The Onyx Palace

THE COLLECTOR 8: THE ONYX PALACE Diane Charles Linford And Jade Rivers

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***** This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable.

The Collector 8: The Onyx Palace Diane Charles Linford and Jade Rivers This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by Loose Id LLC 1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-2924 Carson City NV 89701-1215 www.loose-id.com

Copyright © July 2007 by Diane Charles Linford and Jade Rivers All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

ISBN 978-1-59632-498-5 Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

Printed in the United States of America

Editor: Liam Stalls Cover Artist: Christine M. Griffin

www.loose-id.com

Prologue

Alan Deacon, Assistant Manager for Hillendale's Auction and Antiquarian Specialties House, casually performed the rituals of a weekday evening. He brushed his teeth, fed the cat, set the coffee maker for 6am, and undressed tidily. He placed his soiled underclothes in the hamper, and folded his trousers and shirt into a bag for the dry cleaners. Slipping noiselessly between the sheets, he fell almost instantly to sleep. He had absolutely no forewarning of the spectacular vision that would prompt him to break into his own workplace early Friday morning. In his dream, the item sat on a special display table, covered by a soft linen drape. Alan had no idea what was under the drape. He only knew it sparked a morbid curiosity, drawing him like a moth to flame. In eerie reverie, he watched as the draping magically rose from around the object. Spectacular atmospheric visions of black spires, parapets, and endless dark stairways spread out before him. Instinctively, he knew it was thousands of years old, its history intertwined with grand stories of battles, victories, and corrupt power. Staffed by faceless miniature guards, the dark relic haunted his reality; curiously enough, it reflected a sort of ghostly image via the security camera feed at work. Wait a second -- at work? Alan suddenly remembered catching a glimpse of a linen-draped artifact being transported through the loading dock, though he couldn’t remember processing any paperwork in receiving. His final vision manifested as a doorway he knew intimately -- the vault door at Hillendale’s. A distant voice teased his subconscious. Blood rising, Alan heard a call to action, which rang like an impassioned battle cry through his brain: “Serve the Emperor of Light.” Alan Deacon lurched up in bed, shaking with an unseasonable chill. No point in trying to go back to sleep -- he was hopelessly compelled to examine the artifact.

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From a conversation earlier in the evening, he knew the Director, Mr. Mason, and his new off-the-books client would arrive at the auction house around eight-thirty or nine o’clock to inspect it. He’d sneaked a look at his boss’s personal calendar for Friday morning: Anastasia Romanov IV. He snickered. Who did the woman think she was kidding? Oh well, when you have enough money, you can afford to be eccentric. As Assistant Manager, Alan wanted to sneak a peek at the mysterious object before the two of them arrived. So he planned to let himself in through the storage entrance around seven-fifteen, using a copy of the electronic passkey he’d had made surreptitiously to gain access to the inner sanctum of Hillendale’s security storage area. If he showered now, he could be dressed, out the door, and on his way to work well before seven. He planned his approach mentally as he drove to work. Alan Deacon knew, along with the electronic passkey, he’d need to have an access code, as well -- a secondary key code, too. As Assistant Manager, he’d ingratiated himself enough with the manager to learn the code while making runs to the security vault whenever Don Mason deemed it necessary, so he’d memorized that long ago. The sequence worked. He slipped inside, glancing at the security camera. He knew of no way to bypass the feed, but Alan figured he’d merely erase that part of the surveillance tape after this morning’s examination. Carefully removing the cover from the mystery object, Alan gasped. There the subject of his vision stood in grand miniature! The palace was carved from pure onyx, although there looked to be jade accessories affixed to it. As dark as its materials were, this castle -- this palace, fairly glowed with an extraordinary beauty. Almost as if it contained a supernatural iridescence… His thoughts raced. The Emperor of Light reigned near. What the hell did that mean? Deacon recognized the oriental spires and delicately carved winding staircases. Then his eyes lit upon the strangest paradox: the sentries that he’d seen in his dream last night stood guard all along the parapet towers -- indeed, placed strategically around the palace; posted at every entrance to the dozens of staircases. How many guards did he see? Scores, maybe hundreds as far as he could tell, yet, many of the faces had curiously detailed facial features. Scrutinizing the immense palace rendered in miniature scale, Alan noted dozens of the intricately carved figures were scattered sporadically through the ranks of expressionless guards. However, most looked as generic as pawns in a chess set. What the hell? Some of the faces appeared decidedly feminine, as well. Now that puzzled him. Alan walked slowly around the exquisitely wrought onyx palace until he came to the entrance gate, complete with working gates set upon intricately hand-carved hinges. Alan couldn’t help himself; his hands went to the gates to carefully pry them open. He bent down to get a look at the interior, just in time to note a yellow-orange light playfully twinkling

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deep in the interior. Now the twinkling began to transform itself into a glow. He squinted in surprise. What was this about? Last night’s dreams had fed ominous hints to his subconscious, but now he understood. Atop the throne sat the Emperor of Light -- Lord of the Onyx Palace. The throne room’s interior gleam brightened, flooding the interior with a curious yellow-orange tinge. Arrested by the hypnotic, pulsing brilliance, his soul was suddenly compelled forward, out of his body. A strong burst of blinding light strobed out from the centermost interior of the castle to surround him, an electrifying charge enveloped him, and Alan’s wish to meet the ruler of this powerful palace, to serve -- the Emperor of Light, was granted. Captured by the Onyx Palace, he was whisked inside to serve the whims of the Emperor of Light. Though the corporation’s security camera fuzzily recorded the whole thing, it failed to note one of the formerly blank-faced figurines, a merchant in the marketplace, now sported the horrifically enraptured facial features of Alan Deacon.

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Chapter One She spent most of Saturday morning spying on the new neighbor’s house. She even thought about having business cards printed up that read: Tabitha Mason, Terminally Nosy

Neighbor. Tabitha stood at the front window, watching the men unload the moving van that had been parked in front of the house next door all morning. Decked out in her bathrobe and sipping her coffee, Tabitha wondered about the person moving in. Funny, she thought, this was the most exciting Saturday she’d spent in weeks. Far better than spending yet another weekend alone while her husband allegedly attended to details at Hillendale's Antiquarian Specialties. Don claimed he spent his free time researching and obtaining rare and specialized fine art and artifacts for his mysterious, “off the books” clients. “Where does he go all day?” She sighed to no one in particular. What she dared not acknowledge, even to herself, was the strange aroma of perfume on Don’s clothes when he returned home at night. She moved to sit quietly on the arm of the sofa, crossed her legs and took another sip of her coffee. She glanced around the room and snorted. “God, almost twenty-nine and still nothing to show for it. Married right out of college, no kids, no job, no hobbies, just a bored, lonely woman living vicariously through her more entertaining neighbors…I have to get a life.” Even though today happened to be their seventh wedding anniversary it seemed just like any other Saturday at the Mason’s, because Don just plain didn’t care. Intent on spending their special day with his mystery benefactor, under the pretext that his profitable ends justified all her lonely weekends, he’d be gone all day. “More likely he’s forgotten our anniversary altogether.”

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Tabitha had almost convinced herself she didn't mind. She should be getting used to being alone. After all, this was the third year in a row he’d forgotten their anniversary. For the third year in a row, he’d be gone most of the day and return totally clueless as to why she should be irritated with him. Lifting her coffee mug in a mock toast, she gushed, “Happy anniversary, Tabbi darling!” “Why thank you, honey! Oh my, what a beautiful gift you bought me!” Then she harrumphed to clear her throat. She didn’t have many friends to turn to. In fact, she didn’t have any. Feeling isolated and insecure, Tabitha didn't get out much to meet new friends. She’d have to remedy that, she told herself. Someday. “Damn -- dirty, lowdown, bottom-feeding, slimy bastard!” She flushed, and pushed her tiny feelings of guilt aside as she scorched her tongue gulping hot coffee. She’d lost contact with most of her high school and college friends over the years. Nobody ever came by the house. On the rare occasion Don decided to stay home, he’d invite one of his male clients or a golfing buddy over to watch a game on television; relegating Tabbi to the role of waitress -- serving beer and snacks all day. Even when she’d hinted that he might allow her to play the piano for his friends’ entertainment, Don dismissed the idea. “Now, honey, I doubt any of them would appreciate your talents.” How would they know if she didn’t try? Still sitting on the arm of the sofa, Tabitha placed the coffee cup down on the table and stretched out one of her legs. Absentmindedly, she began feeling the little stubbles of leg hair as she rubbed her fingertips along her leg and thigh. Damn! She’d have to shave them again. Smooth skin was a pet peeve of hers, something she’d obsessed over since puberty. She studied her own reflection in the tinted window glass. Dutiful Trophy Wife. She sighed. Don owned the ultimate, macho corporate accessory in Tabitha. An exotic blonde with long, flowing hair, at five feet eight inches tall, she had long, shapely legs, a fabulous figure and flashing green eyes. A lot of people encouraged her to try modeling when she was younger, but Tabbi passed up the opportunity to go on to college. Besides, she had told herself, I’m probably too busty to model. Pulling her shoulders back, Tabitha smoothed her hands across her belly, then struck a pose in front of the reflective glass. She’d passed modeling up once more to get married. After all, marriage was supposed to open all those wonderful doors for a woman. Instead, it trapped her in this pathetic excuse for a life. It wasn’t exactly locked, but she lacked the courage to go through it, perhaps fearing it would shut behind her with an awesome finality. Had her life completely deteriorated to the point where she aspired to nothing more than the superficial trappings of a trophy wife? She couldn’t bring herself to answer the question honestly. At least she still had her music, Tabbi’s thoughts backpedaled. Yeah, right!

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The clatter of an appliance dolly forced her to glance one more time outside at the moving van. What in the world were those? One of the men rolled in what appeared to be two large Rubbermaid tubs carefully painted up to look like -- buildings? Okay, now the mystery was laid out before her. Maybe these were some sort of art freaks. Reluctantly leaving the scene, Tabitha stood up to walk toward the bathroom. As she passed by the one tangible memory of her grandmother she kept in the living room, her late grandmother’s classic baby grand piano, Tabitha’s fingers ran a smooth arpeggio along the open keyboard before she gently closed the keyboard guard. She and Don had used one hundred thousand dollars of her inheritance to put a significant down payment on this house -- this high-class plush prison. Now Don diminished her initial financial contribution just like he belittled everything else in her life. That money and the piano constituted her grandmother’s legacy to her only daughter. Her mother and grandmother fought constantly, but on one point, they agreed completely.

“I hope you’re right, Tabitha,” her mother had admonished her just hours before the ceremony. “I hope he’s really the right man for you.” “Mom, why are you telling me this?” “I just want what’s best for you, darling, that’s all.” Nana had nodded and taken Tabitha’s hand. “Listen to your mother, dear. She knows what’s best.” Tabitha had barely known how to react when two normally opposing forces stood united. Perhaps the shock of that unity caused her to dismiss their warnings as mere maternal over-protectiveness. Entering the bathroom, she dropped her robe and stepped into the shower. Tabitha stood in the shower stall examining the hair on the back of her legs, trying not to dwell on her disappointing life with Don. Most couples indulged in the luxury of making love on their wedding anniversary, with mind-blowing, multiple orgasms, even. Of course, she and Don weren’t “most people,” as he reminded her often enough. “We’re special,” he’d say. “The universe has plans for us.” When they were first married, that phrase seemed to open windows to a bright future. It now left a sour, curdled taste in her mouth, as if someone had poured both lemon juice and milk into her tea cup. Sour -- just like my sex life -- just like this sham of a marriage. Gripping her razor as if it had metamorphosed into her last, tenuous grip on reality, she turned on the shower and held her hand underneath while she adjusted the hot water temperature. As soon as the hair on her legs softened, she lathered them liberally with ginger-lemon body wash and began to shave the nearly invisible blonde stubble away. Once satisfied with the smooth finish of her long, lean body, Tabitha rose, letting the hot water of the shower flow down her breasts in warm rivulets. The droplets caressed her

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like warm fingers, sliding over every inch of her exposed skin. The shower showed more interest in her body than her own husband did. Don hardly touched her anymore, and when they did have sex, it was over in less than five minutes. Just long enough for him to climb on top of her, climax, and then get off and fall asleep. As she thoroughly cleansed her privates, her fingers began to gently massage the ridges and valleys of her aching pussy. Her exploring digit glided over a sensitive furrow, zinging her insides with a delightful, convulsive shock.

Seven years, and they’d never had children. Where did that come from? Oh yes, she’d heard of the psychological phenomenon of storing memories in the body’s tissues. As the next tingle flashed deep inside, Tabbi gasped. They’d tried for the first three or four years that they’d been married, but they never could conceive. Now her fingers worked faster and of their own accord as she slipped slowly into the hypnotic spell of the rhythmic, intimate caress.

God knows, her in-laws always blamed her for the two of them being childless. What was she doing bringing her in-laws into her fantasy? Stop that! No, her fingers told her loins, she needed this time to herself. Time to prove she was a valuable sexual commodity who deserved to be fondled and held and loved for hours on end until she and her partner came up from their rousing conjoining all messy, exhausted, and panting like two runners who’d just finished a marathon.

If I ever get out of this marriage, I’ll look for a man who wants to build a real life with his wife and children, and then one day I might just wake up pregnant. Oh, God, her fingers found a magic spot, which lifted her out of the ordinary and carried her to the amazing. Suddenly, the water in the shower went cold. Damn that hot water heater, she thought. The appliance store assured her it was the best money could buy. So why didn’t it work? Tabitha toweled off and jerked her robe back on. May as well take a good look at the hot water heater, she thought. She walked back to the guest bedroom and opened the small utility closet door. Okay, just a quick look at the various components and that will be that. Tabitha dreaded what came next. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and centered her mind. Tabbi hesitated about opening her eyes again because she knew what to expect. As a very young girl, she’d exhibited a strange power. At first, she’d thought everybody possessed this ability. Years of teasing and mockery by her family and friends had finally taught her to keep her mouth shut about her curious ability. With a deep breath and a little extra willpower she opened her eyes. She still dreaded those initial shocks as the unexpected images hit her.

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Instead of a hot water heater, Tabbi saw a great, swollen bladder of pulsing, moisturecovered skin, bloated with water and hooked on either end to several small lizard-like creatures like those that a child might see in a nightmarish fairy tale. Down at the bottom, a cube-shaped gray varmint hung very tenuously onto the bloated sack. As soon as she examined the little gray creature, Tabitha sighed.

The thermostat was dying. The small, limp creature, just about the size of a small transformer, seemed to wheeze at the base of the water heater. She reached down to stroke it gently, and it looked up at her slowly with watery red eyes. “Well, you’re not very long for this world are you?” She patted it gently on top of its head and sighed once more. “Guess I’ll have to get out and replace you today.” She closed her eyes once more and the vision of the water heater returned to normal. She memorized the make and model number of the thermostat. Tabitha knew it was best she fixed the mechanism herself. If Don had to pay to have it fixed, he’d figure a way to deduct it from her household expenses. She went back to her bedroom, wrote down the model number, and then picked up a hairbrush to run through her hair. Smoothly coiffed, Tabbi began to apply her make-up. “Maybe we’ll go someplace special for our anniversary,” she grumbled. “You know, like McDonald’s or Dairy Queen.” When Tabbi finished with her lipstick, she closed her purse and looked at her refection. She’d chosen a pair of white shorts and a green stretch top, hoping to keep cool during another hot and humid July day. Beech Haven, Michigan enjoyed a reputation as both a lakeside summer tourist town and a bedroom community for Grand Rapids to the east. The inhabitants had to put up with high humidity in the hot months and lake effect snow in the winter. Tabitha slipped into some kitten-heeled mules and headed out the door. She was ready to step into the car when someone called out a cheerful, “Hello.” Tabitha turned and saw an attractive black woman standing and waving from the driveway next door. Tabitha smiled back, and literally froze. She slowly stepped back from her car as the woman walked forward, extending her hand out as if to shake Tabbi’s.

My God! She’s the negative image of me. “Incredible,” Tabitha blurted aloud, as she looked into the green eyes of the new neighbor. Tabbi felt as if she were looking at a mirror image. “Wow!” The woman stopped and for a few long seconds they stared curiously at each other. The African American woman must have had some Hispanic blood in her, or maybe Native American blood -- if not a touch of European. Caramel colored, perfect, unblemished skin, she too, looked as if she might have once been a model. “Wow is right! You even have my eyes!” the woman said, smiling brightly and clapping her hands together in appreciation. Then, she extended her right hand again. “My name is

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Jasmine King. It looks like I'm going to be your new neighbor, and you’re going to be my…pale twin.” Tabitha grinned and took Jasmine’s hand, noticing how warm and open the woman who’d just introduced herself was. Impulsively, Tabbi embraced Jasmine in an excited hug. “I'm so very pleased you moved in, Jasmine. I'm Tabitha Mason and I live right here with my…uh…husband, Don.” The two women stared silently at each other for a moment, until Tabbi broke the silence. “I was just going out to do some shopping. Listen, if I can get you anything while I'm out, I'd be happy to.” Jasmine raised her finger and said. “Hey, would you mind very much if I rode along with you? It will only take me a minute to get my purse. Besides, the moving men can finish up on their own. They don't need me standing around. To be honest, I think I’m getting on their nerves.” “Aren’t you worried they might…?” “Steal something?” Jasmine actually laughed. “They work for my uncle’s company. In fact, the head mover knew me as a little kid in braces. So that won’t be a problem.” “As long as you’re certain…” Tabitha grinned. “Actually, it’d be nice to have someone come shopping with me. It’ll break the monotony.” “Great!” Jasmine smiled back. “I'll go get my things, and let the movers know I'll be out of their hair for awhile. Be right back.” Tabitha watched Jasmine as she sprinted back into her house. She appeared to be a bit more athletic than Tabbi, but about the same dress size, both displaying an hourglass figure. Tabbi wished she was comfortable enough with her own body to let it gain the pounds needed for those soft, shapely curves. Jasmine's black hair was about the same length as hers -- in fact; they would have shared the same hairstyle, if Tabbi hadn’t had her soft blonde curls straightened -- at Don’s insistence, of course. Could this all be coincidence? Together, the two of them would certainly attract attention. Not that Don ever noticed anymore. No, that wasn’t fair. Tabitha knew he noticed whenever she let herself gain a pound or two, or when she skipped an appointment at the hairdresser’s, especially when he needed her to make an appearance at some function. She always felt like some kind of expensive trinket clinging to his arm. For a while, she’d gotten the obligatory trophy fuck. However, even that seemed to be ancient history. Tabbi grimaced. Was she just another possession? No, he wouldn’t try so hard to break his precious “possessions.” Whoa! That thought had sprung into her mind unbidden. On the other hand, Jasmine King looked gorgeous. Maybe now she’d have a friend, as well as some genial competition. Thankful that her new neighbor had taken the time to introduce herself, Tabitha smiled inwardly.

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As Jasmine walked out of her garage door, Tabbi noticed Jasmine’s infectious smile; the freshest, most genuine smile Tabbi had seen in years. Jasmine expressed friendliness with her whole face. She exuded a warmth and amiability that Tabbi had never experienced. When Jasmine returned to the car, Tabitha beamed and said to her, “It'll be really nice to have someone to spend Saturday with for a change.” Jasmine grinned back as she got into the car, and they drove off. “Saturday’s kind of a slow day for me, too.” “Slow is a word,” Tabitha added, glancing over at her partner. They really did look alike. Except of course, Jasmine King was an exotic, vivacious Bohemian, who apparently didn’t have a shy bone in her body. “I think we kind of look like reverse negatives.” “Except for the eyes,” Jasmine responded. “Weird how we both have the same color green eyes. You know, I never thought I’d look very convincing as a blonde, but on you it’s perfect.” Tabbi blushed. “It’s not exactly natural.” “You wouldn’t know…” Tabitha and Jasmine spent the trip to the grocery superstore talking like long-lost sisters making up time. They began to compare everything about their lives. Asking whether or not there was a Mr. King, Tabitha found out that Jasmine's husband, William, had been killed in the Marines by an IED bomb two years previously in Iraq; so she had been getting by on his military death benefits from the Casualty Assistance Office. The final insurance paperwork had cleared just recently. “I’ve got more copies of the 8283 than you’d ever think possible.” Jasmine sighed. “We’d only been married a little more than a year when I lost him.” “Eighty-two eighty-three?” Tabbi repeated. “I needed a VA form SGLV-8283 to get William’s life insurance. Then you have to have a DD-397. That was for his active duty voucher for death gratuity payment, one-half of which is taxable, by the way -- talk about rubbing salt into the wound. And, since he was eligible for the Montgomery GI bill, I had to get a copy of the DD-1300 for a percentage share of that.” “Sounds complicated.” “It’s mostly tedious paperwork. There are supposed to be groups out there to help you through the hassle, but I discovered I could do it just as easily myself,” she said. “His life insurance lump sum payment was part of the reason someone like me could afford a house in this neighborhood.” “So are you eligible for his Social Security benefits, too?” “Not really, we didn’t have any children,” Jasmine answered. “Anyway, since we weren’t married for ten years, I’d have to remain unmarried until after I’m sixty -- and that’s over thirty-two years away.”

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“Oh, my God! I’m twenty-eight, too!” Jasmine laughed. “Why does that figure? Anyway, I was born in May.” “Really?” Tabbi paled, and then she asked. “What day?” “Just after midnight on the twenty-first.” Tabbi gasped. “Jasmine, I was born on the twenty-first of May -- around 12:25 AM. We were both born right on the cusp, under the sign of Gemini!” “Oh, this is freaky.” Then her passenger laughed. “Hey, I guess that makes you my baby sister.” “Seriously, Jasmine, do you have any siblings?” The perky black lady smirked. “I do now. What about you?” Tabbi smiled. “When Don finds out his new sister-in-law looks like you, he’s gonna shit.” Their get-acquainted ride equally entertained, informed, and delighted both women until Jasmine asked Tabitha about her husband. Tabbi’s face scowled and her voice dropped to a mutter. “He spends most of his free time away from home. I suppose that's why we've stayed together for seven years.” Jasmine didn't say anything, but she sensed the desperation in her new friend. “Look, Tabbi, I’ve only known you for a few hours, but I know human nature well enough to spot a woman in pain when I see her. What’s really wrong?” Tabitha’s eyes reddened. “Today is our seventh anniversary, and my husband never bothered to acknowledge it. I doubt if he even remembered it.” Jasmine grimaced. “I thought it might be something like that.” She looked over at the driver of the car and saw tears begin to well up in her eyes. She chose to remain silent for a few moments. “I wish I could do something to help.” Tabitha exhaled a big sigh. “You have done something. You moved in next door --” She paused for a second and then she smiled. “-- sis!” Impulsively, Tabitha pulled into the drive of the community bank. She was able to find a parking spot close to the front entrance. “Hey, do you feel like lunch?” “Do you eat here often?” Smiling, Jasmine gestured toward the building’s exterior. “Should we go through the drive-thru or get a table inside?” “What?” Tabitha looked puzzled for a second, and then blushed. “No, no. I just need some cash.” A dark blue van with opaque windows pulled right into the handicapped space next to them and three men hustled out. “How rude!” Tabbi glared. “I didn’t see a handicapped sticker.”

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As Tabitha opened her door to exit the vehicle, Jasmine grabbed her arm. “Tabbi, stay in the car.” “What’s wrong?” She looked over to see Jasmine had blanched, literally. Her friend’s eyes had opened wide in a “scared animal” stare. Still gripping her white friend’s arm, Jasmine spoke in a calm, deliberately cold voice. “I want you to put the car in reverse and back away from the bank entrance…now.” “I don’t understand.” “I’ll explain later.” Digging into her purse, Jasmine pulled out her cellular phone. “What street is this?” “B-Beacon all-almost at Washington.” “Hello, 911! I’d like to report a robbery in progress. The Community Bank…Beacon at Washington. The vehicle involved is a dark blue van, license number -- uhh…Tabbi, can you see the license?” Tabbi focused her eyes. “Looks like VX-something 33…no, 3-8 G.” “Victor X-ray…looks like it might be a seven or two…three-eight Golf.” She paused, listening to the dispatcher. “No, we’re sitting out front in the bank parking lot.” The sound of a single shot suddenly broke the morning stillness. “Shots fired!” Jasmine yelled into the phone, then she turned back to her new friend. “They’re telling us to get out of the parking lot -- now!” Tabbi gunned the accelerator. “You’ll get no argument from me.” Stunned, still trembling, she sped out of the parking lot via the side exit. “How did you know?” “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Jasmine took a cleansing breath. “Let’s just say I saw it coming.”

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Chapter Two Thirty-four years ago Andrew Bryden Martin, Ph.D., drove along the edge of a great gaping wound in the Earth, watching how the mining company gouged out the delicate balance of the rainforest. He turned onto the gravel company road and saw a dark-hued man, with skin like tanned leather, step out into the Amazonian sun. The guard signaled the sunburned white foreigner to stop and step out of his jeep.

“Doutor Martinho?” Suppressing a smile at the heavily accented English, the American professor nodded. The man quickly rattled off instructions in Brasilian Portuguese. He stabbed with the tip of his M-14 rifle toward the guard shack of Magalhaes Mineira Amazonas. Doctor Martin hadn’t been in this country long enough to understand what the man asked, but following his lead seemed the safest course of action. An M-14 rifle? He’d have thought a well-to-do family like the Magalhaes would be able to afford Kalashnikovs, but then again they must not see the local villagers or indigenous tribesmen as much of a threat. The Magalhaes families were well connected to the government as well as to the real power out here this far. Of course, everyone knew better than to give a name to that power -- to call it what it really was -- organized crime. After all, one doesn’t speak ill of one’s employer. As the guard led him toward the company building at the center of the complex, Professor Martin could hear the cacophonous roar of the compressors running the hose apparatuses, pumping thousands of gallons of water per hour across the one spot in South America where every piece of ancient and modern compiled information said a lost Incan

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tribe might be located. Damn! This sluice mining action continually obliterated an irreplaceable archeological site with every second of every working day. He’d been asked by the Universidade Federal do Amazonas in Manaus, to take over the negotiations arm of an archeological expedition looking for an ancient splinter group, broken away from the legendary Incan stronghold. Legend suggested they’d originated at Machu Picchu, moved north and west through Vilcabamba, and then due east into the jungles. What had brought the lost tribe from the Andes Mountains deep into the Amazonian rain forest? If he could talk the Magalhaes out of scourging the land now, there might still be a chance the expedition might find out. However, he knew he was about to argue the dubious benefits of old bones versus the tangible advantages of gold. As they moved closer to the central building, Dr. Martin noted four pressurized hose nozzles blowing out tons of water over the soil, which was then carried down to sluice boxes and gravity separators. The company counted on gold being here -- probably silver and copper as well, he thought. This would mean economic growth to an undeveloped region, not to mention employment for over a hundred men. What could he offer to counteract greed? Damned if he knew. Still, he had to try. “Ahh, Professor Martin!” A balding, heavyset man in a formerly white shirt soaked with sweat stains came out of the central building to meet him. “I am Julio de Silva, please follow me.” He then turned to the security guard and dismissed him with a minimum of words. “Can I offer you some tea? Or perhaps something stronger?” “I’m still having difficulty getting adjusted to the…the climate. Do you have any bottled water?” De Silva laughed.“Nao! But I can offer you some cerveja in a bottle.” Beer. Figured. “That’s very kind of you.” “I understand you are here to put one hundred and seventeen people out of work?” De Silva opened a bottle of beer on a wall mounted bottle opener before he handed it to Andrew. “Not at all, I’m here to try to work out some sort of compromise with your company concerning the antigo nativo burial site.” “Ah yes…the lost Incan artifacts. Now there’s a driving force for the local economy, yes? Still, I will hear what you have to offer.” “Sir, if the company wouldn’t mind giving us at least a month or two to carefully dig the southeastern slope, I think between that and sifting through some of the sluice you’ve already washed down, we can locate some valuable ancient artifacts.” “And what if all you find is gold?” “Any gold we chance upon belongs to you, of course.”

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“Seems to me that you get the best of the deal, Professor. Our production is cut down by three-quarters, while you get security guards to hold back the indigenous Indians

Amazonas.” “What if I were to try to come up with some extra compensation for your guards?” “And who’s going to compensate my workers? I’m afraid all I see is an unnecessary shut down for a full month.” The professor bit his lip. How could he begin to say that even a month wouldn’t be long enough to get this job started, let alone completed? “How about permission to sift through the run-off sluice and silt?” “I suspect that is a topic for another time.” “Another time! Why can’t we…?”

“Tranqüila, tranqüila,” Julio insisted. “One should not rush through life. Far better to contemplate life and philosophy with friends over tasty food and drink in the company of beautiful women.” “I see.” Brazilians seldom tired of reminding him he ran on estrangiero time -- dictated by clocks and calendars, foreigners hurried through life. “Well, I appreciate your time, Amo de Silva.” “Julio, por favor! Amo de Silva is much too formal this far out in the jungle.”

Right! I can imagine you telling your indigenous Indian workers that it’s okay to call you Julio instead of boss. Julio de Silva opened the door and gestured to the professor to step through first. “I’ll walk you to your vehicle.”

“Obrigado. Oh, and thanks for the cerveja.” The Professor looked at the vista of spray rising up from the high-pressure water hoses. He couldn’t help but see years, maybe even decades of history eroding away with each passing hour. Doctor Martin sighed and climbed back into his Jeep. Giving a half-hearted wave to both Boss de Silva and the security guard, he put the Jeep in gear and headed out past the compound gate. Several hundred meters up the dusty paved road, the professor noted a dirt service road to his right. Could this wind toward the sluice quarry? At the last second, he decided to try it. He yanked the wheel to the right and hoped his sudden move didn’t flip the little vehicle over. Not much better than a wide dirt path, the trail slowly ran around the tarnished chain fence surrounding the company compound and the sluice quarry. Soon the trail steepened its climb, forcing the professor to push the little Jeep harder than he’d intended. He glanced at the fuel gauge. He couldn’t keep this up for too long without a refuel. However, he noted a small clearing in the brush ahead seemed to be a decent place to stop and observe the overall mining operation.

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Four points of pressurized water shot out from giant hose spigots directed at the loose dirt, gravel, and vegetation of the gigantic quarry hole slowly being cut into the jungle. The runoff water was directed by a series of wooden chutes toward a central diagonal sluice tray, which began the process of separating the heavier particles from the dirt and soil. Basic physics. Any possibility that the earth would be allowed to retain its archeological integrity flushed madly down the man-made quarry hole in gushing rivulets. Next to nothing archeological would be salvageable here. Andrew Martin shook his head at the severe damage that had already been done. Beyond disappointed, the professor knew he might as well turn around and head out of the area. The crux of this expedition had ended before it even started. Suddenly, a jolt like the kick of a mule knocked his balance out from under him, throwing him several meters across the clearing away from the Jeep. Then, as intense pain replaced the surprise and shock of his injury, a red blotch blossomed where his khaki pants covered up his left hip. Stunned at the realization he’d been slammed to the ground, he stared at the flourish of blood soaking into his hip as the echo of the loud crack rang in his ears.

My God, I’ve been shot!

***** The Collector sat straight up in his bed. Instinctively his hand went for his left hip even as he opened his eyes.

I’m in my bedroom! What day is it? The entire recollection had flared up courtesy of the living nightmare he’d undergone over thirty years ago. He looked around for the luminous digital dial of the clock: Sunday morning -- four-eleven. Too early to wake Phelan. He’d let her sleep, and wish he could allow himself to do the same. He dragged his legs over the side of the bed and cautiously planted both feet on the floor. He needed to make certain he had feeling in his left leg and foot. It didn’t happen very often, but periodically his leg would give out from under him when he moved too suddenly. A dim nightlight illuminated the hall, reminding him that the older he got, the worse his night vision became. He hit the power switch on his computer before making the necessary diversion into the bathroom. A chill gripped him as it occasionally did. A poisonous cold lurked deep in his bones. Sometimes a hot shower helped him overcome the numbness in his body…the ache in his soul. Take a shower this early? Yeah, what harm could it do? As the hot water splashed over his face and body, his mind focused on the documentation he possessed about his most cherished artifact -- the so-called Love Totem.

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Since the dismantling of the Temple of Philae or more correctly P’aaleq, which was an Egyptian word meaning “a remote angle island,” a curious discovery had been linked to this Temple of Isis.

Why in God’s name couldn’t he get warm? His hand turned the hot water faucet on. Between the inscriptions on the walls of the temple and certain documents recovered from some rather unscrupulous characters, he and Phelan learned of the so-called Athor Temple Scrolls. Documents sacred to the love goddesses along the Mediterranean -- Isis, Aphrodite, Ishtar and Venus. But why were these ancient love goddesses so important that they embodied unified worship to certain people? Phelan first uncovered clues to this “Love Cult” back when they first began researching the phenomenon. The two of them searched for the Athor Scrolls for nearly ten years before they got a lead from a less than reputable dealer living in Barcelona. A greedy bastard, at that. The dealer’s asking price had been exorbitant. Especially for something as archeologically dubious in the academic world’s eyes as the so-called Athor Temple Scrolls. His own bean-counters from the accounting firm, several colleagues, and silent partners from various trusts and museums, balked at the price. Even Phelan raised an eyebrow at his brazen insistence on winning the underground bid. To appease the lot of them, he agreed to make copies for his own records and then allow his academic partner, Carmarthen Trinity College in Wales, to take credit for turning the scrolls over to UNESCO World Heritage Center in Paris. He’d even found it necessary to use assumed identities, in order to distance “The Collector” from the operation itself. The Love Totem first came to light secreted in the myriad of references unearthed about the strange worldwide cult. Together they learned that the worship of the unified love goddesses went beyond the limited geography of the Mediterranean cultures to encompass much more -- quite possibly the entire world. An unexpected result. Indeed, Phelan uncovered that fact first. She pointed the detail out to him as they labored to translate the scrolls. Of course, he eventually deduced that some strange force -some scientific magic -- had broken the artifact into several pieces centuries ago. As to what caused that -- well, speculation had been rife for ages. A cascading effect of nuclear fission and fusion? A microscopic black hole? Who knew? Bits of folklore suggested eight to twelve pieces ultimately scattered and hidden all over the world. In fact, historians and researchers couldn’t even ascertain how many fragments existed. Surprisingly, Audra Phelan encouraged him to pursue his unrealistic dream of reuniting all the totem fragments.

Ah, Phelan! Whatever would I do without you? Where did that come from? If he hadn’t been so selfish he’d have allowed his assistant leave a long time ago -- let her find a real life of her own, but he needed her expertise, her diligence, her drive -- her compassion. She was everything to him, nurse, companion, research assistant.

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He turned off the water and grabbed a towel. Steam clung to every surface of the bath, so he felt warmer for the moment even if it was merely psychological. He toweled off and put on his terrycloth robe before opening the door. Clad in her robe and standing at his doorway, Audra Phelan stared at him disapprovingly. “What are you doing up so early?” He continued to dry his gray-streaked hair. “Couldn’t sleep.” She stuck her head into his bathroom, still billowing with steam. “Dios mio! How hot was that water?” “I don’t really know. Hot enough to warm these old bones, I guess.” “It’s a wonder you didn’t scald yourself.” Phelan scowled. A handsome woman in her late forties now, she’d always look younger to him. For a moment his eyes glanced downward where the fold of her terrycloth robe flared along obviously bare flesh. Occasionally, he wondered if she’d consider leaving the robe open as she had when they first worked together in the field. He, a scholar in his mid-forties and Audra Phelan, a brand new nursing school graduate. However, in the end he knew that he’d trained her well. Phelan understood intrinsically that any ploy like that would be futile. For as long as they’d known each other, he’d held Phelan at arm’s length, remaining loyal to the memory of a love lost. A love he intended to resurrect before he died. Closing her robe, Phelan cinched the sash tighter. “I better make some coffee.” “I told you. I don’t feel the least bit sleepy.” “It’s for me.” She stepped off toward the kitchen. He sat down at his computer and clicked on the special document marked Athor. The monitor screen called for a password. The Collector typed in his password: Diligo. The Latin word meant love, yet more than that -- a high-esteemed sort of spiritual love. A love for all time. He thought it appropriate. The word also meant prize, and that was the real impetus behind his desire to obtain the Athor Temple Scrolls. A prize for all time, the legendary artifact that went well beyond the combined love goddesses of the Mediterranean -- the Love Totem, as it had come to be known. Your Heart’s Desire. That’s really what all this was about -- a chance to right a momentous wrong. His document folder contained everything there was to know about the Athor Scrolls. No, that wasn’t quite true. It appeared the more he knew about the scrolls the more complex the puzzle as a whole became. “Phelan…” He glanced up to see his assistant bring in two large mugs of coffee. “I think I’m going to commit to that small private investigation agency in Battle Creek, Michigan, after all.”

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“Do you mean Johnson and Associates?” He nodded and started to gulp a huge swallow of coffee. “Careful, that’s hot!” The Collector looked up at her and shrugged. He took a second drink. “How did you keep from burning your mouth?” “Damned if I know.” She scrutinized the man before her. Now that he’d reached his seventies, she constantly worried about his health. “You’re getting worse, aren’t you?” “Don’t talk like that. It’s difficult enough to get through the day as it is.” She decided to change the subject. “So you want me to contact Johnson and Associates to locate the artifact -- this Onyx Palace?” He opened the sub-folder marked “Onyx Palace.” Carefully opening a .jpeg file he checked out a couple of grainy digital shots obviously taken in a dark room. “These are the photos allegedly taken in that auction house in Cambodia.” Double-clicking on another .jpeg he watched the photo viewer open. “If only we had the video from when that Beech Haven employee disappeared.” “Are you still planning to obtain a copy of the surveillance tape?” “That’s right. I think there are enough funds in Andrew St. John’s account to keep it from being traced to me.” “I can’t believe you’re bootlegging police evidence.” He grinned. “There’s no accounting for taste.” “Or audacity…” She took a careful sip of her coffee. “Maybe you should just wait for the video to show up on YouTube.” Crime scene vid-scans he’d obtained yesterday showed a panoramic view of a wide storage area apparently from a mounted security camera. A hazy figure, probably a welldressed young man, walked into camera range. The man lifted a protective cover from a table stand in the center of the screen, and then gestured at an ornate black castle carefully mounted on an expensive looking table hidden underneath. Two more vid-scanned photos showed him pointing toward an unseen object in the center of the model castle and the man moved in to fiddle within the section where he’d pointed to already. “You don’t suppose the security tape will have sound, do you?” Audra Phelan shrugged. “Probably not.” “Make a note to put that lip reader we used last year in New Zealand on retainer, will you? She was exceptional and I suspect she’ll come in handy.” Phelan nodded silently. The next shot captured a bright white light beaming out from the center of the miniature castle and into the room. The light grew brighter and more intense as each new

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picture was exposed. The bleed of white light soon flared the camera lens shutting down the aperture and finally disabling the image. When the glare and noise finally subsided in the image, the man had gone missing from the shot. The only thing left standing in the room was that black castle mounted on its stand. The Collector stared at the image intently. “You know, Phelan, there’s never been a genuine photograph of the Onyx Palace before, but from every description of it I’ve ever come across, I’m certain we’ve just witnessed the sequence of its curse at work.” “Curse? That just doesn’t seem right for an artifact that’s supposed to be part of the Love Totem.” “Yet every piece of evidence we’ve examined says this is an integral piece of the whole.” He took another sip from his cup. “I guess I’m going with my gut feeling.” “There’s still one problem, sir. As yet, this case represents a kidnapping or possible homicide, so at the very least it’s an ongoing police investigation. The FBI is probably involved as well.” “That’s precisely why I need the Johnson and Associates Agency to be my go-between.” Phelan nodded. “I agree, sir, but you always told me we had a duty to honor the legend of the Love Totem by choosing unique and rather special investigative teams. Why did you decide to use a private investigation agency to attempt to recover this one piece?” “Trust me, Phelan. I have a feeling the same forces are at play with this one as we’ve seen in the others. I suspect we’ll see all the Totem’s powers encompass this situation as well.”

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Chapter Three Randall Gaye inevitably used his acerbic wit and self-deprecating sense of humor to break the ice in social situations. “Let’s face it,” he’d announce at a party. “With a name like Randy Gaye, I was destined to ford the stream of life by traveling against the current until I settled on the other side.” That wasn’t exactly true. Even if his name had been Butch Masters or Poindexter Trilby, he was who he was, sexually speaking, and nothing could change that. As office manager for Johnson and Associates Security, Incorporated, he always let himself in nice and early -- sometimes even on weekends, to make sure neither of the incorrigible slobs who owned the investigation agency had trashed the place after hours. The Johnsons. He adored them both, but they infuriated him at times. Bradley Johnson’s sense of decorum could be summed up in two words: frat house. Meanwhile, Benjamin Johnson’s personal space had packrat written all over it. Both Johnson men were adorable breeders -- hopelessly heterosexual. Which was just as well. He sighed. From personal experience, Randy knew office romances tended to get messy over the long term. Well, they obviously hadn’t had a beer and pizza party here last night so already things were looking up. However, the Lawrence case folder had been dropped over by the copy machine. Just to be safe, Randy checked under the cover where the glass meets the roller. As expected, one of them had forgotten to put an important document back in its case file. People who'd never seen the Johnson boys always asked Randall if the guys were brothers. He usually smiled and answered, “Only under the skin.” Bradley Johnson sported weather-burnished blond locks that made him look like a combination football player and jet-setting playboy, while his black-haired partner, Benjamin Johnson, was a slim, darkskinned intellectual -- introspective and quietly attractive. He didn’t know what had brought them together, but they made an incredible investigative team. Brad showed insights into

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other people that often amazed even him, while Benjamin displayed an unmatched savvy about computers and surveillance equipment. Magic literally happened when the two of them worked out of the office. Of course, that was the key. Frankly, Randy preferred them to work in the field. For one thing, they weren’t moping about, trolling the papers for potential clients and messing up his tidy, efficient office, and secondly, more cases meant more billings, and that meant more cash flowed back into the agency’s coffers -- a situation which, unfortunately, hadn’t been happening lately. Not only was Randy tired of having the Johnsons underfoot, but their hanging around the office hadn’t done much for accounts receivable -- the agency’s bottom line. A creature of habit, Randy punched the playback button on the telephone message recorder while brewing a pot of his special organic Kona-blend java. “Gentlemen, my name is Audra Phelan. I represent a man known as the Collector. We need to hire your agency for some discreet locating work in Beech Haven, Michigan as soon as possible. We are willing to wire you a check for your customary full retainer, of course, via Western Union today, if need be, or at the opening of business day tomorrow, if you are agreeable…”

Agreeable to a full retainer? Hell, yes! For a full retainer, I’ll have them up in Beech Haven with bells on before the ink dries on the contract! “Please call me back as soon as you get this message. I’m available at all hours at this phone number…” Randy quickly grabbed a pen and scribbled the number on a message pad, and then he grabbed the phone and gleefully woke up both Johnsons.

***** “Hold on, sir! The drive to Beech Haven is all two lane highways and back roads. It’s nearly three hours from here!” Ben Johnson scowled as he spoke into a speakerphone for their conference call to upstate New York. “We won’t be able to commute daily back and forth. Our operating expenses are going to have to include hotel accommodations.” Randy jotted that down in his conference notes. “I understand. Your expenses may be billed separately from your retainer and your hourly fees. Just have your accountant or bookkeeper prepare the proper invoices. I take it your bookkeeper is familiar with the system.” Leaning on his desk, Brad Johnson couldn’t help but grin. “Mr. Gaye, does our bookkeeper know his way around an invoice?” Randall flashed his blond-haired employer the middle-finger salute. However, his tone continued to sound emotionless and professional. “Absolutely, sir, I’m certain he can handle that.”

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Benjamin had to cover his mouth and turn away from the speakerphone to keep from blowing the conference call by laughing out loud. “Sir, don’t get me wrong.” Bradley scratched his ear nervously. “God knows we can use the work and I’m not looking the proverbial gift horse in the mouth.” Randy waved frantically trying to signal his employer to shut up. Even Brad’s partner exhibited signs of panic as he began to query their long distance benefactor. “Nevertheless, I’m curious to know why you picked a little-known small investigation agency relatively far away from Beech Haven, when there must be firms more suitable to your needs closer to the target.” They heard the Collector laugh dryly on the other end. “Am I not correct in stating that you, Mr. Bradley Johnson, graduated from Beech Haven High School?” Brad stood up, startled by what he’d heard. “Yes, sir, that’s correct.” “And the other Mr. Johnson -- did you not work for the Beech Haven Department of Public Service for a few years, Benjamin?” “Yes sir, I was a crime lab technician.” Randall Gaye looked from partner to partner. Apparently someone else had done his

homework. After a silent moment, the Collector continued. “The other reason I asked for you is you both are friendly with a highly-regarded agent of the Japanese secret organization known as the Kurayami Mihari.” Benjamin looked surprised as he glanced over at his partner, as if seeing him for the first time. “Really?” Brad stared back at his partner with a similar expression. “I didn’t know that about you.” The voice over the speakerphone interrupted. “Gentlemen, did the two of you not meet in Beech Haven, through a specialized martial arts instructor?” Startled, Brad looked into his partner’s eyes. “Master Tetsuaiga?” Ben queried simultaneously. “Are you talking about Sensei Takumi?” “I hope that answers your question sufficiently.” Benjamin broke the brief silence on his end. “Sir, I think this raises more questions than it answers, but you’ve certainly piqued our interest.” “I was talking about the job. Will you take it?” Bradley quickly replied, “When do we start?” “Give my assistant your email address. We’ll be sending a number of file attachments and contracts for you to go over.”

*****

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Sensei Takumi Tetsuaiga stared out at Lake Michigan from the window of his dojo skirting the public beach at Beech Haven, Michigan. He’d been ordered halfway around the world to this place and this time, because he knew what waited for him. Fate and the Kurayami Mihari had dispatched him here to teach his art in this strange and hostile environment -- both xenophobic and materialistic. Why me? he thought. Why now? Why

anything? He took his chopsticks and stood them up, sticking straight up from the plain bowl of white rice. Traditionally hashi left in a bowl of gohan like that meant an offering to the dead at a funeral feast. He knew what he did displayed bad manners for the most part, but this subtle call for help was an absolute necessity if you needed assistance from beyond. Every tingle of nerve ganglia in his being sent signals that she was close by, and the others would follow soon. “Master?” One of his students called from behind him. “We’re all ready to start.” He stared at the young man for a moment. But are you ready to die? “Don’t call me master, Troy,” Takumi corrected his most adept current student. “There has yet to be a master of Kichijitsu. I am merely a sensei.” “But on TV sensei means master!” “If you believed everything you see on television, your girlfriend would love you because you’d have whiter teeth?” Sensei Tetsuaiga frowned. “I am but a teacher, not a master.” “But Sensei Kit, I thought you developed Kichijitsu tedo on your own?” “That is so, but Kichijitsu recognizes no master, for how can a single person master the circle of life?” His young pupil was joined by the rest of the class wandering into the side room off the exercise bay. “Kichijitsu tedo, like so many of the true martial arts, has been developed from the various elements of Buddhism. The balance of life is neither aggressive nor defensive. It can hurt and yet, it can heal. You can’t really take out aggressions on someone.” “But Master --” another of the younger students said. “Ahhtt!” Takumi cautioned. “Sensei -- we’ve seen you whoop-ass on some pretty tough opponents!” “No, you haven’t.” Sensei Takumi gazed around the room at his young charges. “You have seen me dampen their anger. Deflect their strikes, or maybe even disable their attacks. But I don’t whoop-ass on anyone.” “You know what we mean,” his oldest student, Troy, replied. “No, I don’t know what you mean, because you don’t know what you mean. Do you?” His students made puzzled, exasperated faces.

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“You’re talking about Hollywood martial arts. Exciting to look at -- style over technique. Devoid of the ki and the chi, style may inflict more damage than you need to inflict.” “I don’t see where that’s so bad,” another student whined. Once again his pupils looked confused. Takumi Tetsuaiga sighed. “Gather round. We’ll go over it again.” His students groaned. To a person, they couldn’t understand why philosophy and history had to be taught hand in hand with attack and defensive postures. “Who can tell me the three types of martial arts? C’mon, anyone.” “I know two,” one of his younger students offered. “Attack and defend, am I right?” “That’s correct. Now what is the third?” “Damage?” “That’s part of an attack.” “Barrier? “Again, defensive. Defensive style forms a barrier. What else?” “Re-energize?” “Ahh! And that’s part of -- what?” No response. Sensei Kit sighed. “Healing. The healing forms are Seifukujutsu or Seikendo, teaching fluidity through movement. Stand up, Troy, and come here. Use an attack strike against me.” Reluctantly his high school student began to stand up. “I’m in deep shit,” Troy muttered to his neighbor as he rose to his feet. “Nonsense.” Sensei Takumi laughed. “If you can keep your ki balanced with chi, you’ll do quite well.” “Uh-huh, why me?” “Because you know how to fall correctly.” “I’m dead meat.” He groaned, and then he bowed hesitantly. “Now you all know that Tedo, or the open handed strike, will allow a martial artist to attack with full energy and psyche focused to a fine-tuned art.” He gestured for the student to take a stance. “But remember…” Takumi Tetsuaiga stood beside his student to correct Troy’s stance. “Another aspect of Kichijitsu is that the hands are for healing, while your lower body is for attack. Your combined strikes achieve both a simultaneous attack and defense. You show your opponent that you are in a powerful place, yet you have compassion. Thus, the circle of balance is maintained. Not used in an aggressive way because you can focus the healing energy of ki.”

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Sensei Takumi took a relaxed, wide-legged Okinawan stance: fifty percent of his weight on each leg, coupled with a bent-knees crouch. It also served to lower his center of gravity and present a smaller target to his attacker. “All right, Troy,” he ordered. “Attack.” His student threw a feint to the right and then tried to connect with an open handed left. His instructor grabbed the incoming fist open-palmed. His other hand, which had rested dormant by his waist, suddenly swept up to grab his student’s attack arm. Takumi pulled the young man’s arm toward him, and Troy’s eyes widened. “Ohh…” the student moaned. There was absolutely nothing he could do to stop the flow of motion around him. He saw the reversal coming, and then Sensei Takumi slipped behind him. His instructor twisted his body, and brought his right foot up in a classic hook kick. “…Shiiittt!”

“Kiap!” Takumi’s reverse hook kick struck at the back of Troy’s head. Then the kick lightly struck a pressure point on the spine high between his student’s shoulder blades. The momentum of the reverse pull took his student to the floor. “Do you yield?” “Uhhh.” “I protected you from my attack.” “You did?” The boy stared straight up at the ceiling. “Could’ve fooled me.” The sensei smiled. “Okay, Troy, how do you feel? “Okay, I guess.” “Are you hurt?” “No. I don’t think so.” “Very well, get up off the floor.” The young man’s face flushed. “I-I can’t. It feels like someone is holding me down.” “Your limbs don’t respond to you wanting to move, do they?” Suddenly all the other students got wide-eyed. “Holy shit! Is he all right?” “That pressure point at the top of his spine, where I hit him, has stunned him,” Takumi replied. “Right now he’s suffering from temporary paralysis -- a full body numbing.” “Arrgghh,” Troy whined, almost in tears. “I can’t move.” “I assure you, it will be a short-term inconvenience,” the instructor said. “If it had been a full force kick or if it had been higher on the spine, the strike would’ve been lethal.” “Lethal!” the boy on the floor whined. “Just like we said, Sensei, ‘Whoop-ass,’” another voice said. “Help him to his feet,” Takumi ordered. “And do not speak to me of whoop-ass! Look, while I did the strike, I countered my move with an energy push from the opposite hand. As

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a student of Kichijitsu, you’re healing while you’re striking. You don’t want to hurt the person who has attacked you. That thought -- that intention will cause the power of nature to turn against you.” All eyes looked at him blankly. “Do you understand?” Their voices all muttered, “yes,” but he saw in their eyes that they still didn’t get it. With a sigh, he continued. “Look, no one ever truly wins in a battle. The best you can hope for is to find the correct perspective. Anyone who can feel ki and becomes aware of its use eventually becomes a master. Of course, western culture says this energy doesn’t exist. But if I say I just used ki against Troy, do you believe me?” The class responded as a whole. “Yes, Sensei.” “Let’s go to something basic like breaking a board using the Hand Knife. The first time you try you will probably fail. Why? Because you’re always going to be scared it’s going to hurt. It’s that simple and that complicated. Your mind has to know that what you’re about to do is going to hurt, and here’s a little fact: it does hurt.” A ripple of nervous twitters bubbled through the class. “Martial arts training tells you to focus on the board. ki will allow you to focus.” “So you don’t care if it hurts?” a youngster asked. “Wrong. Your focus cannot be ‘I don’t care if it hurts.’ I guarantee that won’t work. ‘I don’t care’ will -- what’s the word -- boomerang back against you, and you will hurt. And, by the way, you will care that you hurt.

“Ki is focused by kiap. Your kiap shout should echo through your mind and body and summon the dantien center of gravity-focus.” “Is that what you feel, Sensei Takumi?” “To me, my ki is a wedge designed to drive into the grain of a fire log to be split. My fist becomes the hammer and my kiap is the power.”

If only it were that simple, he thought. How could he explain the reality of his own kiap? Takumi knew that for a split second everything appeared to go black -- well, maybe not literally black. But matter had become of no consequence. In that moment, part of you thinks you’re dying, and part of you is certain that a spirit -- some entity is oozing out of the outside to you and telling you awful truths like there is no God. There is no hope. There is only death and blackness. These kids wanted him to be a master so they could announce to the world that their sensei was a master. Takumi gulped. Didn’t they understand what a master really was? “After the task is complete, for that fraction of a second after you’ve summoned the ki: everything is inconsequential,” he continued. “Pain doesn’t exist during that second. Of course, later it may catch up with you. You’ll have thoughts like, I think I’m dying.”

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His class groaned. One of the students asked, “Then what do we do? “Meditation helps to clear the pain. We won’t break any boards today, but I do think we should meditate to help all of you to locate your ki.” “Yes, Master Tak --” “Ahht! Sensei! Kichijitsu has no master.” “Sorry, Mas -- I mean, Sensei.” He exhaled in a calculated flow of motion to clear the depressing miasma from his system. It didn’t help. He’d have to meditate -- to reach deep inside himself to find his ki.

Don’t announce my presence yet, please. The evil will find me soon enough.

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Chapter Four Her carnivorous smile and feral eyes frightened him -- excited him. Riveted by her statuesque figure, flawless skin, absolute perfection, Don Mason focused on Anastasia Romanov IV, admiring the fluid motions of her body. He couldn’t believe his luck falling into the hands, indulging in the lure of someone so sublime -- someone so much more than human. Lying on a towel beneath Anastasia, on the bathroom tile of the Admiral’s Suite at the Skipper’s Inn hotel, he allowed her complete control. She set their pace and rhythm, she initiated every aspect of their physical relationship. Totally insatiable, Anastasia took him again and again. This time it had happened on the hotel bathroom floor. She’d led him on an exploration of the entire suite with her body. A desk here, a closet there, up against the counter of the kitchenette -- when Anastasia clasped his straining cock into the depths of her body, Don became her sex puppet in every sense of the phrase. He’d never seen such classically sculpted breasts or felt the slick moisture of a woman’s underbelly lap at his cock as hungrily as her loins did. Perfection like that affects anyone’s mind. Here he lay sticky, naked, and exhausted under the most stunning woman he’d ever met. Someday he hoped to talk her into marrying him, once he’d divorced his limpid lump of a wife. Sexually, his spouse Tabitha imbued a shallow dip in a lukewarm kiddy pool, while sex with Anastasia felt more like a heart-stopping canoe ride down the rapids of the Colorado River, climaxing in an icy plunge that came desperately close to dashing one against the rocks. He’d never suspected how incredibly erotic rough sex could be. How raw acts of lust could drive him to heights of pleasure he never dreamed possible. Absentmindedly, he felt

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the welts raising on his shoulders and shuddered involuntarily, remembering the sensuous sting of her fingernails digging into his flesh. Of course, she wouldn’t be an easy conquest. First and foremost, Anastasia possessed everything that immense wealth and power afforded. She didn’t need Don’s meager earnings any more than Mount Everest needed the rest of the Himalayas to showcase its splendor. Still, he realized just how fortunate he was to be counted among her lovers…as her only lover, if his dreams were realized. Eight months ago, Ms. Romanov (the fourth!) first manifested in the lobby of Hillendale’s auction house as if she’d embodied the very essence of the Goddess of the Impeccable Business Suit. According to both of the employees who first spotted her, she’d popped in like some apparition. A tall brunette, indeed, she towered above most women. A fit, muscular six-foot-four, she seemed to be quietly lecturing both the security officer and the receptionist at the front desk. Both of his reception employees slowly came to their feet as if they were unsure of what to do. Naturally, his workers had no idea who the Ice Queen in a Versace suit might possibly be. When he discovered her identity, Don, too, was taken aback. Beyond her exquisite bearing and beauty, she’d materialized like some sort of mythical enchantress -- Aphrodite or Isis come to life. He’d heard her name circulated among the many private clients he’d entertained, but the opportunity to meet Anastasia Romanov IV remained something he imagined for the distant future -- once he’d established his reputation as a high-stakes dealer, away from the suspicious eyes of Hillendale’s tight-assed management. Their watchful eyes would have been a definite problem, if Don hadn’t managed to study and research all the nuances of the company’s various security procedures. In-house security remained loyal to Hillendale’s Ink, of course; however, even the powers-that-be acted paranoid when it came to sinking all of their trust into a single investigatory entity. The corporation preferred that the left eye consistently peered over the right shoulder, so to speak. Don took advantage of the company’s irrational desire to foster a climate of suspicion and mistrust. The independent insurance investigator, an outside source considered unimpeachably above reproach, had been assigned to examine any signs of his branch office’s irregularities. In actuality, he pocketed a sizeable percentage of Don’s extracurricular sales activities -- in clean, untraceable cash. Thus Don Mason covered all possible bases. The business relationship with this woman began over eight months ago. Surprisingly, Ms. Romanov came to Beech Haven seeking him. “I understand you’re a man who sometimes assists private clients in the discreet acquisition of exceptionally rare items, Mr. Mason.” Astonished at his sudden good fortune, he preened. “Why, yes, ma’am. Hillendale’s will go to extraordinary lengths to accommodate a client’s needs.”

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“Naturally, but how far will you go, personally, Mr. Mason? Is there someplace we can talk privately?” Her hand went to the buttons on her blouse and her fingers twiddled with the fasteners.

Privately! Ah the possibilities behind a word like that. “This way, please.” “I’ve uncovered certain contacts within the art world…” She paused to flash her perfect white teeth in a smile. “That is -- the discreet world of private collectors -- who tell me you are a person who can arrange to obtain certain valuable objects, for the appropriate fee, with very few questions asked.” “I’ve been known to make the occasional discreet arrangement.” Then he cleared his throat. “Of course, the more discriminating the item, the more the price reflects the need for…shall we say, subtlety.” “Ah, I see we think alike.” Ms. Romanov stood up from the functional, antique leatherupholstered chair and circled his office cautiously. “What are the chances that someone may be…listening to you?” “Ah, I have the place swept for such…surveillance items regularly.” “You should have it done again.” “What?” “Better yet, we need to meet elsewhere to discuss your…personal fee.” That very first afternoon, Anastasia Romanov IV established Don’s private commission atop a king-size bed inside the Admiral’s Suite of the Skipper’s Inn, the best business and tourist hotel in town. Truly engulfed in a wave of sensuality, Don Mason discovered the addiction of her lush body, his need to relinquish his every desire to her whims. In all fairness, when the time came for Don to climax, he experienced an orgasm like he’d never undergone in his entire life. After their first encounter, she noted, “Now, as far as your compensation goes, I’ve just made your initial payment in barter. Now you belong to me.” He laughed an embarrassed laugh. “Don’t you think that’s a little…indelicate?” “I spoke the truth, Don.” She took hold of his wrist, grasping it tightly. “I know an indisputable fact when I see it. Would you have it any other way?” Don Mason caught his breath and shook his head. “N-no?” “Of course not; we have so much in common.” Anastasia pulled his hand directly to touch her moist pussy. “You worship this and so do I.”

Worship? His face registered his surprise. “Now then, Don, you’re not going to tell me you have any doubts concerning our impending relationship?” “Of course not!” He wouldn’t dare. “Then let me tell you exactly what I desire you to obtain for me.”

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For the first time in his life, Don learned of the existence of the Onyx Palace. As it turned out, it took him over five months to locate the artifact in Cambodia and another two or three months of promises, finagling, and bribery to secure the relic for Anastasia Romanov IV. With a huge sense of pride, Don called her voice mail and gave her the good news, and then Alan Deacon managed to screw everything up in one night. Still gasping from today’s intense workout on the hotel bathroom floor, Don tried to sit up. She’d stood up, leaving him lying prone on his back. Christ, every muscle in his body hurt, but he had to go find her. The woman was an addiction. He watched her fingers flick a sterling silver lighter so she could set flame to a thin cigar, then walked over to the open motel window for a moment before she settled on the bed. The thought flashed through Don’s head that Anastasia sported her nudity the way other women wore evening gowns, showing off her exquisite features to the world. Helplessly smitten and glad that he followed her into the bedroom, Don Mason scrutinized every inch of Anastasia’s bare skin as she lounged comfortably on the hotel bed. God! She looked so gorgeous. Something deep inside told him he wasn’t worthy of her. Of course, Don couldn’t tell her that. No, he’d keep that vulgar thought to himself. He knew, once Anastasia realized she didn’t need him, she’d leave him for sure. Hesitantly, he sat down on the bed next to her. She took a long drag on the slim cigar and blew the smoke directly into Don’s face, stinging his eyes and throat. “I told you when we met that discretion meant everything within my world.” Don swiped at his burning eyes and raised his eyebrows. “I realize that.” She smiled like a shark, and, leaning back against the pillows atop the tousled sheets, she played with his balls using her icy toes. “Then explain this Deacon fiasco to me.” “I wish I could. I still have no idea what got into Alan or where he could have gone.” “I know where Deacon went,” the woman growled, after a slight pause and a puff from her cigar. “What I want to know is how could you let the police get involved?” “I had no choice! The silent system alarm alerted them. They arrived before we…” “So you said. However, when we went into this…affair…you told me you controlled every aspect of the facility.” He let his shoulders slump. “Well, I’m still responsible to Hillendale’s management. I’ll tell them that the shock of Alan’s disappearance interfered with proper procedure and the paperwork for the palace got lost in…uhhh…” Anastasia scowled. “Human error?” Don’s continence brightened. “That’s it! That’s perfect, Ana…stasia -- may I call you Stasia or Staci?”

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“You may not!” Her eyes hardened at the same time her sharp toenails suddenly dug into his scrotum. “Don’t be a bore. Do I look like some simpering bubble-headed cheerleader to you?” She exerted more than just a forward thrust of pressure; it was as if somehow his balls were being squeezed by a hand. His face blanched. “No-no, I apologize.” Slowly she eased off on the sharp, talon-like grip on his testicles. Don let his breath out carefully. How did she do that? “I think we should agree upon Anastasia or Ms. Romanov…or ma’am.” Smiling, she offered him her thin cigar. “Drag, Donnie?” “Y-yes. Th-thank you…ma’am.” Anastasia gently placed her fingers on his cheek. “That’s better, isn’t it?” She pulled the thin cigar from between his lips. “Tell me something, Don. You’ve fucked other women, haven’t you? Besides your wife, I mean.” Don nodded. “A few.” “Have you ever experienced anyone who’s matched what I just did for you?” He had to admit she was right. “Never.” “Of course not.” Anastasia leaned forward and kissed him on one of his fiery red welts. “We’re going to get along just fine, Donnie. Now I shall tell you exactly how we are going to fix this situation.”

***** Thirty-four years ago Daavi didn’t understand why the khaki-uniformed guard shot the bee-speaker. This action puzzled him. He’d seen the khaki uniforms shoot at the Yanomami and others who traveled the green forest world as Invisible People. He’d even watched them shoot the local farmers and workers spraying the muddy hole in the Earth, but never a white man before. Now the khaki just let him lay there to bleed to death. What did the bee-speaker do to upset him? All white men buzzed at each other in insect language. Their words droned and hummed through the air and no one could understand them. It’s a wonder they understood themselves. Did he want to leave his position of safety to investigate? No. The khaki stood hovering over the body as ants cling to fallen fruit. Daavi decided to wait. Eventually, after ransacking his victim’s clothing, the khaki tramped away. The khaki uniforms needed their guns to reach long distances because they couldn’t walk silently through the green world. Since the

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khaki’s movements crackled and thumped through the rain forest, Daavi knew for certain that he headed away from the white man. Carefully he checked the bee-speaker’s body. Bad bloody wound, but he still lived. How curious. As Daavi made a compound of ground leaves to compact the flowing wound, he clucked a brittle sounding laugh. What to do? Ask the shaman. He stripped branches and bark from nearby trees to build a litter, loaded the bee-speaker onto the woven bed, and raced with him across the face of the green world to where his people dwelled for the dry season. Daavi needed to seek out advice. The shaman would know what to do.

***** Two days later Ever since physician’s assistant Audra Phalen decided to work in a field medical clinic this far up-river, the ever-present Invisible People both fascinated and repulsed her. The silken-haired brunette from Santos, outside the city of Sao Pablo close to two thousand miles away from the rain forest, instinctively knew when the indigenous population lurked close to her from the way the tiny hairs on her skin responded -- itching and standing on end. Audra could go days without ever seeing them; yet, she knew they haunted the outskirts of the clinic like forest phantoms. Naturally, it shocked her to see two nut-brown Yanomami tribesmen bearing a sunburned white man on a handmade litter. She placed her hand on the man’s forehead. “He’s burning up. C’mon, help me put him over here.” Phelan tried to make her needs known by simple hand signals. As soon as the Indians helped put the body of the sick man onto one of the clinic beds, they disappeared back into the jungle. “I’ll let him know to thank you,” she muttered toward the expanse of green leaves a few meters away from the clinic entrance. “That’s if he lives.” Checking his clothes for identification proved to be futile. Audra grabbed a pair of Lister bandage scissors and began to cut away his muddied, clotted, blood-soaked clothing. “Dios mio! What a mess!”

Of all the times for the doctor to be downriver in Manaus. Normally, she would try to radio for help. However, this time when the doctor traveled downriver, he’d planned to participate in a medical meeting and pick up the necessary spare parts to fix the radio. Plus, the doctor had taken Raúl with him so she had no one to use as a runner to carry a message over fifteen kilometers down to the closest village. Gloving up to examine her patient’s wound, Audra Phelan winced at the pungent smell. A sickly sweet aroma wafted straight from her nose to her gut, and she fought the impulse to throw up. “Let’s see if we can’t get this infection under control, Mr. X.”

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The white man moaned as she probed the tender tissues of his wound. Damn! She’d opened the wound again and blood pumped rapidly out. His skin turned gray -- or rather, grayer. She’d have to stop and see if she could halt the blood flow. Audra knew she’d have to handle a transfusion on her own; she began the process to type her patient’s blood. Phelan realized the bullet had lodged itself deeply in his hip. Her heart sank. She’d never extracted a bullet in her life. She knew she’d have to cut away the rest of his pants to get where she needed to be. “Funny,” she said with a smirk. “I always thought getting a good looking man out of his pants would feel completely different.” After debriding the wound and cleaning as much infected flesh and pus out as possible, it still took newly graduated physician’s assistant Audra Phelan over twenty minutes of trying to find the bullet embedded in her patient’s hip. “If this is what it’s like to be a surgeon, you can keep it.” She followed this with an injection of penicillin from her limited refrigerated supply. “Please, God. Don’t let him be allergic.” Finally, once she’d done what she could, she set up a saline drip for the older man. Then after injecting his drip line with a shot of morphine, she took a deep, cleansing breath. “All right, Mr. X, let’s see what happens now.” Something told her to check the drug supplies. Audra frowned. She found only nine more ampules of morphine -- not enough to last until the doctor returned on the supply boat.

Great! What else could go wrong?

***** On the Sunday after Alan Deacon’s disappearance, Tabitha informed her husband she’d invited Jasmine King over to their home so she could introduce him to their new black neighbor lady. “Black lady, huh?” He gave a mirthless laugh. “How’d she get past the neighborhood association?” “Donald Mason, I don’t believe you just said those words!” Tabbi stood staring at her husband. She knew he’d become a different man than the one she’d married, but this new twist upset her. “Would you like me to run down to the lumber yard and buy you some nice long two-by-sixes so you can build a good sized wooden cross to burn on her front lawn?” He walked to the picture window. “That’s all right, dear. Don’t go to any trouble for me.” As he looked out the front window, Don twisted his mouth into a sneer. “Uh-oh, here she comes.”

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When Tabitha greeted Jasmine at the door, she made sure to give the black woman a hug partly to see Don’s reaction. Jasmine glanced over at Don and Tabbi noted the smile seemed to ebb from her friend’s eyes. “Don, this is Jasmine King, our new neighbor. Don’t you think we look alike?” “Huh?” Reluctantly he took his new neighbor’s proffered hand. “Look alike?” “You know. We have the same eyes.” Tabbi stepped back to stand next to Jasmine. “Same figure. Hairstyle. See?” The three of them stood enduring an uncomfortable silence for a moment. Then Tabitha noted a curious, but somehow familiar series of looks cross Jasmine’s countenance. First, the black woman glanced down toward the floor, and her eyes seemed to glaze over. Then, after she looked back up at Don, she made two quick responses. The first reflected a startled scrutiny of Don’s face as if he didn’t quite look like what a person would expect. Afterwards, it appeared her normally ebullient black neighbor pasted on a forced charm version of her usually endearing smile. “Huh.” He shrugged, nodded noncommittally, and grabbed his briefcase. “Well, I’m going to be late for my appointment. You two have a nice day.” Don waved cursorily to both of them as he hurried out the front door toward his car. “Nice meeting you…” Jasmine lost her smile completely as she watched him bolt out the door. “Swell guy.” “Oh, he’s great! At least, until you really get to know the sonuvabitch.” “He makes business appointments for Sunday?” Tabbi paused, and then she grumbled incoherently under her breath. “Weekends are a busy time for him. He has off-the-books clients.” Jasmine scrutinized her friend. “What does that mean?” Tabitha sighed. “I’m really afraid it means he’s cheating his own company.” “Would you mind very much telling me what you saw in him?” Jasmine queried. “What?” “Before you married him, I mean?” Tabitha looked back at her new neighbor. A curious question -- why did she ask? “I don’t know. He was different when we were younger. Thoughtful, caring, even idealistic…” she replied. “Then about four years ago he moved into Hillendale’s middle management and our lives changed. For the better financially, as he’s so fond of reminding me, but then again that man out there isn’t the same man I married.” “Hillendale’s, you mean the big art auction house?” Tabitha nodded. “You’ve heard of ‘em.” “I’ve done business with them -- brokered a few major crate and pallet, packaging removals for their offices in Indianapolis and Detroit.” “Really? I’m surprised.”

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“You go where the work is. Thank God for the Internet and telephone.” Tabitha nodded. “Can I get you something?” “How about some ice water?” Jasmine followed her friend into the kitchen. “You know, everybody swears up and down that they hate middlemen -- that is, middle-persons, but my strength is in finding out who needs the junk that somebody else wants to throw away. Sometimes that middle-person is totally indispensable. Detroit Hillendale’s ended up shipping their packing crates and containers to a company outside of Houston.” “I don’t understand.” “Look, one time I lucked out and brokered a deal between a developer in Chicago who owned an old building stuffed full of office furnishings and another entrepreneur who managed to lease two semi trucks and an empty warehouse. A few months later the land speculator won when his old building came down and a consortium of businessmen decided to buy the vacant property in order to construct modern condominiums. “Meanwhile, the other buyer discounted all that used furniture to the public at large. In less than a month, I took a straight broker’s fee with the first man, but I negotiated a piece of the action with the warehouse guy. We ended up making somewhere around a four hundred percent profit.” “Wow! I can see where that could be really big.” “Yeah, most people don’t realize creative recycling is the wave of the future.” Suddenly Tabbi’s face blanched. “Back when I tried to get Don to go to a fertility clinic with me, I once tried to tell him that children were the wave of the future.” “And?” “He laughed the remark off.” Jasmine shook her head. “Figures. Nothing worse than stretch marks on your trophy wife.” “Let’s change the subject!” Tabitha tried to shake off her doldrums. “I noticed on the day you moved in that you had these works of modern art.” Jasmine looked puzzled. “Modern art? What are you talking about?” “You know, those big Rubbermaid tubs you’ve got all painted up like buildings or something.” “Hah!” The black lady laughed out loud. “Those are my pet condos!” “You have pets? I’ve never seen any animals outside your home.” Jasmine slapped Tabitha playfully on the shoulder. “Oh these are definitely indoor pets. They never leave their condos.” “Now I’m lost.”

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“Come with me and I’ll introduce you to them.” Grabbing her friend by the arm, Jasmine pulled her neighbor toward the front door. “Oh, you’re not squeamish, are you, Tabbi?”

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Chapter Five Tabitha dropped her chin and dug in her heels at Jasmine’s loaded question. “Squeamish? Why? What kind of creatures do you keep in those condos, Jasmine?” Jasmine tugged at her arm and grinned playfully. “Don’t worry, scaredy-puss, they don’t bite. They don’t even have teeth, silly. They’re just the cutest, wiggliest, most helpful little eaters you’ve ever seen!” Jasmine dragged her new friend reluctantly across the street and juggled her keys and pocketbook, keeping a reassuring hand on her neighbor’s wrist. “I swear, Tabbi, you’ll love them.” Jasmine threw open the bright green front door with a flourish and it took Tabitha’s eyes a moment to adjust to the wild riot of colors within. “I think we finally found something we don’t have in common, Jasmine.” Jasmine giggled. “You mean my wild sense of style? My yen for yowza?” She crossed the living room and plopped unceremoniously onto an enormous divan that resembled a giant clump of spearmint chewing gum more than anything. Bright mint-colored velvet, enormously overstuffed, at least four feet wide and over fourteen feet long, it was covered with purple and white striped satin pillows. In front of the divan, an odd-shaped glass tabletop rested on a mint green wicker base. All around the room, hung at odd heights and of varying lengths, were shelves. Incredible shelves! Tabbi’s eyes popped and she did a slow circle, taking in the entire room and its contents in slack-jawed wonder. “It’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen. It’s like living in the big exhibit hall at the State Fair.” Jasmine laughed and patted the seat next to her. “Take a load off, girl, looks like you could use a break. Can I get you something to drink? There’s wine, water, and -- wine.” She

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grinned sheepishly, “I haven’t found the grinder yet, so I can’t make you a cup of coffee. Fruit? Tahini? Crudité?” Tabitha sank gracefully into the cushions and kicked her mules under the table. “I feel like I just entered the private chambers of the Empress of America or something. Wine? Crudité? Are you always this -- sophisticated? At my house, you’d be lucky to get crackers and spray cheese.” Jasmine grinned. “I adore spray cheese! But let’s keep that just between us. Seriously, I’ll be back in a jiffy.” Tabbi picked up a magazine from the selection piled on the table and yet to be put away. “BioCycle?” What the heck? She looked for something more interesting. Resource Recycling? Construction and Demolition Recycling? EcoIQ? She shouted toward the kitchen just as Jasmine entered through the swinging door with a tray of munchies and a carafe of white wine and two glasses. “You are really into recycling big time.” Jasmine picked up the zines and dropped them onto a zebra-shaped side table. “Tools of the trade, my dear. I’m a broker, it pays to keep up with what’s current, what the market will bear. After all, you never know what might sit languishing in a warehouse with no takers…” Tabbi’s eyes glazed over slightly so Jasmine changed the subject. “So what’s with that charming husband of yours? He’s a…” She paused for a second and scowled. “…a rather cool customer.” Tabbi stared at her hands. “That’s putting it politely. I might have said cold fish today. I’m so embarrassed, Jasmine. He was insufferably rude to you today.” She swiped at moist eyes and took the glass of wine Jasmine offered. “I don’t know why I expected him to be friendly. It’s just -- you look so much like me. I thought the novelty…” She broke off and gulped the rest of her glass down. “Okay, Jasmine. I want you to tell me straight out. What was your impression of Don? And I don’t mean, what did you think of how he acted. You saw something deeper, I could tell. I could feel an impression coming off of you in cold waves. My God, I swear something about the man frightened you!” Jasmine picked up her glass and tucked her bare feet underneath her skirt on the divan. “So we’re talking about my ‘perceptions.’ I wondered when you were going to ask about that.” She sighed. “I’ve always been able to ‘read’ people. Sort of like reading auras, picking up vibes, there are a million ways to describe it… I guess I really don’t understand my…talent all that well, but I trust it.” Tabitha wistfully observed, “I’ll bet under your skin, you look a lot like you’re dressed, all colorful and sparkly.” “Actually I can’t read myself.” “Really?” Tabitha paused and then muttered. “Well, I bet I’m dull and grey.”

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Jasmine clasped Tabitha’s hands and forces her to meet her eyes. “You’re the most stunning shade of golden yellow and orange imaginable, Tabitha. You must have a truly kind and generous soul to be so beautiful.” “Oh well, this time your impressions are probably wrong.” She stared straight into her eyes. “They’re never wrong, sweetie. And that husband of yours…” Tabitha waited for the black lady to continue. “Well, don’t just let it hang in the air like that! What?” “I can’t tell you, Tabbi! He’s your husband.” “Jasmine, even I can sense that he’s involved with something bad.” She looked straight into her new friend’s eyes. “Tell me straight.” “Whatever bad thing Don’s involved with, sweetie -- he’s in it up to his neck -- because he looks to me as if some dark, terrible…” She didn’t want to say slime. “…cloud is hanging over him.”

***** Don shivered as a single fingernail sliced painfully into his sternum. Strangely enough, his prick quivered with renewed energy at the delicious hint of danger she projected. “Of course, Anastasia. There’s nothing to it. I’ll have the transfer paperwork ready for you in the morning.” She licked his neck like a lioness, then bit his ear, hard. “Not in the morning, Don. Tonight. I must have the comb tonight!” “But the paperwork is complicated. You must know that, what with lawyers and notary publics…” “You’re not listening to me, Don. I said I’m taking possession of the jade comb tonight.” Anastasia noticed Don’s eagerness and she pulled him to the edge of the bed. Leaning in close, she whispered in his ear; “Do you think you might enjoy what I am going to do to you? Do you desire me as much as you fear me?” Don could barely speak, so eager was he to join her on the bed. He nodded shakily, licking the sweat from his lips. She sat back with an evil gleam in her eye. “We shall see.” Grasping his prick firmly, she used it to pull him onto the bed with a jerk. The unexpected pain brought tears to his eyes, but he fought to keep from crying out, biting his tongue and drawing blood. She purred. “I need to know if you are prepared to be completely subservient, to cater to my every whim.”

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He nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yes, Anastasia. I would use everything in my power to fulfill your every desire.” She flashed a wicked grin. “And what if my desire is to take you, to use you like a woman?” The confusion in his eyes must have shown, for she laughed as she pulled a silk pouch from the drawer of the nightstand Then she withdrew a thick leather phallus attached to a studded harness for his inspection. His heart pounded with fear as he watched her strap on the long, black cock. Anastasia crawled to his side and stroked his chest with her fingers. “Do not be afraid, Donnie darling. I would not use this on an unwilling man.” His chest heaved with relief. He realized she’d done that merely to scare him. Now she’d release him and move on to their next game. His relief was short-lived. She whispered in his ear, “Impudent man, I will have you begging for this; baring your rosebud for the world to see, pleading with me to fill it with my little toy.” Don’s face flushed red with shame. He could not imagine wanting what she proposed, at any cost. She sat cross-legged before him and ordered him to rise up on his knees. Using a tub of cocoa butter, she oiled his body, every inch of it. Starting with his face, she smoothed the cream around his eyes and cheeks, trailing her fingers across his lips. Moving to his neck and chest, her exquisite fingers rubbed circles of molten lava into his skin. He could barely contain his desire; he wanted to reach for her so badly. Don clenched his hands into tight fists, extending them down at his sides. She teased his nipples with her teeth, first one, and then the other. Hearing his moan of pleasure, she bit down harder. Her eyes wide open and fixed on Don’s own, she studied his reaction. As she teased his nipples, she trailed her hands lower and reached behind, squeezing his buttocks with long, sharp talons. She pinched and rolled the flesh of his ass, making his penis jerk with need. Apparently enjoying his discomfort, she trailed her fingers over his ribs and belly before finally taking his quivering cock in her hand. At that moment, it took every ounce of strength he possessed not to empty his seed onto the bedcovers. He clenched his jaw while she trailed hot kisses across it. She stroked and twisted his shaft, the gentle friction causing warmth to spread through his groin. Bending at the waist, she licked the head of his shaft like a cat, with tiny light strokes. A tiny pearl of liquid formed on the tip of his cock, and she savored it, rolling her tongue over his glans and sighing. His mind totally blown, Don imagined his spirit soared above his body, trying to watch Anastasia make love to him on the physical plane.

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She turned over onto all fours and arched her back, presenting her pussy for his inspection, rubbing it with an elegant finger. “Do you find this arousing, Don? Is the smell of my wet pussy calling you? Do you want to taste me, Donald?” He groaned, desperate to tongue her there. “Ohyesohyesohyesohyes --” She beckoned him with a finger, pointing to the glistening pink lips of her wet center. “Kiss me slowly, darling, I don’t like to rush.” He grasped her hips in both hands and gently rotated them to get the best angle, before smoothly running the tip of his tongue straight up the middle of her hot cleft. Drawing a deep breath of her scent, he was reminded of the salty-sweet kernels of kettle corn sold to children at street fairs, the aroma warm and tantalizing. She tasted of cocoa butter and salty fluids, which he alternately lapped and sucked at in a frenzy of desire. He was compelled to consume her, to make his way inside her sex and stake his claim. She mewed like a kitten and ground her cunt against his mouth, taking immense pleasure in his efforts. He could tell she was getting hot, and rose up on his knees to mount her from behind. The minute she felt the head of his cock teasing her wet cunt, she froze in shock. Turning abruptly, she delivered a stinging slap across his face, following it immediately with another. “No one enters me without my permission, or my command! Is that clear, slave?” His heart plunged and his penis drooped a little in the face of her anger. Anastasia glowered over Don like an avenging angel; he would happily have jumped into a raging inferno had she commanded it at that moment. She saw his contrition and took pity on him, lowering a gentle hand to his waning manhood. She stroked it to attention, lovingly caressing him to show her forgiveness. Red with shame and need, he submitted to her hands, surrendering his will to her pleasure. She rolled him onto his stomach and trailed her hair across his buttocks, the silky tendrils igniting a fire in his gut. Gently lowering her body over Don’s, she ground the hard points of her nipples into his ass, sliding them along the crack and teasing his asshole. After a few moments, she lifted him onto bent knees and inspected him, running a warm, buttery finger along his crack and around his anus. “Your ass is wonderful, Don. So tight, so perfect.” She lowered her head and slowly ran her tongue along the path she had made with her finger. The fire in his gut roared to a raging inferno, and he prayed to the gods she would continue this exquisite torture. His cheeks quivering, he spread his knees wider and thrust his asshole closer to her face. She chuckled low in her throat and licked his hole, thrusting her tongue just inside the tight opening.

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He felt his strength ebbing as a thousand white lights burst behind his tightly closed eyelids. He was proud and exhilarated to be at her cruel mercy. Sucking gently, she brought his need to a fevered pitch. Don bucked and rolled his hips, trying to fuck her tongue with his ass. He wanted penetration so badly it actually hurt. She rubbed cocoa butter all around his anus with a firm thumb, stretching the outer rim of the hole while she licked the center. His whole body quivering with need, he begged her. “Oh please…” She sighed into his ear. “Please what?” He couldn’t restrain the passion that exploded from his sternum. “Please fuck me!” She crouched behind him and pushed the phallus into his anus in a slow, shallow, stroke. The excruciating pain satisfied him at the same moment. Incredibly, the experience of being filled by her consumed him totally. She thrust as if the thing was part of her body, slowly deepening her strokes as Don relaxed, rotating it inside of him until his penis raged with need, jumping up and down independent of his desires. He surrendered to the hypnotic rhythm and rolled his hips in time with hers, sliding his ass back and forth along the leather shaft. He could feel every tiny bump along the seam, titillating his asshole as she stroked. Finally, mercifully, she rolled him onto his back. Unbuckling the belt, she cast it aside and straddled him roughly, riding him to her own screeching climax, before shoving him ruthlessly from her bed. “Get dressed. Let’s get going. I don’t like to wait.” Disappointed, he didn’t dare protest. He knew his excuses would mean nothing, since his reputation and loyalty to his special clients were on the line. He knew a single negative word from Anastasia would put an end to his lucrative little side-venture. She purred as she reached for the telephone. “It’ll be an interesting experience for you, Don. I’ll walk you through the steps.”

***** Tabbi’s knuckles whitened in Jasmine’s grip. Whatever bad thing Don’s involved with…he’s up to his neck in it… She felt dizzy and fought the urge to faint. “I know! I can -feel things, too.” She took a deep, cleansing breath before she continued. “I mean, I can’t really feel it, but my eyes see…” Again she paused. “Look, Jazzy, lately, one of Don’s work keys, when he leaves them on the hall table, well -- it’s really nasty.” “Nasty. What do you mean?”

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“I mean, I see sharp, nasty little teeth -- sort of a gaping maw without a head.” She shut up for a second and looked away from her new friend. “It’s my talent, like yours…sort of my gift to see the nature of things. Not all the time, but when inanimate objects get misused, I can see it. Remember the thermostat part we picked up on that first day we met? That day, I knew I had to replace the old one because -- well, it was dying!” “Well, aren’t we a pair?” Jasmine hugged Tabitha impulsively. “We could open our own freak show!” Tabbi’s eyes started to well up with tears. Jasmine clucked her tongue and hugged her harder. “I didn’t mean it, sweetie, I was just playing with you!” Tabbi smiled and shook her head. “It’s wasn’t that. It’s just, Don. I mean, I knew he was acting weird, but I guess I didn’t want to believe something was really going on. You know what I mean?” She hiccoughed and sniffed loudly. Jasmine shook her head sympathetically, “Sister, it’s going on, all right.” She pulled Tabbi off the couch and led her to the kitchen. “Let’s get our minds off of Don and onto to something better. You ready to meet my babies?” Tabitha’s eyes popped again and she backed up a step, shaking her head. “Maybe just one more glass of wine, Jazz.” Jasmine laughed and pulled her forward. “Don’t be a wuss-puss! They’re completely harmless and totally shy.” Entering the kitchen, Tabbi saw the colorful condos stacked artfully at the end of the kitchen countertop. Shades of green, orange, yellow, blue, and purple blazed in contrast to the sunny yellow décor. If she’d had to use one word to describe Jasmine’s kitchen, it would be…zest. She imagined this was what a kitchen would look like, when the cook had zest. “Just what are we talking about, Jazzy? Really, don’t open that thing until I know what to expect, I mean it.” Jasmine giggled. “All you’re going to see is garbage anyway, honey. Carrot, beet, and apple peelings, a little melon rind… They love melon rind.” The blonde interrupted. “You keep saying them, as in plural. What are they? Mice? Lizards? Please, not snakes!” Jasmine held up her chin. “I never knew a snake that could make black gold out of garbage, Tabbi. These are my sweeties. My little red wigglers. Compost worms, to be specific.” Tabitha shuddered. “Worms? Oh my God! That’s disgusting! You keep worms in your kitchen?” “Shame on you!” Jasmine sniffed. “We’re going to pretend we didn’t hear you, because you don’t know any better. It’s called vermi-composting, and it makes my trash can a hell of a lot lighter, and my garden grows like angels tend it with tears from heaven. I just throw a

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little wet paper and my food waste into these bins, and a few weeks later, I have compost. The best compost money can buy. In fact, I used to sell it to the chef of my favorite restaurant back home. He paid eight dollars a pound for it!” She raised the lid on one of the bins and hooked a finger at her neighbor. “Come over here.” “Do I have to?” “Silly, they won’t hurt you.” As Tabbi inched closer, she was surprised to see the busy little creatures burrowing away from the light as fast as they could. “Why, they’re tiny! They’re not even two inches long!” Jasmine nodded. “They’re very small. See those little gold things that look like plant food?” Tabbi nodded. Jasmine continued. “Those are eggs. I need to stir this batch and get the compost out of the bottom soon; it’s almost ready. I can’t be lazy about setting up the container garden on the back patio, or all this will go to waste!” Tabbi smiled. “Listen, I can think of someone who might help you with that. My favorite pizza place, The Wizza’s -- Clyde, the chef and owner, grows his own herbs and veggies, and I know he’d use your compost.” Jasmine grinned. “Sounds like my kind of man! Pizza chef slash farmer? Is he married?” Tabbi nodded. “’Fraid so. She’s half-owner of the place. You know, I bet he has a table or booth near the stage free tonight. I don’t feel like spending the evening waiting for Don to show up and throw his laundry at me. Want to grab a slice and some cold beer?” Jasmine squealed. “Honey, I thought you’d never ask!”

***** “Whoa!” Jasmine looked from wall to wall in the pizza parlor. A giant mural of Elton John as the Wizard of Oz, decked out in glittery green platforms and wild green sunglasses, dominated the wall behind the bar. Around the restaurant, several of Jazzy’s favorite recording artists were featured as characters from Oz; Tom Petty as the Scarecrow, Robert Plant as the Cowardly Lion, David Bowie as the Tin Man, Kiss as the Winged Monkeys, and Cher as the Wicked Witch of the West, all eating slices of gooey pizza. A band leisurely set up on a stage to the right of the bar, while a jukebox blasted classic rock. A few couples were scattered on the dance floor, enjoying themselves immensely. “Wild! When you said pizza, I was expecting a mom and pop place -- you know, dark tables, low-hanging lamps… This is amazing! It’s more like a nightclub than a pizza joint. Is the place always this crowded?”

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“It’s a local favorite. I’ve seen some nights when the line stretches out the front door. If we can’t find an open booth, it isn’t unheard of to sit with strangers.” Jasmine smiled as she eyed a green velvet booth with two handsome gentlemen sitting in it -- one black man and one white man. Perfect! “In that case, you get in line to order while I find us a place to sit.” She sauntered right over to the plush booth where the two good-looking men sat. Both men looked up in surprise as she stopped at their table. “Would it inconvenience you two gentlemen, if my friend…” She pointed to Tabitha. “…and I sat down with you tonight?” The white man broke into the most gorgeous smile she’d ever seen. “I think that would be our pleasure.” “Great!” She couldn’t take her eyes off that beautiful smile. Something about this man made her feel all warm and achy inside. “Let me place my order, and I’ll…er…we’ll be right back.” When Jasmine got into the order line, Tabitha had been telling the owner that she had found a source of superior compost for his garden. “Hey, Clyde, how’d you like a great deal on grade-A worm poo for your herb garden?” Jazzy grinned at her new friend -- nothing subtle about her sales technique. “As soon as I finish with the rush, Tabbi, I’ll come out to your booth and we’ll talk.” “Good enough. Clyde, this is Jasmine King -- worm rancher extraordinaire!” “Nice to meet-cha, pretty lady, welcome to Za’s. I’d shake, but the health department would object.” “Fabulous place you have here, Clyde. I love the décor! Elton John is one of my favorite singers!” “My wife’s idea, actually. She’s the real “Wiz” behind Wizza’s. I’ll tell her you dig it.” They placed their order and Jasmine led Tabbi back to the booth. When Jasmine started to sit next to the black guy, the white guy stood up and gestured that she should sit next to him. “That’s if you don’t mind, milady.” The women stared at each other in surprise. The opposite man each thought she would sit next to gestured for them to take a seat. Jasmine’s eyes flashed. “Not at all.” Tabitha gulped a dry swallow in the back of her throat as she sat down next to the black man. “So, are you two fellas regular customers here?” “Not exactly! I remember this place being a lot smaller five or six years ago.” The black man’s eyes looked away for a few seconds. “We drove a good part of the afternoon to get here from Battle Creek -- for business. Anyway, we needed to drive into town today in order to get started tomorrow, and we both needed to unwind -- so to speak.”

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“So you two work together?” The white man nodded and stuck his hand out to Jasmine. “Brad Johnson. Ben and I are partners in a small agency down south. I guess you could say we’re back in Beech Haven on temporary assignment.” Tabitha gave him a puzzled look. “Back?” Bradley laughed. “It’s a long story. Anyway, tell us a little about yourselves.” “Well, my name is Tabitha.” Her eyes brightened. “And the lady you’ve super-glued yourself to is Jasmine.” “Oh dear, is it that obvious?” Brad leaned into the charming black woman. “Please tell me you’re not married.” Jasmine sighed. “Well, not any more.” Brad did a double-take. “What does that mean?” “My husband perished in Iraq.” Taken aback, Brad pulled away from her. “Oh…I am so sorry.” Ben quickly jumped in to rescue his partner. “Was this very recent?” “Two years ago,” Jasmine replied. Her cheeks darkened in a blush. “Sometimes it’s so distant, and sometimes it feels like yesterday.” “We’re sorry for your loss, Jasmine. I know words mean very little at a time like this.” Ben turned to Tabitha. “I suppose I should ask if you’re married as well.” Tabitha grinned and nodded. “’Fraid so.” Jasmine jumped on that response. “You sure wouldn’t know it from the way she’s been treated.” Tabitha turned red. “Jazzy! Stop!” A moment of awkward silence passed until Bradley spoke. “So are you two from around here?” Tabitha cleared her throat. “We’re neighbors. But Jazzy’s brand new to the ’hood. This is the first time she’s ever been to Wizza’s.” Ben caught the waitress and asked if she could bring a new round of drinks for everyone as the two women settled into the booth. Still, Jasmine sensed that Tabitha felt a bit flustered as she sat next to Benjamin. A harmless conversation with a handsome black man should have been merely simple social intercourse. Something about this man appealed to her feminine side, but darned if she knew what, exactly. Ben sensed her discomfort. “If you don't mind me asking, what is a beautiful -- married woman like you doing here without your husband tonight? Girls’ night out?”

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Almost too nervous to answer Ben's question, Tabitha stammered. “It-it was a l-last minute decision for J-Jasmine and me to come to Wizza’s tonight. My husband’s busy with -um -- out of town clients.” “You know -- forgive me for saying this,” Brad interjected. “But I can’t believe how much the two of you look alike. Are you related in some way?” Both girls smiled, and even Ben laughed out loud. Bradley’s cheeks reddened. “I mean, you know, way back?” Tabbi shook her head. “Not to our knowledge. But the physical similarities are certainly there.” Brad eyes went back and forth from woman to woman. “I think it’s incredible.” Benjamin was tall, maybe around six foot five or even taller. Sitting right next to Tabitha in the booth, and towering over her as he did, Jasmine couldn't help but notice how Ben seemed to be glancing down the vee-neck of Tabbi’s sweater right into her cleavage. Every now and then, she noticed her friend blush subconsciously, but there seemed to be no way Tabbi could cover herself. She watched her friend squirm in her seat until finally Tabitha brought her left hand up to her shoulder as if she was trying to scratch an itch. Jasmine caught Tabitha’s eyes as her friend glanced over at her pleading for assistance, but Jasmine decided to leave Tabbi to her own devices. After all, she had become completely absorbed in her conversation with Bradley. “Hey, is that a jukebox I see?” Brad stood up and looked over in the corner. “C’mon, Jasmine, dance with me.” “Hot damn! A white boy who can dance? Just how many beers have you had, Bradley?” Bradley grinned lecherously and wiggled his pelvis like the King. “Just enough to loosen up the caboose, darlin’.” Tabitha looked over at Jasmine in surprise, just in time to watch her friend bounce from the booth and follow Brad out into the center of the room. Ben took another sip of his drink. “Have you and your husband lived around here very long?” Tabitha shook her head and glanced around the room looking for familiar faces. Were people staring at her sitting with him? Did anyone she know recognize her? “Not long,” she nervously replied. “Close to four years. We bought a place just north of town.” “I've never been married myself. I imagine it takes a lot of energy to keep a long-term relationship going successfully. If I may ask, how many years have you been married?” “Seven years,” Tabitha said. “In fact, we just celebrated our seventh wedding anniversary -- sort of.” “What do you mean by sort of?”

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Tabitha sat thinking for a few seconds before adding to her statement. “I mean, I celebrated our last anniversary -- alone. My husband didn't even remember what day it was. I was so upset I would have spent the whole day in tears, if it weren’t for Jazz. She moved in across the street that same morning.”

Why did I tell him that? She fought the urge to cover her face with her hands. Ben put his arm up around the back of the seat behind Tabitha. “I'm really sorry, sugar. How could a man be married to such a beautiful, sweet woman and not remember an important day like his own anniversary?” Tabitha looked up into his eyes; he had such warm and gentle eyes. “The funny thing is my husband hasn't taken me out at all, besides his corporate Christmas party, for the last three years of our marriage. He can remember the birthday or an important date of one of his friends, even his clients, but he can't remember something as important as our anniversary or my birthday.” “That’s because his secretary doesn’t remind him about your birthday.” Ben dropped his hand to hers, trying to reassure her by patting her hand, but this action set Tabbi off in a totally different direction. Tabitha began to cry, putting her hands up to cover her eyes, as Ben reached over and gave her a napkin from the table. “I have a feeling that someday your life is going to take a big turn for the better. I bet you’re going to meet someone who will treat you as the very special lady you obviously are.” Tabitha wiped the tears from her face; her hand was shaking as she reached out and took a sip from her drink. Ben put his arm around her and gave her a gentle hug as she sniffled. Then she gave Ben a weak smile. “So do you and your husband have any children?” Still dabbing at one eye, Tabitha shook her head. “Well, that’s a small blessing, I suppose,” Ben said. “Especially if you two aren’t getting along.” “We couldn’t have children,” Tabitha remarked. Now why did I blurt that out? She dabbed at her eyes a few more times and remained quiet until the song that Jasmine and Bradley picked to dance to was over. She decided to change the subject. “Sure looks like somebody has hit it off.” They both watched as the handsome, blond hunk and the attractive, outgoing black woman strolled back to the table, arms casually draped around each other’s waists, hip to hip. Jazz plopped into the seat and took a swig of Bradley’s beer, while he poured her a new glass from the pitcher on the table. “You two guys said something about being partners in a consulting agency?” Ben smiled. “Johnson and Associates, Security Consultants from Battle Creek.”

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“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Jasmine said. “So which one of you two happens to be the real Johnson?” Both men responded immediately on top of each other: “I am.” Bradley smiled. Ben threw his hands out in an open gesture. “That would be me!”

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Chapter Six Jasmine smiled and looked from blond man to black man. “All right, what’s the deal?” Benjamin winked at her. “We both are.” “Come again?” “He’s Bradley Johnson, and I’m Benjamin Johnson. So no matter which one of us goes out on a call, the client thinks he’s getting the big boss, Mr. Johnson, see?” Tabitha laughed. “Very clever!” She took a swig of beer to settle the butterflies that had taken wing in her stomach. Being in the proximity of this man brought up a swell of mixed feelings. At first she thought that he’d slipped too closely into her personal space. Then again maybe it wasn’t close enough. Stop it! You’re a married woman. If anything, Tabitha seemed to want to reassure Ben he hadn’t said anything to upset her. To emphasize this, she gently laid her hand on his hand and wrist, but quickly withdrew it when the hard sinews contracted beneath the material of his sleeve. She flexed her fingers, itching to feel him again, but stopped out of loyalty to her husband. “And your associates?” Both men let huge grins cross their faces. “Randy!” They answered almost simultaneously. “Our office manager,” Ben continued. “We both wanted a young, gorgeous female secretary until we realized that we’d never get any work done. So we opted for a gay man in his early forties.” “Your ‘Gal Friday’ is a man?” “Randy does absolutely everything. The office runs smoothly under his supervision. Accounting, coordinating clients, he even lets us pretend to be the bosses.” Bradley put his arm around Jasmine. She leaned her head on his shoulder and looked over at Tabitha, who was now smiling again.

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“I'm really glad these guys decided to let us join them tonight. Aren’t you, Tabbi?” Tabitha smiled back at Jasmine as she nervously rubbed the palm of her hand along the inside of her thigh. “Y-yes. I do feel very relaxed with you guys.” She blushed and bit her lower lip, aware that she felt anything but relaxed emotionally, next to the gentle giant to her right. “So,” Jasmine began. “Just what is it you guys consult?” “We’re security specialists.” Brad met her eyes with his. Ben leaned forward and propped his elbows on the table. “A lot of businesses are paranoid about industrial sabotage. We’re deep into that.” “Are you guys into the technical end or is it people you specialize in?” Tabitha’s mouth felt dry. When Ben shifted, his thigh lightly brushed her own, and the swift contact rocked her like a bolt of lightning. “Actually, we do both,” Bradley replied. “Ben’s specialty is probably stronger in computer spyware and hacking, while mine is more personnel investigation. But we’re both pretty damn capable when it comes right down to it. We’re even certified to teach Kichijitsu from the man who devised the technique.”

“Kichijitsu?” Jasmine gave him a puzzled look. “Is that some sort of exotic martial art?” “I suppose you could call it that.” Ben paused to take a sip of his beer. “Kichijitsu tedo takes many of the elements of Buddhism and transforms them into a balance of martial arts techniques.” “Uh-oh,” Tabitha responded. “Why do I get the feeling we’re going to be in for a lecture on Eastern philosophy?” “According to our sensei the circle of life is neither aggressive nor defensive,” Bradley added. “This is hard to explain, but with Kichijitsu, you can’t really take out your aggressions on someone.” “Okay…” Jasmine grimaced, contorting her pretty face. “Now I’m confused.” “There’s an underlying Buddhist belief behind it,” Benjamin began. “Those who wish to

perform evil only make their enemies happy.” Both women stared at their respective companions while trying to allow Ben’s words to sink in. “Always think of what your actions are and the reasons behind them,” Brad explained. “We have been taught not to contemplate bad actions.” “What? Is this some sort of Buddhist do unto others --?” “It’s nearly as simple as that. And it’s terribly complicated as well.” “Master Taku --” Brad began. “Sensei Takumi!” Ben corrected.

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“Oh yeah…Sensei Takumi told us that a person can’t channel energy if you have ill intent -- purposely wish to cause damage. Kichijitsu tedo is all about maintaining the balance in the universe.” Here Ben went into detail about what the art of Kichijitsu tedo and its companion style kichijutsu, which entails fighting with a sword. “So you see, devoid of heeding that natural balance, martial arts for style’s sake may inflict damage,” Ben said. “Real damage.” Bradley continued. “But Sensei Takumi can take you down while administering a healing touch at the same time.” Ben looked at his watch. “Speaking of him, we have an appointment with him early tomorrow morning.” “Ben!” Bradley chastised his partner. “The evening’s just getting started. Besides, it would be impolite to leave our new friends right in the middle of their meal.” “All of a sudden you’re the one worried about good manners.” Ben shook his head. “All right, as long as these young ladies don’t mind, we can hang on for a while longer.” Jasmine spoke up immediately. “Oh, please stay.” Tabitha looked at the faces around the table, saw Jasmine’s pleading eyes and relented. “Uhh…sure. Stick around for a few minutes more.” As the evening’s conversation continued, Bradley and Jasmine seemed to tune out the rest of the world as they sat together, not speaking but saying volumes with their eyes. Suddenly, Jasmine grabbed a paper napkin and reached down into her purse. She took out her pen in order to write down her cell phone number. She pressed the napkin into Brad’s hand and crushed it against his palm. “Don’t you dare throw this away!” He placed it in his shirt breast pocket and then took a similar napkin, waited until she handed him her pen, and reciprocated. “Same to you, my dear.” Then before anyone could second-guess the moment, Brad leaned down and kissed Jasmine on the lips. Instead of backing away, Jasmine hooked an arm around the back of his neck and pulled him even closer. Smiling as he waited for his partner to unlock his lips from the smoldering black beauty, Ben turned to Tabbi. “Unless I’m misinterpreting the signs,” he gestured to Ben and Jazz, locked at the lips, “we’ll be seeing each other again before we leave town.” She stared, fascinated at her friend’s exhibition as well. “Thanks. It was…well…um wonderful meeting you, too.” After a few awkward minutes the couple finally broke their kiss, and both men stood up to vacate the booth. “Well.” Bradley stared into her green eyes. “Later?” Jasmine nodded. “Mm-hmm…later.” She stared at him long and hard as he slowly retreated from the pizza joint.

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Tabitha glanced over and noticed Clyde had dried his hands on a towel as he began walking over to their table. “So I hear we need to talk about natural fertilizer?” Tabitha looked up at Clyde while they waited for Jasmine to reply. “Jazzy? Hey, worm lady! If I can get your attention away from the way his jeans fit for just a moment?” “Huh?” Jasmine looked as if someone had just awakened her. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” “No!” Clyde broke into a big uneven smile. “From the look on your face, sorry is not the word that comes to mind.”

***** Brad waved Ben off when he offered to drive the rental car back to the hotel from the pizza joint. “I’m fine, I only had two beers, Ben, don’t sweat it.” He fished the remote keys to the over-sized sedan out of his pocket and released the locks. With a satisfied sigh, he slid behind the wheel of their rented Buick Lucerne. “Wow, I can’t say I’m happy about the gas mileage on this yacht, but the extra room and the wide seats are going to spoil me.” Ben tilted the passenger seat back and closed his eyes. “Tell me about it.” Bradley laughed and turned the key in the ignition, starting the engine without making a sound. “Hear that? That’s what a car is supposed to sound like, my friend.” Ben settled back and snuggled deeper into the seats. “Damn! This feels nice.” Bradley frowned. “Don’t fall asleep on me yet, Ben. I’m not carrying you into the hotel. Besides, I want to talk about those bewitching ladies from the land of Za’s.” Ben opened one eye. “What’s to talk about? You have her number, bro. Give her a call.” Bradley smiled peevishly. “I just wanted to make sure we were cool, you know?” “No. I don’t.” Ben opened both eyes and raised his head. “Why wouldn’t I be cool?” Bradley sighed. “Jeez, just forget I said anything. I’m probably putting my foot in my mouth. I felt nervous because I thought you’d think I was moving into your territory.” “My territory?” “Since she’s…you know, black and all.” Ben threw back his head and laughed. “Jesus Christ, Brad! I don’t automatically assume you have first dibs on the white girls we meet, why would you think I’d overreact like that?” “Because she’s -- So. Damn. Beautiful.” Ben opened his eyes all the way to scrutinize his friend for a moment. “Whew! You’ve got it bad. Far be it from me to stand in the way of true love.” Bradley shrugged. “Thanks, Ben, she’s…wow!” He shook his head. “Well, I agree there. Plus, the other thing I realized after you pointed it out was that those two women did look amazingly alike.”

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“Didn’t they? It’s freaky! If it wasn’t for their skin color, I’d have sworn they were sisters…hell, twins.” Brad pulled out of the parking lot. “Damn! Jasmine has curves in all the right places, and knows how to move them. If we had a little more time on our hands --” “Well, we don’t,” Ben interrupted. “We’d better put those thoughts in the back of your mind and concentrate on this case, please. We don’t have time to go chasing a couple of pretty skirts while we’re trying to do an end run around the police and Hillendale’s regular auction house security.” Bradley mock saluted his partner. “Yes, sir!” After a short pause, he continued. “Okay, the fact is I’m not too thrilled with those particular aspects of this case either. How’d we get talked into this again?” “Randy said something about having to pay the bills, I think.”

***** Anastasia Romanov IV enjoyed the looks of confusion generated whenever she announced her name. Some people laughed self-consciously, as if they’d just been told a joke. Others looked at her quizzically as if they’d heard the name before, but weren’t sure just where. Still others didn’t get it. “My mother named me after someone famous,” Anastasia often repeated the phrase while trolling for new lovers over fashionable cocktails in the VIP lounges of swanky hotels. If the bar was full of businessmen, her drinks were guaranteed to show up on someone else’s tab, so she insisted on top shelf, being a high-maintenance creature. The world had evolved since the tales of the lost skeleton of the daughter of Czar Nicholas II fueled the rumors over Anastasia’s escape from death during the Bolshevik revolution of 1917. The tale of the Emperor of Russia, King of Poland, and Grand Duke of Finland fluttered from whispers and rumors into full-fledged legend. Technically not a princess, sixteen-year-old Anastasia had held the title of Grand Duchess when her family was executed. However, her skeleton was missing from the mass grave of the Romanov family. That little fact recalled the adamant claim of the woman known as Anna Anderson to be Anastasia of Russia back in the 1920s and 30s. This woman’s claim was nonsense, most everyone figured, as everybody knew the little princess died in the execution of the Czar’s family in July of 1918. This particular manifestation of Anastasia had to be what age -- late thirties or early forties? Plus, “the fourth” stood quite tall and stalwart, very much a modern woman. The Grand Duchess would have been a slight, tiny girl born in June of 1901 -- probably barely a slip of a gal, a fraction of Anastasia’s Amazon size. Not to mention that she’d have to be over a century old!

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No, unlike the noted historical imposter, Anna Anderson, Anastasia made no claims one way or the other. She usually agreed she couldn’t possibly be the Grand Duchess, but never denied being a member of the Romanov family, as unlikely as that seemed.

“My mother named me after someone famous.” Holding court at the hotel bar, she glanced up to see two truly interesting specimens checking in at the desk. One was a tall, trim, black man, while the other was a well built blond who obviously labored over his phenomenal physique. Both were incredibly attractive. She couldn’t decide just from looking but was aroused by the thought that they might be lovers. Nothing at all like the phenomenal bores surrounding her at present.

Hmmmm. Wonder if they’d be up for a ménage a‘trois? It’s been ages… Titillated by the idea of taking them both at once, she absentmindedly drained her third snifter of RM Louis XIII, priced at $175 a shot. She raised her finger and tapped the glass, signaling for another. The bar tab of the simpering silver-haired prune on her left grew heavier by the sip. The new guests rolled a baggage cart out to the parking lot. Good, give them a few

minutes to retrieve their luggage and head back to the elevator. I’ll intercept them at the lift. She started to light another Little Caribbean Peach-Rum cigarillo. Three of the men in the bar jockeyed for position to set flame to her small cigar first. Her eyes pierced obsidian holes in the small stream of smoke winding sinuously from her lips, and she casually dismissed them all at once. Damn these men! They were such useless, predictable creatures. When the elevator door opened for the two men and their baggage cart, she was ready. She called out brightly, quickly crossing the lobby from the lounge. “Wait a moment please, won’t you? Do you mind holding the door for me?” The dark man placed his hand between the elevator doors, causing them to pop back open, and she slipped inside the car, inserting herself between the men and their baggage cart. “Thank you, gentlemen. I’d had more than enough of the idiots in the bar tonight.” Anastasia drew neatly on her little cigar. “Please forgive a lady her one tiny vice.” “Only one?” The blond man laughed. “That makes you a saint, I believe.” The black man forced a smile. “Of course, you’re liable to ruin those pretty pink lungs of yours.” “Oh, are you a doctor?” “No,” the black man responded. “But I’ve seen what tobacco can do.” “Well, too bad you’re not, I’m afraid I’m far overdue for a physical. Do either of you have any medical training at all? This body is in need of a thorough -- examination.” Dark eyes opened wide in surprise. “Uhh-huh, and how much did you have to drink while you were in the bar?”

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“Honestly! Whatever makes you ask?” Go on! Offer them the thrill of their lives. “You know, I bet the two of you could lead a lady through an exhaustive physical trial. Indeed, I bet I could stand at least two or maybe even three hours’ worth of strenuous exercise.” The two men glanced at each other, correctly interpreting her offer. The blond man replied, “I think you’d be better off checking with the concierge about extra-curricular activities, ma’am. I’m sure there’s a long list of more qualified candidates right here in the hotel.” The black man interjected, “Besides, I’m afraid we have to get up very, very early for an important appointment in the morning.” Anastasia’s face turned a stony shade of gray, purple veins pulsing around her temples and forehead. “I see. Thank you for the…suggestion. I assure you, I don’t need the concierge’s help to point out the real men in this hotel. I hope you enjoy each other, gentlemen, I’m certain no one else will.” Her eyes burned holes in each of the men, while her nostrils flared with renewed anger. Someone was going to pay for this indignity.

***** “Oh, God, Jazz, I don’t think I can walk.” Jasmine supported Tabitha all the way from her car as her blonde neighbor didn’t seem to be able to place one foot in front of the other successfully. “Why don’t we sit down over here?” She gestured toward a dark green rectangle that looked like a bench. “I’d let you sit, dear, but since that’s a hedge, I wouldn’t trust your weight to it. Why don’t you hang onto this pillar for a few seconds more and I’ll let us both inside.” “Inside?” Tabbi leaned against a strut at the side of the house. “Inside is good.” Jasmine fished her keys from her bottomless rainbow-hued knapsack to unlock her door and held her friend up as they went into the house. “Jazzy!” Tabitha spun around completely. “Did you build a merry-go-round in your living room?” Jasmine led a giggling Tabbi to the mint green divan. “Just sit down and relax. I’m pretty sure the room will stop spinning in a minute or two.” Tabbi snuggled into the corner and drew her legs up on the couch, kicking her shoes under the coffee table. Clutching a bright purple pillow to her stomach, she looked more like a love-struck teenager than a broken-hearted housewife. Jazz commented on that. “You look a lot better than you did, Tabbi. I mean, you look almost -- happy.”

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Jasmine strolled into the kitchen and came back a moment later with two glasses and a bottle of chilled Chablis. Placing one full glass in her melancholy friend’s hand, she took a seat on the other side of the couch. Tabbi sighed, and then looked up at the ceiling, her eyes a little bit glazed. “That was the best damn pizza I’ve ever had, Jazzy.” “Pizza? Pizza!” The black lady rolled her eyes and stuck out a saucy, pink tongue. “Even in my nearly inebriated state, I can tell you’re not talking about pizza. I think you may have a little crush on someone tall, dark, and sexy…?” Tabbi blushed furiously, shaking her head in an exaggerated motion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Suddenly, she dissolved into giggles. “Anyway, look who’s talking? You practically jumped down that guy’s pants when you were on the dance floor!” Jasmine sipped her wine and smiled lazily. “All I have to say is…wow! Wowee -- wow, you know? When he kissed me, my hair stood on end. I haven’t felt that way in so long…I almost forgot I could.” Tabbi’s eyes welled with tears. “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. Don doesn’t make me feel that way anymore. I guess he never really did.” Behind the tears her eyes took on a glassy stare for a second. “When we first started dating, I was so busy looking for good husband material that I didn’t care about finding a genuine, caring lover.” Jasmine noticed Tabbi’s empty glass and topped it off, nodding in sympathy. “Go ahead, honey, let it out.” Tabbi sighed, grimacing for a moment. “I judged my husband by the typical middleclass standards I was raised to look for. You know what I mean? Donald Mason fit all the superficial trappings -- he was good looking, educated. He even made me laugh once upon a time. Now, he doesn’t even care whether I smile or not.” Jasmine reached across the couch and patted Tabbi’s ankle. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. When I lost William at least I knew I could find a support group. Your loss is far more subtle than what I went through.” Tabbi dried her eyes and gulped down the last of her wine. “Well, let’s not dwell on ancient history. I’d rather think of nicer things. For instance -- did you notice the way Ben’s ass looked in those jeans? You could bounce a quarter off of those tight cheeks!” Jazzy snorted into her glass, choking on a chuckle mid-swallow. She put her glass on the coffee table. “I knew you were checking him out. You can’t play the innocent with me, sister. I know what’s hiding behind those big round eyes of yours. A slut-puppy!” Tabitha set her glass down next to Jasmine’s in order to get a better grip, then she swung her pillow at the laughing woman. “Take that back, you! Take it back or else!” “Or else what?” Jazz grabbed her own pillow to take up the battle in earnest. “You think you can take me? Bring it on, sister!”

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Finally giving herself fully to the silliness of the evening, Tabitha got to her knees and swung the pillow with all her might. Drunk and off balance, she totally missed Jasmine with her first swing, and both wine glasses flew off of the coffee table like golf balls from a tee. The back end of her swing caught the tip of the wine bottle and knocked it over, sending a noisy stream of Chablis cascading over the edge of the glass. The bottle rolled, slow motion, toward the edge of the table before falling to the floor with a heavy thunk. “Oh, my God! My new carpet!” Jasmine’s mouth dropped open as she watched the wine stain spreading across the plush pile. She waited one beat, “Oh, well, at least it’s white wine! But you’re cleaning it up!” She broke into a huge smile, then joyfully began to batter the blonde in a fit of sisterly bliss. “Slut-puppy!” Tabitha shaped her mouth into an exaggerated “O” of surprise for a nano-second. Then she retorted, “Worm-wrangler!” “Air-headed blonde!” Jasmine squealed in delight. “Frizzy-haired hippie!” Tabitha giggled as she brought the pillow down in an overhead bash. “Wha…?” The overhead swing caught a tipsily-dizzy Jasmine off guard. She fell sideways against the cushions and backhanded Tabbi across the face with her pillow. “Chicken-legged harpy!” “Harpy! Harpy! Why you…you hoodoo mystic dork!” Good-natured insults flew as fast as the loose feathers from Jasmine’s expensive eiderdown pillows, until both women collapsed in an exhausted heap of laughter on the spearmint couch. Amid a gale of repressed giggles, they promptly passed out.

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Chapter Seven Don Mason jingled his keys nervously, making as much noise as possible entering the building. He wanted to call abnormal attention to himself. If the security guards didn’t notice his presence, he’d never be able to explain slinking around the warehouse at this time of night on the various cameras -- especially once the jade comb disappeared. A discreet phone call by Anastasia, and suddenly all her mysterious people had been placed on alert. Their actions ensured the delivery of the Lantien Shanfeng collection would arrive at the loading docks a full twelve hours early, sometime after midnight, rather than its original scheduled delivery in the afternoon. Of course, her handpicked driver would claim ignorance, and make a stink about getting back on the road. Naturally, since he happened to be on the premises working late, Don would be generous enough to sign for the shipment, check the items in, and allow the driver to go on his way. Ricky Bonsall, the senior guard on duty, stopped by Don’s office around 11:30 to share a pot of freshly made coffee and indulge in his usual dull conversation. Then he ambled back to the guard station to watch porno movies on the temporary hook-up on the free monitor. In his best interest, Don turned a blind eye to the guard’s activities. The camera above the trash bin had been malfunctioning and hadn’t come back from the repair shop. Since it guarded the garbage area, no one bothered to mount a spare. For four years now the only movement back there was the occasional stray dog or raccoon. The guards took advantage of the free monitor and hooked up a DVD player to watch the latest installment of “Chicks on Dicks.” Once the delivery driver showed up, he raised enough of a fuss as anticipated for the guards to approach Don about the shipment. “Mr. Mason, can I have a word?” Ricky stood uncomfortably at the office door. Don looked up from his paperwork, glancing at his watch in annoyance.

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“Sure, Ricky, what can I do for you?” The guard’s face reddened and he shuffled his feet nervously. “Well, the Chinese stuff is here a full twelve hours early, Mr. Mason, and the driver’s havin’ a shit fit. He wants to hightail it outta town tonight. I know the policy. I should send ‘im packin’ and keep t’ the schedule, but he’s all bent out of shape, and I thought…well, since you was here, anyways…” He trailed off, staring at the ground. “Never mind, I’ll tell the driver to piss off, Mr. Mas --” Don stood up and stretched. “No, no. Hang on.” He didn’t want to appear too eager, but he needed to net his catch. “I’m just about finished here, anyway. Guess I can walk down and sign for the shipment.” He picked up his extra-large plastic coffee cup, poured about a third of a cup more coffee from the pot into it, and followed the guard nonchalantly to the loading gate. Once there, he began to process and sign all the appropriate yellow delivery slips. After he went through the paperwork, Don sent the driver on his way with his copy of the paperwork, including an extra folded delivery slip, which held a money order for five hundred dollars -a tip courtesy from Anastasia. Unpacking the crates, he quickly located the delicately carved antique, packed in straw and wrapped in a pouch made up of rich layers of red velvet. Blocking the view of the camera with his body, he knocked the comb into the straw and folded the velvet cloth back over. He located the bill of lading and began ticking off the items as he unloaded the crates. When he came to the crate with the comb, he casually dropped his used napkin over the packing material and continued counting. When he came to the empty velvet pouch, he called the guard over. “Hey, Ricky. One of these pieces is missing. Will you come over here and sign off on my notation?” The guard shuffled over and picked up the list. “I don’t know, Mr. Mason. I mean, ain’t the assistant manager supposed to do that?” “You mean Mr. Deacon? How do you propose to locate him?” “Aww, Jeez, Mr. Mason, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any harm --” “I know you didn’t.” Don sighed heavily. “But we can’t leave fifty thousand dollars’ worth of valuables out on the loading docks all night, Ricky. It needs to be put in the secondary storage area until the cops clear the vault room. Look, I’m sure it’s a shipping error. Probably turn up in the next shipment. This is just the first of three.” Ricky nodded and put his initials on the dotted line, cementing Don’s claim that the comb never arrived at the auction house. Don picked up his napkin, grabbing a little packing material to hide the ornate comb underneath. He dropped it surreptitiously into his large coffee cup, and after stuffing another

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napkin on top of that he tossed it in the refuse can on the way out. He motioned to the trash bin lined with a small, tan-colored liner bag and gestured to Ricky. “Hey, can you get one of the guys to take the trash out when you do rounds? Something inside is starting to draw flies.” “Sure thing.” Ricky nodded. “You ready for that stuff to go in the storage area?” Don smiled. “It’s all tagged and accounted for, except the…missing item. I’ll send the report up in the morning. Thanks for your help.” Ricky blushed with pleasure. “Anytime, Mr. Mason.” Don strolled to his office and pretended to finish up some paperwork until he noticed all the guards making their rounds. Grabbing his jacket, he exited through the side door, where he’d been careful to park just beyond the trash cans. On the way to his car, he grabbed the top tan-colored trash bag and tossed it into the back seat. He didn’t have time to dig for the comb without raising the guards’ suspicion. They’d be watching for his car to exit the parking garage.

***** Back at the hotel, Anastasia preened in front of the mirror. She’d changed into a scarlet satin dressing gown, embroidered with gold dragons and green peacocks. She quickly swept her jet-black hair up to style it into a high, smooth bun. Gently, she eased the comb into place. “Beautiful.” She purred. “It’s absolutely exquisite, don’t you agree, darling?” Don’s breath caught as her gown fell open. Her nipples peeked over the top of a tight, patent leather corset, studded with silver and laced with scarlet ribbon to match her robe. Thigh-high stockings and patent leather stiletto boots completed the ensemble, sans panties. “Fuckin-A, skippy!” “What did you just say to me?” An unmistakable tone of irritation colored her voice. “That is…right!” He choked on his answer. “The whole package looks gorgeous. Oh, and the comb looks great too, Anastasia.” She followed his gaze. “Why, Donald, do you see something you like?” He nodded. “Of course you do, you simple little man, and I might even let you have it…if!” “If?” “If you get on your knees and beg me.” Don crept to the foot of the bed where she was perched and positioned himself between her thighs. “Please, please. Anastasia, God, I want you so bad it hurts.” “Of course, it hurts, sweetheart. It’s supposed to.” She ran her fingers through his hair, gently scraping his scalp with the tips of her nails. “Such a lovely, stupid man you are,

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Donald. Stay on your knees there, and put your face between my legs. I want you to lick me until I forget what a bore you can be.” Don lowered his mouth to her hairless, ivory cleft, and applied all of the skills he’d learned under her expert, if somewhat painful, tutelage. By all the gods in heaven, the flavor of this woman went beyond anything he’d ever tasted on this Earth.

***** Sunrise lingered fully an hour away. Two tall men, one of them blond and muscular, the other one dark and trim, walked hurriedly down the county beach toward another figure who sat in a lotus position in the sand. “Looks like he’s meditating,” the black man said. “Figures. He’s always meditating.” “No, I suspect this one is important. He’s giving off a different aura than usual.” “Great, Ben. Now you’re seeing auras. What next? You gonna walk through walls?” A small man with Asian features, the object of their attention, kept his eyes closed even as both men approached. Still not looking at them, he spoke. “Benjamin and Bradley. I am very glad you are both here.” “How are you, Takumi-san?” Ben walked carefully in the sand. “You look good, Master.” “You do that just to piss me off, don’t you, Bradley?” “Surprises me that it still works.” Brad grinned. “I thought a true sensei rose above the taunt of mere words.” “Did the two of you come down here to act as guides or are you planning to go on the road as a comedy team?” “You don’t need a guide, Sensei,” Ben said. “You think not? Ha!” The Japanese man exhaled a long, slow, contemplative sigh. “Sit, each of you. You can both meditate with me.” “We actually came to talk to you.” “Sit!” No one could mistake his words for anything other than a command. Bradley raised his eyebrows and looked at Benjamin. Ben shrugged and sat cross-legged down on the sand. Bradley followed. “I don’t know how many spirit guides have come down to this vast lake lately, but you two are welcome to stay and help.” “Help?” Ben gazed out over the water. “How?”

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“We must allow the lost souls of its drowned victims to be directed toward me so that I may do my best to help them cross over to a better world.” “Every man should have a hobby,” the blond man muttered. “It’s good to know the ordinary material world hasn’t impinged upon your humor, Bradley.” “Who needs the real world when I’ve got Ben here to nag me? Of course, our lives are transported beyond the humdrum whenever we listen to you.” “Ahh, Bradley. There is a quaint American term which you always bring to mind whenever I speak to you.” “What’s that, Sensei?” “Bullshit.” “Glad to see he has that effect on other people, too.” Benjamin added, “Sensei, we need your help.” The compactly statured man shook his head. “I thought it was too much to hope that you had come down here to keep me cheerful company.” “Takumi-san, we need…” “Not yet, Bradley.” The Japanese teacher held his hand up in a halting gesture. “I have to finish the work I came here to do.” “Which is?” “To appease nature, of course.” Bradley fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Of course…” “If you really need my help then you will be kind enough to lend your meditative talents to me, as well. You two always had the potential to be my best students. Now you can prove it.” Impatiently, the other two men remained quiet. “Nature allows the waters of the lake to take lives because we do not heed what the lake says to us. We listen to the modern sounds of the world instead of listening to the things we need to listen to.” Bradley Johnson dropped his head. Here comes the lecture. “In the symbiotic, parasitical relationship, nature balances everything out. We should be able to distinguish the sound of every wave crashing in against the beach. Different sizes -- different sounds -- the waves which crash over here do not make the same noise as the waves which crash over there. If we’re not in tune with them, we lose our perspective.” Ben stared at the horizon where the big lake met the dark sky for a second. “What would you like us to do, Sensei?” “Stretch out your positive feelings to the spirits lost near the lake. Surround these lost ones with your goodness and guide them to peace.”

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“And here I thought it was going to be something difficult,” Bradley muttered. “Shush…” Following his sensei’s lead, Benjamin Johnson stretched out his feelings as best he could. The purple clouds on the far horizon transformed into the purple mists of his inner vision. The misty images of his vision turned into shadowy shapes. Suddenly Ben saw fleeting shadows in the soft surf. He gasped. Brad turned to look at his friend. “What’s happening?” “Give me your hand, Bradley.” The sensei reached with his own out to clasp the blond man’s hand. “Now center yourself.” For a moment Brad felt a surge of warmth and energy flow into him. Suddenly a new light opened up along the pre-sunrise horizon, and dozens of shadows waded out from the shallows of Lake Michigan, trudging silently toward the beach where the three men sat meditating. The incident transformed the moment into something astounding -- something magical. Now even though Takumi had let go of his hand, Bradley remained quiet, attentive and totally attuned to the phenomenon. “The spirits of those who have yet to cross over due to accidents on this lake are to be welcomed into our midst. Look at them. Tend to them. They need us to help conduct them forward.” Tukumi paused in silence. “What about last rites?” Bradley asked watching the parade of ethereal shadows progress along the beach. “Last rites are for the survivors. For the living -- not for these dead souls. We are here to show any lost souls the way.” A curious purple aura emanated from Sensei’s hands, and the shadows turned as they stepped up upon the beach to walk toward the purple aura as the light extended it slowly began to darken even more and then disappear.

Ultraviolet! Ben realized. I always thought it was supposed to be a white light. “Go forth,” Takumi directed the shades as they continued to trudge from the waters. “Follow the aura to your destiny. Be at peace!” “Be at peace,” Bradley echoed. Benjamin fought back the impulse to say amen. “Be at peace.” When the last trace of the shadows disappeared into the purple glow, Bradley gulped. “That was unearthly.” “Not at all,” Takumi replied. “Those were all natural earthbound creatures at one time. If we don’t recognize the sights and sounds of the Earth, we can’t recognize the sounds that don’t belong to the Earth.” Benjamin let out a long, sobbing sigh. “Incredible.”

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“I take it you wanted to ask me about the unearthly.” Bradley took a deep breath. At the same moment Benjamin cleared his throat. Sensei Takumi paused for merely a second. “I suppose the two of you want to ask my opinion about going to look into the matter of the arrival of the Onyx Palace, no?” Both Bradley Johnson and Benjamin Johnson sat up straight and looked at their former martial arts sensei with shocked faces. “You knew?” Benjamin shook his head in disbelief. Takumi-san nodded. “The Kurayami Mihari has been tracking dangerous artifacts for hundreds of years. We are all trained to sense evil objects on a higher plane, or maybe I should say a ‘lower plane’.” “Why do you insist on denying that you’re a true master, Sensei?” Bradley asked. “For the same reason I foolishly took this position in the first place. I had hoped not to draw the attention of the Yokai in this world. Ironically enough, the two of you seemed to have accompanied the forthcoming demons.” “But how did you know about the Onyx Palace?” Ben scrutinized his former mentor and Kichijitsu tedo instructor. The Japanese man stood up, brushed himself off, and spat on the sand. “When you walk out of Jigoku or even your Christian Hell, you do not expect your skin and clothing to smell like a flowery meadow in spring.” “You smelled it on us?” Brad raised his voice in amazement. “We haven’t even seen the relic yet.” “Your research itself has dragged you deep into the mire of evil. That is enough.” Ben shook his head in disbelief. “I swear you can read the very winds themselves.” Sensei Takumi Tetsuaiga sighed. “What I don’t understand is why you have decided to consort with the Yokai?” “Yokai? We’ve seen no demons, Sensei. We’re only working for humans, I swear,” Bradley protested. “There doesn’t seem to be a demon in sight.” “Is that so?” Trying to reassure him, both men nodded, while Benjamin answered, “Yes.” Takumi Tetsuaiga grunted. “How can you tell?”

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Chapter Eight Later that morning the official word came down from Hillendale’s corporate headquarters by private email: two independent investigators had been assigned to assist in the investigation of Alan Deacon’s disappearance and demise. These investigators also had ties to both the local police and to higher ups on the board. As soon as he saw the email notification, Don Mason dialed his immediate supervisor at corporate to question the company’s decision. Now was not the time to wedge a monkey wrench into his carefully laid plans no matter what that fool of an assistant manager had done. He waited until he got connected to the regional vice-president. “Mr. Merrill? Hey, what’s going on with this extra baggage assigned to the Deacon affair? I thought between the police and the State Trust insurance team we managed to get all this taken care of?” “You know how it goes, Mason, somebody up top gets pressure from the board and the next thing you know it spirals out of control.” “Damn, John, just when I thought I was getting a handle on this mess.” “Well, don’t worry, Don. At least it’s not coming out of your pocket. The funds are coming from a totally neutral source. Naturally Conklin and the rest of the board jumped at the opportunity for professional help without having to pay extra for it.” “Naturally.” Don cleared his throat. “So do you know where the money’s coming from?” “Apparently it’s from some independent collector who knows Conklin. I don’t know his name.” “Great. A mystery butt-in-ski -- just what we need.” “Doubt that it’s anything to worry about, Don. Just deal with it, and eventually it will all go away.”

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Yeah, sure it will. “Okay, John. I’ll take your advice.” Don Mason stepped outside the building to make a private call on his cell phone. He knew Anastasia wanted to hear any and all news regarding the palace, no matter how disappointing.

***** The hired help arrived Monday morning in a four hundred thirty-five thousand dollar Maybach 57 sedan, the high-end pride of the Daimler Chrysler company, (along with the series 62.) Ms. Anastasia Romanov IV sensed their reassuring presence long before she caught sight of them, and she smiled. More than interchangeable cogs in her mind, Stovall, Dickerson, Enfield, and Reeves happened to be her most effective operatives. The prime Sotashians not only knew her in the form of this avatar, they understood what secrets lay beneath the surface. Anastasia asked for nothing less than utter loyalty and total competence from her people, and this group always gave it to her. Her patience concerning the Onyx Palace had stretched thin. In spite of Don’s promises, moreover because of his incompetence, there was still work that needed to be done in obtaining the relic. When human beings wanted to, they could throw in the most frustrating delays, and Anastasia decided she would brook no further dawdling. Thus, she’d communicated with her underlings, informing the Sotashians that she’d need them today at the very latest. They’d made excellent time. Promptness had always been one of their best traits. However, she’d allow them to relax while the sun was up. Daylight bothered them. Besides, discretion dictated the evening hours would be the best time to take possession of the Onyx Palace. Anastasia decided she needed to keep her Monday appointment at Hillendale's Auction and Antiquarian Specialties House. Did she need to warn Donnie about her specific plans for the evening? The tall brunette smirked. Would she warn a cockroach she was about to stomp?

***** Walking across town, from the beach back to the stark simplicity of his dojo home, Takumi Tetsuaiga felt the presence of Anastasia’s Sotashian helpers as well. They’d found him; or rather, his destiny had found him. Damn. Well, he’d enjoyed a few years of tranquility. Ominous, anxious tranquility if the truth be told, but now those years were about to come to an abrupt end. Unfortunately, he’d sent his blessed O-fuda talisman away to the Kurayami Mihari shrine on the island of Iriomote off Okinawa to have its spiritual power replenished for the

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coming year, and now his home stood exposed to the threat of nearby Yokai without the powerful talisman hanging over his doorway. Maybe he still had on old Omamori charm stashed somewhere in an old chest or box. Maybe a small personal talisman worn under his shirt would do a bit of good. Bah! No matter how much he wanted to, Tetsuaiga-san couldn’t put his life in the hands of ancient superstitions. He needed to do something proactive. Sensei Takumi examined the charged air in his immediate vicinity and noted the laced interstices of prismatic colors flashing in and out of view. How long had it been since he’d done these exercises? It felt like forever. Unfortunately, the Sotashians had some knowledge when it came to moving through the interstices -- the dimensional streams. Of course, each of the four had given up something different to become operatives of the demon. Some essential part of their humanity had been sacrificed to her desires, to her needs, to her whims. Takumi faced the pulsing prismatic light of the atmospherically charged interstices and slowly extended his fingers so that the laced bursts of spidery, multi-colored light danced around his skin. Then in an instant he leaped forward, concentrating on entering the deepest interior of the curious phenomenon. In a shimmer of swirling prismatic colors, Takumi Tetsuaiga vanished.

***** “I can’t believe how invigorated I feel after meditating with Tetsuaiga-san this morning.” Ben put his briefcase and laptop computer into the back seat. “Give me the keys. I’ll drive.” “Did Randy call you this morning?” his partner asked as he tossed Ben Johnson the car keys to the rented automobile. The two men had returned to the hotel after their encounter with Sensei Takumi to shower and change clothes before heading off on the first working day of their investigation today. They decided to start at Hillendale’s art auction house. “Bright and early.” Ben slid into the driver’s seat of the sedan. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?” Bradley watched his partner put the Buick in reverse to back out of their parking space at the hotel. “Out of nowhere, we’re working hand in glove with Hillendale’s high dollar insurance investigation team. Now if we can just convince the Beech Haven police to share and share alike…” “I know. I’m impressed and not a little surprised.” Ben gazed casually as four guys began unloading a luxury sedan like he’d never seen before. “How do you suppose this…this Collector guy managed to pull that off?” “I have no idea, but it’s a pretty safe assumption he’s the one pulling the strings.” “Who do you suppose this Collector is -- really?”

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“I have no idea. However, I do know Randy’s tickled pink to be all paid up with the bills again; no matter what our eccentric client prefers to be called.” Ben chuckled, and then glanced ahead at the check in lane of the hotel parking lot. “Hey, what kind of car is that?” “Looks like a high end European model to me.” “Well that’s obvious.” Ben slowed down a bit, and then he rolled down his window to shout in the direction of one of the passengers. “Sir! What make and model is that car?” The man turned around. His strangely distorted features caught Ben by surprise and the black man fought back the impulse to let his shock reflect on his face. He couldn’t quite put his finger on all of his problems, but the normal facial symmetry was disturbed on this man’s face, elongated maybe. No, that wasn’t quite right, although one eye drooped notably out of place. What was it that bothered him? “It’s a Daimler Chrysler Maybach series 57,” the man replied with a slightly superior sneer. “You don’t want to know what it costs.” Ben nodded his head. “I’ll take your word for that. Thanks.” “Whooie, there’s an odd looking group.” Brad pulled out of the parking lot and pointed the sedan down the thoroughfare. “Kind of creepy; like some freaky documentary on cable TV.” “I wonder if they all suffer from some weird physical ailment.” “Guess I hadn’t thought of it that way.” After a few blocks of stop and go traffic, Brad turned back to his partner. “So did you get a chance to scan the files Randy emailed to us?” “Scan?” Ben looked over at his partner. “As a matter of fact I tried to read the entire Onyx Palace file last night after we got settled into our rooms, but I was too tired. Fascinating history to that artifact, if it’s true.” “Do you think it’s all an elaborate fantasy?” “Look at the names the artifact has been associated with, Brad.” Ben stared out the window at the mundane sights of Beech Haven. “The descendents of Genghis Khan; Elizabeth Bathory, the bloody countess of Transylvania; the Marquis de Sade; Matthew Hopkins, Britain’s witch-finder general; Burke and Hare; apparently at one point Himmler and the Nazis got their hands on it; Pol Pot’s Khmer Rouge government is said to have possessed it -- the list is like a who’s who of violence, decadence and madness.” “Sounds like a nasty piece of work, all right.” “So tell me, if everything in this file is real, why does this Collector guy want such a piece of…filth?” Bradley didn’t answer him.

*****

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Andrew Bryden Martin, Ph.D., contemplated his cumulative list of accomplishments. How many millions of dollars had he spent in pursuit of the legend? Phelan could probably calculate all the expenses to the penny, but she was busy doing one of the hundred other jobs she did taking care of him and his business. The Collector knew it was time for his daily ritual -- maybe a meaningless, obsessive-compulsive ritual, but he couldn’t help himself. “I’ll be in the wine cellar,” he shouted to no one in particular. Phelan alone knew what he meant by that cryptic phrase. However, before descending in the specially installed lift, he used his cane to limp over to the ornate bookcase on this floor, removed his copy of the Oxford History of Ancient Egypt by Ian Shaw. Then, snaking his arm into the space where the book sat, the Collector located and triggered a hidden switch. Down in the cellar, an entire rack of wine bottles opened out into the room, exposing the vault door. He keyed in the initial sequence and waited five seconds before entering the combination. The vault door slid sideways into the wall, exposing a space that would allow a person or even a wheelchair to enter the cramped chamber, if he happened to be undergoing one of his bad days. Over on a shelf behind locked bulletproof glass sat the pieces he’d obtained already. Carefully opening the display cases, he inspected each one: from the hand-wrought bronze Cauldron of Fire to the curious looking Lovestone. Off to the edge of a second display shelf, the fabulous Crystal Flacon of Lucrezia Borgia sat beside the simple elegance of the Magical Totem and opposite the exquisitely faceted Crystalline Octopus. Last, but not least, the peridot Sistrum of Hathor shared space with the curious statuette of Manggawana. The Collector had hoped that with each new acquisition, the transformation sequence would be triggered and the legendary Love Totem would be restored whole. So far no such luck. No science. No magic. No inter-dimensional miracles. How many pieces of the original Love Totem still existed out there beyond these walls? How much was he willing to spend to obtain every single piece? Well, he knew the answer to the second question. Whatever it took to get them all…

***** Thirty-four years ago “You’re burning up.” Audra Phelan soaked a clean cloth in cold water and wrapped the compress around her patient’s face. “If the doctor doesn’t get here soon, I don’t know if I can save you.” She’d been forced to leave the wound open, more or less, as there was a critical risk of lethal infection. It needed to be cleaned every day -- remove the packing, clean, and repack. At first she’d given sufficient doses of morphine before and after the change. But lately that wasn’t possible.

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The sunburned man groaned mournfully as she measured out powdered sulfa to pack into his wound. She’d already run out of usable injections of penicillin. “I’m sorry.” She glanced up at the saline drip that she’d set at a modest drip rate to keep her unnamed patient as comfortable as she could under the circumstances. Audra carried the last ampule of morphine -- a second reason that she needed the medical barge to return from downriver. “I know you’re in pain.” A day or two earlier, she’d started giving him lower dosages of morphine per injection. The old refrigerators in the jungle clinic couldn’t produce ice fast enough to keep her patient’s fever down. She made do with plastic containers filled with cold water and clean rags. However, Audra hadn’t slept more than twenty, maybe thirty minutes at a time in four days. She’d totally run out of energy, let alone endurance. “Try to get a few minutes of sleep.” Audra patted his hand. “Maybe that will help.”

Please, God, let him sleep so I can get some rest. Once again she slipped a thermometer under his arm to check his temperature. She knew she’d have to hold it there for a few minutes for an accurate temp reading. Almost forty degrees Celsius. Bad news when thirty-seven degrees was normal. His fever had to break and soon. If something didn’t happen in the next few hours, he could suffer brain damage. She dipped the washcloth into the cool water one more time, wrung out some of the excess, and draped it carefully around his face. Slowly her patient’s breathing became regular and he slipped into a fitful sleep. Phelan knew she needed to take care of a few necessary chores before she settled in, but since mind and body were totally exhausted, she decided to make her way to her cot.

Later, I can get to it later. A murmur of bustle and a baritone voice crept through the mists of her subconscious. “Nurse Phelan…Audra!” A hand shook her shoulder. Startled, she sat straight up. “Wha…?” She looked up to see the face of Doctor Helio Fernandes. “Oh, thank heavens.” “So…” The doctor turned to the figure in the bed. “Who is our honored guest over there?” “He didn’t have any identification. The invisible people brought him in.” She sat up, trying to straighten her clothing. “Close to five days ago. Did you bring any more morphine or penicillin? We’re all out.” “What’s the matter with him?” The doctor was over to the stranger’s bed quickly. “Gunshot wound.” She ran a cloth over her face. “I removed the bullet from his hip, but his fever’s spiraled out of control since then.”

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The doctor checked the mystery patient’s chart. “We’ll do what we can for his pain. Check the boxes of supplies for more morphine. Go ahead and give him an injection now to quiet his pain.” Doctor Fernandes paused for a moment. “Once I get the radio fixed I’d better alert the policia. Better to err on the safe side with the victim of a gunshot wound.” She nodded in numb response to his words. The doctor shook his head. “You look terrible.” “I’m exhausted.” Phelan allowed her body to shudder through a sigh. “I don’t know what made me think I could handle this situation alone.” The doctor smiled and put his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Your patient’s still alive. You handled it. The first time is always the worst.”

I don’t think I ever want to go through anything like that a second time. She’d never thought anything more truthful in her life.

***** Both partners of Johnson and Associates, Inc. sat waiting, less and less patiently, outside the office of Donald Mason, Director of Beech Haven’s Hillendale’s Antiquarian Specialties. Thirty-five minutes passed with no response. Bradley began to fidget ten minutes into the wait. The placard of Don Mason’s secretary’s desk read: H. Lynne Vogle. Bradley tried to run a few guesses through his mind as to what the H stood for. Meanwhile, Ben decided to open his laptop and double-click one of the several files on the Onyx Palace. The first image showed an aged brown document with various symbols and stamps affixed to it. Centered at the top of the document a German eagle perched upon the swastika -- the symbol of the Nazi Party. All the various denominations of postage stamps displayed Hitler’s profile engraved on them. Tucked in under the eagle were the words Reichsprotektorat Böhmen und Mähren. The primary language was obviously German, although there were a few phrases here and there written in a language Benjamin didn’t recognize. Well, if he knew the efficiency of this Collector, there would be an English translation of the document somewhere in the file. Ben turned to his partner. “Didn’t you take German?” “About a thousand years ago.” “Take a look at this.” Ben showed his partner the document as it was exhibited on the computer screen. Bradley pointed to a phrase. Endlösung der Judenfrage. “I don’t think there’s a European historian in the world that doesn’t know that one… ‘The Final Solution of the

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Jewish Question.’ And this one -- Wannsee -- I’m guessing it refers to the conference which took place at a retreat on a small lake outside of Berlin.” “A retreat?” Ben chuckled. “Yeah, Wannsee Villa was sort of a resort for high SS officers.” Even Mason’s secretary looked up at Brad after he said that. “No…really?” “Can’t you just imagine Hermann Goering or Heinrich Himmler in striped bathing suits wading out into the shallows?” Ms. Vogle laughed at Brad’s comment. “It could have been worse; now part of the lake includes a nude beach. I suspect that in itself would have been enough to warrant prosecution for war crimes.” After giggling at his remark, H. Lynne Vogel apologized for the umpteenth time. “I’m sorry, gentlemen. I’m sure Mr. Mason will see you in just a few minutes.” She’d been repeating that mechanical mantra for close to thirty minutes, but this last one sounded much more sincere.

“Protektorat Böhmen und Mähren… I’m guessing that’s the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia.” He continued to scan the document. “Yep, here’s a reference to the devil himself -- SS-Obergruppenführer Reinhard Heydrich…said to be the man responsible for The Final Solution -- capital the…capital final…capital solution.” “Well, I see I have fascinating reading scheduled for tonight once I discover where the Collector hid the translation to this document.” The two men sat quietly in the outer lobby for another five minutes. Ben scrolled through the various files while his partner brooded. “Says here that after Heydrich’s assassination in 1942, the mass exterminations came to be known as Aktion Reinhardt or Einsatz Reinhardt in his honor, depending on which historian you ask -- as to why they added the extra “t” at the end of his name, your guess is as good as mine.” Fed up with waiting, Bradley turned to Ben. “Have you got the number of our contact in the Collector’s office?” Ben arched an eyebrow, and, after fishing through his jacket pocket for his wallet, he pulled a business card from his wallet. “Thank you.” Bradley pulled out his cell phone and walked out into the outer office from the waiting room. In less than three minutes he returned. “Mission accomplished, I think. I got a hold of Ms. Phelan. Let’s hope this helps.” The telephone on Ms. Vogle’s desk rang and H. Lynne picked it up and answered using that protective voice that secretaries often develop for their employers. Suddenly, subconsciously she jerked to attention. “Yes, sir.” Then she used her intercom to buzz the inner sanctum. “Mr. Mason, Mr. Conklin’s on line two. He says it’s important.”

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Ben tried to hold back his smile. Conklin was CEO of Hillendale International. In about two minutes, a well dressed, if somewhat red-faced man in his early thirties opened the office door and glared at the two men sitting in the waiting area. Both Benjamin and Bradley smiled back at him as innocently as possible. “Gentlemen, sorry for the wait. Please come in.” Ben noted that his secretary glanced up, surprised as well. Total attitude adjustment on her boss’s part. “Lynne, did you offer them coffee?” Bradley raised his hand to decline the offer. “That’s not necessary, sir. We’re fine.” Both men followed the manager back into his private office. Don Mason introduced himself and started the discussion with a flat statement. “I don’t understand what you gentlemen think you can accomplish where the police and our insurance investigators have failed.” “We have no desire to step on anyone’s toes, Mr. Mason.” Bradley took the lead in the conversation. “The powers-that-be feel a little more manpower will help to speed up the solution to this mystery.” “Look, I’ve probably gone over these questions a thousand times in my head.” Donald Mason settled back behind his desk. “I mean, there’s not much I can tell you about poor Alan. We were co-workers, but we didn’t really socialize outside of work.” “That’s okay, Mr. Mason. Ben and I can’t pursue the disappearance of Alan Deacon anyway. We’re required by law to step aside for any police proceedings.” “Then I don’t see what use this line of investigation is going to be.” Brad paused for a second. “Is there any possibility that Mr. Deacon was stealing merchandise from the company -- maybe black marketing art and curios to any secret partners or off-the-books clients?” Mason’s eyes widened and he sat straight up. “Alan? Holy shit! Excuse my French. That never even occurred to me.” “The police never suggested it to you or possibly the insurance company?” “No. Or if they have, I let it slip from my mind. I don’t mind telling you that finding a trusted employee missing -- possibly even dead, from what the police say -- that’s all pretty disturbing. Not to mention our security vault seems to have been breached.” Brad nodded. “Understood.” Ben stood off to the side, notepad in hand. He used it mainly for show. Both Ben and Brad recorded these conversations with tiny wireless microphones, transmitting to a stationary receiver back in their parked car. The receiver was the size of a slim briefcase, but packed the most sophisticated surveillance technology currently available. A tiny wire plugged into the cigarette lighter boosted the antenna’s power to a three-mile radius.

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Carefully taking in the office décor, Ben checked out the room. The interior furnishings reflected the expensive tastes of a branch of an internationally famous art auction house. Exquisitely done, expensive even, but completely devoid of emotion. There appeared to be nothing personal at all about Donald Mason’s office. Although a free standing photo frame looked like it might hold something that connected the room to Mason’s life. Ben shifted a little bit to try to get a look at the photo on Mason’s desk. A picture of Mason’s wife, probably. He finally contorted his body enough to get a hurried glance at the woman in the portrait. For a split second Benjamin Johnson’s heart stopped.

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Chapter Nine That captivating face had been emblazoned on Ben’s mind ever since last night’s encounter with those two gorgeous women at Wizza’s Pizza. Tabitha! Damn! She’d told him she was married. Why did it have to be to this pompous ass? Wait a minute. Tabbi had revealed to Ben that her husband had all the chivalry and regard for his marriage of an alley cat. Thank God, Brad was doing all the talking to this guy. He’d rubbed Ben the wrong way from the very beginning and if anything was going to be accomplished here today, it was up to Brad to make it work. “The first the corporate offices learned of your possession of the Onyx Palace was after the disappearance of your assistant manager, Alan Deacon, isn’t that correct?” “Look, I’ve already gone over these questions with the police and the investigators from State Trust insurance.” “I understand,” Brad replied gently. “However, as soon as you go over the same questions with us, the sooner we can be out of here and out of your hair.” Mason grunted an uncomfortable sigh. “It was a matter of paperwork. I’d been expecting the delivery of the Onyx Palace for several weeks…” “From where?” Ben interrupted. “That is…where did you find the antiquity?” Don seemed surprised by the question. “Phnom Penh, Cambodia.” Brad nodded as if he understood the logic behind that answer. “Did you have a specific client in mind when you made the attempt to secure the artifact?” “I had more than one client interested in obtaining the Onyx Palace.” Mason seemed perturbed by the question. “However, I wouldn’t be any kind of professional if I broke my client’s confidentiality and named him.” Ben saw his partner’s eyes flash. Had he tricked Mason into saying “him?”

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Brad continued his questioning. “Why do you suppose the corporation didn’t realize the Onyx Palace was in your possession until after Deacon’s disappearance?” “Look, I’m certain there was a paperwork snafu between here and HQ. Plain old human error -- pure and simple…” Bradley eased off. “I’m sure you’re right. We’ll need to have copies of the shipping manifests.” “The police have those now. I don’t have copies, so you’ll have to deal with them.” Ben doodled hateful pictures of Don in the notepad while his partner politely continued the inquiry. “Would you mind taking us downstairs to see the vault room where this happened, Mr. Mason?” “Again, you’ll have to get permission from the police to unseal the scene, I’m afraid.” “I see.” Brad exchanged looks with his partner. “Well, in that case, it looks like we’re pretty well done here for the moment. Thank you for your help, sir.” As Bradley offered Don Mason his hand, he added. “We’ll see ourselves out and let you get back to work.” With a subsequent nod, bidding farewell to Mason’s secretary, H. Lynne Vogel, the two men left the Hillendale upper office suite. As they exited the building, morning light illuminated the sky throwing a haze over paved or tarred areas everywhere -- whether that meant streets, parking lots or flat roofs. Brad shaded his eyes once they hit the parking lot pavement. “I’ll bet the H stands for Henrietta. That’d be a tough name to grow up with.” “What?” Ben looked at his partner as if a gear cog had slipped in his brain mechanism. “So do you think Mason slipped up when he referred to his client as ‘him’?” “Nope! He deliberately said “him” so we wouldn’t suspect his off-the-books client was a woman.” This time Ben shot a startled glance at his partner. “What makes you think so?” “Trust me on this one. His words sounded more like an intentional slip -- an obvious serving of pure, spoiled red herring.” “Which means…?” “I suspect he may be having an affair with this mystery woman and our missing person, what’s his name -- Alan Deacon? He might have found out about it.” “In that case, I’d be eager to see the enhanced video of the disappearance at the crime lab.” “Do you think the department has progressed that far since you left?” “We can always hope.”

*****

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Takumi Tetsuaiga dropped out of thin air from about four feet above ground. He hit the ground in a gentle roll, trying to get his bearings. He’d misjudged his dimensional slide and ended up exiting a little higher than necessary. Damn, he’d let his exercises lapse and his clumsiness showed. As the sensei arose to look around, he discovered he’d landed in the Lake Forest Cemetery. Must have been swept up by a sokutatsu -- an express, so to speak. His egress had taken place a good seven kilometers away from where he started. He knew the areas lines of geodesic force, the natural atmospheric and magnetic ley lines intersected right here over the old graveyard. Indeed, whenever he’d practiced his slide exercises in the past, he always ended up in the memorial park sooner or later -- usually sooner. Pockets of inter-dimensional hollows existed here. At first, the existence of these ethereal rooms frightened him. Though the size of their confined forces alone had disturbed his sense of Earthly propriety, they remained a constant flux of presence. Before he passed away, one of his senseis had written him a heartfelt letter both admonishing and congratulating Takumi on being chosen to guard one of the great passages between the natural world and the demonic one. All those years ago, he’d been proud to receive such meaningful words from his own master teacher. Now he reminded himself that such pride meant that he suffered from the danger of over-estimating his own skills and underestimating the peril involved. As he slid through each of the contained fields laid out along the ley line, Takumi sensed the electric charge of an impending change about to happen. Inevitably, any Yokai demon would be drawn to this spot.

***** Brilliant morning sunlight pierced the thin pink membrane of her eyelids, turning the back of said lids into a bright orange against a dark red road map. No…make it go away! She covered her eyes with a shaky hand, burrowing into the soft folds of her eiderdown comforter. Slowly, she became aware of a nasty, fuzzy textured coating on her tongue Tabitha never again wanted to experience. The taste was beyond horrible, acid vomit mixed with stale barley. Yeah, going out drinking with Jazzy last night was a fantastic idea -- not. She didn’t know which made it worse, leaving her eyes closed and feeling the room spin blindly, or attempting to open them and watching it happen. The whirling fairground ride in the middle of her bedroom was a dire warning. God, she’d better get to the bathroom, and fast! Tabbi rubbed her eyes with both hands as she tried to find a sense of equilibrium on the commode. Throat full of sand -- throbbing, pounding headache. Well, those were good signs. At least she wasn’t waking up nursing the previous evening’s buzz, like Don often did. She grabbed one of her fancy “guest” washcloths and, stretching from her sitting position,

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tried to draw cold water into the water-resistant swatch of useless velvet. She knocked over a ducky soap dispenser, but it was plastic. No harm done. What the…? It looked like one of Jasmine’s worms was making a mad climb out of Tabbi’s laundry hamper in an attempt to escape. “Oh God, please tell me I didn’t bring any of her worms home. I’ll never be able to explain it -- let alone live it down.” When she got up from the toilet, Tabitha cautiously opened the hamper top. She blanched and gasped at the half-full container. Her next response was to fight off the urge to vomit all over Don’s cologne-drenched dirty clothes. The worm infestation seemed to increase as she peered lower and lower into the hamper -- as well as the disgusting smell! “What in God’s name is going on?” She started to peel a squirming garment from the pile, then stopped. “I’m not touching anything without rubber gloves.”

***** The Beech Haven crime lab was tucked into a separate wing at the Ottawa county sheriff’s secondary complex right next to the Department of Public Safety -- so named close to twenty-five years ago when the city decided to cross-train police and fire department personnel in order to save money and increase efficiency. Ben commented that apparently the department had indeed progressed in the five years since he’d left the city. He noted a whole new facility with a lot of fresh faces. Once they met with their department liaison, Rick Haas, Benjamin’s old supervisor, both Johnsons soon learned the police were under a false impression. “So Ben, how come State Trust insurance hired you two guys for this job?” “We’re independent of the insurance company,” Ben told Rick, now the deputy head of the crime investigation lab. “Actually we work for someone directly involved with Hillendale’s board.” The lab director smirked. “Oh, that must have gone over big with Donald Mason. He hates it when somebody interferes with his little private kingdom.” Ben choked back a chuckle. “From what we experienced in our meeting this morning, you’ve got his number, all right.” “C’mon.” The lab director gestured. “Let me show you around.” The three of them strolled down the institutional beige hall toward the video-photo enhancement section. “We’re due to receive an enhanced copy of Hillendale’s surveillance tape, care of some philanthropist called Martin St. John or something like that. This guy offered to cover the cost of having the entire tape processed and enhanced at the state crime lab in Lansing.” “Really?” Bradley’s ears perked up. He’d seen that name before among the files that the Collector dispatched to them. “That must have been quite a pleasant surprise.”

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“Sure was…this St. John managed to push our tape to the top of the priority list.” Rick Haas grinned. “Don’t tell me money and influence doesn’t make a difference.” Ben laughed. “Did this…Martin St. John say why he was willing to help you?” “As a matter of fact that seems to be a bit of a mystery.” Brad smirked and threw in his two cents. “Maybe he’s a law enforcement groupie.” “Who knows for sure? I spoke to his representative in New York and she said to ‘Spare no expense.’ Interesting woman, too. I thought I detected some sort of an accent, but her English was perfect.” “You didn’t happen to catch this representative’s name?” Rick Haas nodded as he pushed through a double door marked Authorized Personnel Only. “Whelan or Thelan -- something weird like that.” Ben exchanged a knowing glance with his partner. “Anyway, I dispatched a courier to the State Police Lab in Lansing first thing this morning, so we should be able to see the digitally enhanced video by this afternoon.” “Well, I guess going over the copies of paperwork and the crime scene photos are our best bet for the moment. That’s if you don’t mind.” Ben hoped the question sounded rhetorical. They hadn’t been guaranteed official cooperation, but he could see Rick needed help on this case. “Then maybe we could examine the crime scene this afternoon. A fresh pair of eyes might spot something.” “You’ve gotten pretty cocky since you left us, Ben.” “No, not at all. It’s just that we may have some pertinent information that you might appreciate.” “If you’ve got something, spit it out, smart guy. You know the penalty for obstructing justice.” Then his face broke into a big smile. Ben decided to play it safe. “That’s just it, Rick. I’ll be happy to share what I’ve got with you after we see the enhanced video, but ’til that happens, you wouldn’t believe what I’m going to suggest.”

***** Jasmine stared at the paper napkin with Bradley Johnson’s cell phone number written on it. She wanted to call him, to hear his voice, but she didn’t want to bother him or intrude on his morning meetings. Funny, most people would figure a good-looking black man like Benjamin Johnson should have been the natural choice for her. The man was handsome, affable, as much a part of the overall business package as his partner; yet, it was blond-haired, blue-eyed Bradley Johnson to which Jasmine’s thoughts drifted back. Where was the logic in that?

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Suddenly her phone rang. She checked the caller ID. Tabbi? She hadn’t left Jasmine’s until close to three in the morning. Jasmine wondered where she found the strength to be up and about already. “Good morning, tipsy lady. How’s your head today?” “Don’t ask. At least, not so loudly. And try to keep some of the ‘chipperosity’ factor down, if you don’t mind.” The voice on the other end of the line sounded grumpy and groggy. “My tongue feels like I tried to lick up all the dust bunnies under my bed.” “Re-hydrate, little sis, that’s the best thing you can do for your body now. Start drinking water.” “What?” Tabbi didn’t want to talk about water. “I thought it made you drunk again the morning after.” “That’s a myth. It’ll restore some of the necessary hydration to your system and ease your body’s suffering. Some people take the euphoria that comes with the improved feeling to mean being drunk again.” “I see.” There was a pause at the other end of the phone. “Jazz, I really need to talk to you…” Suddenly there was a sob at the other end of the phone line. Jasmine waited until her friend slowed her sobbing. “What’s wrong, hon?” “I think I saw something this morning that either I wasn’t supposed to see or it’s symbolic of everything that’s wrong between Don and me.” “What do you mean?” Something about her friend’s tone of voice concerned Jazz. “That’s just it, it’s such an unbelievable thing, if it was anybody but you, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything.” “Stop beating around the begonias, Tabbi. Tell me, dammit!” “This is gonna sound stupid…” “Tabbi!” “It started with the worms in the hamper.” “The worms in the hamper?” “Let me start from the beginning. Since I woke up with a hangover this morning, I sort of accidentally slipped into my special sight, and…my laundry hamper was filled with worms.” “Come again? What sort of worms?” “Okay, I grabbed some plastic cleaning gloves so I wouldn’t have to touch them and I started to dig into our laundry. Anyway, I found a paper napkin in Don’s shirt pocket.” “Paper napkin?” “No big deal…you know just something Don might’ve picked up at any fast food place or restaurant.” “Gotcha…”

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“So I started to unfold it and it felt strange in my hand.” Tabitha paused. “So without thinking…” “Go on.” “Jasmine your little worms are so wholesome and clean. Have you ever pulled the hook out of a fish that had swallowed it? Gotten a small handful of slimy intestines and other disgusting guts?” “Yeah, my dad took me fishing a time or two. I remember that happened to me once.” “Okay, imagine the effect of those guts multiplied hundreds of times literally coating the napkin, everything it touched in his pocket, the outside of his pants, his shirt, the laundry and especially…” “Especially what?” “His underwear.” “Eeeuuuww!” “If I ever needed any proof that Don was having an affair…well, I’ve got it. But I’m not sure if the correct question is with who or…” Tabitha stopped. A momentary pause and then Jasmine finished her thought. “Or with what?” “You know I’ve been very resentful that Don hasn’t touched me these last few years. Now I’m not so sure I want him to touch me.” Apparently, Tabbi decided to change the subject at that point. “The worst part is, I need to do some business at his office later this afternoon and I…” Tabitha lowered her voice. “I don’t want to go there alone.” “All you have to do is ask. I’m there for you, Tabbi.” “Thanks, sweetie, I owe you.” Tabbi decided to change the subject at that point. “Jasmine, if I’m butting in somewhere I’m not wanted tell me, but my guess is you don’t normally come onto a guy like you did with Brad last night.” Afraid to reveal her true emotions straight out, Jasmine went to her kitchen table and sat down in a chair to stall for a minute. “You’re right.” Jasmine sighed. “I haven’t flirted like that in probably four or five years. I can’t tell you what got into me, but one look, one whiff, one touch of his hand and all I can think about is that man.” “Can I tell you a secret? I figured when I woke up this morning and dropped back into the midst of my normal routine, or at least my non-worm hallucination routine, I’d forget all about yesterday.” “And…?” “I was wrong.” “I’m not surprised. I could sense there was really something going between you two, wasn’t there?”

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“That’s just it. This is all madness…I-I’m supposed to be a married woman, for God’s sake.” Jasmine rolled her eyes before she responded. “You’re married, Tabbi! That’s not quite the same as dead. You don’t even trust your husband any more. What did Don say when you dragged yourself in late?” “Not a word. He was out like a light. I tried not to wake him.” “You didn’t do a damn thing to be ashamed of, you know.” “I still have the guilts, Jazz. Can’t help it.” “Well, put that out of your head. All you did last night was drink too much with a girlfriend.” “If you say so.” “I do.” “So are you hoping to see Bradley again?” “As a matter of fact I was thinking of giving him a call. Maybe around noon.” “Go for it. There was something sweet about the way you two looked at each other.” “I can think of a lot of words to say about Bradley Johnson, honey, but ‘sweet’ isn’t one of them.” “Don’t leave me hanging! Dish with the ‘spicy’ talk!” “Let’s just say, Jasmine King has a whole new respect for white boys, after feeling that man’s package press through those tight jeans. You gotta be at least eight inches tall to ride this ride, honey, and that man’s a couple inches over the green line, if you know what I’m saying!” Tabitha playfully looked shocked. “Listen to you!” “Honey, all of a sudden I’ve met a man that I’m betting could give my fancy a pretty good tickle. And this widow ain’t had a decent man in two years, if you know what I mean.” Tabitha gulped. She knew exactly what her friend meant. Yeah, me too.

***** “We’ve had our forensics people all over the paperwork for this rock castle thingy and just about everything else in that vault room. So far everything looks pretty much above board, as far as we can tell.” Rick Haas led the two investigators into one of the evidence examination rooms. The lab director pulled the sealed evidence envelopes out of the case profile storage box. “Did you get any suspicious prints on the Onyx Palace itself?” Ben watched carefully as his former supervisor handed out disposable gloves to each man.

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“Depends on what you mean by suspicious. Again we found prints from both of the managers of Hillendale’s. I suppose it’s reasonable to assume that they’d have general contact with the object. However, we found only three sets of prints on the palace.” Rick stopped for a second and reached into an envelope to pull out a contact sheet. “Have you ever seen a smudged print saturated by a substance that looked like this before?” Ben Johnson took a magnifying glass and scrutinized the contact sheet. “What is this stuff?” “You got me. We ran it through trace here and in Lansing. So far it’s designated as an unknown organic compound.” “Well, that narrows it down.” Ben continued to examine the smudge. “So Alan Deacon’s prints were found on the artifact?” “Yes, as a matter of fact, they were.” “What about Don Mason’s?” Rick nodded. “Another affirmative.” “So I take it this unknown smudge represents your third print pattern?” “Yeah, and it’s frustrating as hell, I’ll tell you that. There are literally hundreds of markers we can use to establish the unique patterns and ridges of a single fingerprint. The problem is, this print doesn’t appear to have any of the known patterns or ridges common to humans.” “What?” Brad took the contact sheet from his partner. “Local, state, national, or international…no one has ever seen anything like this. As far as we can tell right now, these prints don’t belong to any known being on this planet.”

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Chapter Ten Bradley Johnson’s cell phone rang precisely at six minutes after twelve noon. He flipped the phone open, glanced at the caller identification, and turned to Ben and Rick. “Excuse me, I need to take this outside.” He stepped out into the hall and clicked it on. “Jasmine? I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon, sweetheart. How are you?” “I hope I’m not interrupting. Would you like to get together for dinner tonight? I’ll even cook for you if you’d like.” “Dinner…? Wow! Wait a minute, gorgeous, I’m the one on an expense account. We can take advantage of the client’s money, if you’ll let me take you out.” “Well, if you don’t mind dining alone tonight.” Jasmine waited for a moment. “I mean -- just the two of us.” “I think that can be arranged. I’ll let Ben know he’s on his own for the evening.” “I was hoping you’d say that.” At that moment, both Rick and Ben strolled out of the evidence room. “C’mon, pard. Since we’re eating on an expense account anyway, I managed to talk Rick into letting us buy him lunch while we wait for the processed video. Let’s go eat.” “Umm…your idea sounds great. Listen, I’ll talk to you later.” Ben paused for a moment as Brad tucked his cell phone away. “So, was that Randy?” For some reason, Brad couldn’t control his blush response. “Not quite.” “You dawg! It was her. She called you already?” Ben’s face lit up like a Mardi Gras masque. Brad cleared his throat. “I thought you two wanted to get some lunch.” He turned on his heel and bolted toward the exit. With Ben laughing and Rick looking puzzled, the other two followed behind him.

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Rick hit the exit door first. “Did we just piss him off?” “Nahhh…don’t worry. I’ve got his car keys.”

***** Jasmine knocked on her neighbor’s door, surprised to see her blonde friend looking haggard -- indeed, downright frightened. “Tabbi, are you all right?” Tabitha shook her head. She grabbed her friend’s hand. “W-would you mind coming with me and telling me what you see?” Tabitha led her new colleague into the garage. She lifted the lid on a large plastic garbage can. “What do you see?” Jasmine shrugged; for the most part the can stood empty. “I’m afraid all I see are a small stack of dirty clothes and a paper napkin with something that looks like packing straw wound up inside it.” “Oh, damn!” A tear welled up in each of Tabitha’s eyes. “This is how it’s been for my whole life. Nobody believes me.” “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” The black woman turned back toward her companion. “I never said anything about not believing you.” “Huh?” She sniffed back a sob. “Remember, I have to live with a form of this, too.” Jasmine reached out and hugged her confidant. “Remember when I first met Donald? How could I tell my newest friend that her husband looked just like the picture of Dorian Gray to me? I decided the best thing to do was keep my trap shut!” “Is th-that true?” “Like I said. I needed our friendship more than anything, and if that meant keeping certain secrets, then so be it.” Tabitha sobbed in her friend’s embrace. “Tell me what you see here, Tabbi,” Jasmine whispered. “Please?” “Wriggling masses all intertwined.” Tabitha sobbed and wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist. “The colors writhe in and out, all wrong, like a handful of gutted snakes curling around each other in agony. Where you think you might see charcoal black, the actual hue turns out to have a sickly green streak running through it. The worms or -- I don’t know, moving serpents maybe, ooze ochre yellow and very runny pus; green, as if the whole colony carried some sort of disease. The entire effect looks slimy -- totally unhealthy.” Jasmine made a face. “Sounds bad.” “Jasmine, the mass of writhing worms has grown since this morning.” “What do you mean grown?”

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“I dumped my laundry hamper in here this morning. What took up half a hamper or so earlier, now flows almost to the top of my garbage can.” Tabbi shut the lid. “Doubling -- who knows, maybe tripling in size in a single day.” Jasmine carefully lowered her hand into the garbage can. “I-I don’t feel anything.” Tabitha’s face reflected her disgust. “Believe me, you don’t want to. C’mon, you need to wash your hands thoroughly before we head over to Hillendale’s. I’m dropping this load at the dumpster on the way, if you’ll just toss it in the trunk for me?”

***** Anastasia Romanov IV rode in the back of the roomy Maybach 57 luxury sedan heading for Hillendale’s Antiquity Specialties, while Stovall acted as her driver for the afternoon. For now, her working plan would determine how long their brazen theft of the Onyx Palace would remain undiscovered by the authorities. She knew her people could slip into the vault without being traced or setting off alarms, but they needed to find some valuable time to get the artifact out of town. Donnie should have some idea of how long the police will want to keep his precious vault sealed off. She could have him playing into her hands, pleading and apologizing for failing her when it came time to deliver the Onyx Palace. However, her patience had run out, and the situation had moved beyond his begging for contrition. Of course, he needn’t be told that. Don Mason had played his part. Nevertheless, he’d become a tiresome little insect. Once she’d completed this task and gained the relic, Anastasia idly wondered what new adventures lay in store for her.

***** Hillendale’s complex was artfully imparted within a beautiful, restored Victorian home approaching the downtown enterprise zone along Washington Avenue and Third Street. Tabitha quietly pulled into one of the parking spaces adjacent to the building and cut the ignition. She sighed. Jazz turned to the obviously stressed blonde. “Are you going to be all right?” Tabbi shrugged. “I guess. Let’s get this over with.” The two women noted the plush Maybach sedan, its driver suited up like one of the proverbial “men in black” from urban legends, only with the addition of a black fedora, as well. As they approached the front entrance to the building, the driver turned toward them and watched them stroll past appreciatively. Tabitha smiled. She’d forgotten that her figure turned male heads -- two such shapely chassis probably geometrically multiplied such attentions.

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Jasmine glanced at the driver, turned her head quickly and caught her breath. “Let’s get inside.” “Hmm?” “Please, it’s…just hurry.” As the two women entered the building, they looked up to see a statuesque, porcelainskinned brunette descend the stairs in front of Don Mason. Tabitha scowled. She knew any signs of jealousy came off as inappropriate; nevertheless, she also knew Don’s taste in women lately seemed to include anyone but her. Jasmine gasped softly, apparently trying to keep her emotional response totally internalized. Nevertheless, her eyes went wide and an audible gulp gave away her innermost distress. “Oh, hello, ladies.” Don spoke up as he trailed the tall woman down the staircase. “This is my absolute favorite client, Ms. Anastasia Romanov, the Fourth.” Tabitha stuck out her hand. “Delighted to meet you.” The stone-faced brunette chilled her with a frosty, head-to-toe inspection. “Likewise, I’m sure.” Her dark-skinned colleague seemed to fight a curious discomfort. “We saw your driver out front waiting for you.” “Oh, splendid! Since Stovall’s already out there, I can leave.” She turned toward the manager of the business. “Good-bye, Donald.” She kissed him on the mouth. “We’ll talk later.” “Good-bye, ma’am. Always a pleasure to see you.” “Of course it is.” The personal matter concerning paperwork between Don and Tabitha took only a few minutes at most. Hillendale’s Antiquarian Specialties placed scores of beautiful items on display for the customer’s viewing pleasure in the waiting room, but Jasmine spent the entire time waiting at the front window watching that woman and her driver get into the touring sedan and prepare to drive away. It was only after they departed that Jasmine’s face relaxed. Tabitha came up behind her friend. “Ready to go?” Jasmine nodded. Once they stepped outside, Tabitha whispered. “What happened in there? You saw something, I know it! What did you see?” “Great God, Tabbi! She -- she’s monstrous!”

*****

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That afternoon the lab’s video technician had driven the two and a half hours back from the state capital after picking up the digitalized and re-mastered video tape of Alan Deacon’s disappearance. “You two ready to go?” Rick led Brad and Ben down the corridor and through the double doors into the photo-video processing room. A few other lab employees had assembled here as well, waiting patiently until the director gave the go ahead for the viewing. Rick nodded to his video tech. “Okay, roll it.” Half a dozen people watched, spellbound, as an uncanny beam of light spread out from the miniature opening of the Onyx Palace and formed an enveloping arc of light around the assistant manager of Hillendale’s. Then after slowing the tape down again and again until they’d reached an almost frame by frame stop-motion, they watched time and again as Alan Deacon’s figure first dematerialized and then appeared to be sucked into the depths of the artifact. The silence throughout the room remained profound. “No, this doesn’t make sense.” Rick Hass stared at the screen even after the image on it went to black. “What?” “I dispatched…” Rick gestured at the people surrounding him. “…my entire forensics squad to cover every inch of that vault and nothing like this happened to any of them.” A member of Rick’s staff spoke up. “Do you think someone in Lansing is playing a trick on us?” Brad shook his head. “Are there a lot of video special effects jokers in the state police forensics lab?” “Christ!” Rick Haas’s shoulders slumped. “This is all just so impossible to swallow.” Ben kept his voice so quiet, it was a wonder Rick heard him at all. “Now you understand why I told you our theory might be a little hard to take.” “You knew?” “We had documentation that suggested something like this might be the case. Naturally, we had to see the results of the video to be certain.” Of course, the obvious question crossed everyone’s face.

How do you prosecute a supernatural relic? If magic is the murder weapon, who or what do you hold in custody? “Wait a second, this doesn’t make sense,” Rick Haas growled. “I’m almost certain one of my fingerprint technicians probably triggered the same mechanisms as Deacon. Nobody saw any weird lights that I know of and happily…” He glanced around the room. “…my entire team is present and accounted for.”

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Ben sighed. “That does deepen the mystery, doesn’t it?”

***** “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so upset, Jazzy.” Both women sat quietly in Tabitha’s car, still parked in the lot outside of Hillendale’s. Visibly shaken, Jasmine stared at the dashboard in front of her. “I haven’t even heard of anything as frightening as that since I sat in Granny Lucille’s presence as a little girl.” “Granny Lucille?” “When I was about six years old, my great-grandmother’s ninety-one-year-old spinster sister told me to be careful because horrendous things lived just outside the grasp of our consciousness. She told me to remember that someday, I might run into a dreigiau with a finger puppet.” “A dreigiau?” “Granny’s Creole name for a dragon or monster.” Jasmine could still feel the chill surrounding the -- creature, when they stood face to face in the auction house. “It’s hard to explain, Tabitha. Let’s say there’s a creature out there so huge -- so immense that the mind can barely perceive of it. Now, for some reason, this monstrosity needs to communicate with lesser or smaller beings. How does that work?” Tabbi waited. “I have no idea.” “Avatars -- made-up simulacrums, whatever you want to call ‘em. Granny Lucille explained to me about avatars being parts linked to the greater whole. What if a dragon needed to utilize a finger puppet? I think we just met the finger puppet of a gross and terrible being. I believe we just met the original source of y-your worm infestation.” “Are you serious?” “The feeling first hit me when I saw her driver. I mean, forget about his features being distorted. Something about his countenance -- his very being -- turned my stomach. That’s why I wanted to get inside as quickly as possible. I wanted to get away from him.” “Guess you got more than you bargained for…” Slowly, Tabbi cranked over the automobile’s starter. “I certainly didn’t expect to see what I saw.” Jasmine shook her head. “Lucille LaBauve never prepared me for the reality of such a sight.” Tabitha glanced over at her in surprise. “Did you say LaBauve?” “Yeah, that’s my family name.” “Oh my God, Jazzy! My mother’s maiden name was LaBauve!” Each woman stared at the other.

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Chapter Eleven That evening, Tabbi sat at the piano keyboard and slowly allowed her fingers to match the old melodic through-line. B minor broken down into individual notes, then a G major again played tone by tone, up to an A chord then back to G and suddenly Tabbi had recreated “Because The Night,” her eccentric grandmother’s favorite song, as done by Natalie Merchant and 10,000 Maniacs. Tabitha performed this piece with an orchestral ensemble when she was in college and her mother told her Nana had wept joyfully through the entire performance. Of course, thinking about her late grandmother made Tabbi’s own eyes tear up as well. As the song progressed, her hands pounded the keys with an intensity just short of fury: “With love [both hands in unison bashing major chords, first a D and then an A] we sleep…With doubt [pound chord] the vicious circle [wrists and fingers in sync with the inner torment] turns [passing chord] and [pounds] turns without you…”

“I just think you’re rushing things. Tabitha. You’ve only known Donald a few months,” her grandmother had admonished a few nights before her wedding. “C’mon, Nana, you’re just upset about your little angel growing up. “ “I’m sure that’s what it is, darling. I’m being over protective of my baby, that’s all.” “I trust Don implicitly to do the right thing.” “Of course you do. Forgive me for doubting.” Oh, Nana! Tabbi missed her. Until Jasmine moved in, it felt like she’d had nobody to talk to for close to four years. Her relationship with her mother remained strained at best. Cynthia LaBauve never warmed to Tabitha’s husband. Rather than consoling her daughter, she punished her for marrying the wrong man. Now Don turned out to be as trustworthy as a colony of silverfish under the sink cabinet, and her mother and dead grandmother had taken on the role of prophets.

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She doubled back on the song and vigorously played the chords of the bridge one more time -- her interior anger seething out through the motion of her wrists and fingers. “What’s all that racket?” Don Mason strutted into the house through the garage door. Tabitha turned her head and glared at her husband. “Racket? You used to enjoy my playing.” He huffed out a breathy growl. “Not tonight, please, Tabbi. I’ve had a really stressful day between crazy Conklin and the rest of the board.” She glanced at the hands of the grandfather clock. “I guess so, you’re early tonight.” “I needed to get out of there. The corporation’s hired two new private investigators who popped in from nowhere. A couple of guys from Battle Creek, for Christ’s sake -- I’m betting their damn resume includes cereal inspection.” Tabitha’s ears perked up, and she stopped playing. Then, she reached over and turned off the high-priced full-room surround sound system. “Did you say Battle Creek?” “Go figure, huh? The board must be off their respective rockers.” Don went to the liquor cabinet. “State Trust’s investigators are all out of Chicago. Apparently, from what I can dig out of HQ, the money behind all this comes from some confidential source in New York. So why choose a couple of yokel pee-eyes from Battle Creek?” Curious herself, Tabbi continued to probe. “Sooo, how did you handle the situation?” “The best way I could. I pawned ‘em off on the Department of Public Safety.” Did she dare use her sight to examine his clothing tonight? “If you don’t mind, honey, I’m going to watch a little TV and get ready for bed. I don’t mean to inconvenience you, but please don’t play the piano tonight.” Just one sleeve on his shirt displayed a trail of mold-like filth crawling up the right sleeve as if it mimicked an ivy vine. Yes, she could see the quickly maturing worms gaining headway and burrowing in and out of the material. She’d have to throw that one away as well.

***** “Are you all right? You seem…off tonight.” Brad and Jasmine were seated in one of the local bistros west of downtown, off the entrance to the channel. A glass wall at the back of the restaurant fronted the big lake and the overall view was spectacular. Jasmine smiled weakly and placed her hand over his, interlocking their fingers. “I’m sorry. Something -- or maybe I should say someone, disturbing happened to me today.” “I guess I should be relieved that it wasn’t me.” “What, you? No, of course not!” She took up the restaurant tongs and grabbed a breadstick from the center of the table. She flirted with him over tiny pieces of torn

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sourdough. “Well, I have been a little bit “bothered” by the thought of seeing you again, but, trust me, it was in a very good way.” Brad allowed himself to preen a little, but grew concerned as the shredded remains of the breadstick covered the table in an increasingly ragged pile. “Jazz, honey, my God, this really upset you, didn’t it?” “Have you ever heard of Anastasia Romanov IV?” “Wait a minute, the fourth? The Bolsheviks executed Anastasia along with the rest of her family back when they took over Russia, right?” “July 17, 1918…I went home and looked it up.” “So what about this Anastasia the Fourth upset you?” Jasmine gulped. Okay, here comes the date breaker. “She isn’t…well she doesn’t seem human.” Brad’s spine stiffened. “By ‘she isn’t human’, do you mean she’s some kind of Nazi fanatic or something?” Jasmine sighed and leaned closer, suddenly deciding to trust him. “I mean that sometimes I can see another, greater truth beneath the ordinary form masking an evil essence from the world. Tabbi’s husband, Don, for instance, appears to me as a dark, leprous man with terrible rot where his heart should be.” “Don Mason?” Brad chuckled. “That sounds about right.” “I wish I was kidding around.” Her eyes latched on to Bradley’s eyes. “However, Don’s essentially human -- no matter how corrupted he may be inside. I can’t say the same for this woman. Her mask to the world displays a very tall brunette with a truly arrogant, superior attitude.” “How tall is she?” “Close to your height, Brad.” “My God, I think I might have met her!” Bradley leaned forward. “She’s staying at the hotel. She tried to seduce Ben and me into a threesome.” “You didn’t take her up on it, did you?” “No, no. Ben and I had to see Sensei Takumi on four hours of sleep. We begged off. Even if we had the means and opportunity, she gave me the willies. Neither of us would have taken her up on her offer under any circumstances. You were right when you described her as arrogant. She nearly threw a tantrum right there in the elevator.” Jasmine breathed easier. “Tabbi and I were headed for the entrance to Hillendale’s when I saw her…” Jasmine visibly shuddered. “…driver waiting next to her touring sedan. I hustled her inside so we could get away from him.” “I don’t understand. What did he do?”

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“Besides leer at us, nothing.” She held onto Brad’s hand as if afraid to let go. “But every inch of his face, hands, and what exposed body parts I could see showed scarring and an inhuman restoration of the skin by a black, tar-like, leathery dermal substitute. Brad, I think he gave up what humanity he may have had once to serve this monster, Ms. Anastasia

Romanov IV.” Brad stared at his gorgeous companion, stunned. Their conversation stopped as the waitress brought dinner to the table. They waited until after she served them and then ate in silence for several minutes. Finally, in a soft voice, Jasmine broke the dead air. “I’m sorry to put a downer on our evening. I didn’t want this first date to be so serious. I mean, I had hoped…” He interrupted, “I believe you, you know.” Brad’s gaze caught hers again. “As crazy as it sounds, I’ve seen her and those guys. Every single one of them gave me the creeps.” “Do you think they had something to do with that man’s disappearance?” “No. I can’t talk about it, but frankly, we know where he went. Their arrival here seems to be a coincidence.” Jasmine frowned. “You know, ultimately I don’t think it is. Everything revolves around Don Mason. I think it’s obvious he’s smuggling artifacts under Hillendale’s legal antiquities cover. It can’t be coincidence that you’re investigating a disappearance in his branch of the company.” Bradley couldn’t hide his surprise. “Why do you think that?” “Tabbi said Don’s been dealing with ‘off-the-books’ clients. Anastasia is his latest, most favored client. He has something she wants, I can feel it. It’s that simple and it’s that complicated.” “Makes sense, I guess.” Brad poked at his food with his fork. “Jasmine, tell me what this woman -- this creature -- looks like to you.” “Not while we’re eating. Suffice to say that her real form is a total appetite killer.” Brad chuckled. “So you were saying earlier, you had ‘hopes’ about our first date? Care to share?” Jasmine smirked and forcefully speared a juicy, sautéed prawn from Bradley’s plate. Holding it to her pursed lips, she regarded the plump white circle of flesh, dripping drawn butter, focusing Brad’s undivided attention on the sensual act of consuming the tender morsel. “You could say that.” She speared another prawn and held it to his lips. “Care to share?” “Thank you. The aroma is tantalizing. So is the company.” “There’s just something about seafood dripping with butter and a handsome man dripping with charm to bring enchantment to a girl’s evening.”

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They hadn’t had too much to drink, but the drive to Jasmine’s place left each of them intoxicated. Partly to reassure Jasmine, but mostly out of wildly uncontrollable lust, Brad did the gentlemanly thing and accompanied his date to the door of her home. He sighed and pulled her into the circle of his arms, trying to hold his ardor at bay, barely trusting himself with a “brotherly” hug. “I guess I’d better be going soon.” Jasmine clutched his shoulders. “Absolutely not! Please, I need you. I mean -- please, stay with me this evening.” “Are you sure?” She nodded. “I don’t want to be alone tonight, please.” Brad gathered her close. “Point me to the couch, then. Unless you have a guest room with a lumpy, hundred-year-old mattress and some of those scratchy, unused sheets that smell like mothballs and Lysol? I’m partial to those.” Jasmine giggled. “Actually, I do have a guest room, but the mattress is brand new and the sheets are satin. I’m rather partial to satin, myself.” Brad’s eyebrows shot up. “Satin sheets in the guest bedroom? Exactly what kind of guests do you normally entertain?” “Normally, I’d say that’s none of your beeswax, honey.” At his troubled frown, Jasmine giggled. “Oh, please! I haven’t entertained a male guest since…” Her voice trailed off, and Jasmine’s gaze turned inward. Bradley hugged her tighter. “Oh, God, Jazz, I’m sorry. Has it been hard for you? Is this too much? I promise, I’ll keep my distance tonight, you know, sexually, if it’s too hard.” Jasmine shook her head, tears brimming. She broke the embrace and walked over to the fridge. “Why don’t we wind down with a couple glasses of vino, eh, Mr. Johnson?” He took the proffered glass and followed her into the living room. She hit the lights, and the onslaught of contrasting colors jolted his senses. “My God, it’s like Charro decorated using the leftovers from a Mardis Gras float.” “Hey!” Jasmine almost took offense, but just in time, she noticed his playful grin. “Jazz, this is the coolest room I’ve ever seen! It’s like living in the middle of a festival!” Jasmine laughed. “It’s funny, you picked up on that. I’m from Louisiana, and Mardis Gras has a place in my heart. I guess I like to take a little bit of home with me wherever I go. The colors, the feeling of goodwill and fun…it’s priceless. After my husband died, I needed to surround myself with cheerful trappings. I guess it was my way of trying to pull myself out of a funk.” “So how are you coping?” “Can I be honest with you?” “Please.”

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“It’s a loneliness I never comprehended. I never imagined. When you’re single and looking, that kind of loneliness is an irritation. Something you sigh over, complain to your friends about and periodically laugh. Widowhood is a whole new level of lonely. It’s not just lonely. It’s bone-deep longing, your soul crying out for the person you loved so desperately, to fill the hole, make you whole again.” Her eyes filled, but Bradley relaxed, sensing she had a need for space. “Two years of that is enough to destroy a person from the inside out. I miss him; I still and always will miss him. He was a wonderful man.” “He would have to be, to catch someone like you.” Jasmine’s breath hitched. She leaned over and tucked into his shoulder, drawing his arm through hers. “He was. But I had to move on. I had to start living again. I did it for him. He would have been so disappointed in me, for so long, I was just going through the motions, and he loved me for my ‘joie de vivre.’ He wants me to love life again, to love again. I know that, without question. I feel it, here.” She tapped her breast. “Jasmine, you’re an amazing woman. I think he would be proud.” “So where does that put us? You want to sit around feeling sorry for me? Feeling proud of me, for him? I loved him -- but I’m done dwelling on it. Do you feel anything for me besides pity? Because I’m pretty sure that wasn’t pity we felt earlier at the pizza parlor, or in the kitchen tonight. I’m thinking you’re nursing a pretty powerful crush on me, Mr. Johnson.” “Mr. Johnson? Why the formality? Please, call me Brad. Call me smitten, Miss Jasmine.” He nuzzled her neck with his lips, caressing her shoulders with one powerful hand. Jasmine giggled. “Okay, smitten.” He licked her neck from collarbone to earlobe. “Dazzled, enticed, enchanted -- so incredibly turned on…” Jasmine reached for the front of his trousers and felt the bulge at his zipper. “That’s what I’m talking about. Follow me, Mr. Dazzled. I have something I want to show you.” She unzipped his fly and led him by the dick, pulling him playfully into her bedroom. When she flicked on the lights, another riot of color hit him like a ton of bricks. “Peach and crimson? Hmmm… It seems to work in here.” “Bravo! At least you recognized the hues. Most men probably would have said pink and red!” “I admit I never would have tried it, but I like it.” Brad put a restraining hand on her arm. “Jasmine, I’m not…I’m not prepared. You know? I mean, I’m mentally prepared, but I don’t have a…”

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Jasmine interrupted smoothly. “Condom? Prophylactic? Latex sheath?” She danced over to the nightstand and pulled a bright purple box from the drawer. “One of us has been prepared since the evening I met you at Wizza’s. I knew it was just a matter of time…” He growled and chased her between the sheets, clothes flying in every direction. “Last one naked is the ‘love slave’.” Jasmine rolled over and pulled her dress over her head in one fell swoop, revealing her panty-less fanny. “I win.” Bradley groaned. “Oh, my God. You’ve been commando all night? If I think about all the ramifications, I’m going to come too fast. So that’s why the prawn smelled so tantalizing. You were wet, weren’t you, when you were teasing me? That’s why everything suddenly smelled like sex.” Jasmine jumped into his arms and kissed him with the enthusiasm of a horny teenager. “Yes, I was wet for you, Mr. Bradley Johnson. In fact, I worried I’d leave a puddle in my seat. I’m wet right now, in case you hadn’t noticed. I’m so ready it hurts, so hold on, you’re in for a bumpy ride.” Brad sighed with bliss as Jasmine slid a condom out of the box and slipped it casually over the head of his prick. Her fingers worked a new kind of prestidigitation; his already engorged penis surged in her hand like a wild animal. Jasmine casually slid one smooth, brown leg the length of him, stroking his penis with her inner thigh. Her fingers circled his nipples, alternately pinching and rubbing. Her fingers played his body like an instrument, coaxing sensations from every nerve ending. He leaned back against the pillows, letting the silken fabric caress his backside while the silken temptress worked his front. “I thought I was the love-slave.” Jasmine tickled his ribs and playfully slapped his shoulder. “Be quiet, slave. No talking. I’m having my way with you.” Brad groaned and grabbed two handfuls of satin sheet to keep from crying out when her fingers found his balls. She cupped and kneaded them softly in one hand, using the other to gently stroke his penis through the condom. She rolled astride him in one slick move and sensually arched her back, teasing him with the gorgeous mocha-latte globes of her breasts. Her nipples were rich, chocolate brown, two hardened points crying out for attention. “Touch them, slave. Take them in your mouth.” Brad pushed off the pillows and granted her request, giving his whole being to the task. He laved her breasts, worshipped them, caressing them with fingers and tongue, suckling and nipping softly at the sensitive flesh. “Aaah -- God, yes!”

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Jasmine shivered, her skin alive with sensations she hadn’t experienced in years. She almost wept with relief learning her body could still respond this way, still give her so much pleasure. She pushed Bradley down onto the pillows and pinned his shoulders with her knees. “Dessert?” “Chocolate pie? My favorite!” He slipped lower, leaving Jasmine grasping the headboard, kneeling just in front of the pillows. His mouth tantalizingly close to her pussy, he waited. Drawing a finger through her dripping labia, he felt her shudder, knowing she was close to climax. “You’re beautiful, you know? Like an orchid, filled with sweet honey.” “Shut up and eat me, Mr. Johnson, before I explode.” Bradley chuckled and flicked his tongue over her clit, pushing a finger into her warm pussy. Her answering screams told him he’d found her “special place.” Reaching deeper, he pressed down with his fingertip and stroked her labia with his tongue, moving it in rhythm with his finger. She bore down on his face, trying to force his tongue deeper. Removing his finger he cupped her ass cheeks in his hands, using his nose and tongue to service her like a human vibrator, moving deep and fast. “Ooh, oh, oh, oh. Oh, yes. Oh, my God, yes! Right there, you almost have it, baby, keep going… Keep going. Oooh-ooh-oh-yes -- yeeesss!” Jasmine enjoyed a noisy and enthusiastic climax. Bradley preened, gently pushing her sensitive pussy lower. “Enjoying yourself much?” Jasmine’s eyes were dilated; she ran her tongue over dry lips and panted, still in the moment. “Oh, man, you’re going to have to fuck me hard, Bradley, my pussy feels like it’s on fire!” “My turn to be Master.” “Whatever you say, Master. Just as long as you fuck me. Now!” Brad chuckled. “That’s enough impertinence from you, slave. Get on your hands and knees.” Jasmine sighed with pleasure and languorously assumed the position. She poked her smooth, round butt in the air for his inspection. “This what you had in mind?” “Lord, you have the sweetest ass I’ve ever seen, Jazz. It comes flowing from your back like two perfect hills, little dimples right above each cheek. Is that a tattoo?” He leaned closer. “A lizard? You have a lizard crawling across the curve of your ass?” “It’s not a lizard, it’s a salamander. Don’t ask. I was in an artsy phase.” “It’s glorious. It looks like it’s having a lot of fun, if you ask me. I’d like to hang out there myself.” He pointed his dick at the prize and dove in.

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“Aaa-ooh-man, that’s it, baby. That’s perfect.” He fell into the rhythm quickly, stroking in and out slowly. Cupping her cheeks in both hands, he kneaded them in time with his stroking. Squeezing them gently together he increased the pressure on his penis. “Oh, Jazz, oh wow, baby, your pussy feels like coming home.” Jasmine fought back a groan, biting down on the pillow clenched in her fists. She backed into him, hard. “Harder, Bradley.” She panted. “Much, much harder. Give me that cock, baby, drive Jasmine all the way home.” Bradley growled and drove hard, pushing her face deep into the pillows. The swirling cloud of curly hair, the gleaming sweat on her back, he was powerless to resist. “God, you’re a goddess, Jasmine, like Mother Earth, the sun, the moon…” Jasmine’s lips curled in a grin; she sucked her breath through clenched teeth. Groaning, hardly capable of response. “Mmmm-ooh-oh-oh, faster!” Bradley grunted with the exertion and gave himself over to the act. Pounding in and out furiously, the sweat dripped from his brow onto her back and pooled just above the salamander. He leaned forward and cupped a breast in one hand, supporting himself with the other. His chest tickling her back, he came. She came. They came together like long-lost lovers. Whimpering their satisfaction to the heavens, they came. And then they promptly fell into each other’s arms. Completely exhausted by the act, they panted in post-coital bliss. “Holy mother of God, Jazz, that was incredible.” “Yeah, it was, wasn’t it? Jeez, I wasn’t sure I could still do that.” “Huh? How long has it been?” “Too long, trust me.” He sighed and pulled her into his arms. “Well, let’s see what we can do to chase those doubts away, shall we?” “Mmmm. Does that mean you’re going to stick around?” “Wild horses couldn’t drag me away, baby.”

***** Benjamin Johnson sat down in his hotel desk chair with his laptop open and began to pour through the translator’s notes of various Nazi documents and journals stored in the relic files. Blast it! If only he could concentrate on the case at hand. Ben’s thoughts raced in several directions at once. He hoped to learn more about the Onyx Palace. He wanted to investigate a few of the clues as to whether Don Mason was covering up some sort of investor fraud or black market scheme. But mostly he needed to put Tabitha Mason out of his head --

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if only for a few minutes. That’s if he could remember just long enough that no matter how desirable she was, Tabbi was still a married woman and unavailable.

All right, already, stop procrastinating! However, he still suffered from a stress headache. As all these damn documents slowly coalesced in his brain, he wondered what had really happened to Alan Deacon.

***** “You know, sweetcheeks, you never did give me a good description of the ‘beast’ you saw today.” Jasmine pondered for a moment, then led Brad into the kitchen. “Come over here.” She led Brad to her worm condo and opened the top lid, using a small garden trowel to part the top layer and reveal the wriggling mass of worms below. “Does this bother you?” He looked down to see some of her two-inch red wigglers go about their business processing garbage inside the Tupperware container. “Well, no -- not really. I mean, I kinda wonder why you’re keeping worms in your kitchen. But if that’s your thing, they don’t bother me.” “They shouldn’t. My little guys are a very natural part of life. Some -- most people can’t see beyond the slimy, wiggly exterior to the little hearts of gold that beat within. In darkness, they take my rotten, spoiled waste, and turn it into something wonderful, life giving.” He shrugged, apparently trying to understand what point she was trying to make. “That woman -- that creature -- is like nothing on this Earth. Gelatinous and yet solid. A mass of writhing tentacles surrounding a core of dark, sensory organs. Sinewy, gristly shocks of ganglia totally alien in appearance…and completely different from my guys. She wants to consume all the life she finds, leaving a trail of death in her wake.” “Whoa! Sounds nasty. C’mon, we just ate.” He backed away from the worm tubs, rubbing his suddenly roiling stomach. She reached out to grab him. “Brad, the worst part is that I know instinctively, as bad as I made it sound, she is none of those things I described.” “Now you’ve got me confused.” “You expected to see a woman and that’s what she showed you. I was open to seeing something beyond human and I saw a dark, frightening, monstrous entity. The reality of Anastasia Romanov IV is that her actual form goes beyond any of our expectations.” Brad pondered her words for a few seconds. “Don Mason told us this morning that he’d been asked to obtain a specific artifact for an unnamed client. If she’s so powerful, why didn’t she just go after it herself?” Jasmine implicitly understood the answer to his question. “When you hire a maid, do you bother to dust?”

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As if a switch clicked on in his head, Brad looked at her, totally aware of whom and what she represented to him once more. “That’s brilliant. It’s all about the…” He almost pronounced its name. “…the object.” “What object?” As Jasmine clung possessively to him, Bradley’s cell phone rang. “Aw, not now…” After the third ring, Jazzy muttered. “You better get that.” “I don’t want to.” “At least see who it is.” Brad growled under his breath. “I already know who it is.” He picked up his cell and opened it. “Yep, I was right.” Then with growl, he flipped the on switch. “Ben, do you know what time it is?” “About eleven-forty.” The voice on the other end of the line chuckled. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you close to a clock?” “What do you want?” The growl in Brad’s voice said a thousand words. “Uh-oh. Am I interrupting?” “What is it?” “I know why Rick’s forensics team didn’t trigger the curse of the palace.” “And that piece of information couldn’t have waited until tomorrow?” “I thought you might like to know.” Bradley sighed. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why?” “Because Heydrich and his lackey, Kleinhorstman, attempted to use the palace as a weapon of mass destruction for The Final Solution during the occupation of Czechoslovakia,” Ben replied. Bradley stretched his muscles and groaned. More puzzles. “Slow down. Slow down. What does occupied Czechoslovakia have to do with Rick’s forensics team?” “I’ve got the document in front of me.” Ben’s voice sounded excited on the other end of the line. “The Nazis assembled sixty-three Jewish and Czech prisoners in front of the palace somewhere in Prague, rigged it to open artificially and tried to make it absorb the living essence of all the test subjects.” “And?” “It didn’t.” “What do you mean?” “Exactly what I said. Nothing happened.”

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Chapter Twelve Bradley sat straight up in bed. “Make believe I don’t understand anything you’re saying, ’cause I don’t.” “Turns out the curse of the Onyx Palace only works on only a single human being at a time. Ultimately, the Nazis had to settle for Zyklon B.” “The Nazis,” Brad parroted. Jasmine furrowed her brow. “The Nazis?” “Zyklon who?” Brad shook his head. “A mixture of hydrocyanic Prussic acid and inert materials like diatomaceous earth which, when exposed to air, becomes hydrogen cyanide gas. The formula was used at the death camps like Treblinka.” Ben’s voice took on a tone of frustration. “You know what the greatest irony of that invention was?” “I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.” “It was developed prior to World War One as a pesticide by a German Jew.” “You’re straying from the subject at hand, Ben. Get to the point.” “Look, that’s why the police investigation turned up nothing in Hillendale’s security room, Brad. Once Deacon’s body was discovered missing, there were too many people in the room to trigger the curse!” “Did you tell Rick? I think he’d planned on posting a single officer on duty tonight.” “I’ll call him now. Let’s just hope any guard he posts has the good sense to stay outside the vault door.” “More than that, Ben, it means that Anastasia Romanov the Fourth won’t be transporting the object herself.” “Anastasia? What are you talking about?”

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Brad quickly recounted Jasmine’s story to his partner. “Are both women okay?” Ben’s voice sounded rattled. Brad assured him they seemed fine. “If what you’re saying is true, I doubt that this Anastasia is susceptible to the palace’s machinations.” “No, but like anyone in power she has to believe in the delegation of duties, right?” Brad sat up and put his feet on the floor. “She brought in four assistants today. Now without knowing the details, we might guess that the thing is pretty heavy, but what if the necessity for four men means they don’t want to take any chance in triggering the…” Hell, why not say it. “…the curse.” “Wait a minute. Do you think Anastasia’s band of merry men may try something to get at the prize soon?” “Damn! I hadn’t thought of that. Call Rick and meet me at Hillendale’s as soon as you can.” He turned to Jasmine. “Honey, I don’t want to leave you alone. Will you be okay?” Jasmine smiled and brushed a kiss across his knuckles. “I feel perfect. All the baddies chased away. Go ahead. If I were anymore relaxed, I’d be in a coma. Tabbi’s right across the street if I get scared. And I have your cell phone number.” “Right. And don’t hesitate to use it! I mean it, Jazz, call me if anything, anything, happens. No matter how trivial it seems.” “Wow, listen to you, all protective and stuff.” Bradley puffed out his chest. “Me Tarzan, you Jane! Me keep you safe!” Jasmine laughed and pushed him out of bed. “Get dressed; your partner is waiting, Tarzan, and I think he might have a few questions if you show up in a loincloth.”

***** Thirty-four years ago The trip down the Amazon River via the medical clinic’s chartered boat took two days of careful navigation. Cargo boats naturally ran lower in the water than other craft, and so the pilot remained continually vigilant of river conditions. Audra Phelan requested that she accompany her patient downriver until they reached the city of Manaus and she could turn him over to skilled medical treatment -- and the police. The first half of the trip downriver went smoothly. Then everything changed completely. Down below in one of the cabins, a man wailed.

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Awakening with a startled scream, her patient looked around the make-shift medical hut, bewildered. Immediately responsive to the yell, Audra rushed into the cabin. Intense dark circles under his eyes contrasted to the jaundiced color of his face, but she could see that, besides the glazed look in his eyes, he’d finally awakened. She checked his saline drip. “Are you in pain?” “I’m sorry, my Portuguese is very poor.” “Oh.” Audra understood. “You speak English.” “Where am I? I need to get hold of the archeology department of the Universidade Federal de Amazonas in Manaus.” “You are headed for Manaus.” He tried to turn over on one side. “Argh.” She walked back to cursorily inspect his bandages. “Are you in pain?” “Just when I move or breathe -- or think.” “You’re very lucky to be alive, Senor…? “Hmm? Oh Martin. I’m Andrew Martin.” “Well, Mr. Martin, it’s nice to put a name to the face.” “How did I get here?” “The Yanomami found you in the rain forest and brought you to a field hospital upriver eight days ago. I treated you, and as soon as the medical boat came back upriver we started back.” “Eight days! I have to let my family and colleagues know I’m still alive.” “There will be many formal inquiries when we return.” Phelan added, “We will be met by police at Manaus.” “Police?” “You had a bullet lodged in your hip.” “Magalhaes Mineira…” “Is that where you were shot?” Andrew Martin grunted an affirmative. “The pain’s back.” “Bad spasms or merely a lingering ache?” “Not spasming.” She grabbed a plain storage pouch and opened it. Inside were a few green leaves she pulled out and rolled into a wad. “Chew these. They’ll help temporarily.” “What are they?”

“Erythroxylum.” “Coca leaves, a stimulant -- are you serious?”

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She shrugged. “I have a few more vials of morphine that I need to parcel out carefully, but the only thing plentiful this far out in the upriver is alkaloid cocaine.” “Is that what you used on me in the clinic -- raw Novocain?” Phelan shook her head no. “You were pretty bad, early on. I honestly didn’t think you’d survive, but I’m glad you pulled through -- made me look like a real professional.” He snorted a muffled laugh and immediately groaned. “Wish I hadn’t done that.” “I’ve left a plastic cup next to your pillow. You can spit the remainder of the leaves into the cup when you’re finished.” “The rain forest’s version of chewing tobacco, eh?” Audra took a blood pressure cuff and a stethoscope to check his vitals. “Try to relax and get some rest.” On the second day of the trip downriver, the reversal Phelan expected overcame her patient. A new fever came upon him. Although he’d gone through both fits of sleeping and bouts of wakefulness, he suffered from terrible tremors of fever on the boat. Phalen went back to substantial doses of morphine. Staring at the dingy interior of his cabin, the professor saw an outlandish vision. A stone palace, all black, like something out of The Arabian Nights or the cover of a fantasy paperback appeared, shimmering like a phantasm in the atmosphere. Still, Doctor Martin could barely keep his eyes open. As he dropped into a troubled sleep, he pictured a terrible ray of light slowly sweep out from the dark castle to engulf him in its breadth. He knew instinctively, if he didn’t run for his life, the light would snatch his very soul. He needed to get away -- now. He groaned as he tried to sit up on his cot. Andrew tried to roll out of bed; however, luckily, right by his side at that moment, Audra Phelan stopped him and settled him back onto his bed. “Be still, it was only a nightmare.” He tried to focus on the young brunette at that moment. “Nightmare? It felt so real.” “If you roll off your cot, you’ll reopen that wound.” She checked his surgical dressing once again. “Try to go back to sleep.”

***** Puzzled, Tabitha Mason watched as her husband pulled his car out of their driveway. A call from the Department of Public Safety just before midnight had sent him scurrying off to Hillendale’s during witching hours. He wouldn’t tell her what was going on, but she could tell from his face and demeanor that whatever it was had shaken him badly. She also noticed Bradley Johnson hustling out of the house across the street and jumping into his car just moments after Don left. Well, since Brad looked to be in the process of getting dressed, Jasmine and he must have enjoyed an interesting evening, indeed. She

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fought the temptation to phone her friend, just in case Jazzy was having a little post-coital nap. “Gotta polish up my Nosy Neighbor badge and flash it first thing in the morning to make her spill every juicy detail about tonight.” She knew she spoke to no one in particular, but circumstances where she found that she spoke only to herself were becoming more common lately. Hey, if Brad was headed over to Hillendale’s, did that mean he planned on picking up Ben as well? Tabbi told herself she was just curious about Don’s extra-curricular activities, but being brutally honest, she probably wanted to catch a glimpse of that hunky detective again, too. She allowed a smile to curl up on her face. What the hell, why not? Tabitha quickly threw on a pair of jeans and a casual top. “You naughty girl, you.” Grabbing the keys to the Infiniti, Tabbi smirked. She’d drive over to the hotel and watch the parking lot, maybe follow the boys back to Hillendale’s and see what all the fuss was about.

***** Thirty-four years ago A single policeman, Officer Galvani, met Audra and her partially conscious patient at the docks in Manaus. Audra had given her patient a deliberately strong dose of morphine to knock him out before they landed at the dock. “So do you know who he might be?” The policeman had his notepad out. “Yes, he’s Doctor Andrew Martin. He’s working with the university on some archeological thing.” “Andrew Martin! The Universidade higher ups have been complaining to us for over a week now about his disappearance. Has he said anything about his wound?” She shook her head. “No, nothing. He hasn’t been very coherent since he was shot.” “Do you think it might have been self-inflicted? Some sort of accident?” Phelan had anticipated the policeman would question her along this line. She couldn’t come right out and state that the Magalhaes Mineira Company may have had something to do with his wound. If the company owned this police officer, that statement guaranteed both her patient’s death and probably her own as well. She knew she needed to hedge. “An accident is quite possible. When the invisible people brought him to the clinic he had nothing on him. No identification, no weapons -- nothing!” Audra shrugged. “My efforts to keep him alive were tough enough. He almost didn’t make it.”

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“Take him to university hospital. We’ll get a chance to clear this up. In the meantime, I can think of a roomful of officials who will be happy to hear that their pet scholar has returned. Maybe not safe and sound, but you can’t have everything.” “I know whenever he’s awake briefly, he wants to speak to his family.” “Fair enough. I’ll let headquarters know.” As Officer Galvani started to step off the boat, he turned. “By the way, when he wakes up tell him that his wife gave birth to a little boy. I understand that the baby was born premature and is still in an incubator.”

***** Rick Haas’s officers got to the scene first in one of the department’s blue and white vehicles followed by Rick, who had picked up Ben at the hotel. Next, a very irritated Don Mason arrived to initiate the vault sequence. Finally, Bradley rolled in last in the rented Lucerne. Ben cautioned Rick as his men undid the crime scene tape. “We need to go into the room as close together as possible so that a single person doesn’t present a target to the Onyx Palace.” “If you say so…” “Humor me, pal. If no one gets killed, I’m perfectly content to be laughed at.” “Guess you’ve got a point.” With the tape unsealed, Don Mason activated the vault sequence and the door slid open. As per plan, the group of them hustled into the vault room as close together as humanly possible. Mason hit the light switch. Turns out, it didn’t matter -- the table where the Onyx Palace stood was empty. The relic itself had disappeared. Don Mason literally stood with his mouth open. “It’s gone!” “Damn! We need to get back to the hotel and see if her henchmen are still checked in.” Mason responded slowly as if his wits had begun to free themselves from a deep vat of molasses. “Her henchmen…?” Ben turned to confront the flustered manager. “Anastasia’s not the type just to let things run their natural course, is she, Mason? No, she needed a back-up plan to get hold of the artifact just in case. Looks like she used it, too.” Naturally, Don kept his mouth shut. Ben guessed that he’d refuse to put himself in a position to give anything away. That’s okay. It was enough that this pompous ass found himself shocked that both the police and two private investigators understood everything about his secret plans concerning his off-the-books client’s interests. The look on Don Mason’s face was almost worth this little setback. “C’mon. We’ve got to get back to the hotel.”

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***** Tabbi noted that Anastasia’s unique touring car sat out front of the Skipper’s Inn entrance. She could see the driver in the bright gleam of the front lobby by the desk clerk. No, wait. The driver she’d seen in the afternoon walked up next to this man. Two others followed him. Each man looked a lot like his companions; yet, markedly different as well. Tabbi shivered. Each man brought out something indecipherably unsettling in her; she could imagine what the group of them would do to Jasmine’s sensitivity. One of the men opened the trunk of the car, giving Tabbi a quick glimpse of an uneven cube-like item covered by a tarpaulin; yet, bathing in worms. Even though neither Don nor Ben nor anyone involved in the Alan Deacon case mentioned anything outright, Tabbi knew that deep in the secure vault of Hillendale’s an unknown object of terrible beauty and danger had been responsible for Alan’s disappearance. Damn! She should have brought her cell phone with her. Maybe she had no reason to dial 911, but at least she could call Jasmine and have her relay a message to Bradley and Benjamin. Crap, both of them were probably talking with the police right this second. All four of the odd looking men piled into the sedan. Should she follow their car? Maybe Tabitha could find a working phone along the way and help out. Uh-huh, and maybe she could take on four nasty men single-handedly and beat them in a fight. Yeah, right. This whole idea sounded foolish. The best thing she could do was to follow them for a block or two and then find a way to get hold of Ben or the police. Yeah, that’s what she’d do. Follow them for just a few blocks or so until she spotted a phone. That’ll work. Lakeshore Drive used to be the old coastal highway all the way up the west side of Lake Michigan. Now it wound in and out of cities, towns and villages, dotted with stoplights and four-way stop crossings. Surprisingly, the sedan turned left quickly on a side street and rather than be totally obvious, Tabitha waited to match the left turn on the next block with her Infiniti. Hopefully she wouldn’t lose them. No, she spotted them heading straight up Woodlawn toward Lake Forest Cemetery district. One good thing about such a unique vehicle as that touring car was that it was hard to miss. Besides, Woodlawn was the only exit road from this neighborhood. After they made another left into the cemetery parking area, she drove directly past them without slowing down or speeding up. She noted in the rearview mirror that one of the odd men scrutinized her vehicle as it zoomed past. The strange men had driven northwest, so she ended up closer to home than the hotel. Time to race back home, wake Jazzy and tell her. She’d phone Brad. He’d pass on the info to Ben, and together they’d inform the police. Sounded like a plan. Now if Tabbi didn’t get lost driving through one of these labyrinthine neighborhoods…

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***** “We already grabbed the relic!” One of the three other Sotashians leaned forward from the back seat and tapped Stovall, the driver, on the shoulder before he exited the car at the cemetery. “Why aren’t we getting the hell out of Dodge?” “I’m not about to start countermanding her orders. The goddess said that there is a ley line intersection here with deep enough pockets to hide just about anything from anyone. That’s where we stash it until she says otherwise.” “Do you know why?” Dickerson exited the Maybach. “Are you questioning her judgment?” Stovall eyeballed Dickerson. Normally the stare of his heavy right brow and drooping eyeball would be enough to dishearten a normal human being, but these three were used to his visage. “What about you two?” Reeves shook his head, while Enfield shrugged. “You know better than that. I just wanted to understand…” “That’s pretty presumptuous on your part.” Stovall gestured, directing each of them to lift one corner of the Onyx relic. “The goddess doesn’t have to share her reasons with us.” Enfield pointed at a rolled up hotel blanket taken from the Skipper’s Inn. “Don’t tell me we have some cleaning up to do?” “Think of it as more of an object lesson to anyone who tries to second guess the mistress.”

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Chapter Thirteen “There’s no sign of that expensive sedan.” Ben looked from parking space to parking space as they circled the hotel’s semi-circular lot. “Do you think they’ve checked out?” By this time two officers had left their vehicle and headed for the lobby. “I guess we’ll let the police ask that question.” The ring of his cell phone interrupted Bradley’s comment. Jasmine? “This is unexpected, hon, it’s almost one in the morning.” Brad paused while he listened to the other end of the conversation. “Right, we’ll tell them. Ben, find Rick and the police.” “Find who?” “You won’t believe this. Your lady fair let her curiosity get the better of her and followed me when I left Jasmine’s tonight. She says she spotted something suspicious in the trunk of the Maybach outside the hotel, and now the four ugly henchmen have it at the local cemetery.” “Cemetery?” “Go figure. C’mon, let’s locate Rick.” “How did Tabbi know they’re at cemetery?” “She followed them in her car.” “Arrgghh!” He raised his voice. “She could’ve gotten herself hurt -- or worse!” “Don’t yell at me. I agree with you.” In a moment Brad filled in the police on what he knew third-hand. The deputy director and a blue and white police car took the lead out toward Lake Forest Cemetery. Brad and Ben followed in the rented Lucerne. Unknown to the participants, the trailing cars took the same winding roads as the expensive Maybach sedan and Tabbi’s compact Infiniti had driven.

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When the group of cars pulled into the Lake Forest parking area, nothing of any consequence met them. “Looks like we’re too late.” Ben pushed his door open to step out to get an eyeful. “Maybe.” Brad muttered to his partner. “We’ve still got one more possibility. Of course, we’ll have to keep the details of that to ourselves.” “What are you talking about?” “I mean like so much of the rest of this case, if we suggest our conclusion to the police, they aren’t going to buy it.” Ben left the passenger door open, but sat back down in his seat to listen to his partner. “Keep talking.” “Remember what Sensei Takumi said when we took lessons from him all those years ago about this cemetery being more than just hallowed ground?” “You mean his insistence on the existence of those geodesic ley lines?” Ben watched the police get out of their cars to parley with each other. “Wait a minute! Are you telling me that the ugly brothers have hidden the Onyx Palace -- beyond our reach?” Bradley nodded. “Exactly. I think we need to pay our favorite Kichijitsu instructor another visit.”

***** Don Mason sat in the parking lot of the Skipper’s Inn trying to work up enough courage to call Anastasia Romanov IV. Finally he dialed her cell number. “Anastasia, the relic is gone!” Don blurted over the phone. “I don’t know what happened. The police and I entered my secure vault room tonight and the Onyx Palace was missing!” “Relax, Donnie,” a deep, vibrantly feminine voice said on the other end of the telephone line. “It will be all right.” “They told me this was all part of your plan -- those two detectives and the police. I didn’t believe them at first, but then I realized I had to ask you.” “Come over to my hotel, if you’re concerned, darling. There are several matters we need to discuss.” “I’m parked outside -- I’ll be right up.” Don juggled his keys nervously as he waited for the elevator to climb to the top floor of the hotel. He had a sneaking suspicion Anastasia planned to use him for the fall man, and more than anything, he wanted to avoid arrest and confinement. Even greater than his obsession with the sensual, eccentric millionaire lifestyle, was his fear of the prison system. “Let’s face it; with these looks, I’ll be a prime piece of ass in the cellblock.”

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When the elevator chimed and the doors opened he was still calculating the best way to approach her. However when he arrived at her door, the sight of her naked, glistening form dripping with diamonds, delicate platinum chains, and ornate armbands, seized his tongue and fired his blood. “Anastasia, you’re nothing less than a goddess!” He dropped to his knees and stroked her flesh, tracing the outline of a platinum charm suspended from her bellybutton. The piercing seemed virtually invisible, as if the charm were generated by her own skin, some kind of super-natural adornment. Her nipples glittered with platinum rings that appeared glued to her breasts again. No visible piercing marred the sensitive flesh of her areole, and the stark red contrast of her nipple to the cool flash of platinum was hypnotic. The combination of his fantasy lover dripping in jewels and precious metals drained Don Mason’s last ounce of reserve, and in that instant enslaved him once again. Anastasia drew him slowly into the room, a glittering siren leading a starving man to a luscious, poisonous end. She moved silently and sensually across the carpet. The room was softly illuminated, though with no visible light source. The light seemed to emanate from the air around Anastasia, and from within Anastasia herself. When she reached the king-sized bed, she turned her back to him and crawled across the bed on hands and knees to the nest of pillows like a sleek panther stalking prey. The sight of her muscles moving so sinuously, her butt gyrating and flexing, opening to him, drove Don over the edge and left him panting with lust. He knew better than to rush her or make the first move, but he couldn’t stop the rush of blood to his erection, already painfully pressed against the zipper of his trousers. He hadn’t bothered to put on boxers before rushing out of the house, and now he sincerely regretted the omission. Anastasia slowly turned, beckoning him with a long, languid stare and one crook of her finger. “Donald, darling, I think you’ve earned a little reward.” Don scrambled out of his pants, tripping over his own feet in the process, and tore the buttons from his shirt in his mad dash to her side. “Oh, my God, Anastasia, I thought you were angry. I thought you were upset because I didn’t bring you the palace sooner. I hope this means you have it, and we’re ready to leave this one-horse town.” “Don’t worry, it’s all handled. My bags are packed, my flight is booked, the Onyx Palace is safely on its way to its ultimate destination, as part of my private collection.” “What are you saying? We’re leaving together, right? I’m going with you. Right?” He read the answer in her cool stare. “Oh, my God, you have to take me with you! I’m in love with you! I’ll do anything! I would kill for you, Anastasia!” “Donny, I have more than enough men eager to kill for me, eager to please me. What would I need with a spineless bottom-feeder like you? What is your talent? Where are the skills that would serve me in the future? You’re an overeager lover, never satisfying but easily satisfied, you’re weak, you’re boring, and you’re insignificant. Now come, let me taste

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you. I shall show you how much I appreciate just how much you’ve served me, this one last time.” With tears wet on his cheeks, Don hastily crossed to the bed, his dreams gone up in flames. He was powerless to resist her, even in the face of her betrayal. That was her true power over him. She could send him to his doom, even as his passion for her blazed like an out-of-control forest fire. If he were able, he would have raged against his own body, against its helpless attraction to her. He would have clawed his way out of her snare with teeth and hand, screaming his pain and fury to the heavens, but he was literally a slave to his own selfish desire. She had nurtured it, fed it, coaxed it into an awesome power, and turned it back against him. Smiling, she reached out, and took his penis in her mouth. “Mmmm.” Her tongue encircled his shaft impossibly, milking it like a maiden’s soft, wet palm. Warmth erupted in his thighs and he fought to keep his feet, swaying like a tall tree in a stiff wind. He balled his hands into fists with his last shred of resistance; he fought the urge to tangle his fingers in her hair and pump her head savagely, driving his cock deep into her wicked throat. He knew that even now, his pleasure would end if he forced her. “You want me to take you deeper, don’t you, Donald? You can’t believe I’m caressing your pathetic little manhood with my mouth, since that pleasure has always been forbidden.”

Wait a minute! How could she talk to him with her mouth wrapped totally around his dick like that? “This is your reward, Donald. Fuck me. Fuck my mouth as you wish. Let me feel the sting of some of the pain I see in your eyes.” Her eyes glittered in anticipation, and she shivered as the first slap landed on her cheek. “That’s better.” “Shut up and take it all, you cold bitch.” Donald had correctly interpreted her desires and transformed himself to fit the role. He grasped her head and pumped furiously, pounding into her all his rage and frustration, the pain of his betrayal. He fucked her mouth like a savage animal, screaming his conquest to the heavens. Anastasia’s body underwent a gradual metamorphosis, elongating and coiling like a serpent’s. Her growing form nearly filled the king-sized bed, and Donald would have been shocked to see the platinum and diamonds glittering against leathery, iridescent scales. He was too far gone to notice, completely consumed by her pleasure -- and his own. He felt his strength ebbing and fought to maintain control, pounding even harder against the back of her throat, anticipating climax. Anastasia panted and cupped his balls in her hand, squeezing them, urging him to finish. “That’s it, give it to me. Give it all to me, Donald. Make me swallow your pain.” Donald felt the first rush of fluid gush from his penis, and suddenly his soul seemed focused on that one, ultimate act. In his mind, every cell of his being, every blood vessel,

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every muscle, sinew, and bone, tried to writhe and fight its way through the head of his penis, to dive down her throat. Mentally, he sensed his ambitions, his memories, his dreams, pumping out from his mind, spewing madly away with his semen. All of a sudden, Don Mason realized this sensation was not a dream. His pain, both magnificent and excruciating, as if being sucked inside out through a tiny straw, blinded him, rendered him mute, helpless and unable to escape the inevitable. His body’s flesh, his life, his very essence poured through his penis like a fountain, coaxing Anastasia’s inhuman appetite to the surface. The creature fed hungrily, like a babe on the tit for the first time. When it was finished, Donald Mason’s body was a grossly deformed empty shell of the former man. The dreigiau’s tongue flicked through razor-sharp teeth, finally sated.

***** In the subdued light of their sensei’s dojo, Ben and Brad carefully explained everything to their martial arts mentor. He listened quietly for what seemed like ages, as the story the two men told seemed to take on a fantastic, even unbelievable tenor in its recounting. Suddenly the Japanese man raised a single hand to halt their tale. “I fear you are right. I can sense her ominous presence just outside the range of normal human senses.” “Terrific. What can we do about that?” “It’s time I showed you the most important lesson a martial artist can learn. Walk with me.” Takumi Tetsuaiga led them to a partially enclosed fenced in section of his back garden. Following a twisting trail through Japanese maple, lush with wine red leaves hanging low and elegant, pines trimmed and twisted in the traditional Niwaki style. The path, illuminated by granite lanterns, meandered through free-flowing beds of fragrant blossoms, peppered with well-weathered stone statues of many of the gods and creatures of Japanese mythology. “With my next step the world as you two know it will undergo a startling change.” Brad looked around the carefully tended garden area. “All right, we’re ready.” Sensei Takumi chuckled. “Are you?” He seemed to concentrate on the atmosphere surrounding him, manipulated his hands for a moment or two, stepped sideways, and then disappeared. Benjamin gasped. “Oh, Christ, did you see that?” “I’m not entirely sure. Did you?” “Good. At least we’re both incredulous over the same thing.” Their mentor had reappeared some four feet behind them. “You’re both standing there like a couple of school children on the first day of class.” “What did you just do?”

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“I executed a move that I was never supposed to teach to anyone outside my own religious order. However, this is a skill I believe you’ll both need to learn in order to stand fast against the evil that has invaded this town. You’ll need it for your loved ones to survive, as well. Especially since you are bound and determined to become a part of the battle between an ancient evil and the Kurayami Mihari.” “Sensei, our client told of the existence of the Kurayami Mihari. Why did we have to hear the truth about you from his lips?” Sensei Takumi shrugged. “Secret organizations must maintain their secrets. I was not permitted to tell you. However, now you need my assistance. And to be quite honest, I can use your help as well. The two of you possess untapped talents I need to cultivate. So I shall remain upfront about everything relevant to our situation.” Ben looked at his mentor, startled by the tone in his voice. “You want our help?” “What exactly do you need from us?” “The two of you must learn to move through the spatial interstices,” Takumi informed them. “In the end, that’s the only way you can confront the Sotashians.” “The Sotashians?” “I think he means the ugly brothers.” Brad gave a contorted frown. “Laugh if you wish. One of humanity’s greatest enemies is present in Beech Haven even as we speak. This entity and its minions are flowing through the city and preparing for an incursion to make your current war overseas look trivial.” “Do we have a choice?” “You always have choices. You may choose not to fight -- indeed, you have the right to die, if you so desire. I shall not force either of you. However, I sense there may be more than just yourselves at stake here.” “You mean the girls, don’t you?” Bradley sighed and nodded his head. “You’ve got a point.” Ben finally admitted his disquiet. “Sensei, we don’t know if our client wants the Onyx Palace for good reasons or for deviant purposes. We don’t know if it’s worth pursuing this evil relic.” “The Kurayami Mihari has studied your reclusive client, just as he knows of us. Don’t worry about Professor Andrew Bryden Martin. You’ll find his motives are much purer than the fearsome goddess monster that wants to take possession of it. The Collector pursues the Emperor of Light -- the positive essence hidden inside the negative artifact. He doesn’t desire to pry the face off the adjoining dimension and allow the ensuing chaos total access to our own world.” “Are you serious?”

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“Believe me, that’s exactly what the Onyx Palace can do in the wrong hands.” Sensei Tetsuaiga led them back inside. “Follow me. Although this training is easier outside, we’ll need to start your training indoors until you get used to finding the signs and lights of the interstices no matter where they appear.” “Where do they appear, Sensei?” “That is for you to discover.” Takumi led them into his training room. “I will do the best I can to encourage you, but your ability to learn the technique is entirely up to you.” He looked around the room. “I need you both to sit and meditate until you’ve centered your bodies and minds totally. Twenty minutes of deep meditation will have to substitute for a refreshing night’s sleep for each of you tonight. Then we can begin.”

***** Tabbi’s eyes blinked wide open as a dull aching pain stabbed through her heart. What did the glowing dial of the bedside clock say? Three-forty-seven! However, she sensed Don hadn’t come home yet. She sat up and looked around, but saw no sign of her husband. Even on his most outrageous of nighttime strays, Don always came back by three in the morning. His commitment to his business took precedence over everything else in his life. However, tonight felt wrong -- totally wrong. Oh, sure, maybe she suffered from an overactive imagination. After all, logic didn’t play into any of this. Just because he was late didn’t mean Donald had died. However, she couldn’t shake her apprehension. Maybe she should call the hospital and check. She suspected deep in her soul Don wouldn’t be coming home this night or any night. Why did it bother her so? Of course, this was the first time he’d indulged in a casual affair with a living monster. Was it the monstrosity that upset her the most? Or the fact that monsters didn’t bother holding to normal human timetables -- or human morals? Tabitha could feel her heart beating faster and hear her pulse pounding in her inner ear. Damn it! Something had gone very wrong tonight; she could feel it in the wrenching twist of her gut. She mourned for the man she once knew -- the man she’d married seven years ago. However, that man had changed and turned against her a long time ago. Deep inside, Tabbi felt the shock of her husband’s loss, but she couldn’t bring herself to grieve for her wayward spouse. Anything decent and good and human in Don Mason had died in its own way months ago -- maybe even years back. Tabbi had no doubt in her mind, whatever tiny remnant remained of the reasonable and loving man she’d married had perished tonight. The thought of his possible demise both horrified and relieved her -- naturally, she felt guilty.

*****

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Sensei Takumi allowed his two best students to descend into a deep meditative state atop the woven straw tatami flooring of his exercise floor. He wanted them to have an extra ten minutes of relaxation before he began their lesson. If he’d taken them outdoors after dawn, the three of them could examine the charged air around their immediate vicinity and locate the telltale signs of the laced interstices -- the prismatic colors that flashed in and out of visual existence. But dawn lurked hours away. Would these two show the resistance that he’d shown his own sensei back in the day? He hoped not. There was too much at stake. Slowly, noiselessly he padded around the room looking for any small sign of energy pulsing within his home. Once he located an interstice, he woke each of his students and led the men to the exact spot. “Tell me what you feel here.” Each man placed his hand in the same location as Takumi instructed. Puzzled looks crossed both men’s faces. Ben spoke first. “I’m afraid I don’t feel anything.” Keeping his voice soft and quiet, Takumi continued to prod. “Twist your hand inside the area. See if the hairs on the back of your hand and wrist do anything.” Brad responded on his next try. “I feel a sort of static whisper playing along the back of my hand.” “Good, Bradley. Benjamin, work your hand in the area until you feel the same thing. It will be a slight prickle -- nothing monumental.” “Ah, I’ve got something, I think.” “Until I find another such spot in my home, you two are going to have to share that lone interstitial sign. You must practice going from normal space into the static field of the atmospheric flaw. Feel the presence of the phenomenon. That is the first sign to understanding how to use it.” Each man took turns placing his hand in and out of the unsubstantial section of the air some four and a half feet high off the ground. Brad cautiously exercised his turn. “I think I’ve felt something like this before. It happened on a vigorous April day right after school. I thought it was merely a part of my spring fever.” “Excellent. Ben, you stay there and work on experiencing the awareness.” Sensei Takumi signaled the white man to join him at the entrance to the next room. “Come over here, Bradley.” When the blond man walked over to where he stood, Tetsuaiga-san gestured. “Over this way is another, slightly weaker interstice. I want you to locate it.” “No hints as to where it’s at?” “It’s in that corner of the next room. However, you must find it on your own.” Brad grunted. “All right, if you say so…” Sensei Takumi walked back to join Ben on the exercise floor. “How are you doing?”

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“I think I’m getting the hang of this. At first the sensation rolled like a wave across my arm, but now I’m sensing little individual prickles in the air.” “Ah! You’ve got it! In a moment I’ll have you go over and join Bradley in the other room. I’m sure that between the two of you, we can locate the second interstice in this house.” “And if we do?” “Then I’ll let the two of you rest until dawn when the next phase of our training begins.” “Hey!” A voice from the other end of the house shouted out. “I think I’ve found it!”

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Chapter Fourteen Tabitha couldn’t help herself. She looked up from her bed and checked the clock once again to read four thirty-five. She got up, tugged on a thin robe, and reached for the bedside phone. She could no longer face her fear unvoiced and alone. She needed to share her horror and her relief. Slowly, hesitantly she dialed her neighbor’s phone number as if by dialing slow that would somehow give Jasmine a few more moments rest. A sleepy voice groaned, “Hello?” “Jasmine, something’s really wrong. I can’t tell you why, but I feel it.” Tabitha worked up the nerve to tell her fears to her friend. “I-I think the monster has killed Don. It’s not like him not to come home at all.” There was a long pause at the other end of the line. “Do you think the monst…she’s coming after you?” “No. I don’t believe so,” Tabitha whispered. “Then things aren’t totally desperate yet. I’ll be over in a few minutes. Oh, and make some strong coffee, will you? Fully leaded, if you don’t mind. I have the feeling this is going to be a rough morning.”

***** Once Sensei Takumi had escorted them outdoors after dawn, the three of them examined the charged heavens surrounding his quaint dojo just off the beach. “Look around. See if you can locate the telltale signs. This time you’ll have visual aids to help pinpoint the laced interstices.” “What exactly are we looking for?”

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“Ever see a rainbow formed by the spray of a sprinkler? This time you’re searching for the faint reflection of colors filtered through a prism. Once you know what to scan for, you’ll understand.” “So we find this floating prism and that will lead us to…?” “The same phenomenon you experienced last night.” Takumi Tetsuaiga led both men to a dewy bed of azaleas. “Examine this area.” Each man stared at the small plot of flowers. Ben suddenly found a flash of insight as he watched prismatic hues flicker in and out of visual existence. “Here!” Ben stuck his hand into the glimmering lights. Immediately he felt the play of static electricity upon his hair and skin. He turned to his partner. “Try it.” Brad smiled as he recognized the experience, as well. He turned to his martial arts instructor. “Now what do I do?” “Now you concentrate on expanding the energy to surround your whole hand, wrist and arm.” “But it’s so small.” “Concentrate on making it big enough to engulf your arm.” As Bradley began to work his wrist and arm into the phenomenon, Ben’s eyes widened when his partner manipulated the curious form. “Sensei! It looks like Brad is becoming smaller!” Takumi put his fingers to his lips to shush his pupil. “Yes, but don’t blurt it out! His concentration is taking him deeper. If you break his thought processes now, he will lose all he has gained.” Maybe it was merely an illusion, but Ben and his teacher both stared as his partner’s arm shrank to fit inside the interstitial hole in the atmosphere. Sensei Takumi stepped up next to Brad and whispered in his ear to encourage him. “Follow your arm with your shoulder and head, Bradley. Allow the laced energy to encompass your entire being.” Brad took a breath and lunged forward. For a millisecond, he seemed to shrink to fit the atmospheric hole and to disappear momentarily. This was immediately followed by Bradley’s reappearance amidst a clumsy ungainly somersault, landing flat on the ground. “G-guess I b-blew it.” He puffed from having the wind knocked out of him. “Not at all!” Takumi leaped to his side. “You did very well! I hadn’t expected that you’d pick up on that so quickly.” “C-cold. Very cold in there.” Bradley looked up at them both. “Hard to breathe.” “You get used to it eventually.” Sensei Takumi turned back toward Ben. “Come along. It’s your turn.”

*****

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The hotel maid pushed her service cart into the vacated room at the north shore Skipper’s Inn. For a split second, she thought she saw an odd rainbow splash of light flash in the corner of the room. The tall, bad tempered lady had checked out earlier this morning on her shift, and the night maid knew that was one guest who wouldn’t be missed. Sure, she tipped the staff relatively well, but was it worth all the hassle of kowtowing to her myriad of desires -- half a dozen towels at a time, cleaning pick-ups or food deliveries at all hours of the night? The night maid began to strip the sheets from the bed when she uncovered what looked like a large puddle of bloody vomit on the bottom layer. Bloody vomit? “Oh, hell. A five dollar tip ain’t gonna do it this time.” On second examination the mess on the top sheet looked more like somebody had skinned and cleaned a large animal on the bed and then dragged the carcass off. She muttered under her breath. “Bad tempered and totally nuts!”

What was this thing caught under the bedstead? Tissue paper? The maid lifted and tugged at the bedpost so that she could free it. Jesus, do I want to touch that thing without rubber gloves? On second thought -- no! She went back to her cart and grabbed the protective gloves. “Be just my luck that it’s a piece of used feminine napkin caught down there.” She pulled at the fabric and it gave to her touch -- slick and stretching as the woman picked it up from under the bedpost. “Feels like leather.” No, more like -- skin! Skin? Not animal hide at all -- human skin. The flattened object looked like the outside of a finger with no bone inside to hold its shape. Suddenly the maid blanched and fought back the urge to vomit. Screaming, she ran from the room. Reaching the hall, she fell to her knees and heaved the contents of her stomach on the carpet outside the door. Faint with shock and fear, she collapsed against the wall, praying to God to erase the grotesque image from her memory.

***** Rick Haas and the Beech Haven Department of Public Safety descended on the scene at the classy north shore executive hotel to investigate the condition of the room Anastasia Romanov IV left behind. One of the technicians sampled the puddled remains on the sheet. “It’s human blood, Rick.” “Yeah. That’s what I was afraid of.” Earlier in the evening the department had attempted to trace Anastasia Romanov IV through a combination of her hotel check-in form and her credit cards. The addresses she had listed were essentially mail drops or otherwise fake addresses in major cities -- more precisely, affluent suburbs of major cities.

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Now, apparently, she’d become involved with a murder. The left behind piece of human skin had been processed and rushed to the crime lab. Her four henchmen, as Ben and Brad referred to them, had disappeared and the city had been the unwitting victim of an odd series of crimes. “Do me a favor.” Rick Haas turned to one of the deputies on duty, while he bagged a few more large items. “Get Don Mason on the phone for me. I need to talk to him some more about that woman.” When the phone rang, its loud vibration startled Tabitha. She stared at it for a second ring, but did not move. Jasmine stood up and placed her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “You’d better get that.” “I don’t want to,” she murmured. Jasmine walked over to the phone. “You have to…” But she picked it up for her blonde neighbor. “Hello.” Once again there was a pause until Jasmine spoke. “It’s the Department of Public Safety.” “Oh, God!” This time Jasmine spoke into the phone again. “Umm…according to his wife, Don Mason didn’t come home at all last night. She called me because she was afraid that something might have happened to him.” Once again she paused. “Of course. I’ll put her on the line.” Tabitha took the proffered telephone and sucked in a deep breath. “Hello?” “Mrs. Mason, this is Rick Haas from the Department of Public Safety. Are you telling us that you think your husband may have met with some kind of foul play?” “It’s not like him to not come home at all, Mr. Haas. Don’s pretty anal when it comes to protecting his business. That usually means a few hours of sleep and a fresh change of clothing in the morning. I began to worry after three AM and I called my neighbor, Mrs. King, to come over here.” “Did you ever meet his client Anastasia Romanov IV?” “Yes, I did once.” “Mrs. Mason, forgive me for being blunt, but do you think your husband was having some sort of relationship with Anastasia Romanov? Something more than a business relationship?” “Are you asking me if I thought they were having an affair?” “I suppose I am.” Tabitha shuddered. “In that case, I’d have to say yes. Don didn’t bother to hide his affairs from me.”

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“I see.” Once again there was a momentary pause. “Mrs. Mason, do you have an item with your husband’s DNA? A hairbrush or toothbrush -- anything like that?” “Yes. I’m pretty sure I do.” “Would you mind bringing it down to the lab for analysis? We’d like to run a DNA comparison.” “Oh, my God, Mr. Haas! Why do you need Don’s DNA? Do you think something might have happened to him?” “This isn’t something we want to discuss over the phone, ma’am. Come on down to the lab as soon as you can and we’ll tell you what we can.”

***** Thirty-four years ago The university hospital held visitors at bay for nearly five days. Finally, Andrew Martin recovered the strength and stamina to see his friends and colleagues. Members of the archeology department, of the Universidade Federal do Amazonas in Manaus, Brazil, spoke softly concerning Professor Martin’s truthful insistence that he’d been shot by a guard at the Magalhaes Mineira Amazonas -- Magalhaes’ biggest mining complex that far upriver. Not that anyone doubted his word, but rather they hated taking on a force that was one-third organized crime, one-third major industry, and one-third politically ingrained corruption. Professor Eduardo Virgílio, chairman of the archeology department, sat down in a guest chair in the university hospital room He knew the only thing more prevalent than graft and corruption when it came to Magalhaes Mineira was the probability of flying bullets.

“Doutor Martinho, the rector of UFAM himself apologizes for your treatment at the hands of those bandits upriver --” “Bandits…” Andrew didn’t try to keep the ironic tone out of his voice; however, Dr. Virgilio ignored it. “Bandits in khaki.”

“Doutor -- Doctor Martin -- Andrew. There’s something you need to know.” “That we’re not going to be able to prosecute any shooter protected by the Magalhaes, Eduardo? I think I’ve already figured that out.” “It’s about your wife and baby.” “Penelope? Has she called?” He strained to sit up. “Damn! I hate this constant heavy medication. I haven’t been able to think straight for weeks. It’s been at least two weeks since I talked to my wife.” Eduardo Virgilio stared at him. He couldn’t cover the sadness in his voice. “Longer.”

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“That’s what I mean. I really need to talk to her! If not now -- as soon as possible.” “I wish you could.” Andrew Martin quieted down and scrutinized his colleague’s face. “There’s something you’re not telling me. Did the baby…?” He left the rest of the question unspoken. “No, your baby’s all right.” “Then what?” “Your wife, Penelope, sank into a severe depression when she heard you were lost in the rain forest. Her depression led immediately to a hard labor leading to the premature birth of your son.” “That’s all the more reason why I need to speak with her!” “Andrew, you can’t…” “Nonsense, this hospital’s got to have some kind of phone jack that works in this room. Get me a telephone! I don’t care what the damn price is.” The words tumbled out of Eduardo’s mouth before he could stop them. “Andrew, she’s dead.” Andrew Martin shook his head. “No. I’m sure it’s just some miscommunication -- some mistake -- if you could get me a phone --” Intellectually, he knew this step was called bargaining. It didn’t matter. He needed to make this protest -- to have come so close just to lose everything… “Doctor Martin, please.” “It can’t be…” Red-eyed, Andrew brought his hands up to his temples. “How did it happen?” Eduardo dropped his voice. “She…Penelope took her own life.” “Oh, God, no!” Martin closed his eyes so that he could shut out the institutional beige of his hospital walls. “The depression that brought on her early labor and your son’s premature birth never left in the time that you were missing.” Staring at the red pattern of the back of his eyelids with his eyes still closed, Andrew once again envisioned that outlandish black castle. The same mysterious stone palace, all gloomy and ominous, shimmered like a phantasm in the atmosphere. “Since the baby needed to stay in incubation, she was released from the hospital before he was.” Professor Virgilio’s voice remained so soft he could hardly be heard. “According to the authorities, Penelope began self medicating with prescription drugs to ease the pain. They’re assuming for now that her fatal overdose was a tragic accident.”

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“Oh, God.” Andrew couldn’t tell whether it was fatigue or the drugs that caused his hallucination. All Doctor Martin knew was that he could barely keep his eyes open. “Penelope.” As he dropped into a troubled sleep, he pictured the same ghastly ray of light slowly sweep out from the murky entrance to the dark castle. But this time the light engulfed his Penelope in its breadth. “My sweet Penelope…”

***** Brad’s cellular phone rang several times sitting on a table inside his martial arts instructor’s dojo. Out of breath and visibly shaken from his first attempts at negotiating the interstices, Ben Johnson caught the ringtone as he stepped into his sensei’s home. He stuck his head out the door. “Hey your phone’s ringing.” “Get it will you? In case it’s something important.” Ben looked at the number and saw that it was local and balked. Do I really want to jump into the middle of a blossoming romance? Ah, well. Brad said to get it. “Johnson and Associates, this is Benjamin Johnson.” “Oh, Ben, thank goodness. I’m calling from Tabbi’s phone. Ben, we think Don Mason might be dead.” “Jasmine, what’s going on?” “Tabitha’s headed down to the police lab to see the deputy director and she’s taking some of Don’s personal items along, since they requested a DNA sample. Tabbi’s been getting some pretty strong premonitions this morning that he’s dead, so she’s thinking they need her to identify a body.” “How soon are you leaving?” “She’s getting dressed now.” “All right. Brad and I will meet you there.” He stuck his head out the door and yelled to his partner. “Hey, looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us. There’s a chance Donald Mason may be dead. We’re meeting Jasmine and Tabbi down at the crime lab.” “Let’s not keep them waiting.” Stretching his bruised muscles, Brad winced. “Sensei, do you think her four henchmen have left town?” Sensei Takumi concentrated on his surroundings for a moment or two and then shook his head. “No. Although she is gone from the area for now, I believe the Sotashians are still close by…” He paused. “…as is the Onyx Palace. We’ve only delayed our confrontation.” “Swell.” Brad sighed as he watched the atmosphere sparkle with newly spawned prismatic lights. Standing in front of a mirror, Ben felt compelled to put his tie back on. “Sensei, why do you call them the So-tash-ee-uns?”

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“They’re named after their mistress, but that explanation is for another time.” “Surely you can tell us.” Ben insisted. “It is enough that you know this much. With forces such as these at work, the mere knowledge of their existence puts you at risk. Take it from me that I am protecting you by not exposing you to more knowledge than is necessary for the moment.” “Enigmatic as always.” Bradley chuckled. “Seems like you go out of your way to play the inscrutable Oriental.”

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Chapter Fifteen “Do you have any idea how long this process will take?” Tabitha waited anxiously as the lab tech began to comb through her husband’s toiletries. Jasmine sat silently next to her nursing a cup of bitter coffee. “I really can’t say. It depends upon how badly the regional DNA lab is backed up. Hopefully we’ll have the results in a few days. If we’re really lucky, we may see a response in forty-eight hours. “ “Oh, dear.” Tabbi shook her head and unbidden tears rimmed her lids. She squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden onslaught of grief. Shaking, she propped herself against the institutional beige walls of the crime lab’s interview room. At that moment, Rick Haas burst into the room with both Ben and Brad following him. Bradley went straight over and hugged Jasmine close to him, while Benjamin walked over to Tabitha. “Are you all right?” “No.” Tabbi shook her head and timidly held out her arms. She hoped Ben would reach out to comfort her. Once he opened his arms, she stepped into a hug. Oh, God, it felt good to be held lovingly by a man once again. She’d found herself more than a little jealous of Jasmine’s easy intimacy with Brad before. She burrowed deeper into Ben’s embrace. “What happened?” Rocking her from side to side and stroking her back, trying to calm her, Ben gently tucked her into his clasp. “What made you realize something was wrong last night?” Tabbi relaxed a little in his embrace. She felt safe, and -- something more. She felt something she wasn’t ready to acknowledge. At the same time, Mrs. Mason tried to shake off a nagging feeling of guilt. Then she recounted her unexpected premonitions about learning of her husband’s surprising disappearance.

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“I can’t feel him, anymore, Ben. It’s like…I know Don’s gone. I know it in my heart. The police aren’t saying anything, but that’s why they want his DNA, I can feel it. After all, why wouldn’t they just ask me, if they needed to identify his body? I feel like I should keep hoping, keep waiting, but I know better. I-I’m certain he’s dead.” Rick placed his hand on Ben’s shoulder. “You know I have to ask for the record, Ben. Where were you last night after you left the cemetery?” Brad answered. “We both went to Sensei Takumi Tetsuaiga’s dojo over on Harbor Street where it intersects Prospect. You remember there used to be a small motel there.” “Is he the one who renovated the old Blue Water Inn?” Ben nodded and slowly allowed Tabbi to break free of his hug. Obviously the austerity of the situation took hold for both of them. “We tried to enlist his aid to understand both the Onyx Palace and how to take on Anastasia’s henchmen.” “What did you do after you left there?” “We came directly here…well, once we got Jasmine’s call this morning.” “Hold on, did you two stay all night?” “We got all caught up in his strategy and training sessions.” Ben showed no hesitation with answering Rick’s probing questions. “Lord, does that man push his students.” “That’s putting it mildly.” Brad tried to inject a touch of levity into the moment. “And since the man charges by the half-hour, Randy’s going to shit at the bill he’s liable to send us.”

Of course, if we survive this ordeal, I’ll gladly pay the bill out of my own pocket.

***** Stovall and Enfield drove the Maybach north into Muskegon County to wait for their accomplices to call and give them the all clear from the Harbor Street Bed and Breakfast they’d booked into temporarily. The four of them hoped to snatch the Onyx Palace from its hiding place tonight, but they knew the police were on the lookout for the dark Maybach sedan. Meanwhile, Dickerson and Reeves sat tight in their room and played a game of Literary Giants to pass the daylight hours.

“The Tomb. Dreams in the Witchhouse. The Horror at Red Hook.” “Too easy. H.P. Lovecraft!” Dickerson grinned. In his case, the deformity of his face affected the muscles around his mouth, exaggerating his toothy maw about ten or fifteen percent too wide, as if he were a living rendition of Batman’s villain, the Joker. The only thing missing from the effect was a white face and green lips. “Try another.”

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“What Hides Inside. Forgotten Song. Eight Arms to Hold You.” Reeves found it simple to maintain a straight face as he continued. His locked, elongated horse jaw made it difficult for other people to read his expression. “This one should be Easy…heh-heh.” “The game is Literary Giants, you asshole. Did you just feed me some more of your gay male romance crap?” Reeves smiled -- or more accurately, what passed for a smile with his distorted features. “C’mon. Name the writer.” “How the hell should I know some fucking male-to-male pervert author? I could guess ’til I’m blue in the face…” “What did you just say?” “Fuck you!” “All right.” Reeves laughed. “I’ll give you that one. Blue was right.” A cellular ringtone interrupted their banter. Dickerson grabbed the phone, looked at the caller ID and barked something unintelligible into it. “Okay, I’m putting it on speaker.” “We just got word from the goddess that she wants the two of you to check out the hiding place to make sure that no one has stumbled onto its location.” “That’s unlikely as hell, isn’t it?” “Do you want to be the one to tell the mistress that, dickhead?” “Don’t call me that, Stovall.” The other three Sotashians knew of Dickerson’s oversensitivity to that childhood taunt. “You know better.” “Then don’t argue with her orders, you fool, just do it!” Silence echoed throughout the room. “I think the mistress is uneasy because she can’t peer into the dimensional rift.” “All right, Stovall. I’ll do it out of loyalty to her. Not because you told me to.” “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” the voice on the other end of the line sighed. “Shut up and do it.” Dickerson’s voice dripped heavily with sarcasm. “Apology accepted, Stovall. Thanks.” Reeves walked up close to the speakerphone. “It’ll take us some time to check on it and get back here. You know how well cell phones and electronic devices react to the cold and the wave particles inside the prismatic field. I figure we’ll be out for at least an hour -- maybe an hour and a half, okay?” “Call us back as soon as you know.”

*****

Sensei Takumi Tetsuaiga waited patiently outside the Harbor House Bed and Breakfast watching the various patrons come and go. He remembered the description of the “ugly

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brothers,” as Brad and Ben described them, remembered that the Sotashians need to give up a portion of their humanity in order to serve their mistress, and, following a hunch, he called around to the local hospitality establishments until he located two of the most likely candidates. Thus, he’d set up his surveillance. Ah, yes, two men dressed like federal agents in black suits and fedora hats marched out into the almost naked beach crowd. These two wouldn’t be hard to miss. They strolled randomly for a few minutes as if sightseeing, but Takumi-san knew exactly where they were heading. He’d already surveyed the area for atmospheric slip fields and he knew exactly where the most accessible field along the route to the cemetery lay. It appeared they were headed in the right direction. Would they wait for something to distract the crowd or damn the onlookers and jump feet first into a prismatic lace field? Sensei Takumi received his answer immediately when one of the men forced his hand and arm into the prismatic lace and disappeared inside. They weren’t going to wait. Any bystander who might be gawking at that spot right then surely thought he or she had imagined a magician’s stage trick. The second man disappeared. A few people up and down the block began to point. He too didn’t have the luxury of waiting for things to quiet down. Better move now. At least, the normal instinct of anyone who witnessed the unexplainable is to step away and not approach. They could examine the phenomenon all they wanted after he vanished. Takumi manipulated the lacy texture of the colors, stepped forward, and he, too, dematerialized.

***** The surrounding background enveloping the Sotashian bent and shimmered to visual perceptions as if filtered through some distorted cosmic lens. Dickerson hated the icy cold of travel within the parallel shifts between dimensions, or, maybe more accurately the interstices just outside the reality in which he’d been born. It didn’t matter. He hated the chill, the inability to focus on anything visually, and the thin, barely breathable air. Reeves seemed to take it in stride. Of course, Reeves never complained about anything, not even Stovall’s bossiness. Stovall could kiss his ass as far as Dickerson was concerned. The goddess had selected all four of them -- so what if she’d selected ole-droopy-eye first? Enfield never acknowledged shit, either. He did his job and never said two words about his personal life. Of course, everybody knew a little something about Enfield’s personal life. He and Reeves couldn’t keep their fucking hands off each other. That’s why Stovall split them up for this mission. Hell, otherwise they’d spend their watch over the relic shacked up in bed together with one of them driving his dick up the sand chute of the other. He remembered one time during a game of Literary Giants, Dickerson challenged Reeves to name some gay fiction giant. “I’ll go you one better -- gay or bi,” Reeves said. “William Burroughs, Truman Capote, Tennessee Williams, Gore Vidal, Oscar Wilde…”

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“Forget I ever asked.” Dickerson decided to put a halt to that game quickly enough.

Takes one to know one. A sucking, or maybe a slurping noise, followed by a sharp click echoed behind him. What? How could anybody be behind him? Reeves had stepped into the interstice slip first, and he’d jumped in afterward. Was somebody following them through the slip? He couldn’t see how. Shit! Those yokel tourists back on Harbor Street must still be dumbfounded by anything they thought they saw. Could it be the goddess? Christ, he hoped not. Her wrath was limitless, even when it came to her chosen subjects. Dickerson held two torturous memories in his brain. The first was his initiation and transformation into the goddess’s minion. She reached inside his very skull, skeletal structure and internal organs to realign his body to fit her will. The pain had felt terrible and exquisite at the same time. Dickerson knew it didn’t make sense, but in his memories, his body, his very existence had been laid out like some visceral model made of living clay to be pounded, sculpted and re-sculpted. The second incident followed after he failed to achieve a task she’d set out for him. He didn’t like remembering the details of that one. Nevertheless, all his pain and suffering came rushing back when Dickerson and Stovall took on the initial task of cleaning up the goddess’s “kiss-off” of her latest human dupe -- Don Mason. Laid out like a human skin rug on the bed, draped out over the sheets totally devoid of organs and bones, Mason literally looked very much like a parody of what he’d been in his lifetime. Pretty boy bastard trusted her as if he could control her without paying the ultimate price like the Sotashians did. Damn fool, served him right. He and Stovall were able to wrest the main part of Mason’s carcass through an interstice just before the hotel maid entered the room and found them. “All hail…” No, he would not say her true name out loud. “Anastasia Romanov the Fourth! Bender of minds and reality. Queen of all which has gone before. May I forever reside in your tender mercies!” He prayed for tender mercy as if she were the God of the humans who’d given birth to him. However, in his heart, he knew she bestowed no such compassion on anyone.

***** Takumi Tetsuaiga hoped tailing the two Sotashians wouldn’t give his presence away to either of them -- at least not until they reached their final destination. He suspected the two were on their way to the hiding place of the Onyx Palace. Sensei Takumi knew the relic dwelled close by; yet, on a separate plane of existence from where Brad, Ben and the local authorities searched for it. At least, the Obakemono spirit-monster, which gave orders to these two and their comrades, had departed from the area. Bad enough he had to chase these soulless obaka and

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try to deal with them once they’d located the Onyx Palace. Who wouldn’t doubt the irony? Even in modern-day Japan, outside the walls of the Kurayami Mihari training school, no one actually believed that the true definition of a Master martial artist inferred that he had attained the level of demon killer. For that reason alone, Takumi never desired the title of Master, and also for that reason, the Kurayami Mihari chose to place him in this situation. As always, his sense of duty outweighed his desire to flee. “Baka mi-tai!” No doubt about it. Takumi really felt like an idiot. The pending confrontation could turn lethal at any time; yet, he still pursued the spirit-monster’s two henchmen. Up and down the distorted landscape looking for pitfalls and pockets separate from his own reality, Takumi noticed the two Sotashians headed for the ley line intersection he’d been assigned to guard in the city of Beech Haven. Of course, that made sense. An abundance of dimensional pockets existed there along side the intersection in the cemetery -- many of them large enough to hide the Onyx Palace. Takumi slowed his pursuit to a less frantic pace. One of the men in the slip field ahead dropped back as if to listen for someone trailing him. Well, he could play that game, as well. Sensei Tetsuaiga looked about for the narrow band of prismatic colors that meant an easy egress and ingress from the interstice. It only took a moment or two to detect one. He waited in place as silently as the phenomenon allowed. If the Sotashian ahead doubled back, Takumi could exit the slip in moments. Apparently the ruse worked. The obaka henchman finally turned and followed his companion. After a few seconds’ delay, Sensei Takumi resumed his chase. Of course, this time since he knew which way the two of them headed; he was tempted to arrive at the cemetery ahead of them.

No! Watch them from afar. Maintain caution. The Sotashian directly ahead of him appeared to be doubling back again.

***** The shock and grief of her premonition coupled with the unexpected relief when sensing Don’s death tore Tabitha’s heart in two directions. She’d survived seven years of marriage to a man who had proved more shameless, more contemptible, more abusive with each passing day. Yet, she still grieved for the memory of the man she had always hoped he would be, imagined or no. She didn’t know how to act anymore. She felt incapable of mourning him, incapable of pretending to miss the man he had become. She knew what she felt for Ben was scandalous, but she felt this change was long overdue. Conversely, she clung to Benjamin Johnson, not wanting to leave his side -- leaning on him for support and comfort. When the interviews at the Department of Public Safety were finished, she asked him if he wouldn’t mind driving her Infiniti back to her home. Meanwhile, she knew Jasmine eagerly rode with Bradley in his rented Buick.

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Once they returned to her home, the tears began to flow freely. Crocodile tears? No, tears of sadness mixed with tears of grief. What were you thinking, Don? How could you have let a woman like this into your life? Our lives? Red-eyed, Tabitha collapsed onto the couch. “Would you like me to get you a drink, Tabbi?” She nodded and pointed to a large, wooden standing hutch. “Look in the liquor cabinet.” She watched the way his body moved, all the maneuvers he used to take care of business. “Ben, will you stay here with me for a while?” “Of course. I want to make sure you’re all right.” “No, I mean really stay with me. I couldn’t stand to be left alone right now.” “Angel, you’re in shock.” He brought her drink glass to her. “I understand a little of what you’re feelin’, but I don’t think you realize what you’re saying.” “I most certainly do!” She patted the couch as if inviting him to sit next to her. “I need someone in my life I can depend on. I’d like a man who loves me for me -- can you do that for me, Ben?” “I don’t know what to say, Tabbi.” Then he smiled. “Except I’d be honored.” Tabitha grinned. “Really.” She drank a third of her alcohol. Then, as if she was afraid her mouth would refuse to say the words, Tabbi blurted out an admission. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the night I met you.” “Me, too.” Ben smiled and cautiously stood up again. “Listen, I should run back to my hotel and take a shower. I’ll call Brad and have him pick me up. Then we can all do lunch together.” Tabitha paled and quickly replied, “No.” “What?” “I-I mean, don’t leave. Stay here and shower.” “I still need clean clothes.” “Silly man. I have everything you need for washing or dry cleaning clothes. I’ll take care of your laundry while you shower. I’ll bring you a clean robe to wear after you leave the bathroom.” “What about your household hot water? I don’t want to exhaust it.” “That, m’dear, is the least of your problems.” “What do we do while we wait for the laundry to be done?” Tabbi smiled. “Leave that to me. I have a radical idea or two.” Within minutes, she placed his clothes in the laundry, stashed her clothes in the hamper, and then led him into her bedroom.

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“I’m fine, we don’t have to do this, you know. We don’t have to be here, right now. I’ll understand if you’re not ready. Hell, I think I would understand a little better if you weren’t ready.” “Hush, let me explain.” Tabbi placed a finger over his lush, elegantly sculpted lips, already aching to kiss them. After a moment she began. “I’ve been living a lie for the last seven years. I lied to my friends, I lied to my family, I lied to myself every single time I told myself I was okay. Since I was content, I figured I must have been happy. But I was miserable. Abused, neglected, taken advantage of -- I was nothing more than an object to Don, a pretty addition to his trophy collection.” Ben started to speak, but again she hushed him. “My husband had no more regard for me than a pair of prized cufflinks, shoved into the back of his drawer until he needed me for parties or functions. He didn’t care about me, other than the extra five pounds I might have gained over the holidays, or the new way I was wearing my hair. You understand? He only cared that I was presentable, that I maintained the image he created for others. He cared for the way I made him look, in front of his friends. “I honestly don’t think he even noticed my face or my body, after the first few years. Sex to Don was all about Don and his wants -- never about love. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve never made love. Does that shock you?” Benjamin shook his head. He’d barely moved during Tabitha’s speech. He watched her hand creep from his shoulder and trail lightly across his chest while she spoke, darting beneath the folds of his robe to tease and caress his smooth skin. “I was the proverbial bird in a gilded cage, and suddenly I feel as if the cage popped open.” She stopped and he looked into her green eyes. “What do I do now? What would you do?”

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Chapter Sixteen Slowly pulling open her own bathrobe, Tabitha showed Benjamin what she was wearing beneath her wrap. Smooth and unadorned, her skin tingled wherever his gaze fell. Her stomach danced, tense with anticipation, as moths the size of bats took wing. She felt as if she were on the edge of a precipice, ready to leap for the horizon. Fighting a nagging doubt, she wondered if this was all just an elaborate fantasy, brought on by Don’s neglect or her intense desire for change. Almost angrily, she pushed her doubts aside and grounded herself in her new reality. What she felt for this man was real. Time for her to find out whether it would bring her the fulfillment she lacked. She parted Ben’s robe and lowered her naked body to his. Inching back, they stretched the full length of the bed together, smooth skin on skin. The glorious sheen of his dark skin excited her in ways she’d never thought possible. Don’s pale, hairy limbs and torso were fit, but she’d always harbored a secret revulsion for the springy crop of hair on almost every exposed inch of skin. She had never been able to stomach the thought of kissing him anywhere but on the mouth. Ben’s beautiful skin gleamed, and her stomach clenched in response. Her desire for him became an exquisite new taste on her lips. She lowered her face and allowed her hair to sweep in a silken wave over his body as she explored the smooth, chiseled expanse. His scent was fresh and clean, like a spring shower, and he tasted like…life. Tabitha felt intoxicated; dizzy with the experience, she giggled into his abdomen and watched his stomach clench in response. “Tell me something that makes you laugh.” She blew a raspberry into his bellybutton as punishment. “That’s for asking stupid questions.”

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She silenced him by flicking her tongue lower, along the ultra sensitive ridge of muscle along the top of his groin. “Nothing funny about this.” She dropped her head even lower, tickling the skin of his inner thigh with her teeth. “Nothing funny about this, either.” She couldn’t help herself, she wanted the entire sexual experience. What’s the use of being an adulteress if you don’t go all the way?

Adulterous! Your husband’s dead; how can the act be adulterous? She looked up, wondering about his response, and was instantly smitten with the wide, white-toothed grin that greeted her. “Keep it up, angel. I’m not ticklish. Nobody said ‘stop’.” She laughed, enjoying the intimacy, the experience. “Look at us together, Ben, do you see it? The beauty in the contrast? My hand on your cock stands out in stark relief, chocolate wrapped in pale gold. My face here, my cheek along the length of you. My hair a golden blanket over your thigh. It’s beautiful.” “You’re beautiful, angel. You’re tormenting me with all of this kissing and teasing, but you’re beautiful.” “Do you want me to suck you? I can try. You’re so big! I’m not just saying that, I’m amazed by it. I didn’t really imagine men could get that large.” “Scared, baby?” She planted a kiss on the soft head, running her fingers along the long ridge of his dick. “No. It’s so -- elegant, like it’s all dressed up and ready to go. Draped in black silk, standing at attention, like a fine gentleman.” He groaned and his whole body convulsed as she lowered her mouth to engulf the head of his prick. Warm, wet flesh caressed and kneaded it, sending shock waves radiating out from his groin to the tips of his fingers and toes. He felt like his hair was standing on end -hell, every hair follicle jumped to attention for her. He transformed into an all-over erection. He laughed and shared the thought. “You make my whole body one big hard-on. I feel like I’m eighteen years old again, angel. Keep doing what you’re doing and this is going to end a whole lot quicker than I’d like. I’m afraid I’ll embarrass myself.” Tabbi sat back on her heels and continued caressing his dick with her hand. “You’re as turned on as I am, then. I didn’t really think that was possible. I mean, I thought I only felt like that because it’s been so long.” Ben sat up and wrapped her in his arms, lightly stroking her back. “God, I don’t want to scare you off.” “Scare me off?” She grinned. “Here I am next to you, holding your dick in my hand, and you’re worried about scaring me?” “Yeah, I’m having a really deep reaction, you know? My attraction to you goes beyond the sexual, way beyond. I want to fuck you so bad I’m all tied in knots, but I want to protect

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you. I want to keep you safe from your demons…from yourself, if need be. I’m a tiny bit afraid you’re going to break my heart, but I’m even more afraid you’ll break your own.” She stared at him in wide-eyed wonder, her eyes misting as she weighed the truth of what he said. “So what I’m hearing is…you feel like you might fall in love with me.” Tabitha began to crawl up to bring her body parallel to his own. “But you’re scared that what I’m feeling is brought on by all of -- this. The situation with Don, and maybe because of what’s happening with Jasmine and Brad. You think because of what I’ve been through, maybe I don’t know my own feelings.” He kissed her tenderly, brushing away her tears with the side of his thumb. “Oh, Tabbi, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Tabbi silenced him with a jaw-stretching, tongue-blasting kiss. So deep, he felt his soul rock with the power of it. With that kiss, she stroked his passion until it blazed in his gut with a white-hot heat, burning away his fear. Breathlessly, she pushed him away. “Did that convince you? Because if it didn’t, I’m prepared to fetch a sledgehammer.” “No, no!” Ben laughed. “Hint registered.” So we agree there’s more than sex happening here…” Tabbi pressed her forehead to his chest and whispered her answer as a kind of kiss. “Yes.” “You know, I wasn’t anticipating this. I didn’t bring you home to seduce you, to take advantage of you.” Tabitha giggled. “Maybe that was my plan all along. Anyway, what does it matter?” “I’m saying I’m not…prepared. I don’t have a condom, so we shouldn’t do this right now.” Tabbi’s eyes darkened, and she considered him seriously. “Let’s talk about this. I’m going to be honest here, and trust you to do the same. Frankly, I haven’t had sex with a partner in ages. Don ignored me completely. He had plenty of sexual outlets, and lately I haven’t wanted to risk letting him back into the marriage bed when I wasn’t sure it was safe. So…” “So you’re saying you’ve been ‘flying solo’ for awhile now, is that it?” “That’s a fun way to put it. Yes, I’m quite the ‘frequent flier,’ actually. Despite Don, I’m a very physical person, and I realize I have needs. So, where does that leave us?” A slow smile crept across Ben’s face. “I haven’t had a girlfriend in over two years, haven’t had more than two dates in a row, in fact. I too, have logged a lot of fight miles, as far as that goes. My last relationship was healthy and monogamous, so you’re safe with me. Except for a squadron of eager little pilots looking for a soft spot to land…”

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Tabbi pursed her lips. “I’m willing to risk that. Don and I tried for a few years -- it just never happened for me. I got tested, but nothing ever panned out. Besides, I just got over my cycle, so if my calendar’s right, we should be okay.” Ben grinned. “Well, if you’re willing to risk it, I’m fine with that.” In the back of her mind, Tabbi knew she was risking something monumental. She knew if she let him, he would come inside her, fill her body with potential for creating life.

How long ago was my period? Five or six days, maybe? It’ll be fine, I’m sure. Secretly, silently praying for a new intimacy, Tabbi kissed him with an ardor born of trust and hope. Pressing her body close, she caressed him with every inch of herself. Her nipples dragged over the smooth planes of his pectoral muscles, and her thighs brushed the tops of his. Knees tangled and interwove, fingers found and explored secret places and sensual pressure points. With the feel of his breath hot on her neck, Tabbi lost track of the mattress, feeling as if she were falling -- no, floating above the bed. She rubbed her hands along his biceps and felt the muscles, smiling when he flexed automatically. He was doing something to her earlobe with his tongue, and it made her pussy go all wet and tingly. The butterflies in her stomach fluttered some more. Her breath hitching, she gasped out his name. “Oh, God, oh, Ben, oh -- wow! That makes me horny all over.” She flexed her toes with pleasure and rubbed her body against his, gratified by his answering groan. “God, Tabbi, your skin tastes so sweet. Stop wiggling around or I’m never going to last long enough to show you how I feel.” She glanced down at his erection. “I can see for myself, Mr. Johnson.” “I don’t want you to look at it, Tabbi, I want to stroke your fancy with it and make you scream.” With a shriek of longing, Tabbi’s legs popped wide, almost of their own accord. “Hurry up already, Ben! God, please, just give me a little of it? Please, please, please…” When his index finger found her quivering cunt, hot and moist, lights burst behind her eyelids. He stroked and stretched her, added another finger, collected her juice in the palm of his hand and rubbed it all around the entrance to her eager pussy. She was humping his hand in her impatience now, grinding her hips in agony, trying to pull him deeper. He could barely get two fingers in. “Jesus, Tabbi, you’re so fucking tight. Aah, God, that’s going to feel good on my cock.” He held her tightly and rolled, pinning her beneath him. Raising himself on one arm, he watched the reactions race across her face. When he used his thumb to stimulate her clit while he plunged his fingers in and out, she clenched her bottom lip between her teeth and arched her neck to him, pale and soft. He leaned down and kissed it, feeling her pulse dance just below her delicate, shell-pink ears. “You smell like an oatmeal cookie, Tabbi. What is that?”

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She smiled. “I have a special organic body scrub made with goats’ milk, nutmeg, and raw oats. I always get hungry when I’m taking a shower. The steam combined with that smell is unbelievable.” He licked her throat. “Whatever it is, it’s delicious.” Pushing himself lower, he kneaded one breast in his hand and flicked his tongue over the other, teasing the rosy peak to pert attention. He felt her shiver when he sucked her breast into his mouth, rolling his tongue to increase the suction. Groaning, he used his hands to push her full breasts together and flicked his tongue over one and then the other in ecstasy. “You have the most amazing tits, Tabbi. Can I?” “Fuck them?” She smiled and nodded. “Go on -- rub your cock all over them.” He straddled her abdomen and looked down at the perfect round globes of her breasts, his cock hardening almost painfully. Gently he squeezed and pinched her nipples with his fingertips, using his palms to press her breasts along the length of his shaft. The head of his penis pressed the underside of her jaw when he pushed through, drawing out the stroke to enjoy the silky skin of her breasts against his cock. She moaned when he rotated his hips, gyrating and grinding beneath him. Her fingers teased his balls, guiding his rhythm. “God, I want to touch myself, but I can’t reach!” He lifted his butt and slid down the bed. “Do it. Touch yourself and let me watch.” Tabbi moaned and slid her fingers through the ginger blonde hair of her pubic mound, aiming straight for her pussy. With both hands, she attacked the task ferociously. Fingers pushing, pulling, and plunging, spreading her lips wide, she fucked herself vigorously. “Oh, my God, I’m so fucking wet! You like that, baby?” Ben leaned down and looked closer. There was something… “Is that a tattoo?” “Wha--? Oh, yeah, that’s my little butterfly.” She giggled. “Why did you hide it in your pubic hair? I can barely see it.” Tabbi frowned. “The first time Don missed our anniversary, and that was our second anniversary, mind you, I went out and got it. He’d always told me I couldn’t. He said tattoos were ‘crass and tacky,’ so I decided I’d get one to spite him. Besides, I always wanted one.” “Well, I think it’s beautiful, Tabbi. You should shave down there so I could see it better. Time for the butterfly to fly free.” He smiled and placed a kiss just above the hairline, then lowered his lips to her busy fingers. Kissing her knuckles and the flat of her hand, he nudged her aside with his tongue. “I can’t stand just watching anymore, can I come in and play?” She groaned and pulled her knees higher, thrusting her pussy eagerly at his mouth. “God, yes. Eat me, Ben, fuck, yeah.” “I love it when you talk dirty, angel.” “Guess I’m not so angelic, huh?”

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He ground his nose and tongue into her hot cunt, slurping and sucking the juices that flowed from her center. Her frantic moans and gyrations spurred him on, and he coaxed her climax to the surface. His hands on her thighs, he felt her muscles clench and vibrate like tuning forks. She lost the power of speech celebrating her pleasure; Tabbi climaxed into his eager mouth. Ben smiled and licked gently, caressing her lips with his tongue. He knew she would be ultra-sensitive and didn’t want to hurt her. “God, you’re beautiful. Pink and perfect, like the petals of a flower.” She pulled at his arms and he climbed back up the bed. Lowering his mouth to hers he let her taste her juices on his lips. She looked between their bodies. “Hmmm, somebody still needs some attention.” She rolled her hips and opened her legs, rubbing her wet pussy against his hard length. He bucked his hips and groaned. “Oh, God, careful, I’m almost there. Slow down a little.” Gently teasing her opening with the head of his cock, he slipped in by inches, then withdrew. Tabbi moaned. “Quit teasing, already, and do me!” She growled and lunged for his shaft, impaling herself on it. With a long, satisfied sigh, she gave herself over to the rhythm, pulling him a little deeper with each thrust. At first, she clenched tightly against the intrusion. He was simply too large for her, in her near-celibate state. She pushed against the head of his cock as hard as she dared, filling herself with him. Ben’s whole body vibrated with effort; he had to focus all his concentration on not exploding inside her. She felt the trembling beneath her fingers and accurately guessed what it meant. “Do it, baby, come inside me.” He shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re saying…oh, my God, angel, this feels so good.” “Ben, I’m begging you, come inside me, let me feel it. I want you so bad!” “Baby…angel…Tabbi -- you might -- we might…” She flexed her vaginal muscles and milked him from the inside. Pumping hard, she drove him beyond reason, beyond doubt. “Do it! Oh, my God, I want to come with you. I want to come so hard!” Frankly, there’s nothing quite like your partner’s desires to set off your own sexuality. Without warning, Ben’s climax surged and crashed like waves, coursing through him and into Tabitha with the strength of his feelings for her, the full power of their connection. He felt a dam burst in his heart, and emotions flowed between them just as potent as his seed.

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Instinctively, he knew he longed for the real deal with this woman. He wanted to plant his seed, not just spill it. Tabbi cooed and rocked beneath him. Wrapping her legs around his back, she pushed harder and harder, taking the full length of him, and loving every inch. The muscles of her abdomen flexed and rippled with the surges of her climax. Slowing her pace, she luxuriated in the afterglow, allowing herself a small, secret smile of satisfaction, with a little wishful thinking. What if I’m not really infertile? What if…Jesus, what brought that thought on? No, there was no time for a hypothetical question like that. She had to get up and wash her body! She had to do that right now. Soon, anyway. As soon as I can move my legs again. She smirked into Ben’s shoulder and snuggled beneath the covers. Tabitha's mind still twirling around the concept of that powerful, magical possibility, she drifted off to sleep.

***** The compactly built Japanese martial arts instructor readied himself to bail out from the distorted colorful vortex of space and time. If he jettisoned himself from the interstice now, Takumi Tetsuaiga could re-enter the slip right here in a few minutes or he could push himself into a separate slip and head for the ley lines intersection at the cemetery on his own. However, what if these two obaka weren’t heading for the cemetery? No, he couldn’t take the chance of both of them veering off in another direction. He’d be forced to follow them. He’d exit the interstice, if necessary, and give the Sotashians a full twenty count before he re-entered the slip. As he surmised, one of her henchmen doubled back along the prismatic tunnel. No time to dally. He tumbled from the stream and reappeared three feet in the air over someone’s back yard. Sensei Takumi landed hard. “Looks like the old Highland Park neighborhood.” Not far now.

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Chapter Seventeen Dickerson arrived at the rendezvous cavity several moments after Reeves bailed from the tunnel stream of light distortions. He eyeballed the Onyx Palace and then exited the phenomenon into the warmth and security of everyday life. He always said pretty much the same thing whenever he left the dimensional slip. “I hate that.” This time was no different. “We gave up large chunk of our humanity for what? To freeze to death in a fucking tunnel pulsing outside of time.” Reeves grinned. “Hats off to Mr. Adventure…” “I can’t help it. I always feel like I’m sliding down some unearthly esophagus into the stomach of the otherworld.” Reeves snorted. “What took you so long this time?” “I thought I heard somebody jump into the slip behind us. So I backtracked to check.” “Did you find him?” Dickerson shook his head. “Nahh…nothing. Must’ve been interstice jitters, I guess.” “It’s okay. I’m always relieved to leap out of the rift and back into reality myself.” Dickerson slapped his hands against his upper arms. “Feels as if it takes me hours to get warm again.” “I understand. Stay as long as you like. I’ll get started back to the bed and breakfast now and give Stovall and Enfield a call when I get there.” Dickerson nodded. “Thanks, Reeves.” “You owe me one.” Reeves disappeared.

*****

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Thirty-four years ago “So…” Audra Phelan strolled quietly into Professor Martin’s hospital room at the university hospital in Manaus, Brazil. If she ignored the ashen pallor to his skin, he didn’t look too much worse for the wear. However, he displayed a pronounced limp when he tried to walk. She automatically helped him pick up a few papers that had been scattered around the room to pack inside his briefcase. “I suspect you’ll be heading back home soon to visit your-your wife’s…grave.” His eyes grew distant for a moment and then he nodded. “I’m glad you stopped by, Miss Phelan. I wanted to take time to thank you for everything you did.” “Nonsense, I was merely doing my job.” “Tell me something, why do you remain deep in the Amazon rain forest, Phelan? Do you have some altruistic desire to better the lives of the farmers and natives out there?” “You don’t waste words do you?” Audra bit at her lower lip. “I think the young, idealistic nursing graduate felt exactly that way once, but after all these months upriver, I believe some of that sense of dedication may have fallen by the wayside.” “I’m glad to hear that.” He placed a few recently purchased clothes inside a brand new suitcase. “Do you possess a passport?” “Passport? Yes, I do. Why?” “I’ve asked around and a few of my colleagues have told me how much nurses of your skill level are paid to work at such field clinics.” He grabbed a ballpoint pen, found a pad of paper, and then wrote a figure on the top sheet of paper. “Would you take this salary to work for me?” Phelan’s eyes widened. “Doctor Martin, this amount is four -- maybe five times as much as I’m making now!” “You won’t have to work quite as hard as you’ve had to over the past few weeks, but I assure you, you’ll earn every cent of your salary.” “I’m overwhelmed! This is too…too generous.” “Nonsense. You’re efficient, organized, intelligent -- besides, how much is a man’s life really worth?” “This is so unexpected.” Audra Phelan continued to stare at the paper. “When do you need my answer?” “I’d like you to come with me back to upstate New York -- either when I leave or as soon as you can join me.” “So quickly?” “I’d rather not take a chance on you changing your mind.”

*****

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Ben Johnson awoke to scrutinize the sleeping Caucasian blonde woman beside him. It hadn’t been so long ago that they’d teased each other about their wants and desires. A couple hours ago, this perky little blonde, Tabitha, requested he stay. Really stay! He believed that she wanted him to stay beyond the pain and rigors of Don’s funeral, all the crap destined to come afterward, and through any of their subsequent transitions -- whatever those might be.

All the transitions, he thought. Did that mean she accepted the possibilities of something personally unexpected happening between them? Ben climbed out of bed and went into the bathroom to pee. When he finished that little chore, Ben, ever the inquisitive P.I., pawed through the medicine cabinet and the area beneath the sink to see what the Masons had stashed inside. Out of habit Benjamin examined a man’s black leather shaving kit. Ah-ha! He found two unopened packets of condoms peeking out from inside.

Oh, my God, does Tabbi know about these? Probably not… Don’s nasty little stash, for his nookie on the side. God, what a bastard. Ben quietly slipped from the bathroom and returned to the master bedroom, leaving the condoms in their quiet little hiding place. If Tabbi was willing to take the risk, maybe he was too. However much Ben hated to admit it aloud, she’d moved him like no other woman had before. Maybe I’m a little too eager… He looked down on the sleeping blonde whose bed he shared and sighed. If the time had come for Ben to father a child, then right here, sleeping next to him lay the woman he desired to be the mother of that child. As far as he was concerned, Tabitha no longer belonged to someone else. Not at all. She was Ben’s woman now -- his lover and, more than likely, the potential mother to Ben’s children. He climbed back under the sheets to snuggle close to her. Her beautiful blonde hair loosely played across her shoulders. Softly he caressed her lovely, pale flesh, running his hand carefully up her arms. She shifted in the bed and moaned something unintelligible. “Tabbi.” His hands continued to explore her body. She jerked to the side. “Sleep.” “Didn’t you tell me that you and your husband had been tested for fertility?” “Oh,” Tabitha groaned and hugged a pillow close to her breasts. “Don’t talk about that now. Sleep.” “You said you got tested, didn’t you?” “Mm-hmm.” She snuggled into his shoulder, and tried to bury her head in the pillow. “Did Don get tested, too?” “No, he refused,” she muttered, and then Tabitha added. “Now go back to sleep.” “So did you get any results?’

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“Well, we never had any children.” She tried turning away from him. “Tabitha.” Ben shook her. “How did your test turn out?” “Ben!” Tabbi tried to slap his hand away. “Stop it!” “Did you test out okay?” “Yeah, I guess,” she moaned. “Let me sleep.” “Angel, this is important.” Ben sat up and leaned over her. His movements yanked at the sheets covering both of them. “Ben,” she said. Rolling away from him, she pulled on the sheet and tried to wrap herself back up. “What?” He watched her intently. “Do you regret making love to me a little while ago?” Tabitha’s eyes fluttered open. She turned back and looked up at him. The sleepy anger on her face softened. “Oh, Ben. Of course not.” “No moments-after regrets?” “I thought I might.” She brought her hand up to his cheek as if to examine his face, and then shook her head. “But I don’t have any.” He paused for a few minutes and stared at the beautiful woman next to him. “Tabbi, let’s make love again.” Ben knew his serious tone surprised her. There was a plea, almost a tremor in his voice. “I suppose that might be arranged.” As she unwrapped the sheet from around her naked body, her flesh shone a pale gleam in the light of the morning. “God, you look sexy this morning.” “You mean I didn’t look sexy before?” Ben smiled and nuzzled her neck, rubbing his already primed erection against her soft thigh. “You look very much like a woman I’d like to fall in love with.” She gasped. “Tell me you’re serious!” He took her hand and placed her fingers around his erected penis. “Do non-verbals count?” Tabitha rolled down underneath his body and kissed Ben hungrily. After she came up for air, she stroked his chest. “Ooo… Who knew you communicated so fluently?”

***** Sensei Takumi reached the icy edge of the slip pocket where two ley lines intersected. In no time, he spotted where they’d hidden the Onyx Palace. The Japanese martial arts instructor watched both Sotashians carefully from his vantage point partially hidden inside the rippling, pulsing energies emanating from the prismatic grotto. Dropping down to hide

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when the horse-faced henchman began his trek back along the interstitial trail, the local agent for the Kurayami Mihari sized up each of his obaka opponents. Sensei Takumi decided to let the one called Reeves go off to finish checking in with his colleagues. He sensed Reeves had an affinity for doing what his mistress told him without complaints, without reservations, without consciousness. However, this other one, Dickerson…he’d be a good one to test. Besides, with any luck, Dickerson wouldn’t be missed for half an hour or more. Supposedly, he’d trained to fight monsters all his life. Now the time had come to put that training to the test. Tetsuaiga-san began developing his deep breathing techniques inside the slip in preparation for his attack. He wanted to give himself a slight advantage by being used to the thin cold air. Sensei Takumi knew there would be nothing ordinary about fighting the obaka. Three elements would be vital to his success -- speed, strength and technique. Without the special coordination of all three, a human adversary would lose to the enhanced human -- or, more accurately, the enhanced non-human. Tetsuaiga-san suspected that once upon a time all her hired guns had been normal men. Why did they allow themselves to be changed? Did being an augmented operative of the monster hurt physically or emotionally? If so, Takumi could consider his overall scenario as a mission to put the suffering creature out of its misery. The prismatic rainbow at the bottom center of the lower wall sparkled and brightened suddenly. Tetsuaiga-san concentrated on Dickerson’s emergence into the dimensional slip, then he leaped. A flying kick into the obaka’s ribs knocked the wind out of the large, unsuspecting man’s lungs. An uninhibited stomp kick to the spinal column should have dealt the operative a killing blow, but Takumi’s foot endured a jolt of pain that felt like he’d kicked a concrete block. The shock of the impact informed him Dickerson’s body had been reinforced along the spine. However, Dickerson was still down! Would his neck be more vulnerable to attack? The downed man’s strong arm deflected a hammer blow from the martial artist. Takumi tried to drive a hand knife blow into the most vulnerable spot on the enemy’s neck. Apparently not! The martial arts instructor’s smash registered very little damage. Although, when the henchman tried to get up, another precise kick directly to the head knocked him prone once more. Dickerson reached into the energy wall and tore open an exit. The obaka rolled free from the interstitial passage and landed on the ground outside the dimensional slip. Would it be worth the effort to go after him? The head blows he’d inflicted had made some effect. Hurtling free from the slip, the stocky, compactly built Japanese man leaped out of the restraints of the energy field, just in time to watch Dickerson part the atmospheric prism several meters away and ready himself for the leap into the negative embrace of an interstice nearby.

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Sensei Takumi growled and impulsively decided to chase Dickerson via prismatic stream. So much for grandiose legends and destiny ridden folk tales told late at night in the training dorms of the Kurayami Mihari. He’d failed as a demon killer.

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Chapter Eighteen Tabbi sat up slowly in the waning light, peering at the bedside clock. It was nearly two PM; the sun still lingered overhead on the craziest day in her young life. Admiring the gorgeous man dozing lightly in her bed -- in Don’s bed -- reality came crashing down around her. She felt as if her bubble had burst, literally. The events of the previous night, this morning, and today came fuzzily together in her memory, as if she’d briefly lived her life from a distance. Staring at Ben, dark, considerate Ben, his legs twisted in the cool blue sheets, a few things came back with startling clarity. She dashed into the bathroom and turned the shower water on full blast, as hot as she could stand it. Shame flooded through her, shame for her wanton disregard of her marriage vows, her overtly sexual advances toward Ben, her behavior in general. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she scrubbed between her legs in futility. Oh, God.

What have I done? I can’t believe I threw myself at him like that! Ben’s going to think I’m some kind of cold-hearted slut. She cringed when she heard the phone ring and then the bathroom door opened. “Tabbi,” Brad called. “Jasmine’s on the phone. She and Brad are hungry; they want to know if you want to go and get something to eat…” Tabbi suppressed a moan; she didn’t know if she could face him right now. “Umm, tell her I’ll call her back in a little while. I’ll be out of the shower soon. Your clothes are dry, I’m sure. You can take the Infiniti back to the hotel if you want. I’ll have Jazz drive me over later. I’m sure you have work to do.” He peeked through the curtain and grinned. “Smells like cookies in here. And here I am without a glass of milk.”

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Tabbi blushed furiously, grinning in spite of herself. She pushed his head gently back through the curtain. “Not now! I’m shaving. And we both have things to do. I’ll call Jasmine when I get out of the shower.” “Don’t forget to shave down there, angel. I want to see that butterfly in full color.” She heard the door click as he exited the bathroom, and sagged with relief against the shower wall.

***** On the run, Takumi noted his overly large opponent took a deep breath and held it for a second or two before he tried to manipulate the prismatic rainbow of colors to allow himself ingress to the dimensional slip interstices. Why? The troubling question hung in the Japanese man’s mind like a heavy lump of red meat sitting on his stomach. Why did the Sotashian hesitate before entering the slip? Was it that he didn’t like the sensation of breathing the thin air inside? Sensei Takumi literally dived into the rainbow laced portal left behind by his nonhuman target. He noted the anger mixed with surprise reflected on his adversary’s face. “Don’t you have enough sense to give up?” his antagonist growled. However, Takumi noted he responded with all the signs of someone struggling to catch his wind.

He doesn’t like it in the rift! Takumi took his cue -- an advantage at last! He didn’t have to beat his enemy, merely stall him for a while, or more accurately, for about three quarters of a kilometer’s journey to the west. His opponent hauled back to throw a roundhouse punch at Takumi. Good! He’d encourage his “oppugnant” to make his own energy work against him. Using the classic countermove, Takumi threw his challenger onto his back as if this were merely a demonstration match. Now to keep him from leaving the interstice. “As strong as you are, I know you can do better than that.” Dickerson wheezed out an angry snort. “I’ll show you better!” Excellent! Takumi backed off a few meters while watching the Sotashian follow him. Once again his adversary attacked with a rush forward as if to head butt the smaller man. Once again, Tetsuaiga-san side-stepped the heavy-boned gargantuan and used the force of his attack and his weight to knock him off balance. This time the martial arts instructor saw the panic his antagonist’s eyes. He’s considering an escape again. Takumi needed to anger him some more. “I saw where you hid the Onyx Palace, you know. If I get out of here, I’ll lead the authorities right to it.”

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The huge obaka climbed unsteadily to his feet and scrutinized the little man before him. A cold hatred fixed on Takumi, who moved further away from his opposer, then the shorter martial artist halted and stood calmly before him -- making himself an inviting target. Dickerson lunged forward. He’d make the tiny scrapper pay for challenging him in the first place. Give him one good shot and he’d knock that gook three times from yesterday! At the last second, he watched the flea-sized nuisance dance back away from him and retreat down the dimensional slip. That was it! He’d take no more shit from this slant-eyed pest. Dickerson picked up speed as he chased his enemy. “You’re just prolonging the inevitable, dink!” That was all Takumi needed to hear to realize that he’d brought the wrath of the Sotashian upon himself. “I doubt it. You’ll probably just use the next series of scattered lights to jump free again.” “Stand still, damn you! I’ll show you jumping free.” Takumi-san fenced and sparred with his intended target as he led him farther and farther down the interstitial path. Each time the Sotashian henchman nearly caught up with him, Takumi danced away further up the dimensional slip. The battle moved slowly, and the lack of oxygen inside the slip took its toll on muscle reserves and organs, like the heart and lungs -- especially the brain. Dickerson acted mad with an uncontrollable rage, which Takumi decided was a tribute to the muscular strength and physical changes his mistress had implemented within his antagonist’s body. He possessed bones the strength and weight of iron. A single punch from one of those densely packed hands meant death to a normal human being. It might mean death to Takumi, as well. At least in the cold thin air, his adversary moved very slowly and clumsily. Takumi noted that the reflected light inside the slip tunnel had changed from a greenish and beige tinge to a bright blue glow. Now his challenger moved more erratically, more determinedly to smash Tetsuaiga-san’s brains and body with killing punches and kicks. However, his opponent lurched as if his body were drunk or injured.

Not enough oxygen is getting to his brain! The next rush saw Dickerson flailing his arms like some sort of psychopath. Takumi ducked under the thrashing limbs with some difficulty. Nevertheless, diving and rolling off to the side allowed him to stay out of the way of those punishing blows. We’ve got to move

out just a little bit farther west. However, there was one problem. Dickerson stood between Takumi and the direction he needed to go. After all this time retreating from the big henchman, here’s hoping he

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wouldn’t expect an attack. Sensei Takumi dove for his opponent’s feet in an attempt to bowl him over. This time Dickerson kicked out with one foot in self-defense and caught the meat of Takumi’s right thigh with a paroxysm that made his nerves spasm and tingle with radiating pain. Before Dickerson could land a second blow, Takumi scrambled out of the way. No longer certain he could stand, Sensei Tetsuaiga crawled slowly to his feet. The agony gripped him like no suffering had ever done before.

Oh yeah, that was a bright idea. He limped farther out toward the blue end of the tunnel. If he could put another few meters between where they stood and where he needed to be, he might just survive this confrontation. Dickerson chased him now. He’d certainly catch him in a few moments. Sensei Takumi had covered three meters when the giant obaka reached out and grabbed for him. Dickerson’s hands ripped at Tetsuaiga’s shirt as they clamped down on his left shoulder and the material at his waistline.

It’s now or never! Takumi let his weight fall to the floor as the huge operative clung tightly to his shirt. Dickerson found himself pulled to the floor at the same time. “Ever read Hercule Poirot, pee-wee? Well, I’m going to make little gray cell soup out of your brains.” Takumi Tetsuaiga dug his fingers into the interstice wall. “That’s not going to help you this time, gook. Once I get my hands on you I’m not letting go.” Twisting his body slightly, Takumi stuck his free shoulder and then his head into the open prismatic exit from the slip. As he rolled free, he turned to make sure he had a strong grip on his adversary’s arm. The two men emerged from the dimensional slip fifteen plus feet over Lake Michigan. Though he realized Dickerson had clamped a hold on his body, Takumi made sure he maintained an equal grip on the Sotashian’s body as well. In moments both antagonists would plummet downward and hit the lake water from over fifteen feet in the air. Taking a deep breath, Takumi prayed that he’d hit the lake in an area deep enough to survive a fall from that high in the air. As it turned out, when they struck the surface, the depths were so far below he could not discern the bottom. Down they plunged, deeper and deeper, the dead weight of the huge Sotashian dragging them further beneath the surface like a living anchor.

***** Two pre-teen boys walking a mixed blood border collie dog, on the required leash, wandered along the beach searching for driftwood and other treasures. While the collie nosed into every sandy burrow, one of the boys happened to be standing at exactly the right

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point and looking exactly the right direction to catch the strangest illusion overhead out toward the horizon. The younger boy stared out dumbfounded. “Did you see that?” “See what?” “Two guys just fell out of mid-air and into the lake.” “Where?” “Way out there.” “There’s no sign of them now, is there?” The older boy punched his companion on the upper arm. “What did they fall out of, dufus? I don’t see a plane or a helicopter, do you?” The other one shrugged. “Wonder Woman has an invisible plane.” “You’re a dork.” The border collie growled and began to dig into the sand again. The boys tugged on her leash trying to pull her loose, but the collie fought the leash and continued to scratch and nose through the pile of sand. “Christ, Queenie, c’mon! We’ve got to get home.” The dog whimpered, her paws working faster and faster through the sand. “Queenie!” The older boy bent down to forcibly move the pooch when he spotted something glistening just under the surface of the sand. “What the heck is that?” “Eeeuuwww! Looks like a hand with three fingers.” “Can’t be a hand.” The older boy muttered derisively. “It’s flat.” Both boys stared at the exposed hand, while Queenie continued to uncover more and more of the buried carcass. “I don’t think it’s a sea creature.” When the dog uncovered the skull-less hollowed out face and head, both boys jerked Queenie’s leash hard and ran for home to call the police.

***** Tabbi contrived to hide her naked body behind thick bath towels in the depths of her walk-in closet while Ben dressed and got ready to go back out. His departure was awkward, and he seemed both confused and a little hurt by her sudden reticence. “Call me, okay?” He bent to kiss her lips and she turned her face at the last minute so the kiss landed on her cheek. “Sure. Absolutely.” She couldn’t keep herself from blushing. She felt dishonest, unable to hide her shame. Watching the car pull out of sight, she rushed to the phone to call her neighbor. Within moments, Jasmine crossed the street and pounded at the front door.

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“Tabbi, open up!” Tabitha opened the door for her friend. “What’s wrong?” Tabbi collapsed onto the couch and snatched a tissue from the box on the end table. She dabbed at her eyes. “Oh, nothing. I think I just made the biggest mistake of my life, that’s all.” Jasmine grinned, “Is this about you and Ben? He sounded like the cat who swallowed the canary when I talked to him. I don’t think you have anything to worry about, sweetie.” “Are you kidding? My husband probably died last night! And I-I threw myself at him like some kind of -- shameless hussy! God, I’m so stupid!” She choked out the last words and sobbed into the tissue. “Tabbi, let’s look at this realistically, shall we? From what you’ve said, your husband was hardly more than a hostile acquaintance for the last few years. He was diddling a monster, and dragging you straight into the middle of this nightmare with no thought for your safety, or your future. In all likelihood, he planned to run away with the money the police suspect he’s been skimming from Hillendale’s. So you slept with a nice guy who cares about you. This is a man who gives a damn about your future and your safety, and wouldn’t hurt you for anything, as far as I can see. Where’s the shame in that?” Tabbi sniffled through her tears, but then she remembered the really awful news. “We didn’t use protection, Jazz. I let him…and I might be…you know.” “Will you stop worrying? The human condition is all about changes.” “I don’t know if I can handle any more changes. Today’s been pretty intense as it is.” “You have every right to be happy, Tabbi. You might not want to admit it to yourself, but your aura doesn’t lie. I know the psychological damage you took before, remember? Don poked great big holes in your self-confidence, he made your aura weak, but this…this -union -- between you and Ben made it strong again, whole again. It’s miraculous.” Tears spilled over her lashes and wet her cheeks. Clutching Tabbi close, Jasmine stroked her hair. “You’re not going to screw things up by being ashamed of yourself, Tabbi. I won’t let you. Let that cold, dead bastard go. Move on and live your life, the one you deserve.” The blonde sighed. “I don’t know what to do.” “You can come to lunch with us, that’s what you can do.”

***** The further the two antagonists sank, the colder the temperature of the lake water. Takumi felt his adversary maintain the crushing grip on the smaller man’s arms as they plunged deeper below the surface. He’d expected that response from the Sotashian -- a fanaticism mixed with the headstrong anger of the cold, hard need to smash an enemy. Plummeting downward, Sensei Tetsuaiga understood the “psychology” behind his foe’s desire for revenge. He just hoped the two combatants wouldn’t drop too far before…

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Takumi sensed the bubbling gasp in the other man’s throat rise to a head. With that, he twisted and squirmed and tried to reposition himself in his enemy’s clasp. As the obaka fought to hold onto his air, the compact martial artist lined up his body to strike at the big operative’s chest and lungs. He knew the water would buffer the blow, so Sensei Takumi made sure his feet were already placed directly on Dickerson’s chest. With a quick kick outward, Tetsuaiga-san compressed the larger man’s chest right at the lungs. A billow of bubbles spewed out from Dickerson’s lips, and this time as Takumi twisted, his assailant’s hold on him loosened. At first, he felt Dickerson struggle to re-establish his grip, but now showing the fear of drowning in his eyes, the augmented Sotashian let go with one hand to make the attempt to push himself back toward the surface. Takumi could see Dickerson’s fear turn to panic, and his opponent tried to regain his original clinch to force the smaller man to carry him back to the surface. Thankfully, Takumi Tetsuaiga used Lake Michigan’s waters as a training area every day. Kicking away at the Sotashian’s head, the smaller man broke free from the death grip. As he swam for the surface, Takumi looked back. The heavy limbed operative continued to sink downward into the murky depths of the big lake. He could see the daylight glowing above him, beckoning him with its call -- actually more of a taunt. He thought his lungs would explode as he strained to reach the surface. Then, suddenly, Takumi broke the surface of the water and gulped in a gigantic breath of air. Dizzy with exertion, pain, and more, Takumi let himself float atop the surface of the water. Disoriented by his efforts and his exhaustion, he took several long minutes before he decided to check how far he had to swim to get back to the shoreline. Grinning to himself and quite happy to be alive, he tried using the sunlight for warmth in order to relax the cramping in his muscles. At least I can swim back to shore eventually.

He’s going to have to walk along the bottom, if he can.

***** The Beech Haven Department of Public Safety managed to get to the private shoreline adjacent to the public beach in a matter of twenty minutes. By this time, both the boys -minus the border collie -- had returned with their mother and waited impatiently at the scene. Although the responding police officers expected to find some sort of curious garbage sculpture dumped into the lake and washed up on shore, they were shocked by discovering what looked like human skin. One of the officers who answered the call quickly radioed in a request for assistance from the crime lab. Both officers took statements from the two boys involved and their mother and kept guard on the scene until the investigation technicians arrived.

*****

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A curious silence blanketed the lunch conversation in a upscale Mexican eating establishment as four people, intimately involved with the lives of the other people around them, chose not to share what needed to be said. Instead, any attempt at conversation felt stilted and uncomfortable. Tabitha had kept her eyes riveted on the floor or the table, as if not daring to confront Ben’s gaze at all. Meanwhile, Brad found himself totally caught up in the unspoken awkwardness of the situation between his best friend and the other woman at the table. “This is driving me nuts!” Jasmine nearly exploded at the table. “What is the matter with us? As far as I’m concerned, either of you two may be the most caring or loving man I’ve found in an age, and here we are tiptoeing around each other like we’re all made from Fabergé eggs.” She leaned toward her friend and stage whispered so the rest of the table could hear. “Tabbi, it was just sex! Did the act disturb you that much?” “Jasmine!” However, all the eyes at the table fixated on the blonde woman. She looked around at each of her companions and sighed. “No, of course not -- it was…wonderful.” Ben smiled. “Really?” She blushed, looked up into his eyes and nodded. Jasmine continued to press for information. “Then would you please tell the rest of us what the hell is wrong?” “You know what’s wrong. Everything has been too much for one day. Don’s disappearance and probable death, my own journey from the depths of celibacy back to a sort of voluntary monogamy. It’s all too overwhelming for a single day.” One of the cell phones rang at the table. All four people checked their devices until Ben called out, “It’s me.” He answered and identified himself. Then he listened quietly for a few moments. “Actually, she’s having lunch with us now. Do you want us to bring her down right away or will we have time to finish lunch?” Tabitha gasped and then held her breath, not wishing to break the pretense that everything was all right. Benjamin went on. “When should we be there? Okay, see you then.” No one at the table said anything, although Jasmine reached for her neighbor’s hand and squeezed it protectively. Ben broke the silence. “We have time to finish lunch.” Bradley turned to Tabbi. “You’re not driving, are you?” The blonde woman shook her head. “You probably better ride with me.” Ben Johnson placed his hand carefully on her arm. “And I suggest you drink a strong alcoholic beverage before we leave.”

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Chapter Nineteen Their goddess admonished all three surviving operatives via telepathic link when Dickerson died. Stovall, Enfield and Reeves stopped what they had been doing, and each one dropped into wide-eyed disbelief over the pain of losing one of their own. How could something like this have happened? The Sotashians had deluded themselves for as long as they could remember that as long as they remained under their mistress’s protection, they were virtually indestructible, if not immortal. She showed them the face of the man responsible for Dickerson’s death and added a two-word warning: Kurayami Mihari. The three agents couldn’t take the chance of spiriting the Onyx Palace from its hiding place and loading the relic into the Maybach during daylight hours. The operation had to be performed at night away from any official interference. Nevertheless, the goddess decided to move up her timeline for transporting the artifact. She wanted the Onyx Palace moved tonight.

***** Thirty-four years ago Remorseful that he’d missed Penelope’s funeral, Professor Andrew Bryden Martin sank into the lengthy combination of trying to straighten out all his legal affairs and diving into his archeological studies. He went to Upstate Medical University Hospital in Syracuse early on to visit the tiny stranger whom Penelope left in her wake, but his son, Christian, seemed unreal to him -- like a remote reminder of a life not quite worth living. He’d have to find someone to take care of the child when the hospital finally released the baby; so Dr. Martin

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could get on with the business of…what? Archeology? New findings? Making money? Right now, life without Penelope at his side made no sense. What made it worse was that he felt no attachment to own flesh and blood, indeed his wife Penelope’s heritage. He realized that wasn’t normal, but he couldn’t help his feelings. He longed for distractions from the pain and hurt and loss and…whatever. When Phelan joined him a few weeks later, he learned she had a natural aptitude for languages. This unexpected bonus led to a number of curious discoveries. In a letter dated about six weeks after her arrival, Phelan wrote:

Dr. Martin, I’ve marked a number of pages in several books I’ve left on your desk concerning the so-called “Estátua Amor” or Love Totem, which may grant you your heart’s content or your fondest wish. According to all the sources I’ve researched the artifact arrived here (on Earth or in this dimensão) from another place in space and time. No one is clear on how or why it happened, it just did. When the Love Totem encountered some sort of energy or “magic” here in our dimensão, the relic split apart into an unknown number of pieces and dispersed across the planet -- possibly even through time as well. Legend says that finding and assembling all the missing pieces of the “Estátua Amor” is akin to calling up the genie from a magic lamp… I want you to look at a lithographic reproduction of an ancient drawing found in the Codex Romanesti. I think it may be an image of the same vision you had in Brazil. Please let me know what you think. Andrew Martin lifted the Codex Romanesti and thumbed to the correct bookmark. Subconsciously he caught his breath. His nightmare vision leaped out from the lithograph on the page. She’d found the phantasm that haunted him and at the same time Phelan may have found the answer to his unspoken prayer.

If you read further into the text of the Codex you’ll discover that the dark and ominous artifact the book calls the “Onix Palat” or Onyx Palace contains an essential piece separate from the rest called “Imparat Uşor” or the Emperor of Light. Some scholars believe this may be an actual fragment of the Love Totem. However, I’ll leave it to you to decide whether you wish to research all this more thoroughly. Regards, Audra Phelan

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His memory of that day thirty-four years ago remained vivid and exciting. Everything that Phelan bookmarked in those reference tomes had significant meaning. One possible clue concerning a piece of the artifact pointed to evidence concerning another sign and suddenly he knew the pursuit of the unattainable wasn’t merely a fool’s errand. On that day he began to get his life back. On that day his quest to gain the pieces of the Love Totem offered him a new hope of seeing the love of his life returned to him -- even if the odds of doing so looked rather slim. On that day, Andrew Bryden Martin, Ph.D., professor of archeology, field explorer, and business entrepreneur became the Collector.

***** Sore and exhausted, Sensei Takumi Tetsuaiga dragged himself up on shore several miles from home. The walk back to his dojo would be tedious; however, the warmth of the late afternoon sun would make it worthwhile. Indeed, each breath made his life all the more rewarding at the moment. As he walked the length of Harbor Street, a new Buick pulled up alongside him. He looked into the dark car to see Bradley Johnson, along with a very pretty black woman sitting in the car. Quickly, Brad pulled his car off to the right in order to come to a stop without blocking traffic on the narrow road. Brad rolled down his window. “Sensei, you look like hell. Are you all right?” Takumi allowed a grin to cross his face. “I’ve been better.” “Do you need to go to the hospital?” The small Japanese man walked up to the rear door of the Buick. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to go home.” “Hop in. I’ll take you there.” Takumi graciously bowed slightly as Bradley introduced the black lady who accompanied him. “Okay, Tetsuaiga-san, what happened to you?” “There is one less obaka working for the bakemono.” He watched Jasmine’s face contort in puzzlement after he spoke. However, Brad’s face blanched as Takumi’s words struck his ears. “One less…do you mean one of the ugly brothers?” Brad dropped his voice. “Did you…uh…disable one? How?” When Brad said “disabled,” the black woman flinched. Did he mean kill? “Let’s just say that the depths of Lake Michigan were much stronger than he anticipated.” He accidentally brushed his hands against his ribs where the Sotashian landed a blow. This time he suffered through a painful moment that allowed him to experience every

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bruise, every pummeled clout. “By now, the spirit-monster knows he’s gone. I know she’s going to send the others for me eventually. However, I don’t know whether or not she’ll come for me herself. Still I’m glad you found me --” “Wait, wait!” Jasmine twisted to look over the front seat. “Are you saying that you managed to drown one of her henchmen and she knows it already?” “I do not admit to this lightly.” Takumi sighed. “Taking a life is never a good thing.” Jasmine shook her head in disbelief. “We think the monster, Anastasia, devoured Don Mason. We left Tabitha and Ben at the police station to help examine the remains they found buried on the beach.” “I believe your first instincts about the monster are correct.” Takumi leaned forward to engage her. “More than likely she was responsible for his death. He had something she wanted and the easiest way for her to obtain her prize was through the direct approach.” Soon the vehicle pulled into the parking area of Takumi’s dojo. “I need to make myself some herbal poultices for my wounds and bruises. Come inside, both of you, and I’ll continue Bradley’s lessons about using the interstices.” Jasmine followed both men inside. “Using the what?” Bradley frowned. “It’s kind of hard to explain. Have you ever noticed a sort of…jeez, I guess you could say…lacy rainbow effect in the atmosphere?” “Oh, sure. Happens all the time.” Brad looked back at the lovely black woman to see if she teased him. However, her countenance showed straight-forward,s forthright features. “Are you kidding me?” “Why should I kid you? I see them occasionally in lots of places. I have all my life.” “Come with me, Jasmine.” Sensei Takumi gestured to both of them to follow him into his garden. “Can you find one now?” For a few seconds, Jasmine looked all over the lush Japanese garden. Then she walked to a near corner and pointed. “Well, there’s a small one here.” She played her fingers in and out of the lacy rainbow. “When I was a little girl I discovered that if I worked the rainbow energy long enough, I could make my skin tingle.” Tetsuaiga-san nodded and complimented her. He looked over to Bradley. “I don’t think I’ve ever met such a natural.” Brad scrutinized the woman he loved, apparently with renewed respect. The martial arts instructor walked over to Jasmine and took her aside. “Would you mind staying out here for a little while, Jasmine? There is something I’d like you to try, if you don’t mind.”

*****

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“I don’t know if it was a good thing we finished our lunch or not,” Tabbi muttered as she rode in the passenger side of her own vehicle. The two of them left the Department of Public Safety building after Jasmine and Brad departed. “I thought I was going to lose every bite I’d taken while we stared at that…that…” She let her words trail away in the grisly memories of the gruesome object they’d seen. “I had no idea that he’d try to get you to identify such a horrible apparition.” Ben kept the Infiniti’s speed as slow and controlled as possible. “I have no qualms about telling you, you weren’t the only one on the verge of blowing chunks.” “We can’t blame Rick Haas. He was only doing his job.” “Moments like that remind me why I left the force, though.” “I understand.” The Infiniti rounded the bend on the main drag of Beech Haven, and Tabbi spotted the Skipper’s Inn hotel. “Hey, did you need to stop by your hotel to check messages?” “I’ll tell you what I’d like to do, if you don’t mind, and that’s pick up some clean clothes. But only if you can stand the company.” “Why would I mind? Of course, I want the company.” “I thought maybe you’d want some time to yourself -- to let things settle.” She shook her head. “I’m not staying by myself tonight -- no way. Purely selfish reasons, you understand.” “All right, we’ll pull in here and I’ll grab up some of my stuff.” The two of them went over to the elevator and pressed the button for Benjamin’s floor. “I’ll grab a fresh suit, my bathrobe, and a pair of pajamas.” Tabitha shrugged. “Sounds good to me, although I’m not totally certain whether you’re going to need pajamas.” As the two of them assembled a few of Ben’s things, his cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID and looked back at his blonde companion. “Curious. I didn’t expect a call from Sensei Takumi.”

***** As the ripple of freezing air whipped her face, Jasmine followed Sensei Takumi through a series of morphing tunnels, bending and curving in half a dozen directions from her point of view. Of course, as long as she kept him in sight, he was easy to tail. She could hear the clicks and curious slurps echoing behind her as Bradley did his best to keep up with both of them inside the slip. Wow! kept running through her mind.

Incredible. Jasmine couldn’t get past the sensations that gripped her as she drifted quickly through the pulsing corridors of interstice travel. “Damn, this rawks!”

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Jazzy wanted to go faster. She sensed that some of the pathways ahead zipped forward at higher speeds -- like express trains. How would that affect her body? It was all she could do not to take a different passage from Sensei Takumi and explore what lay ahead. “Just amazing!” she called out to nobody in particular. She wondered if Ben and Tabbi had any idea of the dynamics of this kind of power. Brad told her when Jasmine first started that he and Ben practiced all night in order to prepare to do the first step in the process. She came right out and asked him why did it take so long for the two of them to learn? Oops! That was unfair. Brad and Ben happened to be normal guys, after all. Still, she wondered whether her neighbor could perform the same trick -- Tabbi was a LaBauve, after all. The excitement of the little excursion she experienced today more or less harkened back to incidents that echoed her own family’s talents. Jasmine remembered ancestral tales of Granny Lucille and her confounded jaunts and disappearances. Was this ability the real secret to Lucille LaBauve’s strange rambles through the countryside? Did any others of her brethren know? If not, why hadn’t the old lady ever tell anyone? She saw Sensei Takumi hold up a hand to halt her. “Don’t come any closer. I don’t want you to tempt fate by moving in front of the relic until all three of us are ready.” She peeked into the energy alcove and caught sight of a grimly ominous castle seemingly carved from a large block of heavy black rock. “What is it?” “This is the artifact the Obakemono needs to rip open the door to our dimension. Let’s make it a little harder for her to do so.” When Bradley caught up with them, the three of them began to slowly approach the relic and to take handholds on the corners, taking care not to face the front gate to the Onyx Palace. Damn, the object weighed even more than Jasmine feared. Her arm muscles strained as she tried to support her end. “We’ll stay inside the slip field for a little while,” Tetsuaiga-san said, as if reading her mind. “We can cover more distance with less effort.” Jasmine grunted with her own exertion. Less effort for whom? “Not too much farther.” The little Asian man gestured toward a growing window of prismatic rainbow colors. “Come on.” Slowly, carefully, the three of them exited the interstice slip field while continuing to handle the Onyx Palace, observing the same caution with which a bomb squad carries a live device. “Look!” Takumi led the way. “The parking lot is close by -- see?” Suddenly a siren blared and a blue and white police car pulled into the parking area. Then Rick Haas’s official vehicle pulled into the parking lot.

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“Help has arrived.” Brad looked over at Jasmine and smiled. “Let’s put the castle down on the ground.” In a few more minutes, Tabbi’s Infiniti arrived with Ben driving. Jazzy watched the two of them exit their vehicle and run up to join the small crowd, including the sensei, Brad, Rick Haas and the police. Once Ben and Tabbi made their way into the midst of the investigatory group and began to inspect the ancient relic along with everyone else, Jasmine noted her dear friend suddenly gasped and blanched pale white. Abruptly, Tabitha Mason collapsed on the cemetery lawn.

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Chapter Twenty On the way back to Beech Haven, Enfield programmed the automobile’s MP3 player for continuous play. He decided to alternate both the Yardbird’s original recording of their pseudo Gregorian chant classic Still I’m Sad as well as Glendower’s modern Goth remake of the song. He didn’t much care for Rainbow’s rocker version. That song did nothing for him. No, this pair of gloomy laments drilled deep into the bones and neuro fibers of two of the remaining three Sotashians, as its minor tones and grim bass harmonies reminded them of the unexpected fate of their colleague.

Not in a hundred years could we have foreseen such consequences, Enfield grieved inwardly. He hadn’t particularly liked Dickerson, but no one liked to be reminded of his own mortality. Eager to get to the bed and breakfast to see Reeves, he knew the two men couldn’t hold onto each other properly with Stovall around, but he needed Reeves’s empathy and commiseration at a moment like this. Later on they’d comfort each other over the loss of their comrade. However, uppermost in their agenda, plans had to be finalized for the extermination of the agent of the Kurayami Mihari first. Legend said that such fighters carried themselves with an inner strength and comportment second to none. Well, maybe he could take on a single Sotashian and defeat him, but let him try three determined enforcers. Glendower’s version of the song repeated one more time and Enfield added his off-key baritone to the choral chant. “…For myself my tears just fall into dust. Day will dry them.

Night will find they are lost…” Death’s too good for this sonuvabitch. We need to arrange something special to prolong his suffering.

*****

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Tabitha jerked into consciousness as an officer broke a vial of smelling salts under her nose. Her hand instinctively came up to her nose to rub the acrid smell away. “Lay still, Mrs. Mason.” The officer had placed a rolled up blanket under her head. “There’s a paramedic on the way.” Tabbi moaned. “A what?” “You suffered a nasty bump on your head when you hit the ground.” Ben kneeled down next to her. “Do you know what happened, Tabbi?” Tabitha put a hand against her scalp. “Oww! That was a mistake.” “Don’t move, angel. The medics are on their way.” “Ben, where is that monstrosity?” “That what?” “The artifact. T-tell Jasmine I saw it for what it is.” “You tell her, hon. She’s right over there.” Tabitha raised her head as if to get up. However, the nearest police officer restrained her. “Hang on ’til the ambulance arrives, Mrs. Mason.” She placed her fingers just behind her temple and winced. “That’s probably an excellent idea.” Ben waved Jasmine over to her side. Bradley followed right behind. “Where have they stashed the Onyx Palace, you guys?” Tabbi continued to hang onto Ben’s hand. “Rick’s people loaded it into a police transport van.” “Good. I hope I never see it again.” She turned toward Jasmine. “Remember when I told you how I kept seeing Don’s keys as an anthropomorphic object -- a sort of gaping maw all covered in slime?” Jasmine nodded. “Yes, I believe so.” “To me the castle looks even more perverted or -- I dunno -- rotten? The smell is loathsome, like a festering carcass encrusted with decaying matter! But that’s not the worst of it.” “From the sounds of it, I don’t know how it could get much worse,” Ben murmured, trying to keep her calm and settled. Jasmine took her cue from him. “Are you sure you want to talk about the relic right this second?” “I’m all right, you two! What I really need to say is that like Don’s keys the palace’s front gate looks very much like a giant, gleaming set of fangs dripping with gore and every one of the castle walls is spattered with blood.” Brad, who stood over her prone body, recoiled at her description. “Blood?”

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Tabitha’s eyes caught each of their gazes one at a time. “And those miniature statuelike figures all weep tears of desperate sadness. It’s enough to break your heart.” “That’s because the Onyx Palace is an Eater of Souls. Every captured soul inside is forever in pain.” Sensei Takumi came over from discussing matters with the police to check on them. “Bradley! Benjamin! I need to know if either of you carry any weight with the Beech Haven Department of Public Safety at all?” “Is there something wrong?” “The Sotashians are on their way here right now. I can sense their approach. Normally they’d pass up displays of force in front of such a large crowd of people, but I’d prefer that the police and the four of you remain prepared for the worst. I suspect they’ve been given orders to retrieve the relic at any cost, and to be quite frank, I’m too exhausted to try to take on any single one of them.” Ben reluctantly let go of Tabbi’s hand. “I’ll warn Rick Haas they may be on their way here. The police want the occupants of the Maybach touring sedan for questioning, anyway. That may be enough to keep them on their guard.” “Did either of you bring weapons?” “No.” Brad shook his head. “They’re packed away in the rental car.” Takumi frowned. “That’s unfortunate.” Ben looked at his mentor. “Sensei, I’ve never heard you talk about the need for weapons before. You’re always going on about the balance of nature.” “There’s nothing natural about these creatures. Right now, we can use all the help we can get.” Jasmine stood up and turned to Bradley. “Give me your car keys.” “What for?” “I can dimensionally slip back to the Buick, grab your stuff and return here in time, if I start now.” “Good thinking, Jazzy.” Brad smiled and gave her a quick peck on the lips. “They’re in the trunk packed in a stainless steel case. Just bring the whole case.” They all saw Sensei Takumi take Jasmine aside and mutter some Japanese word. It sounded like katana? Tabitha looked up at her friend. “How far away is his car?” “Oh about four or five miles or so -- I’ll be just a second…”

***** When public beach parking is fully allocated, cars are often rerouted to secondary parking along the street or at the cemetery lot. By chance, Anastasia’s three henchmen chose to creep through heavy late afternoon traffic. Harbor Street still crawled with tourists and

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locals cruising the beach strip along prime teen-age pick-up territory. Even the drive to alternate parking meant traffic back-ups lasting for long minutes on end. “Damn, this is slow. I could run faster.” Enfield’s impatience crept into his driving. “Now we know the real reason she told us to wait until after dark to move the relic.” Reeves looked over a group of half naked teenagers and smiled. “Still, the scenery around here is as striking as always.” “You can say that again.” Enfield kept his hands on the wheel. “Knock it off, you two!” Stovall’s eyes scouted out a likely spot and pointed off to the side. However, when they came into view of the cemetery parking lot, the group was surprised at the number of Department of Public Safety vehicles blocking off the area. “Holy shit! What are the cops doing here?” Then Reeves spotted Takumi Tetsuaiga. “Forget the cops. What is he doing here?” Stovall growled. “We’re stuck in this traffic tie-up, anyway. Reeves and I will get out and check on the artifact while you crawl along in this quagmire.” Reeves checked his jacket for his pistol. “What about that Curried Yam and Mary bastard?”

“Kurayami Mihari,” Enfield corrected. “You say tomato and I say potato.” Reeves opened the door on his side. “Park up the way and wait for us. Me an’ Stovall will see if we can’t stomp out an illegal immigrant before we get back.”

***** Okay, what the heck is a katana? Jasmine searched the living area. Sensei Takumi had told Jasmine exactly where to look and gave her an indication of what to search for. Wait a second -- this curved cane looked like something right out of the movie Kill Bill. Jasmine pulled the two wooden sections apart slowly and discovered the hidden sword blade inside. I

think this might be it. She used Brad’s keys to open the trunk of the rented Buick. She found a large steel briefcase-sized carrier that had to be the right one. Should she check to make sure first? That would slow Jasmine down, but if she grabbed the wrong case, it would be worse than no help at all. All right, she’d take a few more seconds try a few of these extra keys on the case. When she found the correct key, Jasmine uncovered two pistols along with ammunition clips carefully packed away in a custom made chassis. “Okay, I’m outta here.” The roller coaster ride of her lifetime continued as Jasmine entered the slip field and began to pick up speed along the interstitial route back toward the cemetery. Traveling this way got her to her destination so much quicker than an automobile might have done. For

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one thing, she didn’t need to find a place to park -- not to mention that for the moment the police had it cordoned off until they were finished with their surveillance. Jasmine caught her breath as she heard the clicking and a sort of gurgitating slosh that symbolized somebody else had entered the interstice close by. Who? Where? She spun around, trying to catch sight of a body moving inside the dimensional slip. Then, as she scanned the interior for signs of other people, she caught a filmy, blurry, but indelible glimpse of a vehicle through the pulsing translucent membrane overlooking the outside world -- a black touring sedan. Could that be anything other than the Maybach 57? Now Jasmine wanted to rush even faster through the slips. She urgently needed to warn the others. Subconsciously, she put her mind to increasing her speed.

***** Bradley pointed out toward the street. “There’s their automobile. You’d better get over and tell Rick.” “Hold on.” Benjamin scrutinized the Maybach trying to look through the tinted windows. “My hunch says that not all of them are inside the sedan.” “I wish we could be sure.” “Me too.” Ben retreated on the grass. “All right, I’m off to tell Rick.” “Tell him to be careful.” Suddenly, the lights and sirens of an oncoming ambulance filled the air and caused further confusion to the stagnant traffic dawdling past the cemetery parking area. Cars going both directions pulled over to allow it to push through, but Bradley noticed that the Maybach used it as an excuse to pull up onto the cemetery lawn something like fifty yards away from where he stood. He gulped a dry swallow down and kept his gaze on the waiting sedan. In a matter of moments two officers from the Department of Public Safety strutted down to confront the passengers in the vehicle. One of the officers went around to the driver’s window and knocked. Although Bradley stood too far away to hear the crux of the conversation, he noted that the first officer began to reach for his weapon, while the second cop pulled his pistol and shouted into the car. “Drop your weapon to the ground!” A sharp crack from inside the car greeted that command. The impact spun the first man on the scene around and he clutched both hands against his belly. The second policeman fired directly into the car, but suddenly his body was lifted and knocked over by the force of another bullet. People everywhere screamed and either ran helter-skelter in several directions or they dropped to the ground to seek cover. Several ran toward nearby gravestones in order to hide.

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In the meantime, Rick Haas, two members of his investigation team, and the last available policeman drew their pistols and cautiously approached the perimeter of the automobile. A single shot at a closed passenger window told Brad immediately the sedan had been equipped with one-way bullet-resistant glass. Brad swore to himself. When a person outside the car shot a bullet at the window, the bullet struck the reinforced laminated side first. This brittle material shattered around the point of impact and absorbed some of the energy over a large area. The flexible material then dissipated the remaining energy of the bullet, literally stopping a moderate velocity bullet. The police team remained low to the ground since a bullet fired from inside the same car could easily pass through the glass. Happily, no one fired back at them from inside the car yet. However, that might be just a matter of time. “The Maybach isn’t driving off.” Brad muttered. Why isn’t the touring car making a run for it? That doesn’t make sense. “C’mon, Jasmine. Hurry up!” Ben dashed forward and landed next to Brad on the grass. “Why aren’t they hightailing it outta here?” Brad kept asking himself the same question. “It’s almost as if they’re waiting.” Waiting? “Of course, they’re waiting for someone else to show up. At least one of these jokers is still traveling the interstices.” Then Brad felt a lump build up in his esophagus. “Jesus, Ben! Jasmine’s still in there.”

***** Inside the interstice all Jasmine could hear were hollow thumps she didn’t recognize as gunshots. Yet, subconsciously, she knew terrible dangers lurked with this upcoming confrontation. She knew she had to get back to the cemetery location and deliver the weapons to the three guys. A double series of clicks echoed immediately behind her, followed by a sucking noise as if footprints were pulling free from sucking mud. Should she turn around and see how close her pursuer hounded her trail? No! The strain on her nerves might be too much. Move,

Jasmine! Move! “Well, well, well, little darlin’!” A gravelly male voice seemed to emanate from a thousand years away. However, when Jasmine looked back, her pursuer didn’t seem to be more than fifteen feet behind her. “I did not expect to see somebody like you in here.” Gawd, it was the monster’s driver from that day she and Tabbi went to meet Don Mason at Hillendale’s. The one called Stovall. She put on a new burst of speed. “Slow down, little Philly. Slow and easy, girl. I always wanted to sample a succulent piece of dark meat like you.” Damn, was he gaining? Jasmine needed to fight the desire to turn around and look.

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“Not to mention that you’ll find it a lot more satisfying than dying by either of my partners’ hands.” More than ever, she needed to find a prismatic rainbow exit -- any way to egress this dimensional slip and return to Brad. “You see, the other two operatives prefer boys to girls. So someone like you would only be useful for practicing their torture techniques.” She heard a chuckle rise in his voice. “And that would be a damn waste of a delicious meal, as far as I can tell.”

How could he keep talking during this chase? By now, Jasmine’s heart pounded and her lungs ached from the effort she put into staying ahead and out of his grasp. Now her leg muscles started to cramp from lack of oxygen. Heaven help her if her legs buckled out from under her now. Suddenly, she saw another ghostly figure materialize in the interstice approximately thirty yards in front of her.

Oh, God! Now what?

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Chapter Twenty-One Sensei Takumi Tetsuaiga carefully entered the prismatic conduit closest to where he and the others waited. He knew this was the location where Jasmine had gone in when she left before, and he hoped she’d come close enough to be of use now that gunfire had broken out in the cemetery.

Aha! Right here. He’d rent the dimensional membrane open and stepped into the slip dimension. He saw Jasmine running toward him as fast as she could carry both his katana and the carrying case for the boys’ weapons. However, one of the Sotashians bounded behind her in a full out chase. He extended his hand and yelled at her. “Throw me my katana!” As she lobbed the cane sword toward him, Takumi somersaulted and swept his arm up through the tunnel, grabbing the katana in what appeared to be a single, painful move. When he came out of the somersault, he unsheathed the blade, wielding its long, curved steel form in one hand and its wooden scabbard in the other. “Get out of here and get that case to Brad and Ben as soon as you can.” “Well, well. If it isn’t the greencard gummy bear. Hey shorty! I bring you greetings from the goddess and my buddy Dickerson.” Stovall slowed down and reached into his pocket to pull a Fabrique Nationale de Herstal semi-automatic pistol from inside his coat. “Say good-bye to your chopsticks, Nip.” Takumi had heard for years that electronic devices wouldn’t work inside the dimensional slips, but would mechanical instruments function? He launched himself forward at the Sotashian’s knees as his opponent pulled the trigger for the first time. A click followed by nothing.

Misfire? Or wouldn’t fire? Takumi didn’t know which, but he couldn’t count on the latter twice.

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Stovall shifted and pulled the trigger a second time. Again a misfire. If the pistol happened to be a semi-automatic, then it may have enough functioning mechanical parts not to operate inside the slip. Takumi let the carefully dressed, sharp edge of his katana blade speak for him first. “Yeeaacchhht! Shit, that stings!” the henchman barked out. He leveled his FNH polymer framed pistol at Takumi one more time. Again when Stovall pulled the trigger, nothing happened. “Damn!” Sensei Tetsuaiga silently prayed to the gods of the Earth for forgiveness. The next strike of his blade sliced upward at full speed destined to collide with his nemesis’s neck.

***** The unmistakable sound of gunshots forced Reeves to drop out of the slip corridor and back into normal dimensional reality. He hung back for a few seconds to size up the situation. Great mistress’ mercy! Enfield and the Maybach were under attack. Damn his accomplice’s uncontrollable anger; looks like the hot-headed fool had made the mistake of shooting two police officers who’d been dispatched to question him. The Maybach touring sedan suffered from repeated bullet gashes and damage to every inch of its body as four other cops continued to return fire once Enfield fired his weapon from the interior -- behind the one-way bullet-proof glass. Unlike ALON -- the classified aluminum oxynitride compounds the military used -- once Enfield fired out through commercial grade glass, the bullet's force would be concentrated along the specific nonlaminated area. Which then caused the material to flex and the brittle plexiglass to break outwards, allowing the bullet to pierce the flexible material and head for its target. Once the vehicle’s windows began to shatter, Enfield found himself exposed to the hail of return slugs assailing his position. One after another, projectiles smashed against Enfield’s enhanced skin and body. Reeves didn’t know how many bullet wounds one of the goddess’s operatives might survive, but from the looks of his partner’s physical resistance, each successive bullet ran up cumulative damage once it impacted. In his gut, Reeves truly understood they were far from invincible. When Enfield’s body keeled over and collapsed in the front driver’s seat, Reeves went for his gun. However, a few moments later, the mistress’s agent made certain to temper his anger with the knowledge that just like Dickerson, just like Enfield, he too could be killed. Where the hell was Stovall? His eye caught an unexpected movement. What the…? A well built black woman carrying a metal case leaped from out of nowhere. Nowhere! The dimensional interstices? It couldn’t be.

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The white man turned back toward her, grabbed the case from her hand and muttered, “Oh, Jasmine, thank God!”

***** Bradley reached up to grab his lovely paramour and pulled her down close to him. “Good girl! This is the right one.” “I know.” She handed him back his keys. “I opened it to make sure.” Ben grunted. “If I hadn’t seen you go into the slip with my own eyes, I would’ve never believed it. Did you get Sensei Takumi’s sword?” “Omigod, Ben! He’s using it to fight the one of them inside the prismatic slip even as we speak. The one called Stovall almost caught me inside. If it hadn’t been for Takumi’s barging in on time, I might not have survived my trip back.” “Do you think we should help him?” Bradley growled in frustration as he opened the locked container. “I don’t see how we can.” He unpacked one of the European police style Glock model 17 nine millimeter pistols from the case and handed it to Benjamin. “Besides, by my count, there’s still one more Sotashian to deal with out there.” “Soda-ash-what?” “Sensei Takumi refers to them by that name.” Ben jammed an ammunition clip into his pistol and chambered a round. “He says he calls them that after their mistress’s real name -her true name, if you will.” “True names?” Tabbi rolled over on her side and looked at her friends. “Sounds like fantasy and magic to me.” Jasmine looked all around. “If you’d seen what I saw today…” She stopped speaking when her eyes lit on a figure dressed in black standing near a gray monument. “Brad, behind that tombstone! I think…” In seconds the figure she pointed out jumped to his feet from behind the headstone and ducked into the crowd of bystanders. Then, with a look around, followed by an intuitive movement, he too appeared to shimmer away into nothingness. Tabitha stared at the spot where the henchman had vanished. “That was just freaky.” “Not really.” Jasmine carefully helped her friend sit up. “I bet you can do it.” Ben sprang to his feet. “We’ve got to intercept him.” Jasmine interrupted. “What you’ve got to do now is find Sensei Takumi. The last time I saw him, he was taking on a vicious opponent twice his size.” “The man was born to fight demons.” Brad pulled his gun as well. “Besides, didn’t he tell us that these wouldn’t work inside the prismatic field?” “You got me.” Benjamin shrugged. “Still, we really should check on him.”

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“If you say so.” Bradley conceded the point. “Lead the way.” Keeping low, Ben moved back toward the large gravestone. Moving even quicker, Bradley trotted off toward the spot where Anastasia’s henchman disappeared. Ben turned back toward the girls. “Stay put! Stay safe.” “Yes, yes. Go on!” “I want you both here when I come back.” Tabitha called out after him, “You just better make certain you come back!”

***** Reeves didn’t expect the sight that accosted him in the dimensional tunnel. How could he? Stovall had been the rock of the goddess’s crew for as long as he could remember, and now Stovall’s head lay separated from his body. First Dickerson drowned, then Enfield shot and now Stovall -- Reeves needed to run away to regroup. Everything had gone wrong this time. Could he face the goddess as one-quarter of her failed task force to Beech Haven? They’d never aborted a mission before; however, prior to this assignment, the four of them always succeeded together. This time -- well, he could hardly bring himself to think about it. “Must I complete my mission?” At times like these, it felt like her intimidating menace enveloped the entire cosmos. He could sense the pure heat of her contempt and animosity reaching out to grasp his mind from afar. “After all I’ve gone through to gain control of this ancient artifact, do you think

I’m going to give it up when I’m so close?” Too frightened and fatigued to argue, Reeves hung his head. “What do you want me to do?”

***** “How’s your head?” Jasmine carefully helped her friend to her feet. “I’m a little dizzy. Other than that…” Tabbi let her sentence trail off. “If need be, we’ll get you to a hospital. I don’t want you to suffer from an undiagnosed concussion.” The paramedics had their hands full working on the injured and wounded. They tried for a moment to resuscitate one of the policemen the operative had shot, but to no avail. They packed both cops into the back of an ambulance, while Rick and a member of his team began the slow and agonizing task of examining the corpse of the downed henchman inside the shot-up touring sedan. “Tabbi, I want you to look over this way and tell me if you see anything special.”

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Puzzled, the blonde glanced back at her companion. “Special?” “Just describe what you see -- especially the atmospheric effects.”

Atmospheric effects? “I don’t think I see anything different than anyone else.” “What about a rainbow, as if someone suspended a prism right in the center of the air?” “Yeah, I see two of them.” She pointed toward the area beyond the headstone. “There’s one there close to where the ugly brother hid and there’s a little one just off to the right. So what?” “Did you know not everyone could see them?” A cloud of apprehension masked Tabbi’s face. “That figures.” “Brad said that it took all last night for the guys to learn how to find one. Each of those prismatic rainbows is like a gate into a parallel dimension.” For the next few minutes, Jasmine tried to explain to Tabitha exactly how the phenomenon worked. “Using the slip, I managed to get to Takumi’s dojo and back quickly.” Shaking her head, Tabbi sighed. “These last twelve to fifteen hours have been filled with unnatural surprises.” “Yeah, I guess you could look at it that way.” Jasmine turned back toward her friend, and Tabbi noticed that her pretty neighbor scrutinized her for a moment. “Of course, not everything that happened would be considered unnatural.” “What do you mean?” “You know exactly what I mean. I’m talking about me and Bradley…” She paused and smiled that infectious grin of hers. “…you and Ben. That all worked out pretty naturally.” Tabitha blushed. “I guess you’re right -- almost like some exterior force manipulated the four of us.”

***** Today had all the earmarks of a bad day as far as the Collector knew. To begin with, every ache, pain, and injury he’d ever suffered rose to the forefront and deliberately aggravated him. Not to mention that once again he felt trapped in his own home. Even with Phelan and the staff trying to remain as helpful and hospitable as possible, his house had slowly shrunken to a plush prison. Earlier in the day he tried to locate a Hindu antiquities dealer who claimed to have a lead on the next missing piece of the Estátua Amor, the Love Totem. The two of them had communicated several weeks back, but negotiations had broken down and the next thing Doctor Martin heard, the man had suddenly disappeared into the interior of the Indian peninsula. He couldn’t even go out and search on his own.

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What’s this? Satellite news channels based out of the Grand Rapids area covered public shootings of police officers. The subject involved was shot to death in his vehicle after he opened fire on two cops. Who was that in the background? Professor Martin called for Audra Phelan. “Phelan, I have a feeling our Beech Haven team might be making progress!” He replayed the TiVo and paused it on a wide shot of the cemetery grounds. “Do those two faces look familiar to you?” “I should have brought my glasses.” She squinted at the screen. “Could that be the men from Johnson and Associates detective agency?” “Exactly! The very same.” “I’ve been trying to get hold of them all day.” Phelan pulled out an old scroll hand scribed in a language that looked like Aramaic. “According to the newest find from the Phoenician scrolls pertaining to Anath and Kathirat, the Onyx Palace shell is mostly responsible for the evil attributed to it.” “What do you mean? How do the Phoenician goddesses of love, marriage and pregnancy induce an opposing effect on the deadly forces contained in the Onyx Palace?” He looked up from his paperwork. “I thought the dark relic focused the evil power emanating from the Emperor of Light.” “Well, yes and no. The artifact does focus its intensity, but apparently it’s the object which transforms that energy into something terrible.” “So are we talking here…apples and -- strawberries?” “No, sir. According to the documents, the Emperor of Light is the true segment of the Estátua Amor. If anything, you don’t need to maintain the integrity of the Onyx Palace at all. All you really need to do to incorporate the power of the Totem is use the Emperor.” “Do the scrolls give any hints about how to remove the Emperor from the Onyx Palace safely?” “No. They’re rather vague concerning that particular point. Something cryptic about a new emperor replacing the old.” “Great. That’s what I was afraid of…” The Collector frowned. “The king is dead. Long

live the king.”

***** Sensei Takumi intercepted Benjamin and Bradley within the dimensional slip and gestured toward both of them. “Follow me.” This time the rippling twists he escorted the other two through led to the brink of the large police van where Department of Public Safety officials had carried the Onyx Palace. “Watch me carefully. Step where I step.”

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By doing exactly as Sensei Takumi instructed the two men ended up beside him nestled inside the police van on either side of the dark castle. “This is how the Sotashians stole the artifact in the first place.” Benjamin cautiously placed his hand on the artifact. “Did we just walk through that wall?” “Not exactly…” Then Takumi paused for a moment. “Well, yes, I suppose we did. However, with the dimensional interstices it’s a simple task.” Brad checked the back door to the van. “Shouldn’t we get out of here? I don’t think the police are going to be too thrilled to find us hiding inside.” “Yes, we’re leaving, all right, but I wanted you both to know that we’ll be guarding this relic overnight. Her operative won’t try to move on the police during the daylight hours, but tonight or possibly tomorrow night after everything quiets down, the Sotashian will attempt to spirit the object away.”

***** After so much had happened, sleep was damn near impossible. Benjamin and Bradley decided to rest, recuperate, and solace with Tabitha and Jasmine respectively. “I want you to watch this, Ben.” Tabbi reached for her left hand with her right hand. Gently she tugged each of her rings from the third finger of her left hand. “This is very important to me. I want you to know that.” He stayed very still. “I understand.” As she undid her blouse, Tabitha showed Benjamin that she wore nothing else beneath her top. Tabbi climbed on the bed and pulled Ben down with her all the while smooching him on his wide soft lips while wrapping her arms around his neck. She moved her hands around his face and caressed his cheeks. Then, stroking his closely cropped hair, she gave Ben little pecks around the lips. He’d backed off slightly in order to remove her shoes once she’d sat down on the edge of the bed, and she hurriedly peeled off her slacks from her hips, butt, and legs. Next came her panties, which she tossed carelessly onto the floor. Tabitha took hold of Ben's face and began to kiss him hungrily. Within moments, he too had disrobed. Tabitha desperately wanted Ben in that instant as he placed his hands on her waist and lowered his head to suck on her tits. She couldn’t help herself; as wrong and misguided as she felt about it, Tabbi wanted the entire sexual experience again. When Ben placed the palm of his hand on her pubic mound and gently inserted a finger inside to plumb for her wetness, Tabitha took in a sharp intake of breath. She’d just seen his dark finger dip deeply into her pussy. Ben moved into the center of the bed between

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Tabitha's legs and, playing the part of an exhibitionist, he placed his cock on top of her lower abdomen as he leaned forward to kiss her lips. Indulging in the tactile awareness of Ben’s stroking his cock along her belly, Tabitha reached down and laid the tips of her fingers on top of its massive length as they continued to kiss. “Ben, I want you inside me,” Tabitha whispered urgently. “Do you remember what you promised me about staying with me through all of this?” “Of course, I remember.” “Then, I want to reward you. I want --” Then she went silent. “I want --” “What do you want, Tabbi?” “I-I want you t-to --” “What, angel?” She allowed the words to tumble out quickly so she couldn’t take them back. “I want to be honest with you. We’re so close, I can almost taste it. No protection, not now -- I want a baby.” “Oh, Tabbi, really?” he answered. “God, I’m so glad you told me! I’ve been trying to squash my own selfish hopes, trying not to push you, but…” Looking up into his gentle dark eyes, Tabitha nodded. “I know.” Tabbi swallowed her fear and blurted out her hopes. “I told you before, I need someone in my life I can depend on. Tell me you love me for who I am.” He didn’t respond right away, as if he deliberated every point of her proposition. “Angel, what if my love means uprooting you from your home and dragging you off to a strange place? Can you handle that?” Tabbi sighed and twisted her fingers around his strong neck. “In the past couple of days, I realized home is where the heart is, Benjamin Johnson. And my heart is yours; take it or leave it.” Ben lowered his lips to hers, sealing their commitment. “We’d better get busy, angel; we Johnsons like big families!” Tabitha laughed and let the joy seep into her soul, sweeping out the dust and cobwebs left by Don’s long absence. “Let’s get busy, indeed.”

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Chapter Twenty-Two Sensei Takumi Tetsuaiga’s muscles complained after the hours of arduous ordeals he’d undergone. The burden of life here manifested itself over him like a cloudburst soaking his entire being with the full force of nature. He wanted to lie down. He needed to meditate. He decided to compromise by using his raku tatami bed to allow himself to relax just enough to go deep into his core and try to soothe his mind and muscles using time-proven meditation techniques. But first he made an international phone call. This modest dojo and home belonged to his beloved brethren of the Kurayami Mihari. He needed to let everyone there know the residence may be available soon. Those members of the Kurayami Mihari who had mastered their ki and chi on a level far surpassing his own lived too far away to assist him now. Sure, they could travel the dimensional interstices for long distances on end, but at a distance of over thirteen thousand kilometers, their training monastery on Iriomote Island lay too far from the Lake Michigan shoreline for a mere human to show up in the short time necessary to render sufficient aid. He could count on Benjamin and Bradley, of course. He could even guarantee the cooperation of both Jasmine and Tabitha. Nevertheless, when it came down to performing the final task, Takumi knew he’d have to accomplish that onus alone. He’d been dispatched to this place and time for just this moment. He settled his sore muscles on the hard, woven straw of the tatami flat rack bed, while every bruise, cut and scrape on his body pressed into his consciousness with pain.

I think I’d like to pass on this opportunity, if you please.

*****

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At the moment, Tabitha Mason, a recently widowed white woman, happened to be coupled to Benjamin Johnson, a very capable and potent black man. Potent? Tabitha panicked. Oh, God -- potent! Ben could get her pregnant right at this moment! Her mind was telling her to get up and find protection before it was too late. But she wouldn’t. Tabbi enjoyed the feeling she received from this man, too much -- way too much. She didn't want to him to stop, or to think she didn't desire making love to him. No, she didn't wish Ben to stop. She itched for his erection inside her. Benjamin moved her emotionally like no man had ever done before. Tabbi felt certain his hot, potent black seed was more than capable of impregnating her. Was that part of his magical emotional power over her? Ben brought his mouth back down to her lips -- still kissing her while he rotated his cock inside her pussy. Now that she had gotten accustomed to his size, Tabbi pulled back to look into his loving brown eyes. Ben had a determined look about him as she continued to feel his amazing cock stretch her pussy. “You’re so perfect for me,” he said, plunging and embedding his thick dark length as intimately deep as he could go. “D-do you think so?” She gasped with their renewed vigor. Tabitha locked her hands around the back of his neck, and she held onto Ben as he increased the speed of his strokes into her. God, please, she didn’t want this to stop! “Really?” Ben lifted himself up a few inches and put his arms around her legs to press them back wide open and parallel to her tits. The sounds coming from Tabbi's wet pussy resounded out more defined than ever as Benjamin plunged into her. This was incredible. Tabitha tilted her head so that she was able to look down between her legs and watch his stiff shaft disappear deep into her pussy time after time, slamming deep into her with each new prod. Tabitha closed her eyes as she felt her orgasm starting to build and within seconds she screamed out loud. “Oh, my God! Ben. Yes!” Her body was trembling as she began to climax, and Ben continued to plunge into her at an even faster pace than before. Her whole body shook with each new thrust that Ben made inside her. Tabitha's head moved a few inches on her pillow each time his thick cock sank into her pussy. She could feel the head of his cock bang into her uterus with each new push, and she knew that he’d plunged further inside her than any other man had ever been. Tabitha rested the palms of her hands on his shoulders as he pummeled her. She stared at the incredible contrast that her hands made against his skin, watching her painted fingernails dig little marks into his skin. She lay on her back, pinned to the bed, getting fucked by a man other than her husband. A handsome black man whose very large cock stretched her beyond her limited experience again, and God forbid, he was getting ready to shoot his seed into Tabbi’s body.

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Certain that Ben attempted to knock the wind out of her with their mutual exertion, Tabitha gasped for air. Her partner lowered his head and kissed her on the lips again. Tabitha couldn't hold her breath long enough to kiss him back. She tossed her head to one side and inhaled a deep breath. Suddenly, Ben began to exhibit all the signs that he was going to climax. His strokes slowed down and his cock swelled up, even as he fought against the inevitable. Ben looked into Tabitha's green eyes as his strokes became slower and his loins became much more determined to shoot his load into her. Tabitha watched in awe as Ben closed his eyes and hollered out, “Oh, God! Angel, I’m going to come inside you!” Tabitha watched an exquisite, almost triumphant expression cross Ben's face as she felt his hot seed splashing deep inside. His very semen seemed to be hotter than his cock, if that was possible! She actually felt it pooling and puddling inside her tummy. However, Ben didn't stop fucking her. Her virile partner began to pick up the pace again. “Take the essence of my world, darling,” he wheezed, as he exhaled. Ben almost sounded as if he were in pain -- delightful, exquisite pain. She slipped one hand down near her navel so Tabitha could feel Ben's cock pointing out each time he thrust into her. He seemed to be on a primal mission right now as she looked up into his face. His eyes were closed, his head was tilted up in pure pleasure and he seemed to be concentrating very hard. She sighed. I wonder what he’s thinking? Ben kept her legs pinned back against her breasts as he continued to take her, while Tabitha's mind kept racing with possibilities. Could I already be pregnant? Will it be a boy or a girl? Do I dare get my hopes up this early? She truly adored the beautiful masculine creature moving inside her, reveling in the pleasure of his presence. Sighing, she slipped over the edge of reason, her climax more powerful than she’d ever experienced. If his caring for

our child is anything like his affection for me, he’s going to be a wonderful daddy.

***** These four street thugs were a joke. After he escaped from the cemetery, Reeves needed to wait until the next morning before he used his credit card to rent a small van at a convenient budget truck rental in town. He could’ve stolen the vehicle, but he didn’t wish to call even more attention to his predicament. The goddess made arrangements for delivery of some money to hire a few local henchmen; however, none of the hirelings impressed Reeves in the least. It mattered not. He needed warm bodies that’d do the mistress’s bidding and keep their mouths shut. It didn’t hurt that they could be bought so cheaply.

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The simplest plan seemed to be the most straightforward. Reeves told his hired thugs that come the middle of the night, he’d break into the Department of Public Safety evidence room, work his way back out and lead the four of them inside safely; whereupon they’d carry out the Onyx Palace and place it in the rented van. “What’s an Onyx Palace?” “That’s none of your business.” The big man lumbered over to the edge of the room to where he unzipped a sports duffle bag and began to distribute the money owed. After counting out the initial payment to his hired thugs, he returned the bag to its rightful place. “If it’s valuable enough to spend more than two grand hiring us, what’s to keep us from taking this thing and selling it to the highest bidder?” Reeves traversed the room so quickly, the four other men hardly saw him move. As he stood confronting the street hustling boaster, one of the Sotashian’s hands gripped his throat while the other grabbed his shirt. Reeves hoisted him aloft. “I am.” The other three backed down, wide-eyed. “Did any of you watch the news yesterday?” Reeves continued to hold the fourth man as if he were insignificant. “Did you see how many times the police had to shoot my partner during the cemetery shootings? That’s how committed I am to my benefactor’s project.” The man Reeves held began to turn red-faced. He choked out a gasp. “I-I’m sorry, man.” Reeves put him back down on the floor. “Apology accepted. Let’s just say it’s been a bad day all around. Now, let’s go over the plan once again.” A quiet assent greeted him. “I-I still don’t understand how you can easily get into the evidence locker without anyone seeing you.” Reeves snickered without displaying any humor. “Quite frankly, that’s my specialty and the easiest part of this job.”

***** Bradley and Jasmine stepped into the dojo, and after a quick look around his home they found Sensei Takumi stretched out on the woven straw raku tatami bed. By this time his contusions and bruises had given his skin a clashing rainbow of discolorations. Brad bent over the smaller man and scrutinized his martial arts instructor’s numerous bruises. “You look awfully bad.” “Thank you.” Awake now, Takumi looked up at his former student. “I feel worse.” Jasmine examined his exposed bruises as well. “Are you certain you don’t want us to take you to the hospital?”

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Shaking his head, Takumi turned to Jasmine. “Would you mind boiling water for tea?” He tried to sit up, but the pain and fatigue kept him down longer than he expected. “The tea fixings are in the cupboard over the sink.” “I didn’t realize your injuries were as extensive as they are.” “I came close to complete muscle failure yesterday and I'm still recovering. The pain in my legs is just a little better than excruciating, and I feel about as strong as your average toddler, just now. I can hardly stand up from his bone-jarring body smashes. This pain mirrors experiences I haven’t felt since training. I considered myself strong, but I used muscles I've never used before. I had no idea how strong the spirit-monster’s henchmen truly were until I fought them.” Bradley helped him back to a sitting position. “How long do you think you’ll need to heal?” “That doesn’t matter, now. Help me sit up. There is still one more thing that must be done.” Jasmine walked back into the bedroom from the kitchen. “What else needs to be done?” “No matter how bad I look to you, the two of you must help me get as close as possible to the artifact.” Jasmine looked puzzled. “I don’t understand -- why?” “I must free the Emperor of Light.” Bradley helped his friend to his feet. “We understand that much from what notes we’ve been given. However, what is this about freeing the Emperor from the Onyx Palace?” “Until the Emperor is free, the palace will continue to do its evil. The Kurayami Mihari always knew what must be done if we ever located the relic. Now, I think I know how to pull the fangs from the vampire.”

***** Benjamin Johnson received a call from Brad instructing him to contact Rick Haas and the police. After his partner’s phone call, Ben did as he was asked, then turned toward Tabitha. “Brad also asked that we take your car over to Sensei Takumi’s dojo to meet up with them.” “What’s going on?” “Apparently Sensei Takumi believes an attempt will be made to remove the Onyx Palace from its current location within the next night or two.”

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In the meantime, as the two of them made their way to Tetsuaiga’s home, Tabbi asked him politely, if somewhat timidly, to show her how he used the prismatic rainbows to enter the dimensional slips. “We’ll do that once we arrive.” Ultimately, she proved to have the same natural flare for using the slips as did Jasmine. After she exited from a particularly long slide through the interstices, Tabbi patted her abdomen. “Makes me feel a touch queasy, though.” “I know what you mean.” Ben took her into his arms when she reappeared. “The cold overwhelms me, too. Still, I can’t get over how fast you and Jasmine picked up that ability.” “Turns out Jasmine and I may have a common ancestor after all. We’re both from the LaBauve family and Jasmine says her Granny Lucille LaBauve may have had a similar talent for coming and going undetected.” Sensei Tetsuaiga approached the couple and smoothly inserted himself into the conversation. “I hope you don’t mind, but I overheard you saying you have an ancestor with a ‘talent for going undetected.’ We are going to need you to develop that talent if my plan is going to work.”

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Chapter Twenty-Three Tabbi grinned. “Too bad I didn’t know about this in college; I could have used it to sneak into class late without getting caught.” The Sensei laughed politely and guided the couple to a more secluded spot in his garden. They followed the same winding trail past a Japanese maple tree, dusky with winered leaves hanging low, and elegant twisted pines. The garden path meandered through freeflowing beds of fragrant summer blossoms, sprinkled with well-weathered stone statues of many of the gods and creatures of Japanese mythology. Takumi stopped periodically to light the ishi-doro, traditional granite shrine lanterns on stone pedestals. As dusk descended, the flickering light from the lanterns deepened the shadows in the garden, filling it with an eerie yet graceful serenity. Long silk banners tied in the branches of trees danced softly in the evening breeze, decorated with Japanese characters in red and gold. Coming to an odd shaped clearing, Tabitha gasped in awe. Here Takumi maintained a simple, yet elegant Shinto shrine. The ground was carpeted with a bed of grass softer than the plushest pile rugs; a stone fountain shaped like a large sphere resting in a shallow bowl atop a low pedestal trickled merrily in one corner. They entered the shrine reverently through a simple stone doorway. Following Takumi’s lead they kicked their shoes off beforehand. Takumi pulled a bundle of incense sticks he’d cached in one of his voluminous sleeves and tucked a few sticks into a small hole concealed in a large, beatific Buddha’s clasped hands. Takumi lit the incense and knelt before the Buddha. Clapping his hands, he lowered his head and sent a silent prayer of thanks toward his ancestors.

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Tabitha and Ben stood silently to the side, wondering at Takumi’s reticence to share. They still had no idea what the martial arts instructor wanted with Tabitha’s newly discovered talent. Shortly, Takumi rose and faced them. Guiding them to a low stone bench, partially hidden in soft rushes across from the fountain, he sat down on the bench and gestured for them to do the same. Tabitha couldn’t help herself; she sank to the ground instead, twisting her fingers in the soft grass and inhaling its fresh green fragrance. Takumi smiled indulgently and patted her shoulder. “Your chi is very strong, Tabitha. I sense a strong connection to the elements, a depth of perception that eludes most of us. Tell me what you see.” “Your garden is so healthy, Takumi! So…alive!” Eyes bright with wonder, she gazed around the shrine. Pointing to Buddha, she giggled. “Your Buddha gives off the airs of a great, wallowing pig, smiling and lazy. He sniffs the incense like a baby goat in a flowerfilled meadow.” “A wallowing pig, eh?” He snorted at the Buddha. “That belonged to my great- greatgrandfather, who happened to be legendary in his own time for both his girth and kindness.” “The arch, your doorway, is a magnificent soldier of a creature, always standing at attention,” Tabitha continued. “And the fountain is a mother! Tiny babies, water sprites, dance around her pregnant belly like little imps, giggling madly. You can hear their laughter if you listen.” She pointed to the bench. “You’re sitting on a dragon, you know. A very lazy, somewhat corpulent dragon. He likes you, though. He dotes on you, and wishes you would come here more often. He looks at you with basset hound eyes, and his tongue is lolling out of his head like man’s best friend.” Takumi patted the bench awkwardly. “I should have guessed as much. Every time I sit here it seems more comfortable.” Tabbi sniffed and smiled through glassy eyes. “I’ve never seen these creatures so clearly, so easily. Usually nothing moves or breathes until I watch it gasp out its dying breath. Inanimate objects always seem to have something wrong with them for me to ‘see’ them. This is so cool!” Takumi chuckled, then laughed outright. “The fountain was a gift from Mother, and this bench goes back too many generations to count. I suspect the spirits on the next plane have a unique way of communicating with you, Tabbi, showing you the ‘life essence’ of an object. I think when you see ‘dying’ creatures, the spirits are merely trying to call attention to something dangerous or in need of repair.” She reacted with a start. “You know about that?”

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“Jasmine mentioned your plight when we discussed her abilities.” He nodded. “I’d guess it has much to do with your common ancestor. Anyway, tonight I suspect the spirits are playing with you. “The ancient shadows are very strong here, in my garden. They often whisper sage secrets just beyond my hearing. If I listen closely and stay very still, sometimes I can catch a tiny bit of what they’re saying.” Ben leaned down and kissed Tabbi’s cheek. “Lucky me, my lady comes with spiritual appliance guardians.” He laughed at the absurdity of it, catching Takumi’s gaze and holding it. “Why did you ask us here, Sensei?” Hushed laughter preceded Jasmine and Bradley arriving down the path. They both kicked their shoes into the little pile beside the entry to the Shinto sanctum and casually strolled into the clearing. Plopping to the ground beside Tabbi, Jasmine stretched like a cat and flexed her long toes in the grass. “Oh, this is heaven!” Takumi smiled and stood, shaking Bradley’s hand he motioned for him to join the girls on the ground. Standing before the little group, his face grew serious. “I’ve been thinking about how to reclaim the Onyx Palace for the good of mankind, and I need your help.” Ben, Brad, and the girls sat up straight; spines rigid, they waited in apprehension. “My friends, I shouldn’t ask you to do this, but there are so many things to make ready here in the protection of the garden and, to be quite honest, I have to prepare myself. I feel very strongly that the remaining Sotashian is gathering strength and forces to make his move on the artifact tonight; to steal it back from the police and deliver it straight to his mistress. He plans to use the blood of his clueless henchmen to grease his path through the slipstream. I need you to get there ahead of him, and deliver the Onyx Palace here, to the sanctity of this garden shrine. Here, I can protect it, hide it from the bakemono and all her servants.” Jasmine spoke up. “Wait! You want us to steal the Onyx Palace away from the police?” Takumi sighed, looking apologetically at all four of his guests before answering. “I need you girls to lead the boys through the prismatic slips, into the very room where the relic is hidden. Then I need all of you to carry it here as quickly as possible, before the Obakemono can react.” Bradley leapt to his feet. “Christ, Sensei! That thing weighs a goddamned ton! We’re supposed to carry it all the way here? Impossible! We’ll take the car!” Takumi shook his head. “It’s too dangerous, out in the open, unprotected. You know as well as I do, the ones who want the artifact are vicious killers. Your women are safer inside the slipstream, and the palace itself will be safe here.” Jasmine spoke up again, more hesitantly. “I-it’s okay. I’ve been practicing, and I think I’m learning something about the way the tunnels work.”

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Takumi leaned forward, intent to hear of her discovery. “Once, while I was trying to move faster, after I’d been frightened, I sort of --squished the slip space. Like an accordion. I kind of…I don’t know, compressed the tunnel, and made it shorter. A lot shorter.” “You have discovered the sokutatsu in such a short time? Incredible.” “I think Tabbi could do it too, with some practice, and if we did, we might only have to carry it the equivalent of a few blocks.” Bradley shook his head. “No way. What if you can’t? What if that thing is too heavy? What if we drop it in the slipstream, Takumi?” Ben saw the glint in Tabbi’s eye and held out his hand, helping her to her feet. “If you want to do this, baby, I’m behind you all the way. I’m scared shitless, but I’m right behind you.” Tabbi sighed contentedly and wrapped her arms around his waist. “This feels too important to ignore, Ben. I want to help Takumi. I want to stop…her. It’s the only way to stop being afraid.” Bradley sighed and sulked good-naturedly. “I guess we’re in, too.” He caught Jasmine’s glare and grinned sheepishly. “I mean, I’m in too. And I nominate Jasmine as Team Leader.” He gave her a quick peck on the lips, laughing when she smacked his cheek playfully with her hands. “I accept. Someone has to keep you yahoos in line.” Takumi sought the eyes of each of them, nodding in turn. He seemed to reach an internal conclusion, and joined their circle. “This is the plan…”

***** Darkness in July came late. The setting sun continued to bounce off the big lake even after the western skies should have been emptied. Reeves had to remind one of the local hirelings to stay away from the booze while they waited for true dark. Turned out he had little trouble handling the potential drunk, but keeping the other morons in line proved to be tougher. “Jesus, Reeves, couldn’t you have rented something a bit more comfortable than a delivery van?” “If you don’t like it, give me back the first half of your payment.” Reeves had already lost his patience. He’d parked in three nearby parking lots and one of the times he parked on the street so they’d remain inconspicuous, but still in sight of the Department of Public Safety back entrance. “I’ll be happy to find someone else.” “C’mon…” One of the others grabbed the arm of the one who complained. “You can last another hour. We don’t want to take a chance tipping off the night shift, do we?”

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Reeves allowed one of his crooked grins to cross his face. “Well what d’ya know? Not all of you are morons.”

***** First, Jasmine’s group followed the black woman through the outer wall of the police department, and then the four of them slipped through the various inner walls until they found the relic. Ben and Bradley stumbled out of the dimensional slip and into the dark lab just behind the girls, letting their breaths out in a whoosh. Bradley braced himself against the wall with one hand, dizzily regaining his balance. “Jesus Christ, Jasmine! I feel like I just ran headfirst through a hurricane! When you ‘squeezed’ that tunnel it felt like we were heading into a hundred-mile-an-hour wind!” Ben nodded weakly. “You’re not kidding, brother! I could barely breathe in there, the air moved by so fast.” Jasmine shushed them. Then she joined Tabbi next to a long counter, staring morosely at the dark palace. Tabbi shuddered as she stared at the object. “It looks -- vile. I can hardly stand to gaze at it, let alone touch it. God! How are we going to make it all the way back to Takumi’s garden with this putrid thing?” Jasmine hugged her frightened friend. “Just grab the cleanest side, sweetie, and I’ll grab the opposite side so you can watch me instead of the palace. Don’t think about it, okay?” She turned to Ben. “You made the call to Rick Haas, right? I can feel it in my bones -- that creepy asshole is right on our heels. We’d better shake a tail feather, boys. This ain’t no time for a nap.” Both men rolled their eyes and groaned. Bradley tried a couple of jumping jacks to get his blood flowing, and rolled his neck to get out the kinks. Ben stood on shaky legs and circled behind the palace, looking for purchase. “If we slide it a little to my right, we should all be able to grab an edge and lift. Where’s the fast lane back, Jazz?” Jasmine squinted in the low light. “It’s on the other side of the lab just on the other side of those two tables. We should pick up the tables carefully. Don’t drag them. Then we’ll hoist the table the palace sits on and move it closer to the interstice. It’ll be easier to maneuver.” Ben and Bradley quickly, silently cleared a path, while Jasmine and Tabitha concentrated on stretching the energy fissure to allow the four of them to enter as a coordinated team. Jasmine stood with her back to the opening. “I’ll go first, sweetie, okay? You just take the other side and follow me.”

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Tabbi nodded as her hands reached to grab the wriggling, vermin coated castle wall. Her body now nearly paralyzed with fright, she’d completely lost the power of speech. When the palace was centered at the breach, Ben counted them out. “Lift on three, and step lively, people -- one, two, three!” The castle wobbled slightly before settling on the fingers and palms of the four friends. Jasmine caught Tabitha’s gaze and held on like a pit bull. “Just follow me honey. Look in my eyes and don’t think about anything else. Jasmine’s gonna get you home safe and sound.” Tabitha’s saw thick worms, centipedes, and other unwholesome creatures swarming around her fingers and her eyes widened in terror, but she forced herself to look at Jasmine and ignored the warning bells going off in her brain at full volume. Jasmine spoke calmly, guiding them all through the shimmering doorway and into the tunnel. “Tabitha! Honey, I need you to steer me a little. Point your peepers toward Takumi’s place, okay?” Tabbi’s eyes darted toward the right, and Jasmine shuffled over a few paces. “This about right?” Tabbi shook her head. Jasmine shuffled two more steps to her left. “Does that do it?” Tabbi clenched her teeth and nodded, sweating under the strain of lifting and carrying the Onyx Palace. The muscles in her arms were burning with exertion, and her resolve faded nearly as quickly as her nerves. Jasmine caught her gaze again. “It’s okay, sugar. It’s nothing. This little castle is lighter than a shoe box, honey. It’s a little piece of no-account fluff. It’s just like taking the trash out to the curb. Hold your nose and we’ll make it in no time!” Tabbi bucked up with her encouragement and felt herself regain a little strength. “That’s it, that’s it, darlin. Now I need you to concentrate. See that door behind me? Well, I can’t, and we need to pull it closer. The best way I can describe it is your guts are stretched out like a rubber band, all the way to that door. You just have to clench up and spring them back in again, and snap your body right to that door.” Tabbi grimaced at the image, then concentrated. Sweat broke on her brow, and Ben tried to get a better grip on the palace, as if dreading what was coming. The wind in the slipstream picked up a little, but it was nothing like the trip over. Still, both men grunted with the exertion. Jasmine’s voice softly encouraged her friend. “That’s it, you’ve got it now! Give it another tug, sweetie, you’ve almost got it!” Tabbi’s jaw clenched and the muscles in her neck bulged.

*****

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“Wake up, you fool!” A voice literally screeched in the recesses of Reeves mind. “They’ve taken my artifact from the evidence room.” Stunned by his mistress’s unexpected telepathic distress call, Reeves opened the driver’s side door and ran to the nearest prismatic gate. He stepped into the dimensional slip in time to see the strangest phenomenon he’d ever seen inside the rift before. A folding, mutating stretch of darker gray-blue furrowed around a momentary burst of light and motion. Then the spectacle disappeared as if imploding on itself.

What the hell just happened?

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Chapter Twenty-Four Struggling to keep hold of the heavy castle, Bradley ran, trying to maintain his balance while the walls of the slipstream flew past at an unbelievable pace. His best estimate clocked the team’s slip speed at around 120 miles per hour, but as his grip started to falter, he no longer had the strength or the concentration to think on his feet. He screamed in frustration as he felt his hands torn from the corner of the Onyx Palace by fierce winds. Then without warning, Brad stumbled and fell, skidding first inside the dimensional slip and then tumbling through an unexpected tear in the outer wall. He rolled out of the interstice and dropped to ground below. A few seconds later, his partner landed on the sidewalk down the block from him with a thud. Bradley’s face paled. “Oh God! The girls are in there alone!” Ben jumped to his feet and looked down the street, Takumi’s residence in view a little over a block away. “Run!”

***** How did they manage to move so quickly inside the interstitial slips? Reeves had never seen such a burst of speed before. Shit, he’d never seen the anomaly dealt with in such a way before. There would be hell to pay with the goddess this time. No, wait! She’d give them its location once the relic left the dimensional slips.

He could wait. Reeves decided to return to the rental van. As he started to exit the prismatic slip, he came upon two police cars and four officers moving in to arrest all the passengers in the van he’d left behind.

“On what charges?” Her voice inside his head echoed his own feelings.

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Of course, Reeves knew the police sought him and the mistress for questioning concerning the death of pretty boy Don Mason. The rest of these morons might be held on nuisance charges for a day or two; however, the scheme they’d worked out for tonight would have to be aborted. Out of sight, he watched his cohorts get hauled away. Damn it! This is not my fault.

“Go back to your room at the bed and breakfast and await my instructions, Reeves.”

***** Tabbi and Jasmine felt the weight of the palace settle onto their hands like a Mack truck. Tabbi screamed in pain and fear, but somehow managed to hold onto her end of the palace. Jasmine quit trying to calm Tabbi and forced her friend to act. “We’re there, honey! We made it! We just need to push it through the rift, on three, okay?” “Jazzy, I can’t make it to three!” “Okay, then -- ready…go!” With a final, bone-tired shove, the two women heaved the palace through the shimmering veil.

***** Takumi wasn’t prepared for the palace’s rapid descent. He knelt at the altar, clad in the ceremonial garb of a warrior, his sword before him. The Onyx Palace dropped to the ground directly behind him. Since it didn’t fall level, the artifact made a large dent in the soft earth before plopping onto its base with a bone-jarring thud. Rushing, trying not to panic, Takumi raced to the interstice and reached inside the dimensional slip. Grasping each girl’s hands, he pulled them through the exit in a tangle of exhausted limbs. He hugged them both fiercely, tears gathering in his eyes. “It’s okay, it’s all right now. You’re safe. You can rest.” He offered them water from the fountain in a hammered copper cup. “Drink; it will restore a little of your energy. Luckily, both your ki and your chi are strong.” He finally took a moment to look around. “Where are Ben and Bradley? Was there trouble along the way?” Jasmine nodded her head. “It got very nasty inside the rift and the force of moving so fast dumped them. Not very far from here, I think. They fell through the door close to the stop sign on Lake Avenue, I’m pretty sure.” Takumi let loose a sigh. “They’re okay, then. They’ll turn up here --” Tabbi echoed his conclusion. “I’m sure they’ll turn up.”

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In a few moments, Ben and Bradley raced through the doorway together and fell beside Tabbi and Jasmine in a heap, grinning with relief when they saw everyone and everything had arrived safely.

***** Takumi addressed Ben. “Take the girls to the house. There is a comfortable futon in the guest bedroom rolled up in the corner. These two need sleep more than anything. Then come back out here. I need to speak with both of you.” Ben rose wearily and led the two women to the house, half-carrying Tabitha and supporting Jasmine’s weight on the other broad shoulder. Bradley drank deeply from the copper cup. “Takumi, that was the freakiest thing I’ve ever done. It was like…zero to a hundred in one second flat. I felt like my flesh would peel away and disintegrate in the cold, piercing wind. I don’t know how those girls do it.” Takumi grinned. “I can’t even begin to understand, and I’ve been cruising the interstices for nearly as long as you’ve been alive. Those women of yours are a mystery and a treasure, Bradley Johnson. Guard them well.” Ben rejoined them in the clearing and crossed to the stone bench. With a sigh, he stretched the whole length of it, sighing when the stone seemed molded to his very body. “Ever since Tabbi said this guy was a lazy dragon, I’ve wanted to stretch out on his scaly ass.” He grinned and readjusted his position. “Oh, yeah. That’s the ticket.” He patted the bench. “Good boy.” Takumi stood before the two men dressed in the ceremonial armor of a high-ranking military officer -- the Bunkan Sokutai Sugata. His garment looked elaborately authentic -indeed, accurate to the last detail. Bradley noticed first. “Whoa! Sensei, what’s with the fancy threads?” Takumi nodded and chose to accept the remark as a compliment. “I have prepared my mind and body for the cleansing of the Onyx Palace. All that remains is the delicate preparation of my spirit. Please, Benjamin and Bradley, I need you to be vigilant. Although, I believe the palace is safe here, cloaked, as you will, within the boundaries of this unspoiled and most holy place. “I must meditate on my task, and form a strategy. For this I need total concentration. I must not be distracted with worry about my own safety, or the security of the palace and my dojo. For one brief hour, I trust both of you to perform this task. Do you accept?” Ben and Bradley rose and bowed to their teacher and mentor. “We accept, Sensei.” “Thank you. Please station yourselves at either end of the garden.” Crossing to opposite sides of the shrine, Ben and Bradley stood silently at attention. Takumi sank to his knees in front of the altar and focused on the elements surrounding him. Smiling, he heard the imps laughing in the gentle trickle of water pouring from the

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fountain. A gentle breeze made the banners in the trees snap and flutter, the sound like a bird taking flight. The ground beneath him offered its firm, comforting support, and fire danced in the ishi-doro, the stone lanterns placed around the garden. He gazed at the palace, the reflected flames of the ishi-doro dancing on the polished onyx surface. His spirit took flight, and he felt himself circling above the palace, looking down on his kneeling form. He felt, and then saw his ancestors, standing in the shadowed corners of the Shinto shrine. He drew on the wisdom of his forefathers, listening for their sage advice on the wind. Facing the Buddha, he smiled. “What would you have me know, old pig? The whisper came on the wind, “Issunboshi. Demon fighter in miniature.” “The one-inch warrior?” Takumi queried, thinking of the legend of the tiny warrior who sailed in a rice bowl. “You’re an old kitsune fox-spirit, you trickster. I don’t know how to shrink.” The wind chimes tied in the pine tree behind the Buddha clanged angrily. “Shift within the wareme, Takumi!” Tetsuaiga-san reeled as if slapped in the face. The solution seemed so obvious now. He could enter the palace through the interstice rift, instead of the front gate. There had to be an entrance to the Emperor’s throne room within the palace. A place of great power always has a door for the gods. The trick was finding the tiny door, and then fitting his mind and body through. His eyes came open with a snap. Rising, he turned to Ben and Bradley, his cheeks moist with tears. “Come here. I want you to say good-bye to your ladies for me.” “Wh-what are you talking about?” Both Ben and Bradley rushed to his side. “You both know how the Onyx Palace works. I must use that to my advantage in order to free the Emperor of Light.” Sensei Takumi gestured toward the dark object. “I need to go inside the artifact to rescue him.” Ben stretched out a hand, but Bradley enveloped the man in an emotional bear hug. “Don’t say it. Don’t say you’re going in there, Takumi-san. Forget the money! Forget the Collector! We can destroy the damn thing! We’ll tear it apart and scatter the pieces to the ends of the Earth. Don’t sacrifice yourself, Sensei, please.” Takumi gently pried himself from Bradley’s hold and took Ben’s hand. In moments, he found himself once again pressed in a bone-crushing embrace, but Ben seemed far too upset to talk. “Benjamin. Bradley. This is my destiny! I consider myself lucky, to know this. Most men walk the Earth with their eyes covered, hoping they don’t stumble too far from their true path. I know my own destiny. I know you won’t believe me, but I am content. In fact, I have been prepared to make this choice since I arrived in this country. When the time comes

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you must leave my garden and go to your women. I have to take this last step -- alone. In an hour, come back for the Emperor of Light and the Onyx Palace. Then deliver it as you too are destined. I will make it safe to transport, I promise. I’m going inside to ‘clean house.’” The two Johnsons oriented the Onyx Palace into place at an area specifically designated by Sensei Takumi before they left the garden at his instigation. “This isn’t right, Sensei.” Ben turned back toward his old instructor. “We came here to help.” “I understand your feelings, but you can accomplish nothing without my triggering the artifact’s curse. Go on. Leave.” In a matter of moments, he stood alone in his garden facing the grim visage of the Onyx Palace. Saying a small protective prayer, Takumi Tetsuaiga unsheathed his sword and waited. Aware that his life had become more precious, suddenly, he stood ready for the first manifestations of the relic’s power. Intense minutes went by and, like any human being, the small Japanese man began to have his doubts. Inside atop the throne of the Onyx Palace sat the Emperor of Light. The interior gleam brightened behind the palace gates, flooding Takumi’s garden with a curious yellow-orange tinge. Arrested by the hypnotic, pulsing brilliance, his soul should have been compelled forward, out of his body. Indeed, a strong burst of blinding light strobed out from the centermost interior of the artifact to surround him, as an electrifying charge enveloped him. However, unlike the hundreds of earlier victims over the decades and centuries, Sensei Tetsuaiga had planned for this eventuality. Issunboshi, the one-inch warrior! His ancestors warned him. To face the denizens of the Onyx Palace, he needed to allow the timeworn antiquity to initiate the process of shrinking him to size. Although he nearly lost sight of the dimensional rift during the interplay between the varying forces at work at the moment, happily, the glaring light from the artifact did not overwhelm the tiny prismatic effect in the atmosphere upon which Takumi kept his eyes and concentration riveted. As he felt himself shrink, Sensei Takumi launched his body into the adit of the interstitial slips in order to confound one magic with another. He twisted and darted through the funneling passageways so as not to be deluged by the power of the stygian castle imprisoning the Emperor of Light and countless other tortured souls. Still whirling and spinning through black walls of onyx, searching from the safety of the interstices for a time, Takumi knew he needed to locate the throne room if he desired to free the Emperor. Finally he came upon a series of pedestal-like stair steps upon which a glowing sculpture of a grand regent shimmered, carved from a lemon-yellow mineral with an earthy orange luster. The inner glow brought a sense of life to the simulacrum as if such vibrancy really existed below the surface.

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An amateur geologist as a younger man, Takumi recognized the aggregate material as a radioactive mineral -- something akin to Carnotite, with its finely crystalline yellow streaks. No, that wasn’t right either. Carnotite didn’t emanate a natural glow like that, no matter what the conditions. Be that as it may, Takumi found himself reticent to leave the safety of the slips. However, sword in hand, he decided to depart the interstices and approach the Emperor’s throne from behind. As quietly and cautiously as he could, Takumi wriggled free and landed on the raised pedestal platform. He noted a tarry substance like ropy tendrils wrapping around the various carved limbs of the Emperor, securing him to the throne like a prisoner tied to an electric chair. Takumi hoped he’d be able to free the Emperor from his bindings. As he came up behind the sculpture, the chiseled radioactive head of the Emperor of Light slowly turned around in its throne to fix lifeless eyes on the sensei. Takumi caught his breath in shock.

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Chapter Twenty-Five The goddess’s terrible probe continued to wrack Reeves conscious mind, making a migraine headache seem like a pinprick in proportion. He sensed her anger and frustration at not being able to locate the relic. Had they managed to hide it inside the slips? Reeves searched for hours -- what felt like days in the entire surrounding area.

“Until I decide otherwise, Reeves, you are all I have left. I will not punish you any further for failing me this time.” If he could break down in sobbing relief at the news, the Sotashian would have done just that. So many of his colleagues had been lost recently, he’d been afraid that she’d never listen to reason again.

“I don’t have to listen to reason, Reeves. I am the essence of reason.” Once again she bombarded his mind with writhing energies pulsing deep within his brain. “Part of your failure had to do with your physical inability to transcend the vagaries of

dimensional travel. To put the matters in simple terms, you aren’t fast enough or resilient enough. I’m going to change that.” “Change that, my mistress? How do you mean?”

“From now on all of my agents will possess the innate toughness to remain in the slip much longer. We’ll begin today by inducing your skin shedding process.” Reeves gulped as his mind focused on her words -- skin shedding? Nevertheless, he assented. What choice did he have? “Yes, goddess.”

“Oh, and this may sting a little.” As his eyes caught the top layer of his skin beginning to blister and peel back from his arms like a reptile, followed by an intolerable agony engulfing his entire body, Reeves screamed in pain.

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***** Tabbi and Jasmine both awoke from a troubled slumber and looked around to discern where they’d been sleeping. Although both women wondered what had disturbed their rest, neither of them said the words aloud. The boys sat in Sensei Takumi’s dojo-home staring out the window at his garden, fixing their eyes on the Onyx Palace glowing an eerie iridescent light from deep inside. All four of them remained silent for a long time -- each person afraid to break the dreadful quietude that had overcome them. Finally Tabitha spoke. “Where’s Takumi?” As the two men looked up at her, Tabbi could see tears welling in their eyes. Ben murmured a single word. “Inside.”

***** Like a soulless Golem, the glowing sculpture of the Emperor of Light made an instantaneous decision to recruit the small sensei’s soul into his deadly artifact. However, Takumi slashed first at one tarry tendril securing the Emperor to his throne, and then another. As he cut through the second ropy tendril, the first wound its way around the Emperor’s arm one more time. Takumi knew there had to be a more efficient way. He slashed at the throne and then at the figure of the Emperor to see if either one made a difference. Out of desperation, the martial arts instructor gave the second regenerating binding a sidekick while he lashed out at the other side with his sword. His heart leapt. They both stayed dormant! A major victory indeed. He attacked the tarry tendrils a few more times in tandem and suddenly the Emperor of Light was free. “We’ve got to get you out of here.” He didn’t think the statue could hear or understand him, but he felt it necessary to talk. How could he guide the carved sculpture to the dimensional rift or guide the interstices to the Emperor? Could he move the solid block of glowing, shimmering radioactive mineral? Or would it be easier to steer the prismatic gate back this way?

Make a choice! Even the wrong choice is a step forward. Ducking under the slow-moving magic of the Emperor’s spell, Takumi shifted his weight and knocked the full mass of the Emperor of Light off to one side. He managed to catch the sculpture in mid-fall as it began to topple. “Come along, your Imperial Highness. We’ve got to get you out of here.” Dragging the dead weight from behind across the stones, Takumi felt the tugging force surrounding both of them strengthen the closer he got to the rift. He could barely move the

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heavy mineral across the floor, now. How the hell was he going to launch it into the dimensional slip?

***** “We’ve got to do something to save him!” Jasmine started for the back entrance. Brad rushed to intercept her. “Jasmine, don’t! He asked us to stay out of the way. We might lose him permanently to the artifact.” “Since when do you pay attention to other people’s wishes, Bradley Johnson?” She pushed past him into the back garden. “Besides, as far as I’m concerned the Onyx Palace already has hold of him.” “All right.” Brad followed her and the other two trailed behind him. “What is your plan?” Tabitha went right up the artifact and looked it over. “Didn’t you say that he wanted to use both the power of the Onyx Palace and the interstices to get inside?” Ben joined her. “From what he told us, yes.” “Then if we can help him accomplish the freeing of the Emperor of Light, maybe he can get out on his own.” “What do you suggest?” Brad stood back from the others. “Where’s the nearest prismatic rift?” Jasmine looked around. “There’s a small one over here.” “All right, let’s move it as close to the breach as we can,” Tabbi instructed. “Then we’ll use our inter-dimensional abilities to see if we can’t help him.” Brad came forward. “Forgive me for saying this, but how do we do this again?” Jasmine growled. “Just try anything at first. Stick your hand inside! What have we got to lose?” She concentrated on making the tingling rift engulf her hand and then she pushed further into the interior of the relic. Soon Tabitha and the guys joined her.

***** Takumi Tetsuaiga found all he could do to withstand the relentless energy pulling both the Emperor of Light and his own body back into the thrall of the palace throne. He could see newly grown organic tendrils creeping out of the unknown primal material that made up the throne. If only he could hoist the Emperor up into place, anything to get the power of the ancient artifact away from this relic of evil. Maybe the Emperor symbolized ambivalence -- not quite good, not quite evil -- but at least broken free from this creation, it wouldn’t prompt the snatching of souls away any more.

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He felt his task had become more arduous, his goal more elusive. Now he knew his eyes and mind had been affected by the curious composition inside the confines of the Onyx Palace. Takumi swore he saw a giant black woman’s hand reaching around in the throne room followed by another hand -- this time a white woman’s, and then two male hands, one black, another one white. Suddenly the white female hand swept over his body and the Emperor of Light’s sculpture and, feeling around, it tugged at the Emperor’s carved figure in his grasp. Takumi knew enough to release the Emperor into its grasp. Suddenly the tendrils surrounding the great throne of the Onyx Palace redoubled their efforts and pulled his body directly back into the seat of the throne.

***** Tabbi stared at the yellow, orange and brown earth-colored rock carving in her hand. Was this object what everyone had been searching for? It looked so mundane to be considered so powerful. “No!” Jasmine wailed first. “I can’t use the rift to get back into the palace! Something’s locking us out!” “Look at the size of the artifact.” Brad walked over to check out the Emperor of Light. “If we’d pulled Sensei Takumi out and he remained stuck at that size, I don’t know how he would have coped.” Ben said what everyone else had been afraid to say aloud. “I-I think we’ve lost him.” Tabbi gasped. “Omigod!” Ben looked over at her. “What?” “I know you can’t see the changes happening, but every horrible thing affecting the Onyx Palace is slowly undergoing metamorphosis into something gentler, something more beautiful. Where there once crawled centipedes, arachnids and vermin are now growing ivy vines and flitting butterflies. It’s as if where we once saw sickness there is now healing.” A tear welled up in Bradley’s eye. “The sensei said he was going in to ‘clean house.’ I think Takumi succeeded.” Jasmine began to manipulate the prism rainbows in the atmosphere. “I’m going into the slip.” “Jasmine!” Brad rushed toward her. “What do you hope to --” She disappeared.

*****

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She looked around from stream to pathway hoping to find some sign of the martial arts teacher. “Damn you, Sensei!”

“Jasmine-san.” A quiet voice rang within her head like a whisper traveling on the breeze or a single tone from a musical instrument. “Takumi? Is that you?”

“Yes.” Again the voice flitted over the wind. “Everything will turn out all right. I am here for you. For all of you…” “I can’t see you.”

“I’m close by.” Tears began to flood her eyes. “Oh, Sensei Takumi, we will all miss you so much.”

“I know. Be jubilant for me. I will be here in spirit for you as long as the gods will allow. When you need to commune with me, step into the interstices.”

***** The Collector agreed to furnish four tickets to New York as both he and Phelan were interested in meeting both representatives from Johnson and Associates as well as the two women who helped bring about the conclusion of stripping the Onyx Palace of its evil heritage. For the longest time he stood in his study with the other four plus Audra Phelan surrounding him. He held the Emperor of Light in his hand as if he needed to wrap his mind around the concept that it actually existed. Would this be the final piece that initiated the mythical change combining every piece of the Love Totem together? Audra Phelan went to his desk and using her key, she unlocked a security drawer. Inside this drawer, he kept his checkbook. She pulled it out and placed it on top of his desk. “I’m sorry about the loss of Takumi Tetsuaiga.” Professor Martin sat down at his desk and began to fill out a check. “From everything I’ve heard, he was an outstanding man.” After a few minutes, he detached the check from the book. Bradley smiled. “Randy should be here to take charge of this. You know how he hates having us handle our own money.” Ms. Phelan began to escort the group out of the Collector’s office, when he called out behind them. “Tell me, would the four of you consider escorting the Onyx Palace to Iriomote Island? I’ll have my people pay for your tickets and pick up the freight for the relic. Members of the Kurayami Mihari have agreed to watch over the artifact in their shrine. I’m certain it would remain safer from any -- unsavory elements there.” Ben’s eyes glazed over slightly. “I guess we owe that much to Takumi to accompany him home.”

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Ms. Phelan’s eyes sparkled. “Why don’t the four of you think of it as an all-expensespaid honeymoon trip?” Jasmine broke into her naturally gorgeous smile, while Tabitha blushed. “Well…” Brad looked first at his partner’s surprised face and then at the two women next to him. “When you put it that way, how can we refuse?”

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Epilogue Tabitha impatiently clicked a long, electric-blue fingernail on the granite countertop waiting for her best friend to answer the phone. Come on, Jasmine, pick up! She grinned at the expensive and indulgent nail job she’d had done recently. Who knew her new husband would actually encourage something as flashy as this? Jasmine picked up on the other end, panting with exertion. “What?!” “I’m packing for our trip to Japan, and I don’t have anything to wear!” “You called me in the middle of everything to talk about your clothes?” “What’s the matter? Did I catch the two of you in bed?” The voice on the far end of the phone line growled. “My attorney has advised me not to answer…” “Oops! I’m sorry, Jazzy, but I don’t have a thing to wear. Really.” “Good grief, girl. You are obsessed with change. Okay, I didn’t realize it was that important to you, but what do you want from me?” “Something flashy. Something Bohemian and nutty. You know, colorful and artsyfartsy. Bring me some of your clothes.” She heard Jasmine sigh heavily. “Gee, didn’t anybody figure that I might enjoy some alone time with my new husband today?” “Okay! Okay!” Tabitha let her smile shine through in her voice. “What are you going to do about your baby wigglers while we’re gone?” Tabitha giggled. She’d become a big fan of Jasmine’s pets. Since she’d gotten over her squeamishness, she’d started a little colony of her own, from Jasmine’s ever-expanding population. Tabitha’s worms lived in a high-tech high-rise called the Expanding Worm

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Tower, courtesy of an internet supplier. She glanced at the glossy back container, wondering if she’d remembered to dump the breakfast scraps. Jasmine interrupted her thoughts. “No sweat. I’ve hired a babysitter to feed and turn them at no cost to us. Well, some cost, I guess. Clyde gets his next batch for free.” “Oh, great. That works for me.” “Okay, I’ll be over in about twenty minutes, give or take. I’ll pull some odds and ends out of the closet and bring them over. Hey! It’ll save me from having to pack extra. We can swap.” “Great. I’ll be upstairs. Just let yourself in.” “I always do.” Tabitha hung up with a grin, and crossed to the counter. Opening the top rack of her worm tower, she scraped the crusts of her wheat toast, egg shells, and melon rinds into the top, covered them with a little shredded paper, and snapped the top closed. Humming to herself, she climbed the stairs to the master bedroom. “Good morning, Mr. Johnson.” She greeted her groggy man with a smile and a peck on the cheek. “Good morning, Mrs. Johnson.” Ben swung Tabbi around by the waist and gave her a kiss that left her breathless in more ways than one. “Ugh, dragon breath. Get up and brush your teeth! So what are your plans for the day?” “I want to get Takumi and the palace ready for transport.” “You’re going into the interstice to commune with him, then?” “Yeah, I need to talk to Takumi and find out what he wants us to do for the flight. I’m worried about the stability of the rift when we’re in the air.” Tabbi gasped, “Don’t tell me you think he could slip out, accidentally?” “I’m sure it’s fine. The Kurayami Mihari wouldn’t have proposed the flight if they didn’t think it was safe. Plus, we’ll all be with him the whole time!” “Why can’t we just guard him here, at the dojo? The two of us should be all moved in by next month.” “We have a lot of training ahead of us, Mrs. Big Britches. Besides, you’re not fit to guard him in your condition. We still don’t know what happened to that last Sotashian, Reeves. I know Brad and I are pretty sure the spirit-monster’s going to get a bead on the Onyx Palace sooner or later. Sensei Takumi’s garden shrine won’t mask the artifact’s signs for much longer. The Shinto shrine at their temple in Iriomote is said to be thousands of years old. The palace will be in the safest place imaginable.” “What are we doing between here and Japan?” “Takumi instructed Bradley and me on the placement of his charms and figurines. The palace will be wrapped in a ceremonial silk Fukusa, woven with the Tetsuaiga family crest,

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and we placed several vials of clear water inside and around the palace. With the four of us escorting it, Takumi thinks his extra O-fuda talismans, Omamori charms, and other protections will hold for the journey.” “O-okay. If you’re sure. God, I hadn’t even thought about taking it out of the garden. I guess I wanted to think everything was fine and dandy, now that the Anastasia monster can’t get to the Emperor of Light. And to think, I was worried about my wardrobe!” Ben kissed the top of Tabbi’s curly blonde mop and slipped out from under the covers wearing no pajamas -- nothing but nature’s foremost. As a newlywed he always wore his most outstanding outfit in bed. “Don’t worry about it, angel. Revenge may be a powerful motivator, but I’m pretty sure Anastasia has other things to think about, now that the Onyx Palace has been defanged.” Tabitha nodded. “My mother called just a little while ago. She wants to meet us for lunch on the way to the airport tomorrow. I guess she has a going away gift for us.” Ben rolled his eyes and sighed. “Hopefully it’s not another psycho-babble book about interracial relationships.” “Stop it!” Tabitha giggled. “C’mon. She’s been really sweet. I mean, nine weeks after she loses her old uptight son-in-law, she gets a brand new, chocolate one. Not to mention having to endure a civil ceremony presided over by a Chinese Elvis impersonator, plus a transvestite belting out Madonna’s greatest hits.” “Hey, you asked for it. You were the one who gave Jasmine carte blanche to plan a double wedding.” “Right, and you loved every moment!” Ben laughed. “Yeah, it was really fun. Even my uptight sister enjoyed it, and she hates Madonna.” Tabbi grinned and admired her wedding band, a sparkling solitaire flanked on both sides by emeralds. “Me, too. That’s why your ‘uptight’ sister is my favorite sister-in-law.” “She’s your only sister-in-law.” Ben released his giddy bride and took his bathrobe from the hook behind the door. “I’m hopping into the shower, see you in fifteen.” Whistling under his breath, Ben disrobed and turned the shower jets on, brushing his teeth first to build up a nice head of steam in the bathroom. Jasmine’s sudden appearance reflected in the mirror over the sink made him dive for the dubious cover of their opaque shower curtain. “Jesus Christ, Jasmine! What the hell are you doing in my bathroom?” “Oh, lighten up, Benji. Tabbi asked me to let myself in. You have an interstice in here and I really had to pee!” He motioned out the door. “Take yourself on down to the half-bath, then. I’m taking a shower. And please don’t pop into this room unannounced again!”

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Jasmine grinned and dashed down the hallway, swinging a giant pink shopping bag. Arriving at Tabbi’s room, she threw open the door. “Hey, girl!” She dumped the bag of clothes onto the bed and laughed when Tabbi pounced on them like a kitten. “Ooh, I love this skirt! Did you bring that funky belt for it? And the sandals?” Jasmine plucked a number of items from the pile of clothes and handed them to her eager friend. “Slow down! I knew what to bring. You’ve borrowed this stuff enough; I should start charging you rental fees.” Tabbi blushed. “It’s just…my stuff is so boring.” “Boring?” Jasmine pulled a tangerine silk twin-set out of the closet hanging with some skinny white pedal pushers and a pair of matching, orange kitten heels with white polka dots. She raised her eyebrows. “You won’t mind if we trade? Bradley would love me in this.” “Of course, you can have the outfit. But, get real -- that man could care less what you wear.” “Thanks. You know, it’s true. Bradley can’t seem to get enough of me. I could wear a wet paper sack to bed and he’d still think I was the sexiest woman on earth.” Jasmine collapsed onto the bed. “Actually, I’m glad you called. I needed a break from all our constant rubbing and thrusting and perspiring.” “Liar! You’re enjoying this honeymoon same as I am.” Jazzy smiled. “Can’t fool you.” She fished through the hangers in Tabitha’s closet for a moment and then changed the subject. “Sis? Have you felt something -- something out of sorts lately?” “You mean like being pregnant? I thought you already knew I was.” “No, not that. More like we’re being watched?” Tabitha paled and lowered her voice. “You too?” “Uh huh.” Jasmine’s face reflected the seriousness of the subject. Tabbi nodded. “I don’t know whether I’m glad to hear it’s not just me or if I should be worried about something unknown out there.” “Do you think we should tell the boys?” Benjamin strolled into the room wearing his bathrobe. “Tell the boys what?” Jasmine looked at Tabbi, while the white lady walked over to confront her husband. “If I tell you, will you pop down to Shelby’s Ice Cream Parlour and pick me up a peanut butter and banana milkshake?” “Wow, lady, you’re getting pretty demanding.” Ben toweled his head and tried to shake the water out of one ear. “It’s not me. It’s for the baby.” “Why can’t you run your own self down to Shelby’s?”

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“You know the slipstream makes me queasy. Not only that, but I’m pretty sure the starter is going out in the Infiniti. I used my sight on the engine block and our starter mechanism looks all bloated and wheezy.” “Jeez, Tabbi! Can’t you just make yourself a peanut butter and banana sandwich or something?” “Aw, Ben, you know those shakes are to die for, and in a couple of days we’ll be in Japan! Three whole weeks without Shelby’s shakes? C’mon, honey, puh-leeze?” Benjamin sighed and shook his head. “Pregnant women are so weird.” Tabbi rubbed her tummy. “He really likes those peanut butter shakes.” Jasmine lifted an eyebrow. “He? How do you know it’s a he?” Tabitha shrugged. “It’s just a feeling…” Jasmine reached over and patted her friend’s tiny tummy. “Well, I guess it could be a him, but…” “But what?” Jasmine raised her eyebrows. “Don’t keep me in suspense, what?” “Well, the baby’s aura is starting to show, sort of blending with yours around the center. It’s really faint, but it’s a beautiful deep-violet color.” “Do you think that’s good?” “I hope so. I’ve never seen it before.” “We’re having a purple baby? I’ve always heard that mixed marriages were a mistake.” Ben opened a drawer to grab some underwear. “Make yourself scarce, Jasmine, I need to get dressed.” Tabbi sighed deeply, contentedly maternal. “His aura is purple. That means he’s going to be special, Ben. I just know it.” “I already knew that.” Jasmine picked herself up off of the bed, groaning a little with the effort. “My muscles are so sore from all that…morning exercise! I’d better get back to packing.” “Did you want to hop down to the ice cream shop with me, Jazz?” “Thanks, but no thanks.” Jasmine headed for the front door. “I promised Brad I’d be back to start packing. Besides, the slips have been making me feel a little light-headed recently.” Suddenly, both Tabbi and Ben broke into huge grins. “Dizzy?” Ben asked, followed immediately by his wife’s query. “A little bit queasy?” Jasmine looked from one face to another. “What?”

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Tabitha rushed over and hugged her. “Congratulations, honey! Sounds like you’ve fallen victim to one of those contagious newlywed maladies.” Jasmine’s mouth dropped open. “No!” “You better go home and tell the proud father.” Ben chuckled. “I suspect once Randy gets settled in up here, we’ll have to tell him to add two more names to Johnson and Associates.”

Diane Charles Linford Diane Charles Linford lives in Michigan with her family and two grumpy cats. She's developed a distinct sense of humor which has just fallen short of getting her into real trouble with the authorities.

Jade Rivers I started writing erotic romance on a double-dog-dare, and fell in love with the genre while writing my very first torrid paragraph. I’ve been writing since I was three, submitted my first manuscript to a publisher two years ago, and have a number of scorching hot projects in progress. My mentor is an angel, my editor a saint. insightful, exotic, sexiest people on the planet.

My readers are the most intelligent,

To address a few of the more humorous rumors circulating among readers: No, I am not a man masquerading as a woman. Yes, I am very kinky. No, I am not related to Joan Rivers. No, I am not writing under any other pen names, I am not famous for anything, and I have never held public office. Yes, I was once an Elvira impersonator for a marketing campaign. No, I do not work at your bank, and I did not go to high school with you, I just have a very familiar-looking face. Yes, I am a flat-track rollerderby athlete with the WFTDA, currently skating with the Carolina RollerGirls. I’m a US Army Desert Storm veteran, a Summa-Cum-Laude graduate of the Russian Program of the Defense Language Institute at the Presidio of Monterey, California. I worked as a Russian Translator/Transcriber during the START Treaty Negotiations under President George Bush, Sr. I currently work for a major non-profit environmental organization as the Program Director. When I am not writing torrid manuscripts, I write very boring grant applications and environmental professionals’ training manuals.