Authors: Dara Joy
always wanted to do."
"Which is?"
"You promise you won't laugh?"
"I'd never laugh at someone's dream. After all, I happen to live in one of my
own." He gestured to the house.
"Yes, you do. Do you know how lucky you are, Tyber? To live your dream?"
"I do. But some dreams lend themselves to creation, Zanita. Take the atmosphere
of this house, for instance. Atmosphere is not tangible, but can arise out of a
collection of tangible things. I created the atmosphere, so in a sense, I
created the dream."
"Tyberius Augustus Evans, dream-weaver extraordinaire." She cuddled into him.
He smiled faintly. "Then there are the other dreams, the ones that cannot be
created. They're dreams of hope and desire. Should those dreams become reality,
a person is indeed lucky." His arms tightened around her. "So what is your deep,
dark secret?" He kissed her behind her ear.
"I would love to just… well, I've always wanted to investigate… the unusual and
then write about it."
Tyber was not at all surprised. Somehow this was very Zanita. "Care to define
unusual?"
"No, that's just it—whatever I think I should write about. I would take these
unusual subjects, like the paranormal for instance, and write about them
honestly. Seriously. No tabloid journalism. No slant on sensationalism. I mean
real, serious exploration. If it wasn't so, I'd unveil it; if it was, I'd reveal
it."
"Isn't it being done?"
"Not the way I would do it. Most articles out there are either not completely
factual, or else the reader feels that the author left out a chunk of the story
to support his or her particular slant. I want to do it in a totally unbiased
way—report exactly what I found, whatever the subject. That's why I was so
excited when the LaLeche story presented itself to me."
"Yes, but you did have an opinion about him before you met him," he pointed out.
"True, but one has to have a healthy dose of skepticism and that story is
somewhat different. I still would have endeavored to write an unbiased article,
regardless of my personal feelings at the outset. It's just that he's an eel and
we both know it."
"So, what you're saying is, you want to explore paranormal topics, do your own
investigation, and write about it." My God, she's found the perfect mathematical
formula for trouble, he thought prosaically.
"Exactly! It's different when you observe someone doing the investigation and
write about it. It's not the same as actually doing the investigation. Being
there." She sighed contentedly. "I could really get into that."
Tyber gazed down at the top of her head, something close to horror crossing his
features.
"But that's not my favorite dream."
Endless Zanita possibilities for danger rapidly traversed his mind.
She blithely continued, "If I had more time, I'd like to—" She stopped suddenly,
aware that she was about to reveal another secret.
"Like to what? C'mon, you have to tell me now." While I'm still numb.
"Well, if I had a lap-top, I might like to give fiction writing a try; you know,
using some of my stories as background…." Now that sounded like an excellent
idea to him.
She half-turned, gazing earnestly up at him. "So, what do you think?"
I think you're going to get a lap-top for Christmas. "Don't ever give up your
dreams, Zanita." He placed his finger under her chin, gently lifting her face
for the tender press of his pirate mouth. "I promise you; I won't ever give up
on mine."
"This wasn't too bad a drive."
Tyber threw her a look. "How would you know? You slept most of the way."
She straightened her skirt, swallowing painfully. She had been right about the
scratchy throat—it hadn't gone away. In fact, it felt distinctly worse. "Did I
miss anything?"
"Just a perfectly good UFO sighting."
"Ha-ha."
"Red, cylindrical object, pulsating in the sky, seeming to appear from out of
nowhere…"
Her violet eyes widened. "You are joking aren't you?"
"I'm not going to tell you. Maybe from now on you won't fall asleep on me." He
glanced her way. "Although it does give you a lovely glow when you wake up."
It was probably the beginnings of a fever, but she wasn't about to tell him;
he'd probably insist they return home and there was no way she was going to do
that. They had a toehold on LaLeche; she wasn't about to lose it now.
The South Town meeting hall was about a quarter the size of Kingston Hall. As
they took their seats, Zanita noted that Tyber had been right about the
audience, too. It seemed only the most devout followers from the last seminar
had chosen to come to this one.
She recognized a few of the faces, surprised when several of them remembered her
by saying hello to her by name. Most of them were men.
"I can't believe they remembered me," she whispered to Tyber.
He stared at her stonily.
"What?"
"Nothing."
LaLeche entered the room, going behind the podium on the raised dais. "Good
evening. Thank you for coming. This is much nicer, isn't it? Smaller, less
formal—I prefer it, how about you?" Everyone applauded.
Except Tyber.
Zanita elbowed him in the side; he grudgingly clapped a few times.
LaLeche scanned the audience, noting the return faces. His eyes lit on Tyber and
remained there. "Dr. Evans! Glad you could make it again. It's a real pleasure."
Everyone turned to stare at Tyber, wondering why he deserved to be singled out
by their great one.
"Thank you, Mr. LaLeche. I was intrigued by your seminar last time and made it a
point to come to this one. I'm very interested in what you're doing."
Zanita inwardly winced at the double meaning behind his words. She only hoped
LaLeche didn't pick up on it. Apparently he didn't, for his next words were full
of chummy cheer.
"I was never one for the formalities; call me Xavier, please." He paused,
waiting for Tyber to return the courtesy. He didn't. "Well… You must stick
around after we're through here tonight. I'm very curious to hear your
impressions of what I'm doing."
"I'm sure you would be," Tyber said under his breath, before saying in a louder
voice, "I look forward to it." LaLeche glowed.
"Maybe it's you he likes," Zanita quipped.
"Only for the size of my… reputation," Tyber flashed back, causing Zanita to
blush. He chuckled.
"Cut that out! Be serious or you'll blow everything!"
He had a very good comeback to that, but refrained from using it. "Okay, baby.
But remember, serious is as serious does."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Look in the third row, fourth seat from the left—Isn't that Forrest Gump
sitting there?"
"Tyber, don't start again." However, when she glanced in that direction, she
discovered that the man in the audience did look like Forrest Gump. Despite
herself, she giggled.
"And you didn't believe me about the red spaceship. Shame on you."
She started to shush him, but sneezed instead.
"That's the fourth time you've sneezed this evening."
"Maybe I'm becoming allergic to you." She blew her nose.
"Are you coming down with something?"
"No."
He examined her face closely, noting the flushed cheeks. "You are."
"I am not!"
He took her hand in his and made to rise. "Let's go."
"I'm not leaving!" This she said a little too loudly; several people turned to
stare at her. She yanked her hand out of his. "Sit down this minute and stop
making a spectacle of yourself!" she hissed.
"Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"
"Because I knew you would behave this way. And I was right! Storming over
people's wishes like—"
The corner of his mouth quirked. "You're awfully cranky, aren't you? I mean, for
someone who isn't sick."
"—like some bloody pirate captain!" She crossed her arms and refused to look at
him for at least half an hour.
LaLeche was already warming up to his subject matter. "For instance, when you
introduce an electric current into a wire, it generates a magnetic field. Isn't
that right, Dr. Evans?"
"Ah, yes."
"Conversely, when one sends out a healing thought, one is sending out energy
with it. The greater the strength or power of the thought, the greater the flow
of energy. Now the more the flow of energy, the greater the field of energy. So
you see how you create a magnetic field when you generate a strong thought."
Tyber shook his head several times as if to clear it from a punch.
"So, too, with strong healing thought. You see, my friends, the body is like a
motor which needs energy fuel to keep running efficiently. Sometimes the motor
breaks down and needs to be recharged. The power of healing can do this,
especially—especially—when you have someone who can effectively generate this
energy down the right pathways in the human body. Through my special talents, I
can provide and direct the energy you need to heal yourself."
"Maybe he can cure you, Zanita." Tyber leaned over her. "Then I won't have to be
angry with you anymore for not telling me you were sick."
She gave him a disgusted look, saying, "You just earned another fifteen minutes
of the cold shoulder." She promptly turned away from him.
"The flow of energy is a very important lesson you will need to learn if you
wish to be effective in controlling your well-being. I will share an exercise
with you on this technique." He looked into the audience. "Ah, Zanita!"
She jumped.
"I see you returned with our friend Dr. Evans. Since you did such a fine job on
the last exercise, I know you won't mind helping me with this one."
"He presses his luck," Tyber muttered.
Zanita made a face at Tyber. "No, I don't mind." She went up to the podium.
Tyber sourly noted that several men leaned forward in their seats, eagerly
awaiting the demonstration.
"Now this exercise is designed to make you aware of the flow of electrical
energy throughout your body, so that you may begin to control the flow of your
magnetic field. I want you to sit in the chair again and close your eyes."
"Okay."
"Surround yourself with the white light."
"Check."
"Check?"
"Surrounded."
"I want you to visualize the appropriate images for movement and stillness while
you're doing the exercise. When you inhale, say 'movement' and when you exhale,
say 'stillness.' All right?"
Zanita's eyes popped open; she stared directly at Tyber and swallowed. He
returned her look, his lips twitching with suppressed laughter. They were both
remembering a certain morning not too long ago when she had begged him for
movement, and he had opted for stillness. It had been one of the most erotic
experiences of her life.
There was no way she was going to go through with this exercise with Tyber
staring so knowingly at her. She turned flushed cheeks to LaLeche. "Um… can we
do something else, Mr. LaLeche?"
"Why, whatever for, my dear?"
Whatever for, indeed. Tyber grinned, lacing his hands behind his head. He leaned
back in his seat.
Chapter Seven
« ^ »
"Movement." She inhaled.
"Stillness." She exhaled.
Tyber, not moving, eyes passion-drugged as he watched her ignite beneath him…
"Movement." She inhaled, deeply.
"Stillness."
The cords of his neck standing out as he threw back his head, struggling not to
move in her…
"Movement." She inhaled, quicker now.
"Stillness."
The heated press of his mouth, his tongue, arms clasped around her, him inside
her everywhere…
She exhaled on a moan. "Stillness," she panted.
"Very good, my dear. Do you feel the stillness within you?"
"Oh, yes!"
"Excellent. Now you have taken the first step in controlling the flow of energy
within you. Do you feel the flow?"
"I'm flowing."
A burst of coughing echoed in the dead silence of the room.
Zanita snapped her eyes open and glared at Tyber.
He grinned back at her, a mischievous dimple popping into his cheek. "So sorry.
Something got caught in my throat, baby."
He was just so-o contrite. As if he were sincerely apologizing to her! And
calling her baby in front of the whole audience! She pierced him with a killing
violet death glare.
His low chuckle just reached her on the dais.
She would kill him.
Later, when they were alone. When there weren't any witnesses to the crime.
"That's quite all right, Dr. Evans; we've finished the exercise anyway. I think
everyone understands the concept. You may go back to your seat, dear."
When Zanita stood up, she got a healthy round of applause. In fact, on her way
back to her seat, one man gave her the thumb's-up, saying, "Yeah!" as she walked
by him. She had never been so embarrassed in her life.
When she took her seat, Tyber leaned over her, saying, "I have a much better
exercise for you."
She murdered him with her look.
"For when you feel better, Curls."
"As far as I know, Massachusetts still does not have the death penalty," she
gritted out. "It makes one contemplate the possibilities. If I were you, I