Pandora’s People 2: Keely Read online

  It wasn’t her own emotion. Keely took a deep breath to steady herself before looking up to see where the knife-like flash had come from.

  West stood a few yards away, under the trees. She met his gaze, feeling layers of protective shielding move into place between his mind and hers. He looked away, mouthing, “I’m sorry.”

  A smile touched her mouth, sad, painful, and short-lived. Looking away, she continued quickly down the sidewalk.

  * * *

  Keely retired early, after receiving a call from Maxwell to set up a debriefing the next morning. It had relieved her; she hadn’t felt up to facing all of them again this soon.

  With that off her mind for the moment, she performed her meditation exercises, using the quiet time to build barricades between her mind and the outside world, to close herself in and others out, as she did every night before bed.

  She remembered the early days, when she’d first begun to experience the effects of her abilities, before she’d learned any coping techniques. She’d learned much of that from John. He’d had a knack, and had helped a good many people work out exactly how best to shield and control their powers. He’d had it down to a science by the time she’d met him, and had helped her protect herself from the emotions always swirling all around her, at the same time shielding others from her inadvertent manipulation of their emotions. He’d been handsome, strong, self-confident, and several years older than she had been.

  And she’d fallen in love with him.

  With a sigh, she pushed the thoughts away. She couldn’t keep brooding like this. He wouldn’t have wanted her to.

  She had little else to do at the moment, though, so she slipped into her flannel jammies and climbed into bed with a book and a cup of tea.

  The tea didn’t last long, and when it was gone she began to nod over the book. Finally she laid it aside and settled back into her pillows. Sleep came surprisingly quickly.

  If she had dreamed about John, it wouldn’t have surprised her. But the man who entered her dreams was tall and slim, with dark hair and bright sapphire eyes.

  West.

  He was amorphous at first, a wispy, ghost-like presence lingering along the edges of her dreamscape. She could hear his voice, but couldn’t make out the words. He was talking with someone. Both voices were familiar; somewhere in her subconscious, she was hearing West talking to John.

  It was surreal, she thought, as her dream self gradually found herself in more solid surroundings, peering around a brick wall to watch the two men converse.

  They seemed relaxed and comfortable with each other, and as they spoke, West reached out to touch John, and John laughed. The familiar texture and timbre of the sound broke Keely’s heart.

  They spoke a few minutes longer, moving closer together, their forms becoming clearer to her until she could see flashes of detailed outline -- eyes, hair, lips. Then John clasped West’s shoulder, and they moved away.

  As they moved, the dream shifted. Keely was no longer watching -- she was participating in the dream. John was the watcher now, standing at a slight distance, arms crossed over his chest as if in disapproval, but his mouth curved in a genuine smile.

  In the dream, Keely lay on a wide bed, leaning back against a soft bank of pillows. West stood in front of her, looking down at her, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. She was transfixed, unable to move or take her eyes off him. He slid his shirt off, dropped it to the floor. Keely could feel John still watching, though she couldn’t take her gaze away from West to look at him.

  West lowered himself into the bed with her, his body reclining half over hers. She’d only seen him remove his shirt, but as he settled against her, she could feel that he had shed his pants, as well. Then she realized she was also naked. Her bare skin slid against West’s as he settled over her, his hands moving silkily down her body. His warm breath caressed her skin, brushing over the curve of her shoulder, then his mouth, wet and hot, closed over her breast. She flinched at the contact, painfully aware of John’s presence, afraid to look at him, afraid not to. West’s tongue circled around her nipple, and she shivered, ashamed of the way her body reacted. She didn’t want him to stop.

  It’s okay. The voice floated to her. She turned her head. West shifted as she did so, his mouth moving down her body, kissing her belly, her thighs, then fastening hot between her legs. She shuddered, an orgasm uncoiling inside her, just as her eyes met John’s.

  She woke with a start, blinking into the darkness. Her face felt hot, as if with embarrassment. Her heart pattered hard in her chest.

  The dream itself was more than enough to unsettle her, as graphic as it had been. Under normal circumstances, it would have taken her some time and thought to work through what it meant. But these were not normal circumstances. Because, awakening in the close dark of her bedroom, she knew that, somewhere else on the small campus, West Anderson had experienced the exact same dream. And he, too, had just awakened.

  Chapter Three

  Keely woke the next morning feeling rested but still uneasy. Though the shared dream had disturbed her, afterward she had slept more deeply than she had in weeks. Still, she had breakfast delivered to her room, just in case West showed up in the cafeteria again. She really, really didn’t want to see him any sooner than she had to. After the light meal, she settled in for another long meditation session, fortifying herself for the day, then headed out for the debriefing.

  Maxwell had much more conventional living quarters than Pandora, who led the aberrant community at Applewood Village. Of course, he was also a much more conventional person. The debate still raged over whether Pandora was even human -- this man definitely was. Maybe a little too human, Keely thought, watching him pick his teeth with a toothpick as he assembled his notes. She settled into a chair, feeling a bit out of place. Sitting quietly, she sorted through her emotions, making sure none of what she felt was actually filtering in from someone else.

  To her surprise, she discovered it was. Particularly the feelings of unease, of being somewhere she didn’t belong. She couldn’t pinpoint the source, though. Whoever it was seemed to be at a slight distance --

  West entered the room carrying a notebook and a pen. His eyes grazed over Maxwell, then moved to Keely and flicked quickly away. She saw a blush walk up his cheeks. At the same time, the feeling of discomfort switched off. He’d blocked her empathic intrusion.

  So she hadn’t imagined it. They had, indeed, dreamed the same dream last night. She hadn’t projected a dream onto another person in years -- not since John’s training had made it possible for her to control that side effect of her power. It seemed unlikely she would have done so now, but she could think of no other explanation for what had happened.

  In spite of her attempts not to react, she felt her eyes narrow and her own face grow warm as she regarded him. Quickly, she regained her composure, careful not to impose her reactions on anyone else by accident.

  Unaware of the drama unfolding between the two of them, Maxwell looked up from his notes, balancing the toothpick between thick lips. “Have a seat, Anderson.”

  West crossed the room and took a seat at the table.

  “There’s tea,” Maxwell went on, “a bit of brekkie if you want it. Help yourself.”

  West seemed to suddenly relax, chuckling at Maxwell. “Sit down, stand up, help yourself… make up your mind.” He turned to Keely. “Tea?”

  “Please.”

  West smiled politely and rose, crossing to the kitchen. Maxwell watched him go, the expression on his face almost fond. “He’s a good man,” he said, turning back to address Keely directly, as if the information were significant to her.

  She fought hard against a blush. “I’m sure he is. What’s your talent, Mr. Maxwell?”

  Maxwell’s smile changed to one of amusement. “Broad range, several minor skills. Telepathy, empathy, telekinesis, minor precog.”

  “Of course. Much like Pandora.” She kept her tone crisp and formal, barely maintaining her American accent
in the veritable cloud of Britishness surrounding her; an odd side effect of her talent she’d never experienced before.

  “Nothing like Pandora,” Maxwell stated, not correcting or criticizing her, just stating a fact. “No one is like Pandora.”

  Keely looked around the room -- the normal, ordinary room, somewhat spartanly furnished, but lacking the air of careful exactness of Pandora’s quarters. Pandora required specialized atmospheric conditions to survive. She spent most of her life in a self-contained protective suit. Because of her strange physical make-up, some factions in the aberrant community were convinced she was an alien, while others simply assumed her particular mutations were inconceivably extreme. Her status in the community, however, made the argument in many ways moot.

  “No,” she agreed. “You’re right about that.”

  West returned then, carrying tea and a plate of scones on a tray. He looked very… British, although the observation seemed inane to Keely, since he was British. He set the tray down and started to say something, but just then the door opened, and Gale and Michael joined them.

  Gale looked considerably healthier and more rested than he had the last time she’d seen him. He seemed to have mostly recovered from the traumatic and draining confrontation on the plane that had brought them to England. Michael, unabashedly holding Gale’s hand, just looked smug. Keely held back a smile -- they weren’t trying very hard to quell the aura of satisfaction that surrounded them. At least someone had had a good night.

  West quirked an eyebrow at the two men as they entered, obviously taking in the same thing Keely was, but without benefit of empathic skill. Maxwell made the formal introductions.

  “Michael Preston, Gale Harrison, West Anderson. West is our English prof, and he’s worked a good dozen covert operations for us. West, Gale’s new to Applewood -- this is his first covert -- and Michael’s run about six as I understand it from Pandora.”

  “Eight,” Michael corrected amiably. West set teacups in front of him and Gale and filled them. “Thanks,” Michael said, looking surprised.

  “How is Pandora?” Keely asked. She’d had an odd feeling ever since they’d landed in London, as if something were amiss with the mysterious aberrant leader.

  The slight frown on Maxwell’s face only served to increase her concern.

  “Worried, I think,” Maxwell answered. “And… I get the feeling she’s tired. Drained.”

  Keely nodded. She’d gotten a similar impression, and it had concerned her. She couldn’t imagine what might happen that would be so intense and overpowering as to drain an aberrant as powerful as Pandora. In all the time Keely had lived at Applewood Village, she’d never seen or sensed any such thing from Pandora until recently. In fact, she was relatively certain she’d started feeling a sense of weariness from Pandora shortly after John’s death.

  “There’s been a lot going on,” Gale put in. His voice was tight, and the aura of smug satisfaction had dissipated. He was upset that they were even here, that they’d been forced to leave Applewood under the current circumstances. “She’s had a lot to deal with. Add in the constant long-range telepathic communication. She’d never done that before a few days ago, and now she’s doing a great deal of it, as I understand.”

  Michael nodded. “That’s a valid point.” He poured more tea for himself, then for Gale. “I’m still worried about her. She’s had intricate situations to deal with in the past. She’s always asked for help, made sure the work didn’t tire her beyond her ability to recover.”

  “Maybe it’s because she has to deal with it all herself.” Gale poured milk into his tea. His hand shook a bit, and tea and milk sloshed over the edge of the cup. “I’m sorry, but I still don’t understand why we’re here.”

  Maxwell regarded him calmly, unfazed by the young man’s agitation. “The danger has shifted. We suspected it would -- Pandora and I. It was a calculated risk, but we decided to take the chance.”

  “Shifted where?” Keely asked. She quelled the temptation to reach out to Gale, to calm him with her talent. She’d done it before, but that had been under different circumstances, when he’d needed her. Now he was just edgy and angry. He had a right to be, although at the moment it wasn’t doing anyone any good.

  Maxwell sipped his tea before answering her question, and suddenly Keely realized she knew the answer. “It followed us,” she said. “Whatever it is, it came with us here.”

  Maxwell nodded soberly. Keely mulled that. The others were silent, as well, until finally West spoke.

  “Is it one of you, then?”

  “No!” Keely burst out, a second before Gale and Michael echoed the sentiment.

  “If it were, I’d know it.” She gave West a withering look. He winced and hid his face in his teacup, ostensibly drinking from it.

  Maxwell chuckled. “It was a test,” he said, his tone apologetic. “We wanted to find out if it would follow you.” His expression sobered. “You in particular, Keely.”

  She jumped, feeling almost chastised. “Me? Why me?”

  “We wondered… if the attack at Applewood might be connected to John’s death.”

  Keely swallowed. She should have seen that coming, but the threads of emotion were woven through the air so tightly that it was hard to sort out any individual weft. “Why would it be?” Her voice was strained. “That was over a year ago.”

  “I don’t know, but there were indicators. Both Pandora and I felt it could be possible.”

  Keely suddenly realized West was eyeing her speculatively, his brow furrowed, blue eyes shrewd on her. “I was under the impression the attack on John was considered an isolated incident,” he said, turning the evaluating gaze to Maxwell.

  Keely drew in on herself, staring down at her hands, folded on the table in front of her. “I suppose there’s no way to be sure, is there?” Her voice shook in spite of her attempts to keep it steady.

  Something gathered around Maxwell, an uncertain aura that made Keely think of secrets, of subterfuge and conspiracy. But Maxwell wasn’t trying to disguise it, which made it all a bit less threatening. Or more threatening -- she wasn’t sure which.

  He regarded her, his expression placid. “No,” he said gently. “There isn’t.”

  * * *

  Afterward, they gathered spontaneously in the courtyard outside the faculty office building as if the meeting had been planned.

  “What do you make of that?” Michael spoke first, the question directed at Keely. As his gaze flickered across West, he made no attempt to shield his suspicious reaction to the man. It seemed more a protective suspicion, though, as if he were worried more about West’s intentions toward Keely than any other threat he might represent. Understandable, she supposed. She and Michael had known each other a long time, and she’d shown a similar tendency to interfere as his relationship with Gale had begun to spark.

  Keely shook her head, considering the question. “Whatever Maxwell’s withholding from us, he’s withholding it for a reason. And he believes we don’t need to know it.” She hesitated. “He may be right.”

  “And what if he isn’t?” West’s crisp English accent made him sound calmer than Keely knew he actually was. “What if all this ‘justified’ withholding he’s doing endangers us somehow?”

  Keely managed to look at him, nearly forgetting the discomfort of the remembered dream in her growing disquiet over the meeting. “We’re already in danger. And shouldn’t you trust him a bit more, if he runs this enclave?”

  “Not necessarily. I don’t have the benefit of empathic skill, after all.”

  Keely’s lips narrowed. He sounded snippy, she thought, but when she let her empathic feelers out, it clarified as mostly tension, nervousness over the attacks at Applewood, fear they would be repeated here. Add a dollop of embarrassment over the dream, and West was dealing with an uncomfortable mix of emotions, to say the least.

  “Maybe we should consult privately,” she suggested, attitude and tone gentling a bit. “You with Maxwell, m
e with Pandora. I’d be interested to find out what more they might tell us, what else they might know.”

  “What if they don’t tell us anything?”

  “I don’t know.” Exasperation had returned.

  Michael cleared his throat. Keely looked at him; she’d almost forgotten he was even there. “I think contact with Pandora would be a good idea. Maybe not just you, though. Maybe we could arrange a less exclusive meeting somehow.”

  Keely nodded. “I agree. I’ll see what I can arrange.”

  * * *

  All through the meeting with Maxwell, and the impromptu meeting afterward, West had done his best to pretend nothing was amiss. But the images of the dream he and Keely had shared kept burning themselves across his mind, bright and undeniable. He’d barely been able to look at her, remembering what his dream self had done to her. The dream had been so vivid he’d awakened with the salt-bitter taste of sex in his mouth.

  He had no choice but to push it away. He couldn’t let their involuntary reactions to each other interfere with their professional relationship. It would only muddle things, possibly even endanger everyone. Neither of them would be able to think clearly about the crisis at hand if they were distracted by each other.

  Settling into a half lotus position on his couch, West closed his eyes and began to ease into a meditative state. He needed to clear his mind of all the layers of confusion, from terrorist threats to personal horniness. Meditation was one of the first things John had taught him. He’d said it was the single most powerful tool an aberrant could use to control his power.

  Although now that proved a double-edged sword. Meditating made him think of John -- though technically he wasn’t supposed to be thinking of anyone -- and thinking of John made him realize why this strange fascination with Keely had come about in the first place. They’d both known him, been trained by him. It created a strange sort of bond, one West wasn’t sure he was prepared to acknowledge.