Anew: Book One: Awakened (25 page)

Without consciously intending
to, I gravitate back to the playground. It is a school day so the older
children I saw before are absent. Only the youngest are there.

Watching a little boy not more
than two years old laughing gleefully as he pours sand out of a bucket, I feel a
strange tugging at my heart. He’s there with his mother. She smiles at him
adoringly as he grins up at her.

Someday I hope to be able to
watch mothers and their children together without experiencing such hollow
yearning but for the moment, I need to keep moving. A little beyond the
playground, I stop as I hear the trumpet call of an elephant resounding among
the trees. I’ve heard it before, starting my first day in the city, but now I’m
determined to find the source.

The path I take winds around
through a copse of white birch until it comes to a high brick wall divided by a
wrought iron gate. Immediately to the left of the entrance is a sign that
reads: “The Zoological Gardens”. Hours of admission are listed below.

I’ve never been to any such
place. For that matter, the only live animals I’ve seen are those in the
wilderness beyond the palazzo and the pampered pets of all varieties who appear
on the city streets, invariably better dressed than any of the worker class.

Excitement fills me as I hurry
through the gates. This could be exactly the diversion that I need.

My eye is caught first by an
octagonal stone enclosure open to the air and topped by a jetting fountain set
atop tiers of stonework over which water cascades. A strange sort of barking
arises from it.

I approach but stop suddenly as
a long, sleek body speeds through the pool below the falls. Another quickly
follows. I’m at the edge of the enclosure when a dark shape suddenly hurls
itself into the air, clambers on top of one of the stone terraces, and wiggles
its whiskers at me.

A sea lion! I can put a name to
the creature but the actual sight of it is astonishing. What an improbable
animal, so graceful in the water, so ungainly on land. And so adorable as it
rears back on its tail and claps its flippers as though inviting me to give it
a treat.

I’m tempted to stay and see what
it will do next but the rest of the zoo beckons. For more than an hour, I wander
among puffins and penguins, snow monkeys and red pandas, elephants and polar
bears, all real, all there right in front of my eyes. The sights and sounds are
fascinating but the smells…
Whew!
The grassy scent of hay in the
elephants’ huge enclosure is pleasant enough but it’s overwhelmed by the sour
musky aromas of oil and urine that more than a few of the residents use to mark
their territories.

I back away hastily from the fox
habitat but not before the smell brings tears to my eyes. The flood of sensory
input is beginning to wear me out. I’m in search of a free bench near the sea
lion enclosure when a ripple among the mothers and nannies redirects my
attention.

The Norse god from the polo
match is standing nearby, watching the cavorting animals. Without making any
effort whatsoever, he’s attracting a great deal of female attention. I suppose
that’s inevitable given his looks. But I’m only interested in the strange
sensation that I had when I noticed him in front of the club house.

I’ve encountered him before. I
just have no idea where or why it could conceivably matter. Yet it seems to all
the same.

As though in response to my
gaze, he turns in my direction. His quick start of recognition mirrors my own.
He hesitates only a moment before crossing the distance to where I am standing.

Inclining his head graciously,
he asks, “Miss McClellan is it?”

He’s as tall as Ian and equally
broad through the shoulders. Sunlight dances off hair that looks like spun
gold. His features are classically handsome--square jaw, chiseled cheekbones,
and a mouth that looks as though it’s made for temptation. I can understand why
the women are staring.

Surprised that he knows my name,
I nod. “You have me at a disadvantage, Mister--”

“Hayden Carstens.” His smile is
disarming. “You were at the game last week.”

Flushing at the thought that he
might have seen Ian dragging me off toward the Rolls, I nod. “Yes, that’s
right. You were guarding Ian’s back when he made the winning goal.”

Hayden looks pleased that I
noticed but he also shrugs. “He’s done the same for me. Although to be honest,
I have enough regard for my own safety these days that I would have done almost
anything to stop that game from going into overtime.”

“These days? You didn’t always?”

He looks rueful at what he has
let slip. “Let’s just say that I’m newly emerged from my wild child phase.
Admittedly, it ran a little long and involved some seriously stupid shi--
excuse me, nonsense on my part but I survived and that’s what counts.”

I’m wondering what was riskier
than a polo match played so aggressively that it drove a jaded crowd to a
screaming frenzy when he asks, “What brings you to the zoo?”

“Curiosity. I’ve never been here
before. How about you?”

“I grew up a block away. This
was pretty much where I hung out when I was a kid. I have so many memories--”

He frowns as though troubled by
something but a moment later his mood lightens again.

“This morning,” he says, “I
suddenly got to thinking about the scotch bombs they sell here. I don’t know
why they popped into my head but I loved those things. The problem is I can’t
remember what they taste like so I thought I’d come over and find out. Care to
join me?”

I can’t resist his grin. He
seems so simple compared to Ian, so uncomplicated. Still, I hesitate. “That
depends. What are scotch bombs?”

He looks at me in mock dismay.
“You’re kidding? You’ve seriously never had one?”

“Never. What have I missed?”

“Only the best thing ever. Come on,
I’ll show you.”

Five minutes later, I’m sitting
on a bench across from the large musical clock near the main entrance to the
zoo as Hayden pours part of the contents of a red-white-and-blue box into my
palm.

“There are two ways to do this,”
he says. “You can just toss it in your mouth all at once and get the full
experience right away. Or you can pick pieces out and enjoy them one by one.”
He sits back and waits to see what I’ll do.

I decide to go all in and toss.
The combination of butterscotch-coated popcorn and peanuts dusted with coconut
and red pepper flakes is definitely unique in my experience. Not to mention
extremely chewy. But it’s also crunchy, sweet, sticky, spicy and altogether
enjoyable even if I am coughing before I’ve barely swallowed.

Hayden laughs and hands me one
of the bottles of water he had the foresight to also buy at the concession
stand.

“You can tell a lot about people
by how they eat scotch bombs,” he says. His gray-blue eyes gleam with
amusement.

“What if they just have the sense
not to?” I ask but I’m already holding out my hand for more.

He obliges, filling my palm
again before his own. “Then you can tell even more.”

Tossing the handful back, he
chews and swallows as his eyes crinkle with pleasure.

“Are they as good as you thought?”
I ask, watching him.

“Even better. As I always said
when I was a kid, the red pepper is an audacious addition to the insouciance of
the coconut married to the complex flavor palate of the butterscotch. When
paired with the complimentary textures of the peanuts and popcorn, the results
are sublime.”

For the first time in days, I
laugh. “You were a weird kid!”

He grins but doesn’t deny it. “I
prefer precocious but weird works, too.”

“How did you go from budding
gourmet to polo player?”

“I went off to school where I
had the great good fortune to link up with Edward, Ian, and a few other
like-minded miscreants who I’m still proud to call my friends.”

“To be honest, I have a hard
time seeing my brother as a troublemaker or a rebel.”

“You’d be surprised,” Hayden
says. “But I take it you have no difficulty seeing Ian in that light?”

I feel myself blushing and look
away for a moment to recover my bearings. “I know that he’s had to chart his
own course. He deserves enormous credit for achieving so much. I don’t mean
only his business but his philanthropic efforts as well.”

Hayden shoots me a
too-perceptive glance. “Interesting that you know about that side of Ian. The
work his foundation does isn’t publicized, by his choice. He’s a good man for
all that he seemed on the verge of losing it during the game. I can’t help
wondering what put him in such a state.”

He looks at me as though he
knows or at least suspects that I can provide the answer. Instead, I give into
temptation and ask softly, “Have you seen him since then?”

Hayden nods. “He came out to the
boatyard yesterday. We’re laying the keel of a racing catamaran he’s interested
in.”

“Is that what you do, build
yachts?”

“Among other things.”

He stares at me for a moment
before he abruptly asks, “You and I haven’t met before, have we?”

The sudden change of subject
catches me off guard, especially since I’ve been wondering the same thing.
Given the sensitivity of 'Cousin' Amelia’s circumstances, I opt for a truthful
if cautious response.

“If we have, I can’t think
where.”

“Neither can I.” He flashes a
smile that, if I weren’t so utterly absorbed in all things Ian, could take my
breath away. Gallantly, he says, “I’m sure I’d remember you. So tell me, Miss
Amelia McClellan, now that you’ve weathered the scotch bombs, what was your
favorite indulgence when you were a kid?”

I search my mind but find
nothing. When I fail to answer, Hayden looks aghast. “Please don’t tell me you
were one of those perfect little girls who never eat candy or skin a knee or
learn how to burp the alphabet?”

“You can burp the alphabet?” I
don’t know whether to be impressed or revolted.

He nods with modest pride. “I’d
do it for you right now but I don’t want to make you swoon. Better we find you
a favorite candy.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so. It’s
not as though I’m still a kid and it can’t be good for a person--”

“Three words,” he says.
“Chocolate marshmallow zonkers.”

I sigh. He has me at chocolate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I pop another yogurt-frosted
raisin into my mouth and roll it around on my tongue.

“The citrusy tang of the yogurt
complements the earthy sweetness of the raisin,” I say, holding out the box.
“Here, try one.”

It’s an hour later. Hayden and I
are back on the bench facing the musical clock after a quick but profligate
trip to the concession stand. He’s shrugged off his cashmere jacket and rolled
up his shirt sleeves. The remnants of a dozen packages of different candies lie
around us. We are both decidedly sticky.

I’ve come to the conclusion that
he truly is Ian’s friend and that he has set out to get to know me because he’s
so concerned about him. There seem to be many reasons to like Hayden Carstens
but I would if only for that.

He makes a face that in turn
makes me laugh. “I’m a guy,” he says. “I don’t do yogurt.”

“But you’ll eat that?”

He’s polishing off the last
chartreuse sucker that he swears tastes like a fine French liqueur. Another box
of scotch bombs awaits our attention. But before we can get to it, a vendor
walks by, his hands filled with long cardboard cones surrounded by heavenly
pink clouds smelling so wantonly delicious that my mouth waters.

I track him with my eyes much as
I imagine a cheetah tracks a wounded hippo. “What is
that
?”

Hayden shakes his head
emphatically. “You’re not ready for that. Have another zonker.”

“What do you mean, not ready?
What is it?”

He sighs as though he knows
we’re both going to regret this. “Cotton candy. But that’s heavy duty stuff.
You’ve got to work up to it.”

“I just want a bite.”

“Nobody can eat just one bite of
cotton candy.”

“I can, try me.”

“This is against my better
judgment,” he says a few moments later as he hands me one of the cones.

Close up, it’s a little
daunting. I’m not quite sure where to begin.

“Try pinching a piece off with
your fingers,” Hayden suggests.

I do and pop it into my mouth
where it begins to melt in a slow motion explosion of sugary heaven. Never mind
that my molars hurt, this stuff is incredible. I close my eyes, the better to
savor it.

When I open them again, I’m
staring at a powerful torso in a charcoal gray custom suit standing directly in
front of me. Raising my eyes, I encounter a clenched jaw darkened by a day or
two of stubble. Higher than that I hesitate to go.

“Hi, Ian,” Hayden says
pleasantly. “Nice day for the zoo.”

“Hayden,” Ian acknowledges.
“What’s going on?” He sounds all too calm.

“Just giving Amelia her first
taste of cotton candy.” He smirks. “Along with a few other firsts. What’s going
on with you?”

“Funny you should ask.” Ian
takes the cone from me and tosses it into a nearby waste can. “I’m here to take
Amelia home.”

The musical clock nearby
suddenly begins to chime. At its base, statues of a goat, kangaroo, penguin,
and bear chase each other around in a circle while playing musical instruments.
The tune they are belting out is “Row, row, row your boat.”

We’ve gotten to the part where
life is but a dream when Ian holds out his hand to me.

Without allowing myself to think, I take it.

Amelia

A
large black vehicle that looks more suited to the streets of a city under siege
than to the privileged enclave of Manhattan is at the curb just beyond the
entrance to the zoo. A big man in a dark suit steps out and opens the passenger
side door for us.

Ian hands me into the
surprisingly luxurious interior and follows quickly. As soon as we’re settled,
the vehicle moves into traffic.

As it does, I push down the
fears generated by memories of the last time we were in a backseat together and
succumb to the temptation to look at him. Seen in profile, his square jaw, the
straight blade of his nose, and the sensuous fullness of his lips remind me of
classical Greek statues. Except Ian isn’t made of cold marble. He’s flesh and
blood, warm and alive.

I long to touch him--with my
hands, my mouth, with all of me, body and soul. The need is all but
overwhelming, the distance of mere inches between us scarcely endurable.

But he’s so closed off from me,
his thoughts so impenetrable, that I can’t help but feel resentful. Does he
have any idea how miserable I’ve been the past few days? Does he care?

Rather than expose how
vulnerable I feel, I take refuge in the old adage that the best defense is a
good offense.

“Is this really necessary?” I
ask, indicating the vehicle. “You know I live only a few blocks from here.”

“We’re not going there,” he
says, barely glancing at me. “I’m taking you to Pinnacle House.”

I stare at him in confusion. Ian
and I certainly have problems but I’ve never known him to deliberately lie to
me. “You said you were taking me home.”

“My home,” he corrects.
“Pinnacle House is the headquarters of Slade Enterprises. I have an apartment
there.”

Distantly, I remember him
mentioning that when we were at the palazzo. But I’m far more focused on his
assumption that he can suddenly reappear in my life after what happened between
us and take me off wherever he chooses. If he’s trying to upset me further,
he’s succeeding.

I am about to tell him as much
when he suddenly asks, “How do you know Hayden?”

The question takes me by
surprise. With a shrug, I say, “We were both at the zoo and we recognized each
other from the game.”

This explanation doesn’t appear
to satisfy him. He scowls. “Don’t you know better than to take candy from strangers?”

Seriously? After the miserable
days and nights that he’s put me through, he’s upset that Hayden and I were
having fun together? I try to remember if Ian and I ever shared such a simple,
uncomplicated moment and realize that we have not. For better or worse, our
time together has been fraught.

Still, that’s no excuse for his
behavior. Without making any effort to conceal my anger, I say, “I shouldn’t
take rides from them either. Let me out.”

From of the corner of my eye, I
see his widen in the instant before his tantalizing mouth sets in a hard line.
Clearly, the idea that we don’t really know each other doesn’t sit well with
him.

“Don’t test me, Amelia. Not
now.”

In the confines of the backseat,
my awareness of him is physically painful. I can scarcely breathe but every
time I do my body’s instinctive response to his presence grows. Heartbeat to
heartbeat, I am being drawn back to him. At the same time, I cannot make sense
of why I am there or why he is.

Abruptly, it dawns on me that
there is one obvious reason why he would suddenly reappear in my life after
making it more than obvious that he intended to keep his distance. Something
has happened.

With calm I am very far from
feeling, I ask, “Is this because of Davos?”

He shoots me a look and for an
instant the mask of imperturbable control slips. The depth of emotion revealed
behind it is so stunning that I can’t help but gasp. What could possibly
provoke such barely contained rage, fierce passion, and something that looks
startlingly like…dread?

No hint of any of that is in his
voice when he says, “The Institute where you were imprinted was blown up this
morning. A terrorist organization called the Human Preservation Front is
claiming responsibility. They’ve released a manifesto declaring an all-out war
on replicas.”

A wave of shock hits me,
followed quickly by nausea. For a horrible moment, I’m afraid that I’m going to
be sick. All that damn candy! I take a shallow breath, followed by another, and
fight for control.

“Are you all right?” Ian asks.

He turns in his seat so that we
are face to face. The mask has slipped again and I see the full extent of his
concern--so real and intense that my eyes suddenly burn. I can’t reconcile that
with his withdrawal from me. I’m too confused to even try.

Quickly, I say, "I’m fine.
It’s just that I read a little about them on the link. They seemed too crazy to
be real. All that talk of conspiracies, slave armies…” I wave a hand faintly.
“They’re actually serious?”

“It appears so,” he says grimly.
“I have people on the scene now. We’ll know more soon. But in the meantime,
Pinnacle House is the safest place for you to be.”

Is it? Whatever the reason
behind his withdrawal, it has made me realize how easily he can devastate my
emotions. I don’t think he has any understanding of how he makes me feel. He
doesn’t even realize that he should have told me what was happening without my
having to drag it out of him.

I swallow against the lump in my
throat. “Edward and Adele will be worried when I don't come home.”

“I talked to Edward,” Ian says
quickly. “We’re in complete agreement about this. He’ll explain it to your
grandmother.”

The thought of violent
extremists such as the HPF coming after me is bad enough but what if those I
care about were caught up in any such attack? I could never survive the grief
and guilt. But--
oh, god!--
what about Ian? Doesn’t he understand the
danger he is in by being near me?

The thought of him putting
himself at such risk makes me feel as though I’m standing on the edge of an
abyss, staring down into my own worst nightmare. I can’t bear it.

My hands clench in my lap but I
manage to keep my voice steady. “It sounds as though I’m not the safest person
to be around right now. There must be somewhere else I could be away from--”

The gaze he turns on me is
scorching. I suppose I should feel properly reprimanded but I’m too startled
and bewildered. His shifting mood tells me more clearly than anything else that
he is in the grip of fierce emotions. I only wish that I could begin to
understand why he seems so determined to deny them.

“Don’t ever ask me to trust
someone else with your safety!" he says. "No matter what, that isn’t
going to happen.”

He takes a deep breath, visibly
fighting for calm, and adds, “Pinnacle House is a fortress. No one will be able
to touch you there.”

That reassures me a little,
although more for his sake than mine. “How long--?”

“I don’t know! For God’s sake,
Amelia, don’t you realize how vulnerable you are? You could be killed and the
only charge that could be brought against anyone would be for destruction of
property!”

His anguish is so raw that it
stuns me. In an instant, I forget all the reasons why I should be upset and
afraid on my own behalf. Instinctively, I reach out to him. Only to freeze when
he raises a hand, warning me off.

For the second time in a handful
of days, he has turned away from me. I have no idea how to deal with this. The
sting of rejection sinks deep. My throat tightens with tears. Pride comes to my
rescue but it’s cold comfort.

I can feel myself withdrawing
inwardly, trying however futilely to put some distance between us, when he
suddenly says, “I have to know that you’re safe from any danger.” His voice is
low and rasping. All the more so when he adds, “Including me.”

I stare at him in bewilderment.
What is he saying? Why would the man who looked physically ill at the thought
of forcing me to wear a collar for my own safety believe that he could be a
danger to me?

It’s true that I was hurt when
he sent me away from the palazzo seemingly without a second thought and again
by his behavior at the Opera House, not to mention the Rolls and afterward. I’m
not dismissing any of that but at the same time, I don’t think he’s talking
about any sort of emotional harm. He’s speaking of physical danger.

“I don’t understand. Why would
you--?”

He shakes his head, cutting off
the question. The vehicle is slowing as we reach our destination. The building
I noticed several days before---constructed of shimmering steel and glass, and
taller than any other in the city--looms just ahead of us. We turn onto a ramp,
pass a checkpoint, and descend into an underground garage.

Ian steps from the vehicle as
soon as it comes to a halt. He holds out a hand to me.

“Welcome to Pinnacle House,” he
says with an unmistakable note of pride. His emotions are once again firmly
reined in. He is in his element and in control.

I step out and glance around,
only then noticing the two identical large vehicles ahead and behind us. Men
are leaving them, shouldering their weapons as they do so. Ian nods to the
leader as they disperse.

I can’t help thinking that an
armed convoy on the city streets to secure one woman must be the definition of
overkill but I refrain from saying so.

We are standing in a vast space
occupied by vehicles and other machinery. The clang of metal and the echo of
voices rebound off the high cement walls. Groups of men in black uniforms move
about purposefully. I can’t imagine what they are doing but preparations of
some sort seem to be underway.

A steel grate is being lowered
into place across the ramp where we entered. As soon as it is down, a concrete
barricade rises in front of it. Between the two, they form a barrier that even
a heavy vehicle traveling at high speed wouldn’t be able to get passed.

I’m reassured that any
unauthorized person would find it very difficult, if not impossible to gain
access to the building. But I’m also puzzled as to why such intense security is
needed in a city that is already so well guarded from the rest of the world.

As though he senses my
confusion, Ian says, “There are people I refuse to do business with who would
like to acquire what we have here. This level of security discourages them from
trying.”

I doubt that he has given me a
full explanation but as overwhelmed as I feel, I can only nod. His hand on my
elbow steers me toward a bank of elevators. He touches a thumb to a biometric
sensor and the doors of one slide open soundlessly.

“You’ll be staying in the
penthouse,” he says as we step in. “But there are other parts of the building
you may want to make use of if you have to be here for any length of time. I’ll
arrange a tour for you as soon as possible.”

I nod in acknowledgement but
remain silent as the elevator begins to rise, accelerating so quickly that it
feels as though a weight is pressing down on me. I am vividly aware of Ian
standing beside me. Desire unfurls low in my belly but with it comes a full
measure of confusion. I am at a loss to understand this man who can behave so
coldly yet who appears to care so deeply.

Before I can barely begin to
contemplate that, we slow and come to a halt. The doors part to reveal a large
windowless foyer done entirely in white. As soon as we step out, a beam of
light emerges from a point near the ceiling and scans us quickly. The inner
doors to the penthouse slide open.

My first impression is that we
are no longer inside the building but have instead stepped onto a platform that
is floating high in the air. The sensation is at once disorienting and liberating.

It takes me a few moments to
understand that we are still inside, looking out through walls of glass that
stretch from floor to ceiling. They rise at least fifty feet to a clear domed
ceiling. I can see a vast swathe of sky above the rivers to the east and west
that flow around the island city. To the south I can even make out the immense
statue of a woman holding a torch in her hand that guards the entrance to the
harbor.

Pinnacle House is rightly named.
I feel as though I’ve come to the top of the world, leaving all the rest
behind.

The palazzo is beautiful and
elegant, a fitting residence for a man of Ian’s accomplishments. But this is
something more, a glimpse of the inner man free and unfettered, without
barriers or restraints. It takes my breath away.

“This is extraordinary,” I
murmur.

To my surprise, he looks
relieved. “It doesn’t appeal to everyone. I’m glad you like it. I have a few
minutes before I have to be in a meeting. Let me show you around.”

His mood has lightened. I can’t
help wondering if it is because I can appreciate a place that means a great
deal to him? Or, having brought me here, is he now satisfied that he has me
safe?