Polarisian Multiverse B. 01

POLARIS: BOOK I, Ch. 3 -- In Your Eyes

Murder, magic, a new career, deeper into each other

Breathless from your exercise on the mats, you were annoyedly startled when you heard a pounding on the front door. Worse than the fact of being interrupted in itself, it was LEO Silence, the robotic chief detective who affected Holmsian characteristics to distinguish himself from the other lionlike-appearing LEOs. While many LEOs were competent enough, there were always the rocks found at the bottom of a barrel.

However, despite his lack of humanity and his profession, you harbored some degree of respect for the detective - he was very good at what he did. You'd never taunt him with "Hey kitty kitty." (It could be amusing to see a LEO try to override his "professional demeanor" programming when that phrase was directed at it.) Unfortunately, LEO Silence was too often pointed in your direction based on little more than your reputation. Like today.

There had been a murder last night, down in The Nadir. One of the "local girls" was heard screaming behind the locked door of her hourly motel room. When the manager­ pimp finally located the key, the room was empty, other than for her body, which had been cut six ways to Sunday and took some serious piecing together. At this point, LEO Silence looked at your hand, holding the tanto you had grabbed on your way downstairs, and asked, only semi-jestingly, if you were cleaning the murder weapon.

"No need to. It wasn't me."

The LEO gave the closest thing his steel jaws would allow to a polite British smile. "Really. And what were you up to last night?"

"Salter's, after the Bastet job. Then here."

"Yes, well, I've accounted for you at Salter's. One of the clientele there ended up dead too, but I've confirmed that wasn't you, and besides, we're not messing with that. No percentage. You were here alone?"

"No." You and the LEO both turned when you heard Thea's voice. You hadn't intended to implicate her (unless necessary, which you didn't think it would be). "I was with him at Salter's, and I left there with him. And he has been here ever since." She spoke quietly but firmly as she walked toward the two of you, fully dressed again, belted and booted (though you thought you caught a glimpse of silver on the inside edge of her left boot cuff). "Good morning, sir. My name is Thea. Do you need a statement from me?"

"Not necessarily." You could see that Silence was surprised by the class of the woman facing him, clearly not what he expected of you. "My problem is determining that the two of you are not in cahoots on this story. I can't test the Captain here, he could lie his way past any machine in his sleep, and convince it he was the Mayor if he was awake. You, on the other hand, might break the stalemate. Are you willing to be tested while you make your statement?"

"Tested? How?"

You put a hand on her shoulder. "Nothing painful. Just a lie detector test. You don't have to do it."

Her hair swung as she shook her head. "No reason not to. Let's do it." She perched gracefully on a barstool as LEO Silence attached two electrodes to her arm. They were connected by fine wires to a small box he held and watched as she began to speak. She started out describing meeting you in Salter's, glossing over the incident with Fleabag, indicating that the two of you left there of your own accord to be alone together. She explained about you giving her the champagne, and that you then worked your way into the bedroom. You suppressed a wry grin at the G-rated version she was feeding the LEO. If this kept up, next thing you knew, she'd be saying you just cuddled all night! Suddenly she paused.

"What happened once you got to the bedroom, ma'am?"

"Nothing. He was impotent." Two heads jerked at that one, you in outrage, and the LEO in reaction to the loud "beeeeep" emitted by the box in his hand.

Thea laughed. "Okay, just kidding. Figured the machine needed a test. Yes, we went to bed together, had intercourse or sex or whatever you want to call it, and I, for one, enjoyed it. We fell asleep after that, and just got up a little while ago this morning. Any questions?"

"Apparently not. I'll log this in as your statement and close off this lead. I didn't think it was concrete anyway, but was obliged to check. You know how it is. Ma'am, Captain, I appreciate your cooperation."

Something was tickling your brain. "Hey Silence, why all this for some hooker? That's not normal for you. What's up?"

"Oh, nothing much, just the way the body was used and the mess in the room. Caused some memories to surface in a few of the older minds and memory banks. We want to make sure no old unpleasantness is being stirred up."

You found yourself fingering your medallion, which Silence had been staring at during his little speech. Coin-like, the background was rough, with only the raised design polished: it showed a warped pentagram with an evil face etched in it. You had earned it years ago, with your company, during the war days when you had fought so hard that you only took time once to bury a body. The medallion was made of silver: demon-silver.

Silence turned for the door, then paused. "Oh yes, one more thing Miss Thea. I will need your full name for the statement in the report."

"Althea Phoenix Rowan." The LEO's eyes flicked quickly once as the name was processed into his memory logs, then after a pause where he stared at Thea, again, slowly. You didn't like that look.

"Thank you, Miss Thea. I appreciate your cooperation. Well, good day to you."

You stepped forward. "I'll walk you out Silence." Once the two of you were outside and down the street from his sedan, you halted. "Okay, Silence, spill. What about her name is important?" All you got was a raised eyebrow. "Come on, I saw your reaction (the other brow went up this time). I could do the online research, but since you've already accessed it, let's save some time."

The LEO sighed. "Just a word to the wise. I don't have any evidence of this, and right now I don't want to know, but her name -- her

names

-- are names of power. You might want to keep an eye out and watch your back. She could hold magical abilities." You fought to remain deadpan, stare for stare, waiting for the rest. "Althea, historically a healer. Phoenix, well that one's common, associations with fire and self-resurrection. Rowan, the redhead, her family's likely got that gene deep in their roots. But also a tree of power, mostly to counteract spells and other witchings. Combined? I've got no record to match, but could be a volatile mix."

You nodded and stepped back as the LEO left. Sounded like same-old same-old in your life; as the Travis Tritt song said "I smell T-R-O-U-B-L-E."

* * *

Two weeks gone by. Two weeks too long. Two weeks of too much time to wonder why you're still thinking about her, to wonder why you can't get her out of your mind, can't get the memory of her touch off your skin, can't forget the velvet of her lips, can't obliterate the feel of her legs wrapped around you, can't block out the sound of her voice...

Her voice. That was what did it. You were going to go back to Salter's that night, but you decided that if you were going to feed her more than beer and pretzels, you'd better grab dinner elsewhere first. A business dinner. That's what it seemed like. She was all business, as she had been through the day while she probed and plumbed you for information on Polaris. She was worried, but trying to hide it. On face value, she could understand the ideas of the dimensions and how she had gotten here, but believing it in her gut was something else. She was scared, wondering what she was going to do, you refraining from volunteering a continued shelter, instead agreeing to help her find some employment.

You were eating in the corner on one of those Mom & Pop places that is known only to regulars but attracts a large crowd of those from a broad spectrum. The entertainment that evening was one of those long-haired types whose masculinity you privately questioned, on a guitar. Background noise to you, until Thea looked up at one of the songs.

"What the hell? I know this song."

You started to explain that even copyrights can cross dimensions, but she wasn't listening, moving almost trancelike toward the guitarist. You shrugged and continued eating. Then, like the smoke from the cigars and candles, you felt something wrap itself around you, insinuating itself next to your skin and into your thoughts: a voice like smoke, sultry and soft, sweetly strong, heavy enough to carry over the buzz of the hundred inconsequential conversations yet light enough to slip through the tiniest crack and move on. Hearing it, without thinking, you felt again the electricity of Thea's touch as she drew you to fiery arousal last night, and you were becoming hard again. If you closed your eyes, the scene was so vivid, you felt like you might come. You looked around, wanting to find her, wanting to tell her how you were feeling, wanting to get her alone and take her willing body. And then you saw, and you realized that she was the one singing:

Love, I get so lost sometimes

Days pass, and this emptiness fills my heart

When I want to run away, I drive off in my car

But whichever way I go, I come back to the place you are...

You glanced at the monitor, the current song was Peter Gabriel's "

In Your Eyes

" from the album "So." The place had fallen silent, and from the faces around you, others were reacting strongly with their own emotions to the music. You saw tears, and love, and rapture, and lust, and still there was that ache in your own groin, try as you might to ignore it. All from a girl in a borrowed black turtleneck and black slacks bought that afternoon, who started singing along unself-consciously and then sang for the crowd when the guitarist saw her effect. As the last line of the song ["

I want to touch the light, the heat, in your eyes

"] dwindled away, the audience awoke, and this jaded crowd, many of whom heard the best of the day regularly, started clapping.

One of them, a pudgy, flashy man who nevertheless exuded some power of personality, rushed up and started talking urgently to Thea. You moved, but not as swiftly as you might have, as you were still half-caught in the spell of the song, and came up behind him, looking over his shoulder at Thea, who looked startled, but warily interested. It was one of the talent agents, Morty the Maniac, one of the good ones, successful enough that even you recognized him from the odd news release about this or that star. And he wanted Thea - bad. Not like you did, not for himself (he probably knew his limitations in physique and paid for that kind of satisfaction), but for business, for development, for performing - for "The Big Time."

All those years of defenses came into play, withdrawing you from her, making you think things like "it never would have worked anyway." So, you stood stiffly, so stern as to seem angered, and when Thea looked to you, as if asking your opinion, all you offered was that yes, this character was legit, and she had been talking about getting a job, hadn't she? And she'd turned to Morty and offered to talk terms. You sidestepped back and were gone, frustrated and hungry and once again hating the glitz and glamour of show biz, which you had always thought of as a self-propagating industry.

And now it was two weeks later, and the thought of her was still wrapped around you like a second skin. You'd tried to forget, but it didn't take long for reminders to appear. Star-launching moved fast in Polaris, and the new hot name was Rowan, just the one name, just like the biggest of the big. Soon you were hearing her voice on radios in streets, seeing her face on posters, hearing people gossip about the new sensation. You'd retreated to your sanctuary, your warehouse home, but even there you remembered her, tied on your bed, daylight streaming across her on the exercise mats...

You'd sought solace in work, and that had worked for a time. LEO Silence had enlisted your aid in hunting the new killer, who had earned the prefix "serial." His body count had mounted, and now it was spreading beyond The Nadir. But he left no clues - except to those who recognized them, those of you who remembered the Demons, and worried that their power was being sought again.

So now you were home, after a 72-hour shift of nothing leads and futile brainstorming. The streets were empty. The prostitutes were closing up shop, and legal citizens were scared. You sat flicking channels on the video screen, sipping from a glass of harsh liquor, damning singers and killers and agents and cops, when the buzzer went off.              On the TV monitor of the camera mounted by the door, all you could see was a figure hooded and cloaked in black. Had your prey come stalking you? You hit the intercom: "Who is it?"

"Captain ... Bonney ... Tom ... it's me. Thea. Can I come in?" The face was a pale blur in the shadows, but the voice was the one you'd been trying to shut out for days. Your hand hit the button that released the locks, and then she was standing inside the door, her back to it as she shut it behind her and the locks reasserted themselves.

Your voice was harsh as you loomed over her. "Are you crazy, coming here alone at night? Don't you know what's going on out there? Someone's doing a damned good imitation of massacring the city one citizen at a time, and you decide to pay a social call?!"

Her head bowed briefly, then snapped up so abruptly that the hood was flung back on her shoulders. "Like I had a choice. You aren't exactly easy to get hold of, Captain. What was I supposed to do, send smoke signals? They'd never be seen through the pollution down here. Do you ever come up for air?"

"This is my home. Glamorous it ain't, but it's mine. If you don't like it, you don't have to stay."

"Fine. I won't ... if I'm not wanted." And you were caught in a web of silence, angry enough to snipe and fight, but unable to lie and deny her. Her hand moved away from the doorknob, and reached up to trace itself down your cheek. The electricity scorched from the soles of your feet through your breath and your cock and your heart, and you crushed her to you, so hard her bones cracked, as she threw equally tense arms around you, feeling as though she would fall without your support. Your mouth forced itself on her, opening her lips and tasting their sweetness as you thrust your tongue inside. She sucked fiercely on it, tasting the liquor and your own peculiar musk. Words said didn't matter, only the feel of your bodies together, the rightness of the heat that rose like a brush fire, the urge to touch and feel and hold and never let go.

You lifted her to you, sliding one arm under her legs for support, as you moved to the bedroom. When her feet hit the floor there, she lost her passivity, and started undressing you quickly. You started to protest, reaching for her belt, but she avoided you, dropping to the floor and silencing you by taking your cock in her mouth. The heat and wetness shocked you into silence, and your concentration was focused on the intense sensations and trying not to cry out with pleasure. The wetness was like her pussy, holding you close and warm, blazing hot, moving and caressing you, teasing under the tip of the head of your cock with the point of her tongue. She guided you down, hands on your hips, until you were lying on the bed, with her poised above you, tracing the length of your shaft and back to your balls, spreading your legs until the shadow of her hair spread over your groin as she sought out ever more sensitive spots to suck and lick and taste.

You could hear her soft moans when she tasted you, preliminary drops of promise, sucking you clean again and again. One hand held your shaft, the other cupped your balls, pushing against the nerve at their base, then working back and tracing the delicate skin around your ass and your crack, pressuring without entering, keeping pace with the sucking of her mouth and the flicking of her tongue. You were on fire, and the wetness she provided only fanned the flames, until the pace and the friction on your cock and on your ass pushed you over the edge and you shot off in her mouth, which was still around you, sucking and swallowing, pulling more and more out of you until you had no more to give, till even the feather touch of her tongue was too potent to take.

She lay with her head on your stomach, as limp as you, while you stroked her hair absently. Neither of you spoke. You heard the echo of her words in the music you'd tried to ignore, and you realized that while the magic of her singing affected everyone, it was you she was singing to:

All my instincts, they return

The grand facade, so soon will burn

Without a noise, without my pride

I reach out from the inside

In your eyes

-

the light, the heat

I am complete

I see the doorway to a thousand churches

The resolution of all the fruitless searches

Oh, I see the light and the heat

-

in your eyes Oh, I want to be that complete

I want to touch the light, the heat

-

in your eyes.

It was you she reached out to, you who she allowed to see her without a facade. It was between the two of you that there was a light and a heat, a magic that had nothing to do with wizardry, but with two hearts that belonged together. You'd had a chance, she'd had a chance, but all you both wanted after all the searching and avoiding was each other.