Mélange

…a rich variety of life & love

Stir Fried Love, Nancy Pirri

Hayley Sook Park is instantly attracted to Mark Arcand. Can two people from very different worlds find love together and acceptance from their families?

An Itsy Bitsy Spider Tale, Alexis Ke

Breaking her rules of not getting involved with non-brothas, Nicole Baylor finds out passion and love have rules all of their own. 
 

Nailed, J.J. Massa

Terry Lee Derby is a builder, a simple man with simple plans, until one small, hard working woman, Sida Zhou, nailed him down, permanently. 

Tasty Temptations, Mae Powers

Earthwoman Thela meets two special men, Jarik and Adaren. Both find her earthly beauty appealing to their alien male passions. All discover surprising, out-of-this-world temptations.
 

Callin’ The Shots, Karen Rose

Vin desires Lanier; but will this hardcore baller follow his heart and call the shots that will bring him love?

Courting The Mountain God, Olivia Lorenz

Syrenen goes into the dreaded Qaxtin mountains, ruled over by the stone-hearted god Changbei Shan, who must learn that forgiveness – and love – is still possible.

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EXCERPTS

Stir Fried Love

by

Nancy Pirri

“Bulgogi! More bulgogi!”

Hayley Sook Park glared at her Uncle Lee as he stood in the kitchen doorway of Mandarin House, his short, wiry body taut with tension, gray hair sticking up around his head. “Excellent food cannot be rushed,” she sniffed.

“Stop daydreaming, Sookie. We got customers waiting, and most of them are on their lunch breaks.”

“Those customers are mostly family and work their own businesses. They can take as long a lunch as they want.” Rolling her eyes, she added, “And when will you stop calling me Sookie? You know mama wants you to call me Hayley.”

“Hayley,” he spat. “My sister and her silly American name. There is nothing wrong with Sookie,” he said in Korean.

“We’re in America, Uncle. English, speak English!” she chided.

A long spate of Korean words erupted from his mouth.

Hayley sighed. “It’s done now.”

Uncle Lee waited at her elbow while she used a pair of tongs to lift several slices of the lean, spicy marinated beef off the grill and slip them into a heated bowl. He took the bowl from her and rushed from the kitchen.

She blew a long puff of air from between her lips, lifting the wisps of hair from her forehead. As soon as she stopped they floated back down. Agitated, she swiped back the strands; her hand came away slick and wet with sweat and she groaned audibly. She decided tomorrow she’d wear a sundress to work.

She lifted the remainder of the thinly sliced sirloin from the grill, layered the slices in a covered pan and shoved them into a warm oven.

Mandarin House was located on University Avenue in St. Paul in an exclusively Korean neighborhood. Raucous laughter and lively Korean chatter from patrons didn’t lift her spirits. She released the tongs and they clattered to the stainless steel counter top.

Hayley was twenty-one years old, single with no boyfriend and making her living cooking for long, grueling hours in her uncle’s hot, stuffy restaurant. Even though he’d installed air-conditioning last year, it helped little to ease the humidity of the mid-summer July day.

Her cousin, Hee Youn, (yes, auntie had given her children traditional Korean names) rushed into the kitchen, skidding to an abrupt halt beside Hayley, empty platter in hand. She didn’t say a word, just held up the platter with a sheepish expression on her face.

“More bulgogi I suppose?” Hayley rolled her eyes.

Hee Youn nodded and smiled as Hayley opened the oven, pulled out the rack and heaped the platter high. Her cousin tore out of the kitchen, double doors swinging wildly behind her. Even though Hee Youn was ten years older than Hayley and had lived in America for years, she still knew little English. Attending an exclusively Korean school where the native Korean language, and not English, was spoken hadn’t helped Hee Youn. Her cousin had learned basic phrases in order to take orders from customers, but that was the extent of her English. But then, very few English-speaking customers patronized Mandarin House.

Hayley conversed little with her cousin, mostly because she refused to speak Korean. She was an American, having left Korea behind at the age of five. She’d been lucky to receive an excellent public school education, and had made many friends during her childhood—was, in fact, still friends with several of them. But she’d never been able to break away from the family business. She enjoyed cooking the food of her native country but didn’t want to make a career out of it.

She became aware of the fact that something had changed in the restaurant; it was quiet—too quiet. Half of the guests were family members, including her parents and two older brothers. The other patrons were locals in her neighborhood—all Korean—consequently conversation was generally incessant. Now, very abruptly, it had stopped.

Hayley slipped toward the swinging set of doors that lead into the kitchen. Standing on tiptoe, she peered out the window. In the entrance stood a tall, blonde-haired man with piercing blue eyes, a look of consternation on his face as he spoke to her uncle. After a few moments of speaking slowly and clearly in English, then more loudly to Uncle Lee, he realized he was getting nowhere and he pantomimed his request.

She laughed. Why was it people believed, when communicating to a foreigner, that speaking louder and using body gestures would make them more easily understood? She looked at Uncle Lee, whom she knew enjoyed himself immensely at the young man’s expense. Her uncle knew enough English that he likely could understand the man. Should she help the poor guy? He’d caused quite a stir at Mandarin House.

As she perused his body from head to toe, she deemed him extraordinarily handsome, his eyes appearing keen and intelligent. His button-down long sleeve shirt, navy blue tie and khaki slacks were neat and clean. He appeared cool despite the ninety degree heat, which felt hot and humid; but she noted his ever-growing agitation as he tried to communicate with her uncle.

Feeling sorry for the stranger, she swung out of the kitchen and headed toward him, wiping her hands on her chef’s apron. Pausing in front of him, in deference to her own culture and family, several members of which now watched her with curiosity and amazement because of her boldness, she bowed from the waist, held the position a moment before straightening and smiling up at him.

“You need help, mister?”

His irritable scowl disappeared and a slow grin slid across his lips. Performing an awkward little bow in return, he cleared his throat and straightened his tie. “My car broke down out front and I need a telephone.” He jammed his hand inside his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “Mine died.”

She looked at her uncle and murmured in Korean, “I’ll take care of him.” Then she turned to the man and said, “Come straight this way.” She turned on her heel and headed into the kitchen.

Hayley felt him behind her, though his gait was quiet. More heat, if that were possible, tore through her body as she felt his eyes on her. She felt self-conscious in her typical cook’s uniform—black knit, narrow-legged pants, black short-sleeved t-shirt and big white apron covering her from shoulder to knee¾and wished she wore something more attractive.

Inside the kitchen she directed him to a telephone at a corner desk. While she chopped bok choy, she watched him dig inside his billfold and pull out a business card. He looked up, as though he’d sensed her watching him, pinning her with his eyes.

That devastating grin of his appeared again. After he gave her a thorough, appreciative look—one that could cook eggs on a sun-baked sidewalk on a hot Minnesota summer day—he returned to the phone. As he punched in a number from the card he sank down in the chair behind the desk.

Hayley turned her attention to the rice on the stove, giving it a brisk stir then covering it once more. Her uncle returned and she filled several more plates with food. Lord, the way her family ate one would think they all required a diet, but each and every one of them was reed thin. She was the tallest and heaviest in her family, likely because she ate American food in addition to traditional Korean dishes. She enjoyed the variety of foods and her curves besides. They gave her more of an American appearance, and clothes fit better.

As she chopped an onion she heard the man talking on the phone, his deep baritone voice filled with exasperation. A moment later she grimaced when he slammed the phone down in its cradle.

“Sorry,” he said, arriving at her side, “Triple A can’t get here for about an hour.”

Hayley stopped chopping and shrugged. “Then you have time to eat.”

“No, thanks. I stopped for a burger after work.”

She gazed covertly around and said, “Don’t say that in front of my uncle. He would consider your words blasphemous. Besides, it’s not polite in our ways to turn down an offer of a meal.”

“Even if I’m not hungry?”

“Absolutely.” Setting down the knife, she said, “So, tell me why a nice white boy like you is slumming in Korean territory?”

“I’m here on business.”

“What sort of work do you do?” she asked.

“I’m an attorney.”

“Ah, I see.”

“I’m Mark Arcand. Any chance I could get a cup of coffee?”

She didn’t give him her name in return but offered him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, no coffee, just hot tea.”

He grimaced. “Okay.”

Obviously, the man hadn’t drunk her uncle’s tea or he wouldn’t have made a face. Uncle Lee blended his own teas and they were marvelous—the talk of the neighborhood. But then, the neighborhood was composed entirely of Koreans who enjoyed tea.

“Come, I’ll show you to a table.”

Once again, as they entered the seating area of Mandarin House, conversation quieted. Within moments, she returned to his table with a silver pot of hot tea and a tiny cup. “Let me know if you reconsider and would like something to eat.” She turned away, took a step but couldn’t take another. Her apron string must have gotten snagged on something. Looking over her shoulder she frowned when she saw he held onto the strings, a mischievous look on his face. “I’ve changed my mind,” he drawled.

Hayley raised her brow. “That was quick.”

He released the strings, picked up his cup of tea and breathed in deeply. “If anyone can brew a cup of tea this heavenly, I can imagine how wonderful the food must taste.”

She nodded in approval. “I’ll get a menu.”

“Whatever you enjoy is fine. Join me?”

Her cheeks heated up beneath his intent perusal as he swept her body from head to toe. How long had it been since a good-looking man, or any man for that matter, had made a pass at her? Not that she’d ever been intimate with a man, but a girl could dream. She imagined sliding into bed beside his big, naked, golden form and sighed.

“What’s your name?” he asked gently.

“Hayley.”

He laughed aloud. “Why, that’s an English name.”

Seeing how her family and friends all watched them with growing interest, she begged him in a hushed whisper, “Please! Stop laughing. They’ll think…”

“Don’t stop now.” Sinking comfortably back in his chair, he added, “What will they think?”

She shook her head and bit her lower lip.

“Will they think I’m attracted to you?”

Hayley couldn’t meet his eyes.

“They’re right, you know?” he said softly. “From the moment I set eyes on you.”

“Stop it,” she scolded. “I’ll be right back with your food.” Darting away from him, she heard his soft chuckle in her wake. What did he think was so funny, anyway? She was attracted to him and, it seemed, he was just as attracted to her. But she didn’t trust him. She didn’t know him.

Maybe it was time she loosened her hair—loosened up her life and had a good time without having to worry about what mama and papa thought. Twenty-one years old and never been bedded—good grief—never been kissed! What a crime.

Thinking about Mark again, she wondered if he was like some handsome men. Would he think nothing of enticing a woman into his bed, screwing her until she was cross-eyed and then go off to the next woman? Would this man be like that? She would only find out if she opened her heart and soul and did not worry so much about being the good girl. She no longer wished to act the role of the obedient daughter with no life to call her own.

Hayley loaded up a plate of Bulgogi, rice and a few bites of kimchi, guessing the ‘white boy’ wouldn’t be able to tolerate the spicy cabbage. When she set the plate in front of him he inhaled and exhaled on a sigh. He looked up and gave her a warm, teasing glance. “I thought I wasn’t hungry when I arrived, but you’ve changed my mind.”

She smiled as she watched him dig into the food, amazed when he ate the kimchi and asked for more. As she moved toward the kitchen, she noticed her family and friends watching him, some with mere curiosity, others with surprised approval, a few with disdain. Of those who approved of him, she understood why; he’d eaten the kimchi. Only a man of fortitude would eat Mandarin House’s kimchi. The few non-natives who frequented the restaurant sometimes broke out into a sweat and swallowed gallons of cold water after eating her uncle’s special recipe of the spicy cabbage, but not this man.

On a large tray, she carried out several pots of hot tea, depositing them on the tables. She heard the murmured words ‘kamsa hamnida’ from the customers, Korean for ‘thank-you.’ She left a new pot on Mark’s table and had reached for the empty one when his big hand closed over her wrist.

“I hate eating alone. Won’t you join me?”

Her eyes went wide and she shook her head. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly. I’m working right now.” She tried to pull her arm away but he wouldn’t release her.

“Then have coffee with me when you’re through working.”

Giving a covert glance around the restaurant as excitement flared through her body, she whispered, “I work until ten.”

“I’ll wait for you. Do you have a newspaper around?”

Hayley looked up at the big clock on the wall. “But it’s only six.”

His intent look, and his words, caused her entire body to tingle in anticipation. “I’d wait even longer for a chance to enjoy a cup of coffee with you, Hayley.”

Chapter One

Nicole only wanted a nice quiet evening to herself. She’d just put in four twelve-hour shifts at the hospital and her body and mind screamed for a break. She finished folding the last of the laundry and sat the basket in the corner of the laundry room.

Nicole planned on soaking in the tub for an hour while reading one of those hot, steamy books she’d picked up at the local bookstore last payday and hadn’t had a chance to open yet. A glass of wine and a few aromatic candles would also relax her.

She walked into her bedroom, pulled her sweatpants and tee shirt off and dropped them in the dirty clothes basket. Nicole strolled to the bathroom, turned the faucet and let the hot water begin to fill her bath. She stepped back and admired her tub. When she was apartment hunting, it was the bathroom that sold her. The apartment was priced a little steeper than she wanted, but when the agent opened the doors to the bathroom she couldn’t do anything but say, “Where do I sign?”

The room was huge. It had a skylight encrusted with cut stained glass, and on bright sunny days the room was bathed in a kaleidoscope of rainbow colors. On rainy nights, the water cascading down the glass lulled her to sleep, only to awaken with pruned skin and thankfulness she hadn’t drowned. The toilet was separated in a small room and the shower stood in the corner, surrounded by glass bricks from floor to ceiling with the exception of the entrance, closed off by a simple white curtain. There were also two shower heads, one of which, if she positioned it just right, was not only a shower but also gave one of the best orgasms a spray of water could offer. However, the piece de la resistance remained the bathtub. It stood in the middle of the floor, surrounded by plush foot-deep carpet. From afar, it looked like an antique tiger pawed bath, but once she stepped up to it the small Jacuzzi jets made her salivate. She would no longer have to go to the gym just to get in the hot tub and sooth her aching muscles.

Nicole stepped over to the wall cabinet and pulled out a bottle of bath oils. After pouring a generous amount into the raging water, she dipped her hands into the canister of bath crystals, scooping some up and dropping that, too, into the water. It was just enough to give the water a frothy appearance. She would turn the jets on before she got in and too much would have the bubbles touching the ceiling. She found out after she moved in, Jacuzzis and bubble bath did not mix well. After two major catastrophes in the tub and having to get the carpet cleaned she set out on a mission to find the right concoction. It only took her a week before she wandered into a bath and body type store and found foaming bath crystals. Not bubble bath. Elated with her find, she made it a point to go to the store almost every week.

Swishing her hand in the water and finding it suitable, she wrapped her hair in a small towel, took her glasses off, sat them on the small table she’d placed next to the tub and slowly stepped over into the bath. The hot water stung her toes and tickled up her calf. Nicole paused and waited for her body to adjust to the heat and then continued her assent. The frothy aqua slid up her body like a warm hand. Caressing, teasing, soothing. Her mouth parted into the perfect ‘oh’ when it reached her womanhood and sent a shiver up her spine. This was one of the reasons why she favored a long, hot, soak in the tub. Who needs a man when you have a Jacuzzi?

A soft chuckle escaped her throat at the thought that floated through her mind. Deep down, Nicole knew a man couldn’t be substituted by a bubble bath. But when that’s all you’ve got, you have to make it good. Her body relaxed back against the warmed porcelain and she almost moaned when the steam rose to her nose and wafted up to her brain. Lavender and cinnamon and something else attacked her senses and stilled her heart. The salesperson was right when she said this oil was to die for.

Nicole reached over, turned the jets to lull and closed her eyes. Before she could resist, her eyes slid shut. Soft foamy bubbles caressed her body and rocked her to sleep.

She didn’t know how long she’d been under, but the wrinkles in her fingers and toes told her it must have been at least forty-five minutes. The water was cooling and the steam that fogged the room like a curtain was gone. Nicole opened her eyes and scanned the surroundings. Something caught her attention. She closed her eyes and reopened them. The large black—no, brown—spot floating in the air confused her. She blinked, ran her hand across her face and stared at it until it came into focus. It wasn’t floating but crawling down the wall. No, it wasn’t crawling. It was just there. Not moving. Not doing anything. A large brown spot the size of her fist. What was it? Nicole brought her hand up and fumbled for her glasses on the table without taking her gaze off the brown object. Her hand trembled when she brought them to her face and she dropped them into the water. Her heartbeat sped and a large lump lodged in her throat. She fanned around in the water, grabbed her specks and brought them to her face. Staring through water-streaked glass, Nicole’s body stiffened when the realization of what it was came into focus.

When she moved to Florida everyone at work told her about these monsters, but she didn’t believe them. She hadn’t seen any and she was never one to believe what she couldn’t see with the naked eye. But she could see this perfectly clear. It was the largest, ugliest, hairiest spider she’d ever seen. Her back went ramrod straight. Her gaze flew from the spider to the door.

Every nerve ending in her body screamed for help. She hated spiders. She hated little creepy crawling bugs, anything that could slide up a pant leg and bite or snuggle under the blanket when you weren’t paying attention and poison you in your sleep. Nicole would rather have been face to face with a lion, tiger or bear than a spider. And this was no normal spider. She closed her fist and placed it between her line of vision with the mutated spider on the wall. She could still see part of its legs. Yup, this was the spider from out of space, for sure. She stared at it and when it didn’t move decided it was asleep. Do spiders sleep? She began to stand and it spasmed and crawled three inches toward the floor. Nicole screamed and almost leaped backwards from the tub. Water sloshed over the ledge and saturated the floor, but she didn’t care. The spider jumped and landed a mere four feet from her and then scurried in her direction.

Nicole didn’t know where she was going or how loud she screamed, but the soreness in her throat from straining was evidence of her dilemma.  She ran from the bathroom through the living room and to the front door, the screams still careening from her throat. Not thinking about anything but escaping from the spider, she swung the front door open and slammed full force into the man walking past her door. She hit him so hard he toppled backward and fell to the floor. The packages he was carrying flew in the air and crashed to the ground. His arms came up and around her in a tight grasp as he tried to stop her and calm her.

“What’s the matter?” His voice sounded hurried, concerned.

“B…b…b…bathroom!” Nicole gasped for air. “Gun! I need a gunnnn!” Her head was spinning. Her chest tight from how hard her heart pounded against her rib cage.

His body sprang up, he grabbed the baseball bat he’d just propped at his door and ran into her apartment. He stopped outside the door, turned and said, “Go inside my place. Stay there until I come back.”

Terry Slade didn’t know what he was going to find in the bathroom of this hysterical female but he figured it was an intruder. When he researched the area for housing, he was pleased this one proved to be in a safe neighborhood, but there were pervs all over the world. They found their way into the quietest, safest places and he was sure this apartment didn’t corner the market on a total absence of crime.

His hand tightened on the narrow end of the bat as he slowly crept toward the bathroom door. It was wide open and he saw no movement within the confines of the room. Whoever was in there might have run out or was hiding in a closet or behind another door; waiting for him to pass before he jumped out and attacked. He heard the slightest of noises from behind him and swung around, ready to hit. Nicole screamed again and drew her hands up in front of her.

Slade placed a finger against his mouth to silence her. She nodded, swallowed and stepped up behind him. He shook his head and she stopped. “Go back to my apartment.” His voice was a mere whisper.

He took another step toward the bathroom and jumped in while swinging the bat. He hit nothing but air. Slade stopped, moved his gaze around the room and searched for the intruder. Nothing.

He stepped out and walked across the hall to her bedroom. A quick glance under the bed and in the closet and again he turned up empty. Turning, he walked back to his apartment. Stepping in to the front room, he found Nicole exactly where he’d sent her. Standing perfectly still, almost in shock in the middle of the floor. His eyes popped wide open when the realization she was naked hit his consciousness. As naked as a brand new baby, but she was no baby. Her soft-bronzed skin resembling hot milk chocolate glistened with the water still dripping down her skin. Her breasts, ample and perky with nipples the size of grapes, sent a twitch straight to his groin.

“I um… I um…” Slade swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to speak again after diverting his gaze to the floor. “I didn’t find anyone, miss.”

“It’s got to be in there.” Nicole sucked in a breath and her breast rose and fell.

Slade drew in a breath and let it out slow, trying to stave the heat rising in his body. “Who was it? What did he look like?” He grabbed the phone off the small side table. “I’m going to call the police.”

“Police?” She took a step toward him and he backed up. Geez, what is he, nuts? Who calls the police for a spider? Nicole stared at him, wondering what was wrong. He had to have seen the spider. If it got away she would never be able to sleep in that apartment again. She’d have to move. Break her lease, anything, but she’d have to find someplace else.

“The spider was huge.” She shook her head when the memory of it chasing her came back to her mind. “How could you not see it?” Nicole stared up into his eyes and for the first time realized how gorgeous they were. They stared back at her like emeralds. Bright, yet dark and mystical all at the same time. “It was as large as your head.”

“Spider…spider?” Slade ran his hand through his hair and shook his head. “It was a spider?”

Nicole nodded her head.

“You want to show it to me?” Slade held his hand out for her to grab.

Nicole took a step back, her head shaking widely from side to side.

“Okay. Wait here.”

He turned and walked back to her apartment, wondering when she was going to notice she wore no clothes. He’d wanted to point it out to her but figured it could wait until he found the notorious spider. Probably a tiny garden-variety kind the size of a pin top. He stepped up to the bathroom door and stood perfectly still. His gaze traveled across all of the surfaces, the walls. Nothing. He took another step into the room. This time he looked behind the tub, the shower curtain and where the toilet hid. Still nothing. Getting down on his knees, he fanned his hand under the tub. The swift tickle of something big and hairy running across his arm sent a shiver straight to his stomach. His arm tensed.

The gigantic brown spider skidded across the floor and ran into the corner. Slade fell back and butt-walked to the far wall.

“Shit!” He yelped when his eyes focused on the scary beast. “Well, I’ll be damned.” He started laughing at himself as he pushed up from the floor. “Damn thing scared me too. No wonder she panicked.”

He tiptoed closer. The poor spider hovered in the corner perfectly still. It was probably more afraid of them than they were of it. He kneeled down, swooped it up in one hand and cupped it with the other. Once outside, he tapped his door with his foot and waited for Nicole to open the door.

“Was this the intruder?” The smile that curved his mouth tilted the corners just enough to mock her.

Nicole’s gaze slid down to his hands and when she realized what he hid in his grasp she screamed, slammed the door and locked it.

“Hey. It’s okay. They don’t bite.”

Slade heard Nicole’s breathing through the door. Was she crying? Her respirations sounded ragged. Her voice broke into fractured syllables when she spoke.

“Kill it! You’ve got to kill it or it will come back.”

“They don’t bite.” He repeated.

“Don’t care. I hate spiders. Kill it.”

Slade laughed loudly and boisterously. He shook his head, peeked through his tightly cupped fingers and stared at the spider. It hadn’t moved since he picked it up. Probably scared to death. He walked through the parking lot toward the wooded area to the side of their building.

He bent down and opened his hands. “All right, little fella.” He shooed it with his finger. “I wouldn’t advise you to come back. Can’t guarantee your life next time.” He straightened and returned to the apartment.

His fist rapped on his door. He knew she was peeping out of the security hole.

“Where is it?”

He held up his hands and turned them in front of the little hole so she could see they were empty. “It’s gone. May I come into my apartment?”

The door slid open and Nicole stood there, a look of disbelief on her face. Her eyes jetted from right to left looking for the spider. She let out a loud sigh and smiled. It reached all the way to her eyes.

“I don’t know how to repay you.”

Slade stood in the doorway, not wanting to get too close to her and her nakedness. Damn she looked good. The water had begun to dry. There were streaks where bubbles slid down her body toward areas he’d like to taste firsthand. His gaze slid from her face down the length of her body. He sucked in a breath.

“Miss… Um…um...” He again looked over her head to the far wall. If he didn’t, he was going to embarrass himself.

Nicole glanced over her shoulder and in the direction he was looking, wondering what he saw. She hunched her shoulders and figured he was just shy or thought her sublimely stupid for being afraid of spiders. A cool breeze brushed over her body and she looked down. Stark shock covered her face.

“Oh!”

Slade settled his gaze on her face and smiled. He tried for comfort but knew that running to a stranger totally naked would hardly make her feel better.

Nicole didn’t know what to cover with her hands. Her face, her breast or her crotch. Heat rushed to her face. Her chest constricted and she couldn’t breath. The room began to spin around her head. She thought she heard him curse right before her eyes rolled to the back of her head, the room went dark and she passed out.

Sida Zhou sipped at her wine; occasionally throwing disgruntled looks at the construction site easily seen from the shaded outdoor table where she was seated. Normally, she was a happy person, always a ready smile. Today, not so much.

Not only was she annoyed, she felt guilty about it. Double whammies sucked!

All she wanted was to become a marine biologist. That was her dream, her goal. Having achieved her undergraduate degree in biology, with a concentration both in marine sciences and human biology, would have, should have made that possible. But no, she was a giant weenie. Instead, she’d enrolled in the Modular Medical Program—Pre Med.

And on the other side of the street, there it was—the culmination of all her angst: her parents’ offices. The construction being done on the trendy medical offices was visible. They’d bought the tiny boutique next door to put in rooms for her. An office of her own, right off the Marketplace, to see patients, as a reward for her continuing achievements.

Sida sighed loud and long, the sound at odds with her sunny personality and with the cheerful people sightseeing and sitting around her at the popular Boston bar. Cheers. She wasn’t at all cheerful.

Glancing over again, she caught sight of him, her heart’s desire. Terry Lee Darby, or was it Derby? Who cared? Okay, Sida did care, but anyway, the guy was hot, too hot! And apparently he agreed, mopping his face with a limp kerchief. He was hot and aggravated, in fact. She saw him jerk his hard hat off, tossing it away angrily, and scrape his fingers through his short, brownish-blonde hair.

He stood still for a second and she couldn’t look away. He must’ve been listening to someone she couldn’t see. Suddenly he kicked a board at his feet, but that didn’t seem to assuage his anger. As she watched, he jerked his shirt over his head and threw it at the ground, turning away. Her breath caught in her throat.

 His back, for the few seconds she’d seen it, had been tanned and sculpted, but his front was a sight to behold. One look at that tight, muscular derriere and all she wanted was to grab with both hands and hold on. Turning, his lightly furred chest shone like gold with the sun shining on the light hair dusting his pecs. His biceps rippled as he stretched and turned, locking eyes with her.

Sida felt her face flush, and she dipped her head. She couldn’t believe that beautiful piece of eye candy had caught her looking. And he had, she was sure of it.

It had been bound to happen. She’d been looking at him enough over the last few days—weeks, really. He was…he was a hunk, to put a fine point on it. He was the only thing about her parents’ ‘gift’ to her that she was enjoying.

At first, those snapping, caramel-colored eyes appeared angry; she could see it from where she sat. His chiseled jaw was clenched tight. Those full, sensuous lips, pressed in a hard, flat line. And then, she saw him relax.

 But suddenly, their eyes locked. Damn! She was sure of it… He was laughing at her! She wanted to growl at him. She saw his lips twitch and knew, if she were closer, she’d see that knowing glint in those so very sexy golden eyes, like warm butterscotch over ice cream—yum. She could happily drown in them.

As if her life wasn’t complicated enough right now, the last thing she needed to deal with was an excruciating crush on the man hired to add an office she didn’t want to her parents’ building. And to say she had a crush on him was putting it mildly.

The sound of that sexy voice, steeped in the Deep South, was enough to make her forget everything around her. The sight of that gold hair, his tanned, well-muscled body—her pulse rocketed into jackhammer mode just thinking about him.

She looked down into her wine glass and then up again at the waiter who stopped in front of her table. He’d finally remembered that she wanted a glass of water, holding it out as if to put it down in front of her. But he didn’t.

 “’preciate it,” a deep, smooth, southern-sounding purr came from slightly behind her left shoulder.

 She felt the heat pool in the pit of her stomach. She looked at the waiter. The young man blushed scarlet as he extended her water, placing it in the hand attached to the long, slightly tanned arm reaching over her shoulder, little gold hairs glinting in the sunlight.

Sida could smell his musk, hard work, sawdust, pure male. Her eyes were riveted on the waiter, who was blushing and smiling like a shy schoolgirl.

 “Anything else, sir?” the young man asked shyly, dipping his head.

 The poor little waiter, she grinned to herself. He was so cute and sweet, and she could so identify with him. It seemed the man belonging to that oh-so-sexy scent and the arm that went with it required nothing more from the adorable young waiter.

 The chair adjacent to hers backed up and she nervously glanced over. Well, now she knew for sure why the poor little waiter was stammering. It had to be illegal to look like that in public! He could have put his shirt back on, but, oh man, she certainly wouldn’t complain about the view.

 That smile—that knowing smile went right through her. She felt her blush burn hotter.

 “Hi,” his rumbling purr washed over her as he sat down. “So, you gonna eat?”

 “What?” she gasped. “Um, no. No, I just needed a break.”

 “Me too,” he grinned.

Sida shook her head, fighting the urge to throw herself at his feet. She wondered if he knew how lethal his smile was to the average man-hungry twenty-three year old woman.

 “Um, you looked angry before...” she began hesitantly. As conversational gambits went, it wasn’t much. But it was better than ‘take me now’ she decided.

 His intent stare had her fidgeting in her seat. It was as if he were trying to read her soul. Those decadent brown eyes were warming her from the inside out, and she could feel moisture gathering between her legs. It was worse when he chuckled warmly, fanning her left ear.

 “It’s hot,” he smiled. “Nothing’s going my way today…or it wasn’t until I noticed someone watching me,” he wrinkled his nose and winked.

 She knew her face was red, and she lowered her head, trying to look away, knowing he was coming on to her, not knowing what to do about it. Her breath caught in her chest when she felt a hand under her chin.

 “Hey,” his whiskey purr caressed every one of her nerve endings. “I’ve gotta see those pretty dark eyes. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me all day…”

 Her breath whooshed out, leaving her stunned. “Uhhhmmm,” she croaked, “I, ummmm…” Okay, what happened to my mental faculties…?

 A golden blonde eyebrow arched up, answering that question conclusively.

 “You okay, sugar?” he rumbled at her, a twinkle in those wicked eyes.

 She cleared her throat, trying to be irritated at his familiarity, trying to ignore the moisture gathering down below.

 “You know, you’re just deadly. You know that, right?” she snapped. Oh man. Did I say that out loud?

 A rich chuckle vibrated from his chest, answering her question, and he pulled her sideways into a quick hug. She could forgive him his overwhelming arrogance if he would just keep that up. Her brain was frozen, but her body was one twitch away from rubbing all over him like a happy feline.

“You are too much, honey,” he laughed, his voice deep and whiskey rich as it stroked her nerve endings. He released her and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “I’m glad I caught you here. We need to talk. In fact,” he dropped his arms and rose to his feet in one sexy surge, “Why don’t we take a little walk?” He stood, his hand extended to her.

Sida knew her eyes must have taken over her face. She wasn’t sure if she was shocked more by his hug or that he believed they needed to talk. Or was it that she was actually scooting her chair back and reaching for his hand?

She barely knew him, but she did know that she’d go anywhere with him. He could be a killer, but she told herself that as long as that body was the last thing she ever saw she wouldn’t care.

She knew she’d lost her mind over this man. He threw her a pleased smile and took her hand, giving it a little squeeze. To her very great surprise, he dug into his pocket and handed a bill to the cute little waiter.

“No, really,” the sweet young man stammered, refusing the money.

“Take it,” Terry Lee murmured with a sharp nod and a smile, tugging on her hand as he turned to lead her from the enclosure.

“Oh, gawd,” the waiter breathed into her ear, squeezing her shoulder as she passed him.

“Mmm hmm,” she squeaked in answer, stumbling along gracelessly behind him.

Like a coruscating beacon, the igloo-shaped, three-tiered building—made of a pearly material—shone brightly in the night sky. A glittering neon sign blaring the establishment’s name, Throttles, complemented the sparkling, ruby-trimmed, triangular-shaped glass windows. The blinking lights and sporadic beats of music permeated from the nightclub’s interior and rattled the mosaic windows intermittently. The gaiety and wonder tempted Thela Montgomery inside its walls.

Thela stepped through the circular doorway, opened by a tall, thin doorman slash bouncer. She entered a long, tubular tunnel, which led into an enormous area filled with a throng of liveliness. What looked like a three-story building on the outside turned into three semi-opened floors of people, bars and tables occupying them. Spiral stairs led to all three floors, as did glassed-in elevators. In the midst of the huge area lay a big circular dance floor with twirling lights flickering from the radiant flooring.

Above the dance floor, on two air levels, disc-dancers stomped and swayed rhythmically to various tempos on hover platings. To her near left, just a few feet away, stood the club’s main bar, semicircular in shape and teaming with life from sound-masters to various alien clienteles.

Thela glanced around the area hoping to spy her college friend, whom she was to meet here for a short while before she left to go visit her other friend Reema. Reema’s birthday party was set for later that night. Preterra wasn’t really a friend, more like a friendly business acquaintance. When Preterra learned that Thela wanted to take a vacation, the alien female told her to come here. A large distance between herself and her ex-lover Jake Harris was great by Thela. Jake had wanted her to take him back, but that was not what she really wanted. So, taking an extensive vacation from both her jobs to get her life back in order and just have some fun became a strong incentive for Thela.

Thoughts of her ex slipped from her mind as she nearly got pushed aside when a couple getting on dance discs rushed past her. They were tall and thin, nearly identical in their looks, with long stringy blue hair, sparkling pink eyes and wearing similar sky-blue party tunics and pants. The female’s breasts jutted heavily forward beneath her clothing and her braided blue hair had streaks of gold in the plaits. Thela grinned, and quickly moved out of the way, as the couple jumped on their discs and floated upwards to the top level.

She’d dealt with a few people of the Nalean race, like the two dancers who nearly toppled her over. They were a constantly on the move people, and evidently, by their twists flying above, they liked to dance modern dances. She shook her head, not letting their unintentional rudeness get to her. She glanced to see other couples and groups in various areas around the huge entertainment club, in different stances of enjoying themselves. It amazed her that plenty of caressing and playful meanderings went on, when her friend Reema told her that public displays like holding hands were against the law. Perhaps inside a place like this one affections weren’t considered unlawful.

She shrugged her shoulders and then, carefully watching where she stepped, went through the crowd to sit at the long, main bar. She glanced at herself in the mirror behind the bar for a few seconds while she decided what she wanted to drink. Her face earlier looked a little like she suffered from jet lag and time zone horrors. She smiled at herself, appreciating her slight humor. Thankfully, her nap and a cool bath had helped to put a gleam in her amber eyes and a renewed touch on her chocolate-toned skin. Her moon-blonde locks felt comfortable pinned up in a silver clip adorned with bright purple jewels, which matched her amethyst colored business-evening uni-suit, trimmed in black and gray.

After getting her ordered drink, she scoped the large establishment again. She still saw no sign of the woman she came to visit with. She noted a few human couples from Earth there, among them a mixture of African, English and other spicy varieties from her world. She didn’t completely feel alone at the moment. Aliens with a variety of distinctions filled the rest of the club, with barely any room to spare for walking, dancing, or mingling of any kind. Much less breathing space. She recognized a few species like the Nalean, as well as the group of Zabbits with their long smoke-gray ears and furry humanoid, apish bodies that were hop-dancing on the main floor of the club. With the language translator she wore in her left temple, she didn’t have a problem understanding what went on around her; although she could have figured out people were having fun even with out the miniature device.

As others danced and talked around her, she kept her eyes opened for Preterra, thinking at the same time about her own current situation. After taking time off from her positions as a media consultant and part-time chef, she came here upon Reema’s and Preterra’s insistence, and because of her need to get away from the everyday human rat-race of working too many hours.

After arriving on Lyndara, she’d met Preterra at the customs check-in and they’d taken an air taxi to the place she’d rented from her real-estate friend, Reema. After she’d dropped off her bags in the restaurant with the living suite on top of it, Preterra had shown her some of Caleeb’s sites. Though Caleeb purported to be one of the planet’s largest cities, Preterra mostly took her to spots where she knew young single men hung out. They had decided after the quick, uneventful tour to meet up at Throttles nightclub the following day.

Thela knew Preterra wanted to help her get over her ex and find a more interesting night of pleasure. Thela wasn’t sure that she wanted to do the nightclub singles scene and find a fling for the night or adventures like that. Preterra scoffed at her when she told the Lyndaran beauty about her feelings. It made Thela uneasy to see a side of the woman’s personality that didn’t set well with her. She tried to take Preterra at face value and was sure the short scenic tour was just the woman’s alien way of making Thela feel more comfortable.

Preterra said that if Thela did want a fling or a hot-blooded man or two, Throttles nightclub was the place to go. Though there definitely was a singles scene around the town, she’d learned that Lyndarans were very passionate people in whatever endeavors they took on. Her business acquaintances also told her that on Lyndara endogamy was the norm for most of the Lyndaran population. Still, glancing at the activities going on around her, they could put an Earth pub to shame with so much revelry going on in Throttles.

Hopefully, Reema’s birthday gathering wasn’t this hyperactive. She finished her drink and before she could even order again, the nearest bartender plopped another down before her. She shrugged and sipped on it, again looking for her hostess. Still, she saw no sight of Preterra.

Thela knew she should get up and mingle; perhaps the woman would show up soon if she wasn’t lost or caught up in this throng of people. She tried to take in the culture of Lyndara. She’d even read the tourist planet guide of this world. Some things surprised her; some were a novelty, while others were somewhat similar to Earth goings-on. Lyndarans, like Earth people in the twenty-fourth century, enjoyed going out to restaurants and nightclubs, as well as theaters and other physical or mental tasty temptations.

The fun life for single people of free lifestyles hadn’t changed drastically. Yet, here, it had a different meaning. Doing a single mating was actually considered a bit odd here, because of the dual couplings being the norm. However, men and women still met at bars trying to score or find that one special person or two, which he or she could connect with and perhaps make a more lasting relationship.

She picked up her half-filled glass and decided to move around the outer edge of the dance floor. She took in a few details of people here and there, with the different aliens and regulars of this planet, male or female, ogling her and others. One big husky humanoid with brown hair and dressed in a garish green slick pantsuit kept leering at her as she circled the dance floor. His black eyes looked like poisonous orbs waiting to strike out at her, while the ridges on either side of his big head glowed a dull red with jerky flickering movements. She went to one of the emptied booths to get away from him. She noticed the one behind her was empty, but the one in front of her held two incredibly handsome aliens. The light ash-brown haired man’s antennae twitched and glowed slightly as he stared intensely at her.

Her perusal of him became interrupted as the garish looking man came up to her table. He garbled something in a language she didn’t understand. However, his leer and hand suggestions were easy enough to understand. She flipped him off, telling him to get lost, and hoped his intergalactic translator device worked. She tried to look angry enough to ward him off. Instead, he let out a guffaw and started to sit down opposite her. Thela rose in her seat just as he reached out for her.

“Are you kidding me?” Lanier Lange stood in her editor’s office, hands on hips. “He’s an athlete, for God’s sake!” She said ‘athlete’ the way Paris Hilton would say ‘Wal-Mart.’ Taking another step into the room, she rubbed at her temples, hoping to tamp down the migraine that she could feel building. Maybe she’d pulled her hair back into its trademark bun too tightly that morning. Or maybe her editor was a full-blown idiot. “I won’t do it.”

But he just gave her a bemused smile and shook his head the way a condescending parent might. “Come on, Lanier. You know you aren’t in any position to make ultimatums. Now get your sweet ass out there and go do your damn job.”

Lanier clenched her fists, her heart pounding with fury. The bastard was right, she didn’t have a choice. Once a rising star in the world of journalism, she’d nearly tanked her career by giving in to her then fiancé’s request that she ‘stay at home and learn to be a real wife.’ Six months later, her engagement ring was fish bait and she was trying to reclaim her spot in the newsroom, not an easy thing to accomplish, especially for a woman. Reporting the news was still very much a man’s game, and, while she had the talent and the drive, she’d never really been able to play with the big boys.

Take Hyde, her editor, for instance. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to tell him off for all the times he’d humiliated her with his benign style of sexual harassment. But no, years of being raised as a lady forced her to suffer in silence, a permanent smile pasted firmly on her lips. ‘Don’t make a fuss, Lanier. It’s unseemly for a lady to raise her voice.’ Her mother’s firm tone still echoed in her ears, even after all this time. So, instead of telling Hyde to take a flying leap, she simply nodded. “I’ll get right on it.”

“Good.” His eyes roved over her body, clad in an expensively tailored pale blue suit from Nordstrom. His beady-eyed gaze stopped at her middle. “Looks like you’ve put on a few, anyway. Do you some good to get out in the field again, after all those days at home with nothing but Oprah for company, huh?”

Her cheeks flamed red, but the smile remained in place. Lanier lifted her chin and walked out of the office, feeling his eyes on her behind the entire way. Doubtless he noticed the extra padding back there, too. She’d always been thin as a rail, but ever since her engagement had gone south, she’d used comfort food as anesthesia. As soon as this assignment was in the can, she’d renew her gym membership and commence with her usual workout regime.

Making her way back to her tiny desk in the bullpen, she took a few deep breaths until her body temperature went back to normal. Once in her seat, she moved the mouse to wake up her computer. Hyde’s secretary had emailed her the contact information for her next assignment, and she jotted down the number of Vincent Payton’s agent on a piece of paper. Lanier didn’t know squat about basketball, but a person would have to be living under a rock not to have heard about the NBA’s newest bad boy. On the court, they called him ‘The Hypnotizer’ and off the court, well, his scrapes with both the law and the ladies were legendary. Although she wasn’t sure that the kind of women he associated with could technically be called ladies.

She found more than two thousand hits associated with his name on Google. She clicked on the first link, which took her to a site called Jumpman23, where she discovered that Payton was a protégé of Michael Jordan’s. Apparently, he’d been a member in good standing of something called ‘The Breakfast Club’—a group of rising stars that Jordan had taken under his wing. Well. Anyone associated with His Airness couldn’t be all bad. She clicked on the photos section and her face immediately reddened, although this time it wasn’t from anger. She saw Vin Payton, in his famous ad for men’s underwear, his long, lean body corded with ropy muscles. He wore a pair of boxer briefs, and they fit him like a second skin, allowing her to see the massive bulge underneath. No way is that all him. There’s got to be a sock or two stuffed in there. His skin was the color of rich milk chocolate and a variety of tattoos fought for dominance on his arms, chest, and even the side of his neck. “Oh my,” she breathed, leaning closer to the screen to take in his cleanly-shaven head, penetrating dark eyes and full lips twisted into his trademark scowl.

A strand of blonde hair fell from her bun and she impatiently brushed it away. She was a reporter, not a groupie, for God’s sake! Why, it bordered on unprofessional, leering at the man like this! Lanier straightened up to her usual ramrod position and clicked the button that took her back to the Google homepage. This was just another assignment, and a fluff piece at that. Vin’s management team was attempting to spin his image into something a bit more family friendly. Lanier had been all but ordered to write a piece that showed his softer side. She snorted softly, thinking that if those muscles were any indication, the man didn’t have one. Giving herself an admonishing shake, she picked up the phone to call his agent. Against her better judgment, she would take the assignment and do her best. In her heart, she knew she didn’t have a choice.

* * * *

“Vincent. Would you mind turning down that incessant noise and listening a moment? I would think that matters concerning your career would be of interest to you.”

Vincent ‘Vin’ Payton heaved a sigh; people were in his ear 24/7, all wantin’ a piece of him. Without taking his eyes from the XBox 360 game, he said, “Why you so pressed, G? I already told you, I’ll do the damn thing.” His agent meant well, but damn! Couldn’t a brother get a hot minute to himself? He turned the volume down a couple of notches on the Dirty South tracks that played as a backdrop to And 1 Streetball, a game so fresh it hadn’t even come out in the stores yet. Even so, he could still feel the impatience rolling off G in waves. “What?” he growled out, his fingers furiously working the controls.

Graham Hudson, or ‘G’, as Vin always called him, moved his bulk between his client and the plasma screen television. A man of extreme proportions, he all but obliterated the game’s high-tech graphics. “The interview is all set. I spoke with the editor myself, and he’s assured me that the reporter is willing to play ball, so to speak.” He allowed himself a small smile at the play on words, but Vin just sucked his teeth in annoyance. Typical. For someone who commanded a salary in the high seven digits, he could be as stubborn as a four-year-old. The real Vincent Payton lay carefully hidden beneath layers of attitude and posturing.

“Whatever. Move yo’ big ass on out the way, Supersize. I’m tryna get my game on, here.”

“Please assure me that you will be on your best behavior, Vincent. You don’t want to lose your endorsements. The public needs to see the softer side of the Hypnotizer.” Graham folded his arms across his chest, hoping that this would be the one time when Vincent would listen. “McDonald’s has expressed concern over using you in their new campaign.”

Vin looked up. “Say what? All over my ass for months, and now they want to pull the rug out from under a brother. Fuck!” He threw down the game controller and rose, crossing the large room in two long strides. A full array of exercise equipment stood in the corner and he picked up two heavy dumbbells, curling them up and down effortlessly. “You better handle that, G. Ain’t that what I pay you for?”

“Indeed it is. However, what you don’t seem to understand is that I need to be able to sell you to these companies. In light of your continuous negative publicity, this is not an easy task.” The agent picked up a glossy magazine from the desk. “The latest issue of Vibe has you quoted as saying, ‘I get more pussy than any other athlete, including Wilt the Stilt. His dick ain’t got shit on mine.’ Then it says that you pulled down your pants and showed your…equipment to everyone in the room.”

“Hey, that reporter was on her knees ‘fore I even got my pants all the way down. Bitch could suck the chrome straight off the rims, for real. Had her some big ass titties too,” he grinned, using his hands to demonstrate the size of the breasts in question. “’Sides, I didn’t say nothin’ that ain’t the truth, so why you trippin’?”

Graham threw up his hands in despair. “You simply refuse to understand. These corporations are run by rich white men. They do not like to hear that the face of their product likes to…” he frowned down at the magazine, “…get his freak on with as many different bitches as possible.” His pudgy face twisted with disapproval, and he dropped the magazine hastily, as though touching it would infect him. “If you could just drop the façade for a moment, and be yourself, we wouldn’t have these problems.”

“Bunch a old-school Gumps, what they are,” Vin replied, switching to hammer curls. “All married to blue-haired biddies who don’t never give it up.” He barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “Maybe once a year, on they birthdays, but that’s it. I like to fuck, what’s wrong wit’ that?” He’d be damned if he’d let the press see past all the hype. Once you let those vultures get a peek into your private life, you were screwed.

Graham did not argue with that logic. He had tried too many times before. “All I ask is that you behave yourself around this reporter. Keep your pants on, and try to use some of that devastating charm all your fans seem to see. God knows I never have.”

“That’s ‘cause I ain’t tryna fuck you, G,” laughed Vin, throwing the weights down. They fell with a solid thud on the heavily carpeted floor. He pulled off the black Nike tank he was wearing and dropped to the floor for push-ups. “Can I help it if the females throw themselves at me? I’m a charismatic motherfucker, dog.” As he spoke, he counted off push-ups under his breath, stopping when he reached fifty. “Look, I got company comin’ in a minute. Make yourself scarce. I’ll holla at you in a few.” Jumping to his feet, he grabbed another set of weights.

Syrenen was not a particularly superstitious man, but he reckoned that anyone in his line of work needed all the help he could get.

Ever since he’d begun his ascent into the mountains, his backpack had started to weigh heavily upon him. He muttered a curse at it and shook the bamboo frame to settle it more easily on his back. The action was accompanied by the delicate tinkling sound of a dozen polished copper mirrors that hung suspended from the backpack: amulets against the demons and ghosts said to haunt these mountains.

It was said that, if a demon approached a lone traveller and caught sight of its true reflection in a mirror, it would flee and bother the traveller no more.

Syrenen wasn’t sure he believed such nonsense, but to disregard it might prove fatal—especially as he was venturing into the Qaxtin Mountains, a place that stirred rumours even as far away as the barren steppes of his northern homeland.

Back then he’d dismissed the talk as exaggeration. After all, according to the same rumours, the north-men all rode horses that were so fleet, they could fly. He’d never seen a flying horse, and he’d never been able to sit on a saddle without falling off, and so, for all that he listened to it as avidly as the next man, Syrenen had a healthy disrespect for rumour.

Now, as he neared the end of the gentle foothills to begin the climb up the rugged slopes of the mountains, he wondered why he’d allowed himself even a flicker of anxiety about this journey.

Yesterday morning, the people of the village he’d passed through had urged him not to go into the mountains. Their expressions had registered fear, and they could scarcely bring themselves to look in the direction of the Qaxtin. From the plain below, the range seemed vast and awe-inspiring, and none more so than Changbei Shan, the tallest and most deadly of the mountains. So tall its summit was wreathed in clouds, its upper slopes dressed in the pure white of frozen snow even during the spring thaw, Changbei Shan brooded over the Qaxtin Mountains like a lord overseeing his armies.

“A god dwells on the mountain,” the village headman had said, low-voiced. “If the criminal you pursue has gone into his domain, you will never see him again.”

Syrenen had nodded. “Perhaps, but Lei Ku is dangerous, and it is my duty as a thief-catcher to take him back to the provincial capital, dead or alive. And he has committed more crimes since he went on the run—the theft of a mule that died a day later on the road, numerous other thefts of food, clothing and money, and here, in your own village, he battered a man half to death to steal more food and a warm winter cloak! I must catch him so he may stand trial for his crimes.”

“You will not catch him in the mountains,” the headman said. “If he has set foot on Changbei Shan, he will have signed his own death-warrant.”

Syrenen had smiled at that. Perhaps the headman spoke truly. Townsfolk, unprepared for the rigours of the mountains, often came to grief on desolate slopes—especially when the weather was so changeable. Although spring had arrived, dark clouds still roiled around the peaks and the mountains looked bleak and unwelcoming.

 “I will find him,” Syrenen had said, more a promise to himself than to the headman, “and I will bring him out of the Qaxtin, god or no god.”

It was the villagers who’d tied the mirrors onto his backpack. Heedless of his protests that he’d travelled through more difficult terrain, they came with him to the village boundary, heaping blessings upon him. Then, by the graves of their ancestors, they’d halted and waved farewell in a strange, sympathetic silence. When he’d glanced back, he’d seen them still standing there, as if watching his spirit depart.

He looked at the mountainside around him. A stream bubbled past, its way carved through huge boulders sprigged with jewel-bright moss. Caught in a cleft in a rock high above him, a plum tree flowered. Grass grew, flowers opened to the sun, and a blue bird with a curled black tail sat on top of a pine tree and trilled at him.

Far from being a place of desolation, Changbei Shan seemed a slice of paradise. Syrenen felt his spirits lift. He took a deep breath of the fresh spring air and strode forward, the mirrors tinkling and crashing like tiny cymbals in his wake.

Before long, the path became more difficult. The rush of the stream faded, replaced by the hiss of the wind and his own laboured breathing as he climbed. After another hour’s ascent, the grass grew only in short, tufted clumps from rock-fissures, and there were no more flowers, no more trees.

A little further, and Syrenen forgot how pretty the lower slopes had looked. The mountain that met him now was all dark granite, riven into tortuous shapes, blasted by the elements. The path wended its way up and around sheer cliffs, tiptoed along blade-sharp ridges and crept around black ravines.

It was a mountain that demanded respect. Syrenen quickly came to appreciate that fact, abandoning the idea of tracking the criminal in favour of staying alive as he negotiated his way higher towards the summit. He comforted himself with the thought that, if Lei Ku had come this way, he’d not be much further ahead—for if Syrenen, with all his outdoor skills, found the going difficult, surely it must be impossible for an inexperienced townsman.

Another hour passed. Syrenen pushed back his hat of woven bamboo and ran a hand across his forehead. Wisps of hair escaped his scruffy topknot and clung wetly to his face. He scraped them back, feeling the heat of sweat at his nape as he lifted the long twist of his hair free of his collar. The breeze chilled his neck, a delicious sensation that made him shiver.

He fumbled in the backpack for a flask of water and took a swig. The first gulp was cold, the second, refreshing. Syrenen capped the flask and stowed it away safely. Only then did he realise how silent the world was around him.

A mist had gathered without him noticing it. Thick, white clouds rolled down, obscuring the distant summit with its snowfields, and then veiling the path little by little until soft, silent cold blanketed him.

Syrenen felt behind him for the rock-face. The stone was wet and chilled, and his fingers slipped. He lurched sideways, dislodging a pebble. It skittered across the path and disappeared without a sound. He knew there was a sheer drop on that side of the path, but he listened in vain for the noise of the pebble falling into oblivion. The mist swallowed everything—sound, colour, light, warmth.

Pressing back against the cold mountain, Syrenen considered his next move. He could see only a few feet in front of him. Further ascent would be foolhardy, but he could not easily go back, either. One false move in this treacherous mist and he would die. He considered staying put, but this exposed cliff-edge was not ideal for setting up camp for the rest of the day. Besides, he had no way of knowing when the mist would clear. He could be here a matter of hours… or perhaps it would be days.

It would be better to continue onwards. Moving carefully away from the rock-face, Syrenen concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as the path revealed itself. His focus narrowed, and he looked inward, continually aware of his balance, his breathing and the beat of his heart. He kept his footsteps small and light, feeling the path beneath his boots, trying to attune himself to the mountain. Sweat broke out at his hairline, turning cold almost immediately. The mist seemed to caress his face and limbs. His face burned with effort, his head pounding as his field of vision slowly shrank yet further.

He knew he should stop. It was madness to continue, and yet Syrenen knew if he stopped, he would die. For the first time in his life, he felt terror snap at him. With a groan of defeat, he sank to his knees on the wet, slippery path and hung his head, breathing deeply to control his fear.

The backpack seemed heavier than ever. Perhaps he should abandon it. He rejected the idea before it took root. The pack contained food, clothing, blankets and basic medical supplies as well as official documents. He needed it to survive.

Syrenen shrugged the pack into a more comfortable position. As he did so, one of the mirrors came loose and fell onto the path in front of him. He crawled forward to retrieve it, curling his hand around it and looking at his reflection.

Through the eerie mist, he almost didn’t recognise himself. With his hair half-down and tangled around his face, he looked like a wild thing and not the charming, urbane thief-catcher who’d worked so hard to appear at home amongst a nation that was not his own. His dark slanted brows were drawn together in a frown of concentration, and his mouth worked around a curse at his weakness.

Then he saw something else in the mirror: a gleam, a suggestion of something taking shape through the mist—a figure… a man.

Syrenen clasped the mirror tight as he rose to his feet. His pulse quickened as he remembered the stories of demons showing their true faces in mirrors, but his reason argued that it was merely another human being who stood before him. Tucking the mirror into his waist-sash, he dropped his hand to the hilt of his sword.

“Lei Ku,” he said loudly at the man still swathed in mist, “I have come to arrest you on charges of murder, battery and theft. Do not attempt to run. You cannot escape me.”

He took a step forward, hand still on his sword, pretending more confidence than he felt. As he moved, the mist swirled away, showing him the path ahead and revealing the man who stood waiting for him.

Syrenen stared. It was not Lei Ku’s ugly dark visage that loomed out of the mist but one altogether more refined. In fact, he realised, as he looked his fill, the man on the path was beautiful. Tall and slender, dressed in white silk with black edgings and a dark grey sash, half of his hair was caught up in a topknot dressed with an elaborate silver hairpin, while the rest hung down his back. Apart from a wide, white stripe that began above the left temple, the stranger’s hair was as black as midnight.

“Who are you? Where did you come from?” Syrenen asked. He edged closer, still wary, flexing his fingers over his sword-hilt. “Are you lost on this benighted mountain, too? This is foul weather in which to be taking a walk.”

The stranger looked at him in silence. He seemed coated in mist, sparkles of dew caught in his clothes and on his hair, giving him a look of liveliness even though he remained as still as a statue. But his eyes gleamed with interest as he gazed at him, and Syrenen fancied he caught the barest hint of a smile on those perfect, sculpted lips before the stranger turned away.

“Wait!”

The stranger paused, looking back over one shoulder. His eyebrows arched in question and, perhaps, in challenge.

Syrenen took another step closer. If he reached out, he’d be able to touch the stranger’s hair. He imagined the feel of it, warm over his skin despite those glittering dewdrops. He wanted to get close enough to catch the scent of it. Lured on by the elegant drape of black hair with its single white stripe, he stretched out a hand and moved forward.

The path disappeared beneath his feet, and Syrenen dropped like a stone.

MÉLANGE

           ...a rich variety of love and life.

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