Mystic Flame (Beyond Ontariese 4) Read Online Free Page A

shoulder. “Are you feeling any better?”
    “Should I go get help?” the second female
asked.
    The last thing Evan needed was more
attention. He raised his head and searched for the right words. “I
will—be fine.”
    Sheryl’s companion gasped when he opened his
eyes. “How do you make them do that? I’ve never seen anything like
it.”
    “Contacts.” He repeated Sheryl’s word.
Earth’s languages had been gradually consolidated into one common
language during the second half of the twenty-first century. He
must have materialized before that time.
    Pain eased, leaving a persistent ache and a
sense of urgency. He needed energy.
    “Are you in Star-Crossed ?” the second
woman asked.
    “Of course he is,” Sheryl said. “Why else
would he be dressed like this?” She knelt beside him and reached
for his hand. “Did you hit your head when you fell? I heard a
terrible ruckus.”
    “I’m feeling much better now.” The journal!
He reached down, hurriedly feeling for the device in the seam
pocket of his robe. Thank the gods of the day moon it was still
there.
    “How did he get back here?” the second woman
whispered to Sheryl, her expression dubious. “If he came staggering
through the kitchen, why didn’t anyone stop him?”
    As the females debated, Evan took stock of
his surroundings. He was in some sort of storeroom, surrounded by
crowded shelves and wooden crates. The women were dressed in
identical dresses, likely uniforms. Clanks and clatters emanated
from the adjacent room. He needed to think, to sort out the images
twisting through his mind.
    He pushed off the floor then got his feet
beneath him. His legs trembled, barely supporting his weight.
Sheryl pulled his arm across her shoulders and wrapped hers around
his waist. The movement shocked him. It was forbidden to touch a
Mystic without permission.
    “Are you staying here or should we call you
a cab?”
    What was she asking? Her words made no
sense. Sounds and smells pelted his overloaded brain as they
skirted the bustling kitchen. He needed to meditate, to—he needed energy . Each step drained his meager strength, made his
breathing labored. The second woman held open a swinging door as
Sheryl maneuvered him past the threshold.
    His stomach cramped and he leaned on the
female more heavily. Eating would never provide the concentration
of energy he required. He needed a direct transfer and he needed it
now. His training had taught him how to extract energy, but the
process could be frightening, even harmful for an untrained
donor.
    The second woman trailed a bit behind. “You
can’t stuff him in a cab like this. I’m not even sure he’s drunk.
He looks sick to me.”
    If he could get them to an isolated location
he could—
    “There you are!” Regardless of the alien
language she spoke, Dro Tar’s voice was all too familiar. The husky
timbre had haunted his dreams and teased his mind for fifteen solar
cycles. He turned his head to the side, unsure how to react to this
unexpected development. Dro Tar came striding toward him, her eyes
narrowed and… How had she changed the appearance of her eyes? “I’ve
been looking all over for him.” She spoke English with the faintest
hint of an accent. “I told him wearing his costume off stage was
infantile and he proceeds to get rip-roaring drunk. Sort of proves
my point, don’t ya think?”
    “We found him in the storeroom,” Sheryl
explained. “I have no idea how he made it through the kitchen
without someone stopping him.”
    “They’re getting ready for the dinner rush.
No time to deal with a sloppy drunk.” Dro Tar had mastered their
vernacular. She was as difficult to understand as the humans. He
didn’t care that her posture was stiff and hostility simmered
beneath her welcoming façade. He had never been more relieved to
see anyone in his life.
     
    Dro Tar shoved her shoulder into Evan’s
armpit and wrapped her arm around his waist.
    “Are you sure he’s all right?” the