Certifiable stray.

I sense your grief, you know.

I ceased my pacing on the ledge feeling the wind whip around me, trying to knock me over. You shouldn't be able to sense my emotions, not my thoughts. How is this happening?

I don' t know. This is something new for me.

Watching the c.u.mulous clouds skulk across the sky I wondered was she my angel or my embodiment of h.e.l.l? Though I'd killed Hermes, Terra isn't through with me yet, of that I am certain. It would be a smart move for her. Why did the idea leave me more hopeless than ever?

Does she know my weakness?

At least you loved your daughter. Some parents can't do that.

You speak from experience?

My mother left me when I was eight years old to pursue all things non-familial.

My father killed my stepfather in front of me. I didn't expect to feel her shock. It was so long ago and violence is so much a part of my life that I should have held back. She should break contact with me right now for I am unable not to want to hear her voice.

I'm sorry you experienced so much violence.

I felt her compa.s.sion and for a complete nameless stranger, no less. Compa.s.sion is a dead end. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you.

I'm honored you told me.

Why did your mother leave you? Why would anyone leave her?

She's a singer-wants her name in lights deal. What is your name?

Let's not do names, yet. I winced at the harshness of my thoughts. She felt slighted. I'm not ready for the all important name exchange yet.

Fine with me. You want to keep talking?

I jumped off the ledge and landed on the patio floor. Freezing rain saturated the patio floor. Sure.

Ilida checked the poster paint jars. Dried, crusty paint cracked on the bottom of one jar. The contact with him strained her abilities and her body began to rebel. The headache, her actor, pushed his way through the crowd toward the stage again.

Are you still there?

I wouldn't leave for anything in the world.

Careful, I might hold you to that. She smiled liking him despite his standoffish behavior. She had so many questions to ask him but they would wait. Maybe she'd never hear from him again.

What are you doing?

Cleaning up.

Your home?

She wetted four paper towels, squeezed the excess water out, and then wiped off the long tables. Red and purple paint streaked the paper towels. I'm cleaning up after kids where I work.

You work with children.

Yep! How are you doing?

How am I? I feel your headache coming on.

I should go. I don't want to hurt you. The last time she had a headache it hurt him. He was none too pleased about her painful intrusion. He had enough pain to deal with. She stopped wiping, gathered her hair in her hand, and tied it with a covered elastic band. She resumed cleaning up.

Don't go! Close your eyes.

I'm supposed to be helping you, remember.

You like to argue apparently.

She felt his smile in her heart. That shouldn't happen. Should it? The more she talked with him the more she felt drawn to him and he was the last person she wanted to be drawn to. She liked power- free people. You are doing well for someone who went through something traumatic.

I'm pragmatic. Our loved ones never truly leave us, or so they say. Close your eyes.

She pushed the chairs under the tables. You're being pushy.

I missed Manners one-o-one. For the third time...?

Ilida closed her eyes and felt his psychic touch on her temples.

Breathe in, breathe out deep, and think of the place you thought of before.

She did and that mysterious place in the Mediterranean surrounded her. Her pain eased out of her temples like someone squeezing toothpaste slowly from the tube. Thank you. Do you know that place?

No!

He was lying, but she wasn't going to call him on it. She grabbed a chair and pushed it in front of the sink. She stepped up, and then pulled the cabinet open. I saw you fight that man.

Then you saw too much.

She wasn't trying to but she'd backed him into a corner. He wasn't feeling her choice of topic. She checked the inventory of art supplies in the overhead cabinets above the sink. Is he dead?

Do you really want me to answer that?

She'd never felt chills so profound before. He was dangerous but for enemies or in general? You were out there in the open.

No one saw us.

Not until...

The building blew? You can say it.

We'll talk about it some other time about...

It's a closed subject.

You have secrets like everyone else.

It's late for you, isn't it?

Women can hang out late nowadays. I don't want to leave you.

She was terrified he'd do something. She caught stray images. Or, she thought she had. There was a ledge, freezing rain, and a table. He must be on a patio.

I'll be fine.

She hesitated, not sure if she could believe him. Her head hurt her so much, especially when in contact with him it seemed. It was like her mind wanted to open up to him and hurt to keep forcing herself not to. You're on a ledge in the rain.

Glad you can see me.

I'll have to trust you to not fall off.

He broke contact with her, leaving her alone, deserted. She had to see him face to face, but where was he? Would she dare make contact with him again to find out?

Chapter Six

Ilida stood a ways back, not wanting to intrude, especially with her head threatening to pound again. She took shelter under a tree from the rain as she closed her umbrella. What a miserable night-perfect evening for a funeral. She had a feeling Angry Man had some pull. A tent covered the mourners, a cellist, and two violinists. Odd, there wasn't any light source in the tent.

Angry Man was a complete mystery to her. She suspected he had a dark past and she guessed that attracted her to him. She's secretly attracted to irreversibly dark men. She didn't know why she'd come, just knew she had to. She wasn't sure she could find him and when she'd settled down at her apartment and zeroed in on his thoughts, it hadn't been hard. His grief was a like a psychic flare for her. She wondered if he was aware of that.

Uncomfortably, Ilida surveyed the elaborately decorated tombstones and bare trees.

Ilida was late and wasn't sure if he would want her there. The mourners, and there were many in attendance, were of all races: black, white, brown, and yellow. She'd expected to see a priest presiding over the funeral. Instead, a tall, cloaked figure held a book. She noticed the mourners were somewhat pale except for the African-American woman standing next to Angry Man. Just then, the woman looked over her shoulder at Ilida.

She felt as if the woman skimmed a strobe light over her body searching for clues in every nook and cranny. The woman's dark, probing eyes searched her inside and out. Another pair of eyes followed suit. Green eyes this time bore into her. They drew her in. Are they psychic, too? Or was it just her imagination? Ilida looked away breaking contact. Soon all the mourners and the cloaked figure looked her way. Ilida had the strangest unsettling feeling of being inspected, as one would give a Christmas ham a good once-over.

She guessed they thought she was some morbidly curious onlooker. The aching in her head increased. Images of... sucking? Pangs of hunger. The mourners were hungry. Why did she feel like it was for her? She looked back at the couple. They stayed next to Angry Man, not touching or hugging him, as if he was untouchable. They gave their condolences and moved on. Pallbearers lifted the casket and walked forward to the mausoleum.

She watched the scene alternately from Angry Man to the casket. He stood straight and tall, his shoulders back. Rain showered his shoulders and hair. The black woman and the other tall man with green eyes walked behind the casket. Ilida had to admit she was surprised to see a black woman at the funeral. He left her with the sense of white elitism. He dashed that impression.

The mourners began to disperse as the pallbearers entered the mausoleum. A moving sea of black pearls made its way past tombstones to the road. It was an eerie, impressive display almost like a movie shot in slow motion. Angry Man stared motionless as the mausoleum door closed without a sound.

It was so final, so hideous that a tear rolled down her cheek. The tent came down with exceptional speed, giving her an un.o.bstructed view of the mausoleum. Six stone steps led to a stone landing. Pedestals with bats ready to lift off flanked the stone staircase.

Pallbearers exited the mausoleum through a Gothic door. Evergreen bushes gave the mausoleum some color.

The tall African-American woman spoke to him then kissed him on the cheek. The tall man with green eyes joined her, leading her away hand-in-hand. She's not his girlfriend. A wave of relief washed over her. Immediately, she scolded herself for feeling proprietary over a man she didn't know. She wiped her eyes and walked over to him.

The statuesque couple left his side arm-in-arm under a large umbrella. The tall woman looked back at her. She didn't bother to hide her curiosity. Ilida made her way to Angry Man and stood there, not knowing how to approach him. Like that couple, he soared over her with powerful, broad shoulders and short-cropped black hair. His black trench coat made him seem even taller. His head was bent-softly he cried.

Her chest muscles tightened. Her arm holding the umbrella tensed. She gathered her courage. She didn't want to intrude or embarra.s.s him. She knew he was the kind of guy who didn't let his feelings show often. "You'll get through this."

He whirled around. A shock went through her body followed by heat. His blue-violet eyes rimmed in red pierced her heart and soul. His over-ripe lips shaped into a flattened 'm' made her flounder. And yes, she was l.u.s.ting after a man on the eve of his daughter's funeral. She grimaced to herself. How frickin' cla.s.sy, Davis.

He was definitely probing her and she let him. She had nothing to hide and had no ulterior motives. He should have known that from their talk. "

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?"

His disrespectful, angry response didn't surprise Ilida one bit. She didn't know why she was there. She shrugged unsure of what to say. "I needed to come."

"No, you didn't. This was a private ceremony." He advanced on her. She backed up. "No outsider was supposed to know about it."

This outraged her. "Outsider, huh?"

"Yes, outsider."

"I tried to warn Juliana. She wouldn't listen. She was too busy dancing, laughing, and having a good time." A smile came over her at the memory. "She insulted my sweat suit."

The deep, rich laughter surprised her. The sadness she noticed did not. His coping skills are admirable. After watching his stepfather die in front of him, he could probably withstand anything. He shouldn't have to withstand it alone.

The tree they stood under swayed its bare branches.

"That was my girl."

With her therapist guard up and much stronger now she said, "I meant what I said. You will get through this."

"How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Make me laugh on the worst night of my life. Are you the reincarnation of Circe?"

He compared her to a siren. That was a first from a man, but he didn't seem like any man. "You aren't the sappy kind of guy. I thought realism was the best approach."

He stared down at her again and her heart did a somersault. His eyes were dark with sorrow. Rain pelted his trench coat, not penetrating the fabric but rolling off it. Then he looked up at the night-gray sky. The cleft in his square chin was exposed to her. She shoved her hands in her coat pocket, anything to keep from running her hands along his cleft chin. She shouldn't be feeling this way on a night like this. This was an insane idea to begin with.

Unexpectedly, his brows furrowed and his voice deepened into a growl. "You've got to be a plant by Terra."

"I don't know who Terra is. I'm just trying to help you," she said; weary of his need to see her as the enemy.