Pandora’s People 2: Keely Read online

  Pandora’s People 2: Keely

  Elizabeth Jewell

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2006 Elizabeth Jewell

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  ISBN (10) 1-59596-250-6

  ISBN (13) 978-1-59596-250-8

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  Publisher:

  Changeling Press LLC

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  Martinsburg, WV 25402-1046

  www.ChangelingPress.com

  Editor: Maryam Salim

  Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

  This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  Chapter One

  Keely Mitchell had hoped that being away from the familiar surroundings of Applewood Village would help ease the pain of the last year. In spite of the circumstances -- an unexpected attack on Applewood, a brush with death at the hands of anti-aberrant terrorists -- she’d thought the necessary visit to Skara Brae, the whimsically named aberrant community not far from London, would offer a welcome respite.

  So far, it had proven a false hope.

  John had lived here once, and it seemed that everywhere she went, people had known him, knew who she was, and offered condolences, stopped to share memories. She knew they were only being friendly, sociable, perhaps hoping they might help heal her wounds, or salve their own. But Keely had her own memories, and they still hurt. She didn’t want to pile others on them, memories of things and people she didn’t even know or remember. Memories of his life before her. She was happier pretending he’d had no life before her, especially since she seemed to have no life after him.

  She lay on her back in a strange bed in a strange community in an unfamiliar country, the smell of the room more like that of a hotel than a permanent residence, and somehow, in this lonely, alien room, John felt closer to her than he had in a long time.

  It made no sense. She should be letting him go -- needed to. But no matter what she did, it seemed he always lurked around the corner, a persistent ghost carrying the vague scent of Old Spice.

  The sun was up, and misty light filtered through the window. Through the glass, she could see low-hanging clouds, and a smatter of rain struck the glass as she watched. She sighed, then slowly pushed back the overly starched sheets and went to start her day.

  * * *

  She headed downstairs to the cafeteria. It was a bit late for breakfast, but there’d likely be something available. She’d been told yesterday that the faculty center’s staff tended to keep food out all day, aware of the sometimes odd schedules of the inhabitants.

  Sure enough, the breakfast buffet was open. And she wasn’t alone. A man sat alone at a table by the window, reading. He looked up and gave her a friendly smile. He had blue eyes. Very blue eyes.

  She turned resolutely toward the buffet counter. The fare was discouragingly British, far heavier than her usual bagel and cream cheese or multi-grain cereal. Gamely, she sorted through the offerings, finally forking eggs and rashers of British style bacon onto her plate and adding some toast on the side. She wanted coffee, but knew the tea would be better and chose that instead, adding a generous amount of milk and sugar.

  The man was watching her. Surreptitiously, but her talent made it far too obvious to her. She could sense his curiosity, his interest. Specific interest in her. Keely tried to ignore it. Just because he was checking her out didn’t mean she had to say hello.

  She picked up her full tray and headed for a table, intending to eat alone. But, as she started to sit down, the man closed his book. “Hullo. Care to join me?”

  Keely swallowed. God, he had an English accent. Of course he has an English accent, she chastised herself. You’re in England. Everybody has an English accent. But somehow it was much more annoyingly sexy on this guy. And his eyes were so damn blue… She wanted to say no, to avoid everything about him, from the damnably blue eyes to the obvious aura of interest hanging about him, but that would have been rude. So she nodded and carried her tray to his table.

  The man stood and held out his hand as she approached. “I’m West Anderson,” he said. “Dr. West Anderson, I suppose that would be.” His bright smile defused any pretentiousness the statement might have held.

  Keely took his hand. “Keely Mitchell.”

  West’s smile faded, but his handshake remained firm. She saw the realization move into his eyes. “Ah. I see.”

  Keely released his hand and took her seat, suddenly uncomfortable. “Yes.”

  “I knew him. He taught here for a time.”

  “Yes, I know.” Of course she knew. She had known everything about him. How arrogant was he, to assume he knew something about John she didn’t?

  She took a breath, steadying herself. There was no reason for her to be antagonistic. She understood why she was having the reaction. Because she missed John, and because she was a mess from having been through so much the past several days. But she had to give West a chance professionally, since she’d likely have to work with him at some point. What threw her was his attraction to her, and the fact that she was more than a little attracted, in turn. He was good-looking, and she knew the sympathy in his deep blue eyes was genuine because she could feel it.

  “He enjoyed his time here,” she ventured. “He spoke of it often.”

  “He did seem to.” West smiled. It was a nice smile, Keely had to admit. The kind of smile she could enjoy looking at on a regular basis.

  And what exactly was she doing thinking like that? It felt… wrong.

  “So…” He drawled the word out, as if he were working up to asking her a question. “So… what’s your skill?”

  It surprised her he’d had to work so hard to get that out. It was a perfectly acceptable and ordinary question inside these buildings. Expected, even. She sensed he’d intended to ask her something else, then had changed course.

  “Projected empathy,” she said. “I can make other people feel things.”

  “Really? I can’t say I’ve heard of that one before.”

  “It took a few years to pin it down. When I was a kid --” She broke off. She didn’t want to go into this. Not right now, not with him. But she felt strangely relaxed with him, even after only a few minutes together, which surprised her. “Never mind. What about you?”

  “It’s a bit nebulous. Basically I can trace and counteract psychic attacks.” He spoke easily.

  “That sounds useful.”

  “It is, but it’s a bit tricky to work with. I took a high intensity workshop in Ireland a few years ago. I learned a great deal about application and control.” He stopped, smiling again. “I’m sorry. I do go on.”

  “It’s all right.” It was, kind of. She enjoyed his voice, his accent -- maybe she could learn to enjoy his company in time. She looked at her watch. “I really should go. I have some things to do to get settled in, since it looks like we’ll be staying for a while.”

  “Yes, of course.” He smiled again.

  Keely stood, taking her tea with her. “It was nice talking to you.”

 
“Perhaps we’ll see each other again.”

  “I’m sure we will.”

  His smile faded a little, and she realized her tone had been a little snippy. She hesitated, thinking she should apologize, but in the end she just turned away from the table and headed back to her apartment.

  * * *

  West finished his coffee and headed back to his rooms. Of all the people to run into on his first day on the job, his murdered mentor’s lover was the least opportune. He was disappointed at the cold reception, but not surprised. Had he been in a similar situation, he would have been upset, too.

  She was pretty though, and there was something about her that attracted him though he knew it would be a supremely bad idea to act on it. John’s death had to be quite fresh in her mind; it had only been a year since the accident that had taken his life.

  He’d been a good man. He’d helped West a great deal in a difficult situation, those years ago. They’d been close. Perhaps he should tell her something of their past relationship -- it might help her to know about John’s work here. Or perhaps she was tired of hearing the stories of his stay. West was certain many inhabitants of Skara Brae would have had things to tell her. He supposed it could become overwhelming.

  The truth was, her appearance had brought up a good many painful memories. John’s death had hit him hard, as well, and Keely’s appearance, and his own unexpectedly strong response to her, had caught him off guard. It seemed wrong. He’d been too close to John to be comfortable expressing an attraction to his former lover, even though John was gone.

  Pushing the unwelcome thoughts out of his mind, he settled down to work, putting on a CD and pulling out an envelope full of paperwork he needed to finish. With the strains of Brahms filling the room, he set to work.

  Chapter Two

  Although she’d already met Skara Brae’s Headmaster, Clint Maxwell, at the airport, Keely knew it would be proper manners to check in with him more formally. He’d extricated them from the complex situation at the airport, brought about by an attempt to kill her, Michael and Gale on board the plane. There’d been little time for pleasantries, so follow-up seemed appropriate.

  She felt a bit more up to it now that she’d had a chance to rest. The sleep and the time spent meditating had eased her rattled emotions, including much of the residual tension left by the near-death experience on the plane.

  Maxwell’s office was located on the second floor of the faculty building, with windows overlooking the quad. Entering the small waiting area, she walked toward the window. It was full of brilliant green, the wide lawns outside bisected by sidewalks and scattered with students enjoying the bright day. They all looked like typical young people, in their late teens to early twenties, although one group was tossing a Frisbee without benefit of actually touching it. Keely smiled, remembering her own school days, experimenting with her powers, learning control and proper use both formally and informally. Her own power -- empathic sensation paired with the ability to manipulate the emotions of others -- wasn’t as flashy as telekinesis, but it brought with it a heavy weight of responsibility she’d always taken seriously. Maybe too seriously, but they all had to find their own path. John had helped guide hers.

  “Keely?” She turned at the sound of Maxwell’s voice. “You wanted to see me?”

  Keely nodded. “Nothing urgent. Just checking in.”

  “Come on along, then. I’d like you to meet someone.”

  Suddenly apprehensive, Keely followed him into the office. The apprehension proved justified when the “someone” turned out to be West Anderson.

  West stood as she entered the room, holding out a hand. “Hello again.”

  Keely took the proffered hand and shook it, smiling. He was doing that thing again, where he acted perfectly polite and normal while her body, responding to the undercurrents of confused emotion he couldn’t quite hide from her, turned into a mass of exposed nerve endings. She wanted to be close to him, wanted to be away from him, wanted to reach out and touch him, feel the warmth of his skin. It muddled her, even with her careful shielding.

  Maxwell looked back and forth between them. “Ah, you’ve already met, then.”

  “Yes, briefly,” Keely admitted.

  “We had breakfast together.” West passed her a wink, which Keely only barely managed not to answer with a frustrated eye roll.

  “I see.” Maxwell’s grin seemed unnecessarily smug. Keely sensed he was withholding information, but she had no idea what it might be. As she recalled, his formidable set of skills included precognition. The thought made her regard West in a different light. What did Maxwell know that they didn’t?

  It didn’t matter. Precognitive suspicion didn’t guarantee anything. She knew this from experience. Even Pandora hadn’t anticipated the course of her relationship with John.

  “And it’s quite nice to see you again,” West went on. He was still holding her hand, and Keely realized the contact had lasted a bit longer than was strictly appropriate for the situation, although she didn’t feel uncomfortable at all standing there with her fingers nestled in his. She eased her shields back a bit, wanting to know where his feelings lay. They were nebulous, as if he were also exercising control, but he seemed as comfortable with the quiet touch as she was.

  With some reluctance she slid her hand free, and he let her go. His blue eyes twinkled at her, but she caught a sense of discomfort from him still. He hid it well, but something in him didn’t feel it was appropriate to flirt with her.

  Good. It was good he had reservations, because she did, too. If they both started out hesitant, maybe she could keep from rushing into anything.

  Or maybe neither of them would manage to make a move.

  Fine. She wasn’t ready for anything like that, anyway.

  But even as she thought it, regret struck her. The way he made her feel -- it was uncomfortable, but it also made her almost want to take the risk of getting to know him better.

  “It’s nice to see you, too,” she said, her voice faltering. She made herself look away from the hypnotic sapphire of his eyes.

  “We were just discussing,” Maxwell said into the increasingly awkward silence, “plans for a debriefing.”

  “Debriefing?” Keely jumped on the opportunity to talk business.

  “Yes. I’d very much like to hear what you, Gale and Michael have to say about the flight.”

  “Someone tried to kill us,” she said. A shiver ran up her spine, remembering everything that had happened -- Hamilton’s head rolling down the center aisle of the plane, Gale’s use of his frighteningly intense power to save all of them, his reaction afterward. It had been a close thing, the kind of experience she had no desire to repeat.

  Maxwell nodded. “Yes. I was hoping for a bit more detail.”

  “Of course. I’m sorry.” She hadn’t sensed anger from him at her flip response, but an apology couldn’t hurt.

  “Quite all right. I realize it was traumatic. I suspect you’ll all want to take some time to recover a bit, as well as gather your thoughts. I’m particularly interested in your impression of the incident, Keely, given your skill.”

  “Of course.” She’d gotten definite impressions from the perpetrators of the incident, none of which boded well. Someone was out to hurt not only them, but as many aberrants as possible. It was vitally important they found out who, and why. Otherwise the future of all aberrants remained in danger from an as yet unknown source.

  “Good. I’ll contact you when a meeting time’s been set.”

  She nodded, sensing her audience was coming to an end. “How is Gale? Do you know?” She’d helped Gale overcome the aftereffects when he’d used his powers on the plane. It was the first time he’d ever set his talents loose full-scale, and the resulting imbalances had sent him into overload. She’d used her talent to calm him until his medication had helped his system return to normal.

  “He seemed all right last time I saw him.” He smirked a bit. “I think he’s being well taken care
of.”

  In spite of the smirk, Keely sensed a bit of discomfort behind Maxwell’s words. This surprised her; in a community where they were all outside the norm, all persecuted in their own way, it seemed more than wrong for him to be discomfited by the obviously happy relationship that had blossomed between Michael and Gale. As long as he kept it to himself, though, it wasn’t something she felt obligated to comment on. So she only returned the smile and said, “I’m sure he is.”

  West, who had no idea what they were talking about, but likely would soon enough, said, “Right. I’ll be seeing you later then, Keely.”

  His warm smile made the dismissal not at all harsh. Keely returned it and made her way back out of the building.

  Outside the day was bright and clear, warm for the time of year, warm for the London area in general. Many of the young people had departed for classes, only a few still lingering on the lawns. She found an empty spot on a bench under a tree and sat for a while, just collecting herself.

  She knew her skill didn’t include the ability to retrieve psychic impressions from places or objects, but right now she would have questioned that certainty. Everywhere she went she seemed to feel John’s presence, as if he had chosen to come here and haunt this place in his afterlife. As certain as she was that she didn’t possess the skill to know such things, she was equally certain John had once sat on this exact bench. Perhaps he had sat in the sun as she did now, enjoying the warmth, breathing the smell of the grass.

  Suddenly she needed to get away from it. But at the same time she wanted to stay here, to bask in John’s memory. Tears pooled hot along her eyelids and she pushed to her feet.

  She moved away from the trees, the sun hard on her face. It should have been comforting, she thought, but it wasn’t. Frustrated, she shoved the heel of her hand against her eye, smearing away tears.

  The stab of emotion caught her by surprise. Involuntarily, she pressed a hand against her chest, against the pain, and bit back a gasp. For a moment she wasn’t sure if the pain came from herself or someone else. She stopped walking.