in playing into her fantasy.
“Well, my gifts as a Spirit Keeper aren’t quite that dramatic.” Her smile widened.
“What can you do?” Ian flashed on the park and Mira’s voice echoing inside his head, Help me!
“As I said, I’m a healer.” She forked up some rice and ate it.
Obviously she wasn’t going to brag on her imaginary magical powers so Ian changed tack. “This Brody guy. What’s he really up to? I knew all this peace and happiness bullshit was a scam.”
She shrugged. “Often there’s truth to be found even in the midst of lies. Not everything Brody says is wrong. But he’s manipulating people for purposes that have nothing to do with the ‘wellbeing’ he claims to offer.”
“He’s after their money.”
“That too, but I believe he has even deeper motives to control them. Brody is siphoning off some of the divine spark that accompanies will power. In essence, he’s putting the spiritual world off kilter while preparing his followers�
�� minds to obey him without question.”
“Brainwashing at that fancy retreat center?”
“Pretty much.” She wolfed down more rice. Ian enjoyed the gusto with which she ate. Mira might be a tiny thing, but she could pack it away. “My assignment was to find out everything I could about Raymond Brody’s operation by working on staff, find the weaknesses and figure out a way to reveal his true motivations to his followers. Then I learned about the box and things got … complicated.”
Ian leaned against the counter, sipping his whiskey. He glanced at the box sitting on the counter and wondered what it could possibly contain. Mira sounded so sane. Her words were sci-fi fantasy nonsense, but the gravity of her tone had him half-believing them. “Why are you telling me all of this? I’d think you’d want to keep it as secret as possible. How do you know I won’t go to Raymond Brody and sell you out?” Ian mentally kicked himself for saying it. He was going to get himself killed by this cult of KOTE if he didn’t watch out.
She set the takeout carton and fork down on the counter and looked into his eyes. “Because I know you. I told you I sense things about people. I recognized the good in you at once. You’ll be a big help in all of this, I know.” Her eyes glowed, dark brown and shining bright at the same time. For a moment her whole body seemed to radiate a golden luminescence.
Ian swallowed. “Lady, you got the wrong guy. I’m no hero.”
She gave him that heart-stopping smile again as she looked into him and apparently right through him, making him feel transparent. “Maybe you don’t know yourself as well as you think you do.”
“Naw. I’m pretty sure I’m not one of the good guys.” Ian thought of Haskell’s red face as the man gasped for breath on the floor of Manny’s restroom.
“I’m a pretty good judge of character,” she said. “That’s why I was sent to investigate Brody.”
“Why didn’t those guys shoot you when they had the chance and take the box back?” He changed the subject. “Would have been a lot easier.”
“I’m not sure.” Mira frowned. “Brody must have told them to bring me back alive so he could question me.”