The Secret of Excalibur (4 page)

Ruth opens the kitchen door, peering around it. “Arthur, would you like to see the garden before dinner? Michael is very proud of it.”

I've been so busy stewing over the phone calls, I forgot about her.
Why can't these government fools just leave people alone?
“Uh, yes, thank you,” I mumble.

As we stroll along a flagstone path through the prolific garden, Ruth begins asking questions. “Arthur, why magic? I mean, why not use your powers the way you want to? Maybe help people?”

“Fair enough question and I'll tell you,” I reply, pausing for a moment, gathering my thoughts. “Whenever I use one of my abilities, people look at me like I'm a bug. They don't understand how I do what I do, and most people get jealous because they can't. By telling people I'm a magician, I get to use my abilities, and they accept them as magic tricks. That way, I can still live around 'normal' people,” I explain, emphasizing with two air quotation marks.

I still harbor bitter feelings over the way I've been treated after developing my powers. Going from a likable guy to one almost all my friends envy, despise, or fears, has been a difficult adjustment to make.

“Is that important to you? I mean, living around people?” she asks, peering up at me. She's nervously toying with her necklace again, and I resist the urge to hold her hand.

“Well, Doctor, I am human and I have needs too. One is plain old-fashioned companionship. I've spent too many years alone,” I softly confess. These questions are making me feel uncomfortable, bringing up bad memories, but I want her to understand that even with my powers, I have feelings and needs like everyone else.

“What about your country? Don't you want to help them?” she asks with a disapproving frown.

With a shrug, I tell her, “I agreed to do one job for them a few years ago, and now they think they own me. Don't see eye-to-eye with them. But, if there were civilians involved, or the country itself were in danger, then yes, I'd help. Besides, they muck things up enough by themselves.”

We stop in front of a low, stone bench, out of sight of the house. Looking around, I can tell Michael not only spends many hours at his job, he must thoroughly enjoy it. Not one flower in the hundreds, not one leaf, is out of place. The garden displays a symmetrical beauty you don't often see.

“It's so peaceful here, sometimes I stay here for hours in the evenings,” Ruth says. We sit in an awkward silence, while I'm slipping in and out of her mind. She asks quietly, “Arthur, do you consider yourself human? I mean, do you still do the same activities you used to before you changed?” She's trying to maintain her professional distance from me, but she has personal feelings she's battling with as well.

“Yes I do. I eat, sleep, drink too much, smoke too much, and make love when I can, you know, normal,” I reply as softly.

“With your hypnosis ability, you could make love whenever you wanted,” she says shyly, a faint, pink flush spreading across her cheeks. We're treading on dangerous ground.

“I don't take things unless offered. Except money, of course,” I lightly reply.

“What?” She turns to me in surprise.

“Well, before we left the Institute, I went across the street to the King's Corner Bank and withdrew fifty thousand pounds. And I don't have an account.” Her eyes are big. “Oh, don't worry, I signed for the money, and used Dr. Tober and Commander Dobie's names.”

“Oh my God, they'll imprison you, Arthur,” she says, with wide eyes. I give a wicked grin. She begins to laugh. “Uh, no, I guess they won't, will they?”

“That's been tried before, doesn't work very well.” I explain about taking Richards' car at the airport.

“You're a strange man. Always so daring and devilish,” she says with a wistful look. Because of her rape and the accidental death of her parents, she's led a sheltered life.

“Well, I try to keep a sense of humor, Ruth.” We sit for a few more minutes in a more companionable silence. A slight breeze blows through, bringing with it the smell of roses and petunias. A strand of Ruth's auburn hair drifts across her lips, and I want to reach out and brush it aside. I restrain myself, instead saying, “No, I don't think you're sick, Ruth. In fact, I find your private life rather intriguing.”

I thought she'd be offended, but she wasn't, as she changed the subject. “You're in my head again.” She brushed the stray, strand of hair from her lips. “Can people tell when you're doing that?”

“Some people can, they don't know what it is, just feel something different. Others react really strangely. Can't take the idea of someone else in their heads, I guess.”

“I felt nothing,” she says, nervously rubbing her temple.

“Well, I try to be careful. It wouldn't take much to cause damage or pain. The ego bruises rather easily.”

Looking out the corner of her eye at me, she asks, “When I was dressing, was that the first time you spied on me?”

Oh, oh, this might set her off.
Clearing my throat, I say contritely, “Actually, the first time you were in the shower.”

“Were you trying to make me feel anything?” she asks, looking down at her hands in her lap, playing with the woman's wedding ring on her right hand.

“No, I was just enjoying the beauty of you. Why?”

With a soft sigh, she looks at me, confusion reflected in her eyes. “I felt a desire for you, and, as you know, I'm a lesbian. If you didn't do it, what was I feeling?”

“You were feeling a minor sympathetic response.”

“What's that?” she asks with furrowed brows.

“Well, when I saw you naked, I became sexually aroused, and that feeling must've transferred on to you,” I explain.

She's thinking, looking down at the ring on her finger, then asks, “Can you intentionally make a person feel that way?” She's playing with the idea from a professional and personal standpoint.

“Yes, quite easily. In fact, without touching you, I can give you an orgasm. Want me to show you?” I suggest with a bold smile.

“Uh, no, I don't,” she hastily declines, squirming in embarrassment.

“Ruth, I don't want you to misunderstand me. I'm your friend. I know what happened to you, and because of the violation, you've built a wall around yourself. I won't condemn you for your sexual practices. I'm no saint either.”

“I'm thirty-one, and I've been touched by a man once, but by several women hundreds of times. Women are easier for me to be around because they're gentle with me.” Her lips are trembling and a few tears slide from her closed eyelids. She's clutching the wedding band on her necklace like it's a lifeline to her salvation. What a confession, from this noble, beautiful woman.

“I understand,” I say gently, wiping the tears from her cheeks. My heart is breaking for her.

In a timid, shaky voice, she asks, “You would never sleep with a woman who prefers other women, would you?”

Trying to lighten her mood, I reply, “Well, that depends. Some women are very possessive.” She gives me a small, teary smile before lapsing into a heavy silence. She's having a raging war inside herself. With a sigh, I tell her, “I want to give it a try, Ruth.” Cupping her chin, I turn her face towards me, staring into her gorgeous, jade eyes and confess, “I may even cheat, if I have too. I find you very desirable. I hope you're not offended.”

I can still feel the mental push I gave her earlier when she was dressing. Sometimes, I don't realize how hard I push. There are some people who take so little to affect, and Ruth is one of them. I wasn't the only one who'd been aroused when I saw her in the shower. The sympathetic response she felt is real and it's certainly affecting her.

Meeting my gaze, she says, “It's odd. Here I am talking about my most personal feelings, and with a stranger.”

“I'm not a stranger. I know more about you than anyone else, besides yourself,” I point out.

“But I know nothing about you, I mean, personally,” she disputes.

“Yet, you know you can trust me.”

“Yes, I do believe you're a man to be trusted,” she agrees, with a slight nod.

Leaning forward, I gently kiss her lips. She stiffens slightly, so I give her another little mental push. Too much. She begins moaning and throws her arms around me, her whole body shuddering as she has an intense orgasm, hips grinding against the stone bench.

Now what have I done?
I had no intention of giving her an orgasm. I only meant to ease her fear at being kissed by a man.
I've lost control of my power, again.
What is going on?

Breathlessly, she scolds me. “I told you I didn't want that.”

“Sorry, I did.” I'm not going to admit I'm having intermittent problems with my powers. And to be honest, she just had an orgasm, by me, in a way she'll never experience with anyone else.
Score one for me.

“And do you always get what you want?” she asks sternly, eyes flashing with indignation.

“Yes, Ruth, I do,” I say with a self-congratulatory smile. With her cuddled up next to me, I'm enjoying the moment. I watch as a few birds flit from tree to tree, singing out to each other.

Her head on my shoulder, her breathing settles down. “Oh damn, now I'm all wet, I'll have to go clean up before dinner.”

“Good. I'll watch you shower again,” I tease.

She backs away from me. “No, you stay away from me, or so help me, I'll have you out of here. Do you hear me?”

I draw her into my embrace, holding her tightly, “I doubt it, Ruth. I think you're stuck with me, for a while at least. Now, close your eyes and relax.”

“Why?” she asks cautiously.

“Just do it,” I order. After she shuts her eyes, I focus on her room and BLIP! we land on her canopied, four-poster bed. “Okay, open your eyes.”

Her eyes widen, mouth dropping open. “What?”

“Relax, you're okay.”

“But I felt nothing, nothing at all,” she says in wonder.

I explain to her about my first teleportation trips, and how sometimes I'd rematerialize feeling dizzy. “Once, I reappeared inside a wall, and another time inside a tree,” I say with a chuckle. When my powers began manifesting, the first year was a long and frightening one for me.

“Really? How did you get out?” she asks in amazement.

“Well, at first, I panicked. After I calmed down enough to think, I realized my mental thoughts were what made me teleport, so I just reversed the process. And later, I learned I could never get 'stuck' in anything, as my molecules won't mix with foreign molecules.” As Ruth ponders that, I say, “In fact, I can stay in any object and watch for as long as I want, then leave.” I softly kiss her cheek. “I can become a part of your shower curtain, and you'd never know I was there. So, go on with your ordinary life. I may be around, but you won't know it.” I flash a lascivious smile.

“This is creepy,” she admits with a shudder. I can't fault her choice of words. If anyone had told me any of this as little as four years ago, that's about what I would've said too.

I continue my explanation. “I've teleported to China, Russia, Japan, and other places around the world.”

“How long did it take you to travel there?” she asks, becoming the professional again.

“Oh, about two blinks I would say.”

“How do you know where you'll reappear at?”

“Sometimes I don't. But usually, I can pick my spot before I materialize.” I'm oversimplifying the process, but the simple explanation is all that's needed for government work. “Well, enough of the parlor tricks for now. I'll go and leave you to your own devices.”

“And how will I know that for certain?” she asks, cocking her head with a quirked brow.

“Because, I just told you so.”

With a thoughtful look, Ruth says, “Well, having you around will be an interesting experience, kind of like having my own ghost.”

* * *

Later, we're eating dinner alone in the spacious dining room. It has a vaulted ceiling, and the walls are dark, burnished wood, with elegant, family portraits placed discreetly around the room. Ruth and I are sitting at the head and foot of a mahogany dining table that seats eight. A shimmering chandelier graces the ceiling directly over the table. Every time the air conditioner kicks on, the air current causes it to tinkle with a soft, melodious sound.

Ruth is dressed in black jeans, with a pearl white, satin blouse. The only ornaments she wears are the wedding bands on her finger and necklace. Between mouthfuls, Ruth resumes her questions. “Do you think your abilities can be genetically inherited?”

“You mean like sire a superbaby?” I ask between a bite of steak, which is cooked just the way I like, medium rare.

“Yes, sort of,” she says, gesturing with her fork.

“I have no idea,” I admit, “but I've made myself temporarily sterile. I've been planning on studying my chromosomes for defects, but haven't gotten around to doing it yet. No hurry, I guess,” I end with a shrug.

Ruth has an enthusiastic look on her face, and a mouth full of green beans. “I think you should, Arthur. You could start a super race of men.”

“That's already been tried. Don't you remember Hitler?” I reply sardonically.

“No, I mean good people,” she disagrees with a frown.

“And how long before they begin controlling the ordinary people?” I ask with a smirk, taking a sip of my wine.

“You don't know that, it might never happen,” Ruth argues, shaking her head. She has a valid point. I've had the same argument before, with myself.

“I think it's too risky,” I dismiss with a shake of my head.

“Just think, if the free world had six people like you, nobody would ever bother us,” she points out.

“That's politics, and I won't get involved in that mess.”

“Sure, because you're way above our petty affairs,” she scoffs. “But what about all us lowly, normal mortals, don't we get a chance at peace and a quiet, safe life?”

Not wanting to get into a political debate, I keep my trap shut and finish my delicious dinner.

Over some weird pudding-like-stuff that's dessert, Ruth continues her interrogation. “What would happen if a nuclear bomb detonates near you?”

“Nothing,” I say flatly. That statement induces a long unblinking stare.