The Lost Garden (The Lost Garden Trilogy Book 1) Page 7

  Easy, Doctor, he thought. Get control of yourself. You need answers before you explore those feelings.

  “It is done,” she said and stepped away from him. He was sorry to see her go.

  “What is done?”

  She grinned. He loved her grin. She rarely grinned in his dreams. “It appears you won’t need stitches after all.”

  Knight frowned, then pushed himself out of the recliner and moved quickly over to the mirror that hung above his key ring rack. What he saw staring back at him, or more accurately, what he didn’t see, made him blink in confusion. The cut was gone. There was nothing there, save for a faint scar. He leaned in closer, rubbing a finger over the skin. Not even a bump.

  She stepped behind him. He could see her in the mirror and he could see a touch of humor in her blue eyes. “You will have a scar, unfortunately, Doctor. The oil is good, but it does not remove scars. Whether or not you choose to tell people that you received the scar from a woman is up to you. You could always tell them, I suppose, that you were in a sledding accident as a kid.”

  Knight turned on her. He had worked himself up. “I’m glad you find all this amusing, but the time has come for answers, sister!” He grabbed her hand and pulled her back toward the couch. She didn’t move and he lost his grip. It was like trying to pull a truck.

  “You wish me to follow you?” she asked innocently.

  This time he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. “Damn straight,” he said. She gasped with surprise, and he was shocked that she let him carry her and didn’t knee him in the face, or worse. He was still tender there from earlier. At the couch, he dropped her in the corner and she landed with a small squeak, glaring up at him. He was amused to see that her anger seemed forced. More startled than anything.

  “I have never been treated in such a way—”

  “Until I get some answers, get used to it, sister.”

  “I have killed men for far less—”

  “Shut your trap! I want you to listen to me!”

  Her mouth dropped open in shock. He reached over with his finger and gently closed her mouth. She was angry, but she remained quiet. He was glad she didn’t put up a fight.

  “Good. I want to know who you are. I want to know what that oil was that you used to heal my cut. I want to know why I’ve been dreaming about the Garden of Eden my entire life.” He paused, gazing at her beautiful face, a face he had never thought he would ever meet in the flesh. True, he had hoped and searched for her his entire life, but he did not think dreams really came true. Especially his. He lowered his voice and it trembled slightly with emotion, although he fought to control that. “Most important, I want to know why I’ve been dreaming about you ever since I can remember.”

  * * *

  Never in her life had she been literally manhandled. As he carted her toward the couch, slung over his shoulder like the Neanderthal he was, Jess could only conclude that it was a strange feeling to be at the mercy of someone else, especially a mortal male. Obviously, she could have done some damage to him from that position, but she chose not to and allowed herself to experience the new sensation.

  He didn’t have to drop her like a sack of potatoes. She might have to get him back for that. The moment she thought this, a secret pleasure surged through her. She was always game for a little innocent revenge. Life got boring after a few centuries, holed up in a forgotten mountain.

  Jess also realized that she would not have given herself up to just anybody. The male was, after all, the Chosen One, no matter how much it displeased her. He had proven himself in battle, although his moment of weakness was unforgivable. He had no reason to kill her and he chose not to, even when she had faltered at the sight of the Garden painting. He was clearly strong, slinging her six-foot, four-inch frame over his shoulder like it was nothing and she respected that as well.

  She trusted the man. His motivations were simple. He wanted answers and appeared to be looking for nothing else. At least, for now. Jessima was well aware of the nature of man. She had disposed of many who had come on to her during the course of her world travels for information and knowledge.

  The male clearly had strong emotional reactions, and her heart, which was buried deep beneath her warrior exterior, went out to him, but she wouldn’t show him that.

  When he was done with his speech, he stood over her, arms folded, waiting for answers. The only problem was that she wasn’t ready to give them yet.

  “I’m hungry, mortal. What do you have here to eat?”

  “Eat? I have nothing here to eat.”

  She tapped her fingers on the wooden arm of his couch. Her nails were short and hard.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and rubbed his shoulders. “Fine. I should call the cops and have you arrested for breaking and entering, but instead, I’ll order you a pizza.”

  Her stomach grumbled at the thought. She had long ago fallen in love with the Italian pizza pie. She had not had the American version since her last visit, forty years earlier. She smiled. “I love pizza.”

  “I’m sure you do.” He walked over to his kitchen and removed a wall-mounted phone. He then proceeded to dial a number from a magnet attached to his refrigerator. He squinted as he leaned in close to see the number. He didn’t bother turning on the kitchen light. He seemed to prefer darkness. She, too, preferred darkness, having spent eons within the tunnel network of the mountain she called home. Although the tunnels were now lighted with sophisticated track lighting, some of the lesser used-offshoots were still lit by wall-mounted torches.

  He stepped into the living room with his hand over the phone’s speaker. “What do you want on it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What toppings do you want on your pizza?”

  “Everything, mortal. Everything they have and tell them to hurry. I am impatient for the pizza pie.”

  He shook his head and stepped back into the kitchen. “Put everything on it, mort—” He caught himself and Jessima stifled a laugh. “Just give us the supreme, okay?”

  He finished the order and stepped back into the living room. “They will rush it, your highness, in approximately forty minutes.”

  “That is hardly rushing.”

  It was his turn to smile. “Sorry, sister, but that’s the best they can do.”

  He pulled up the coffee table until it was directly in front of her. He sat down just feet from her. “Now, Jessima IL Eve, will you please tell me what the hell is going on around here?”

  Despite the hunger that raged through her, which was a side effect of the oil, she understood his need for answers. He sat before her, hands together, dark eyes lost in the muted half-light of the room. She could detect a faint wet gleam and she knew that he was desperate.

  “First,” she said, “I am known as Jess to those who know me. You now qualify as one of the few who know of me.”

  “Lucky me,” he said.

  She ignored the sarcasm. “Second, we will be spending a lot of time together, so I will tell you all that you need to know. I have some answers, but I do not have them all. Guardians were not given answers. We were given a job. Understood?”

  “Understood.”

  “First, let me ask you a question,” she paused, thinking back to the portrait of herself in the painting. “How is it that you seem to know me? Why do you state that you’ve been waiting your entire life for me?”

  He sat back on the coffee table. His was a face that pleased her to gaze upon. His hair was light brown and wavy to the point of being almost curly. He had a thin nose and mischievous eyes, as if he were perpetually hiding a secret from the world. Maybe he was. Jess lived a solitary life, one that allowed for no romance. She had often wondered what it would be like to take on a partner, but never would she allow herself to dwell on the impossible. Guardians did not have mates. They mated, true, but out of necessity when their numbers got low. They did not take on life partners, or partners for any length of time. Because of their longevity, the
term “life partner” really took on a whole new meaning for them.

  “A fair question,” he said, eyes glinting. “I’ve been dreaming about you, off and on, for my entire life, ever since I could remember. As a child, I dreamed of a beautiful guardian angel who watched over me in my sleep. When people said they had a guardian, I knew in my heart that I had a guardian angel. She was in my dreams, all the time, clear as a bell.” He paused and looked away. “She was beautiful and it didn’t take long for me to fall in love with her, or at least her image. Tall and powerful, armed to the teeth with a broadsword and bow, wearing leather armor about her mid-section and oh, those long legs. You were the ultimate fantasy for a kid growing up and certainly a reason to look forward to sleep.”

  Jessima IL Eve, for perhaps the first time in centuries, felt herself blushing.

  He continued, “And you never left me. You were the one constant in my life. I could always count on you being there. You really made me question my own sanity, faith, you name it. I read scores of books on dreams, but there was no mention of one person showing up in dream after dream. You were an anomaly, but you were my anomaly.”

  She absorbed his words and paused before thinking. Although quick and heedless in battle, she often absorbed new information with careful attention. “How is it that you have exact replicas of the Garden of Eden in your paintings?”

  He smiled and leaned forward on his elbows. His eyes, those beautiful aquamarine eyes, fastened onto her own. She did not feel uncomfortable in the penetrating gaze or feel the need to look away. Instead, she could feel his intensity through his eyes and his need to understand.

  “You were always standing in the Garden of Eden, although I never knew for sure, until now. Of course, I always suspected that it was an earthly paradise and I soon devoted my entire life to finding this paradise.” He paused, his eyes shining. “By the way, I haven’t found it yet.”

  “What do I do in your dreams?” she asked. She was almost afraid to hear the answer.

  He continued to stare into her eyes and she let him. Through his eyes, she could almost see him reliving each dream. “You always come to me with open arms, dressed for battle, although the weapons are archaic. I never see myself, just the image of you. We are standing on a rock shelf overlooking this utterly amazing land, full of the most vibrant plants on Earth. Everything is larger than it should be and so green it hurts your eyes. High above is a sun, but not the real sun. It’s somehow smaller and its light is not so overwhelming, but it is a perfect amount of light for the scene. I always had a sense that the whole scene was hidden, but I never knew for sure. In my dreams, I rarely explored. I was simply given snapshots.”

  He stopped talking and she discovered she had been holding her breath. She could only think, He is the Chosen One, and I almost cut his head off.

  “Is there anything else you see?” she asked.

  He did not answer immediately, but he broke his connection with her, tearing his eyes away. She wanted him to gaze at her again. Never in all her life had she ever felt a stronger connection to anyone, than to this mortal now, in his living room. The sensation was appealing, but frightening because it created within her a longing she was unaccustomed to feeling. A longing for a deeper connection that she knew she must never allow herself to feel if she was to stay an effective Guardian.

  “Yes. I do see something else, but only sometimes.” He inhaled, looking away toward his kitchen and into the darkness that filled his home. “I see destruction. Everywhere. First, the light in the Garden is extinguished and then, there is a great pain that rips through me physically. I feel as if someone is extracting my heart through my chest. It is a profound sense of loss, of something torn away from me that was never meant to be torn away. And then, I see the destruction and the endless death, the tidal waves, the earthquakes, and the massive storms that rage against the earth. There is nothing I can do, but I sense there should have been. I feel I should have had an answer, but I fail to come up with it in time.”

  He was sweating, large drops falling from his thick hairline. He didn’t notice and she felt that he was releasing himself from a great weight that had been on his heart for perhaps his entire life.

  Tenderly and cautiously, she used her fingertips to wipe the sweat away. He looked at her and she saw the tears in his eyes. She knew he was holding an incredible burden with the fate of the world and he didn’t know who to turn to. Until now.

  “You never spoke of this to anyone,” she said quietly, this time catching and holding his gaze with her own.

  “No,” he said. “Who would believe me? I would have been locked up in a mental institution. No, I chose to live my life and look for my own answers.” He caught hold of her hand and held it. “But it appears my answer may have found me.”

  His skin was scorching hot to the touch, or perhaps that was her imagination. She sensed again within him, his overwhelming relief at having found her.

  “You are not crazy, Evan Knight,” she said softly. “You are simply the last hope for Earth. You are the Chosen One.”

  The doorbell rang.

  He blinked, breaking their intimate connection. “Pizza’s here.”

  “But it hasn’t been forty minutes,” she said.

  He stood and gave her a lopsided smile. “I told them the lady was hungry and if they hurried, I’d throw in a bigger tip. I could use a little myself. After all, if I’m the last hope of Earth, then I need to keep up my energy, huh?”

  * * *

  “This is nothing like the pizza pie I remember,” she said.

  “Well, do you like it?”

  “Yes. It appeals to me, but I sense its uselessness.”

  “Wasted food?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Very little nutritional value, although quite tasty.”

  “That’s when you know it’s good.” He grabbed another piece from the box and closed the lid, adding some hot peppers to the slice with a tap of an open packet. “When was the last time you had pizza?”

  Her mouth was full, cheeks puffed out. She swallowed hard and said, “Forty-two years ago.”

  That would have been a perfectly normal statement if not for the fact she didn’t look a day over twenty-eight. She nibbled on the crust and finally tossed the remains on her paper plate. There was one slice left and he had ordered the extra-large. He had only eaten two slices and she had voraciously eaten the rest. Her appetite was unlike anything he had ever seen in his life. He discovered only later that he had unconsciously moved his fingers and toes from anywhere near her, lest they be eaten, too.

  She sat back and rubbed her full belly. “Now, you may ask of me, mortal.”

  “There’s still a slice left,” he said.

  “I am content for now.”

  “Okay, fine, but first things first. I prefer not to be called ‘mortal.’ My name is Evan to those who know me. You now qualify as someone who knows me.”

  “Lucky me,” she said, licking her fingers.

  Despite his confusion, he smiled. “So, let’s start there. Why do you keep calling me mortal?”

  “You will live a normal life span and die a mortal’s death. Therefore I refer to you and everyone else, other than my fellow Daughters, as mortals.”

  “And you Daughters don’t have a normal lifespan?” He reached over and picked a sausage off of the last piece of pizza.

  “No.”

  “How long do you live, then?”

  “We don’t die.”

  He was reaching for a pepperoni when his hand stopped halfway there. “You don’t die?”

  “Rarely.”

  “What does that mean? Rarely.”

  “We can die in combat, if wounded beyond repair. Not even the oil can heal a severed head, of course.”

  “Of course,” he said, and decided against the pepperoni after all. “And this oil that you just applied to me, is this the same oil you’re referring to?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, now that I’ve been
exposed to it, will I live forever as well?”

  She smiled patronizingly at him.. “Of course not, Evan Knight. The oil must be ingested at periodic intervals to sustain immortality.” As she spoke, she suddenly found interest in a Phoenician clay wine container he used as a centerpiece for his coffee table. It was over four thousand years old. She lifted it easily, flipping it over and examining the bottom. She nodded, impressed. He almost lunged for it, but she had already replaced it back in the center of the coffee table. She dusted off her hands. “Phoenician, I believe.”

  “Yes.”

  “Before my time,” she said.

  “Let’s get back to the oil,” he said.

  “Fine,” she seemed uncomfortable and jittery, as if imparting this information was more difficult than their recent bout in the studio. In fact, she would probably prefer knocking some heads together than this question-and-answer session. Quite possibly, he suspected, she had never dealt with such questions about her nature before. She continued. “The oil can be used to heal battle wounds and disease. Anything. It isn’t called the Oil of Life for nothing.”

  “This Oil of Life comes from the Tree of Life?”

  “Yes.”

  “You tap the Tree of Life?”

  “No. The oil seeps freely and we collect it.”

  “Like tree sap?”

  She thought about that, her mouth twisting up a little. Her lips were full and flushed red and she was not wearing makeup. She didn’t need any. She had amazing color and he suspected it was this Oil of Life that gave her vibrancy.

  “Hard to say, but it is more like an oil.”

  He watched her as she glanced around the room. Her inability to stay still was making him uncomfortable, but he pushed on, regardless. He needed answers and he needed them now. “How old are you, Jess?” he asked.

  She inhaled sharply and suddenly stood and moved over to his bookshelf. She began perusing his collection of Greek histories written in their original Latin. She pulled a book written by Herodotus and began reading through it casually. He stood and moved behind her, watching her lips move slightly as she read the ancient Latin.