[ rois.org : narcissism : voice : a breeze over luxor ]

A Breeze Over Luxor

The young woman sat in the upper balcony of the theater. **Geez...I wish that the good seats didn't cost so damned much! I'd love to be able to see what's going on down there!** The opera continued. A speck in a red dress detached itself from the group and went to the uniformed speck that, she presumed, was Don Jose. **I'm just lucky that I had enough to get a seat for Carmen, with Richard Luxor!**

She leaned forward in her seat. The motion caused her fiery auburn hair to fall in her face. "Bloody mop!" she muttered as she shoved it severely back behind her ears.

The tenor, reputed to be a rather attractive thirty-something, soared into an aria. The girl, caught by the spell of the music, drew a deep breath, and flew into an ecstatic trance with his voice. The Power was bright, filling the theater with wings of song.

Luckily, the theater was dark and the girl had come alone. None noticed her hair streaming out from her slight form and moving as if there was a breeze. None noticed the gleam in her grey eyes.

The aria ended. **That Tenor has Power. I can see the tendrils filling the stage. I wonder if he knows he's got it? Or is he totally head-blind?**

It was worth a shot. She gathered Power about herself and formed it into a mere flicker thought (her idea of a "hailing frequency"), coupled with a kiss. She made a small flinging motion with her hands. The thought flew to the man, who thankfully, was not singing. The aura of Power he carried brightened as her mental shoulder-tap played out in his mind. **Oh Yeah. He knows it.**

"Now, let's see if he's interested." She waited until his next silence. :Up in the Balcony. I'm waiting for you.:

Skillfully, she tossed the message at him. He caught it, as if he'd been doing this for all of his (according to the program) thirty-three years.

:Who are you?: She felt the silky touch of another mind against hers. Never had she felt anything this strong, this masculine. Grandfather, her teacher, had never had this kind of strength. The sudden thought of her mentor sent a wave of sadness through her marrow. It was a pity that he had aged so badly. He had claimed that his destiny had been to set her on the Path. His parting note had been filled with reassurances as to her future, and his satisfaction.

:I am the Windchilde.:

:What kind of name is that? Animal, vegetable or mineral?:

:It's the one that I gave to myself. And I guess that I fall under the animal category. Now sing, and I'll meet you up here.: She appended a decidedly not-chaste kiss. :If you are interested....:

:Intermission?:

:I'm all yours.:

Richard Luxor moved across the stage. The Soprano-speck flung a flower at him. They sang.

As the curtain fell, the girl stood up and felt the vertebrae in her back pop. All this watching of operatic male (speck) flesh was hard on the body.

Scarcely a minute had passed when there was an amused and well-modulated voice behind her. "You are the Windchilde, I presume?"

She whirled in her seat. Had someone been eavesdropping? She didn't sense anyone else with the Power in the building, but then, they might have been cloaking themselves. Well. That frightened her.

There was a dusky man behind her. He had smile-lines at the corners of his eyes. His warm black hair was cut short, with a gentle fall just touching his wickedly arched eyebrows.

"Mister Luxor? Oh ye of the astounding voice?"

"In the flesh, so to speak." His smile showed brilliant white teeth. "You are the one I am seeking, are you not?"

:My, aren't we modest?: She continued aloud, "I am the Windchilde. But that's not my mundane name..."

"No. Don't tell me your name." :I want the romance of a stranger, the intrigue of mystery.: "I always wanted a 'mysterious stranger.' Would you care to join me for dinner after the show?"

"Oh my." She took a deep breath. "I'm speechless. I-I would like that, I think."

"Good. Now, if you will kindly excuse me, I must return backstage before I am missed." His brown eyes flashing satisfaction, he grinned at her, winked and blew a kiss.

As she mimed catching the kiss, he had disappeared. She sank into her seat. **Oh my. Grins like that should not be available to those under eighteen under any circumstances. That man is positively intoxicating!

**But how did he get up here so quickly? I saw him at the curtain call, and nobody moves that fast...well, he sure seems to anyway.** As quickly as the thought came, it slithered out of her mind.

It was too dreamlike. She was tempted to dismiss everything as imagination. Yet she wanted so badly to believe.

She opened her program again, and reread the information on Richard Luxor. "Yes, yes. We already know he's thirty-three, grew up in Egypt, sang Alfredo Germont in La Traviata as his premier role on the operatic stage, and except for a prodigious voice, is utterly unremarkable."

:Windchilde. Wind's daughter...do not run from me before the night is over. Promise me. Promise....: the thought trailed off.

The girl looked up. She didn't see him anywhere. Perhaps the impossibility she had considered: another person with Power? She unfocused her eyes, using the sight of her spirit rather than her body. No. Nobody around with the Power it took to send a coherent thought. This was most confusing. It had sounded and felt like Richard's mind...but he wasn't within sight. And it was definitely not the sort of thing her subconscious mind came up with. Grandfather had made her examine all of her responses to the most minute of things, to learn what was her and what was not. The tiresome process seemed to be paying off.

As far as she knew, you had to be able to see the person, or at least know exactly where they were. Although Richard seemed to be more adept at communicating thought than she.

That was something that she wanted to learn from the man. How had he answered her from the stage? Nobody that she had ever met could best her at mental communication, and few could even come close. She would have to be on guard from him. **But how can a man with smile lines and that grin-mmmmm-be threatening?**

"But is it all an act?"

"Is what an act, dearie?" The old woman who had the seat two rows in front of her looked back. "You've been muttering, and I didn't want to disturb you, but I am as curious as a cat! Like Alice said, 'curiouser and curiouser.'

"Have you ever read the Lewis Carroll books? I read them to my children and to my grandchildren. How we all loved them!

"Isn't that just the prettiest scarf you have! That green accents your eyes and fair skin so nicely. That young man who came up here, was that the tenor? Such a lovely voice in one so young...." The old woman's voice trailed off.

Windchilde didn't know whether or not to answer her. The woman's companion, another woman in a similar age group looked back at the girl. "Please don't mind Agnes. She's getting on in years, and doesn't always know where she is."

The girl breathed a silent sigh of relief. "That's ok. My grandfather was in a similar situation. I got used to it."

"He recovered?"

"No, I'm afraid not. But wherever he is, he's happier. I know it." She added to herself, **He himself told me so, ten minutes after he died. Shocked the hell out of me, let me tell you.**

"I'm so sorry, dear." There seemed to be an embarrassed silence between the rows. Windchilde absently started humming an aria from the first act.

The older women seemed to accept this in lieu of conversation.

Still humming, Windchilde extended her senses, seeking the familiar feel of her grandfather's spirit. :Granther? Are you near me? Or are you off fooling about with some long-dead chorus girl?:

:Well, I was...what do you need, Catherine? If this is idle speculation, can it wait? There's a cutie who's been lonely for near fifty years...if I'd known that it would be like this...I'd have-:

:You'd have what? You wouldn't have done a damn thing differently. I know you, you dirty-old-man.: there was a tinge of laughter to her mind-voice. :I just wanted to see how you were doing. And did you know that there is a mind-speaker more powerful than me in this building?:

:A WHAT? How is that possible?: The feeling of closeness vanished. Then returned moments later. :I can't find him. Whoever he was, he's gone.:

:Gone? But he's about to go back on stage.... Whatever. Inter- mission's over. Go and have fun. And don't do anything I wouldn't do, Gramps!:

The curtains rose. The set change was lovely. Windchilde was charmed. She settled into her back-wrecking posture and contentedly watched the specks act out the drama of the opera.

Midway through the third act, Windchilde felt a caress brush her surface thoughts.

:Hello, there. Enjoying the show?:

Shaking off the languorous effect the music had on her, she formed the thought, :Yes, but I wish I could see the stage from this distance.:

:Your wish, milady, is my command. Keep yourself open. And be prepared for a bit of disorientation.:

:Huh?: Just as the thought was released, she felt a slight jarring of sensation. Suddenly, to her spirit's eye, she was on the stage, seeing things through the eyes of the tenor. **Oh.**

The soprano who was playing Carmen came closer, closer still. Windchilde tried to push her away. Alas, it did nothing. She felt like a passenger in this body, unable to affect anything. The words of her song came flooding, as if through a loudspeaker, into her consciousness. They were in a language unknown to her, yet she understood them perfectly. They spoke of love and of glory, of the thrill of the chase and the joy of victory. She was overwhelmed by them.

:Yes, it's like that for me, too.:

Realization dawned upon her. She was inside Richard's mind! This was patently impossible. Those who had tried it went mad, forever locked inside another person. Those who managed to escape usually managed to turn both themselves and their hosts into gibbering idiots.

:What are you trying to do? Ruin your career? Do you know the risk you have put us both in? You're going to be stuck with me, you know.:

:I take risks willingly. Did I not seek you out, when you could have been a hunter? When you could have taken my life from me?:

:But I wouldn't have...I just wanted to....: Wisely, she didn't finish that thought.

Mentally, Richard grinned at her. :I know. I know precisely what you wanted. You made that very clear with that kiss. Now, be quiet and enjoy the ride. I swear that you are in no danger from me.:

As the opera ended, Windchilde received a brief thought from Richard. :Be ready. Now!:

Her perceptions changed. Suddenly, she was watching the specks on stage bow. She shook her head to clear the effects of the shift. **Ouch. Damned back. Next time, I'm not sitting like that!**

:Catherine! Answer me! Are you all right?!: Her grandfather's voice was worried.

:Yeah, I'm OK. Just a little disoriented. Why?:

:You left your body for the second half of the opera. I mean, absolutely nobody home. Even the little dancing lights that are always there winked out.:

:They did? Richard managed the impossible. I was up there on stage with him. Or in him, I should say.:

:?!:

:The tenor. The one with the astounding voice and the beautiful...yeah.:

:I don't see who you are talking about. Are you sure that you are feeling all right?:

:Come backstage. Come to me. I'll be waiting.: The voice was Richard's, the overtones extremely sensual, and underlying the message was a hunger that would not be denied.

"How the hell...I wish I could do that!"

:Catherine? Darling? You flickered. What is it?:

:He just told me that he wants me to go backstage. And he can do it without being in visual range.:

:That's damned powerful. If he's that strong, he ought to light up like a Christmas tree!: Windchilde got a feeling of mild confusion tinged with worry from her grandfather.

:I can see him. I don't know why you can't. Maybe the dead can't see their own sex or something? You don't know everything yet, Granther. Maybe it's just something weird like that.:

:I hope you are right, child, for your own safety.:

:Don't worry. There's nothing to be afraid of! I'll contact you before I leave the theater.: She stood, cracking her back. "Oof. I hope that Richard is good at getting knots out of tired muscles."

She threaded her way through the milling throngs of people, narrowly avoiding getting shoved or stepped on. **A curse on my lack of height! Would that I were able to see where I'm going, as opposed to the backs and chests of people taller than me!**

At last! The door to the stage! The guard stood, looking bored. "I'm sorry, miss. You can't go back there."

"But Mister Luxor is expecting me."

Just as she had gotten the words out, The door opened. Richard was standing there. "My love! Do come in!"

Suddenly, all of her shy-circuits came into play. It was all too easy to let reserve drop when thinking at someone, but meeting them face to face.... "Hi," she stammered. **Oooh, good opening line, Cath!**

"Come, I'll show you around."

Richard took her hand. His grip was firm, his hands cool and dry. Windchilde suddenly felt shamed, her own hands were warm and sweaty, for she was nervous. "Nothing to fear. Come on."

"This is really happening."

"Yes. It is. Did you think that you were imagining everything?"

"Well...."

Richard led her into the depths of the corridor. They stopped.

"I've been waiting all night to do this." He bent his head to meet hers and lifted her face up. Gently, he placed his lips atop hers. As if she had no free will, her lips parted. Tenderly, Richard kissed her. She tried to go along with the tender part, but as his tongue slid into her mouth, she abandoned all pretense of civility and deepened the kiss.

Her long fingers bunched his jacket, probably causing wrinkles. She didn't care. Richard slid his hand from her chin into the thick mass of auburn hair and entangled itself there. In the back of her mind she wondered if she'd ever get the knots out.

They were kissing wildly, passionately in a darkened stage hallway. If anyone walked in on them...! It was Windchilde who broke the kiss. Gasping, she managed to squeak out, "Why don't we go somewhere more private?"

Richard released his hand from her hair. She let go of his jacket and tried, halfheartedly to smooth it. "By all means. Let us go from here."

Windchilde sent a loud mental shout at the feeling of her grandfather, :I'm outta here. I'll meet you back at the apartment tomorrow. Maybe.:

Richard's forehead crumpled. "Do you have to be so loud? Even the mundanes could hear that!"

:I don't know how to send without being within visual range, unless it's an open communique.:

Richard stroked her wild hair. "We'll have to do something about that, won't we?"

She sent him an image of a pleasant way to learn new things.

"Quite so! Quite so, my mysterious one."

They were sitting on the bed at the hotel where Richard was staying. Idly, he toyed with the hair at the nape of her neck. She snuggled deeper into his side. "Ok, so if I can 'feel' the location of the person I'm targeting, I can do it, right?"

"Yes. Or if you know where they are. I knew where you were. You shine brightly to Other Sight, and once you sent, I could see the paths."

"So that's how you did it. Granther was worried...."

"Granther? You did not come alone, then?"

"Uhh...well, I guess that you can say that I'm rarely alone. He was my teacher. Now he just stays with me because I'm 'such fun.' But I rather think it's because he's a worry-wart."

Richard grinned slyly. "I hope there's some things I can teach you that he hasn't!" He gently pushed her back and pinned her to the bed.

"Oh, I think there are a few things that Grandpa didn't teach me...."

"Grandpa? Oh."

Before he had a chance to say anything else, she kissed him.

They lay together, huddled in the comforter for warmth. Richard got cold so easily.... Gingerly, she ran a finger over a set of tooth-marks she had inadvertently left on his shoulder. "I really didn't mean to bite you so hard. At least I didn't break skin, so I think that they'll be gone by tomorrow. Though I could swear I tasted blood...."

"It's ok. It doesn't even hurt. It just felt rather...intense when you bit."

"Well, if you hadn't bit me..." she craned her head around to see what damage she had sustained. "You didn't even leave a mark! You're better than I am, at any rate."

"I've had time to practice, love. I've got.... How old are you, anyway?"

"I'm twenty-three."

"Ten years on you. So there."

The springs creaked as she rolled over onto her stomach. "Richard, how did you take me up on stage with you? As far as I know, nobody has ever been able to do that before."

"I just locked a sending with you and projected all that I was seeing and feeling to you."

"Oh."

"Did you like it? I've found that it has uses in other areas, too." He arched a wicked eyebrow at her.

She grinned, and waggled her own eyebrows at him in a silly imitation of Groucho Marx.

He cupped her chin and turned her face to his. Very deliberately, he looked into her deep gray eyes. :Would you like to try?:

:Yes.:

:Then project this to me...: he kissed her deeply. She projected the initial shock reflexively, then the sensations began to roll in. Every pulse of her body, every click of tooth against tooth, the slide of his hands upon her skin, he felt them as strongly as she. And he knew exactly how to delight her, too. While he had shared experiences before, it had never been with someone this Powerful. He thought briefly of sending his own sensations, but thought better of it. The feedback would never let them go. And while an eternity of ecstasy would be wonderful....

:Neither of us could afford it.:

She broke off the sending. "You didn't verbalize that thought about the feedback, did you?"

"No. How did you know?"

"I don't know, I just did. Zen and the Art of Making Love?" she giggled. "Why are you thinking 'Did she draw blood, after all?'"

He sobered. "It's to do with what I am. Nothing to worry about, love."

"What are you? Some kind of Vampire?"

"Well...."

"Get real. They don't exist. C'mon, tell me another one!"

"Yeah, I guess you're right." He leaned over and whispered in her ear.

"Oh, really? I'll show you!" She pounced on him and began nuzzling his earlobes.

Windchilde slept, curled in Richard's arms. He looked at her slight form, her pale skin, so contrasted with her vibrant hair. It was spread out over the pillows like so much silk. He plucked a curl from the pillow.

It smelled clean, with no trace of chemicals to change the color or hold it immobile. The delicate pink flush of her cheeks stayed firmly put when he rubbed at it gently. No make-up. Not that she needed it, by any means.

He would have been attracted to her, even without the glorious Power she had in such abundance.

As he watched her sleep, his Hunger grew. **One more taste. She won't notice, and it won't harm either of us.**

His canines elongated. He picked up her wrist, kissed it softly, and bit. The delicate flesh parted readily.

The slow, steady beat of her heart brought the rich blood to his mouth. It was heady, filled with her power.

Only once before had he tasted anything like this. It had been nearly three-thousand years ago, in another time, another life....

The desert sands were burning as the sun slowly sank into the Nile. Soon, his mysterious lover would appear. He couldn't understand why she refused to see him in the daylight, but he never questioned her. He didn't have the time, anyway. The Pharaoh kept him terrifically busy, running this errand, that message. Being the illegitimate brother of the God-king was tiring.

"Love! Where are you?" Teppic was a born romantic.

"Beloved, here I am." The dark-skinned woman slinked up behind him. She kissed him on his bared expanse of shoulder. There was a brief flicker of pain, as there always was when she kissed him.

"You had a message for me? I'm afraid that I have been so busy trying to find the creature that has been killing the Pharaoh's cattle, that I have not had time to be with you."

"That is what I had news for you about. I know who has been killing them. It is Sehv, the shop-keeper. He is a demon. He uses their blood to feed himself."

Teppic almost flew to Sehv's dwelling; he whirled away from his mistress. Then a sudden thought occurred to him. He came back to where she stood. "Is Sehv not the one who wanted to take you as wife? The one you refused?"

"Yes. But I saw him practice his abominations just last evening. Go to him, Teppic, my love. Eradicate his Evil. Feed him to the crocodiles!"

Later, after being beaten badly by Sehv the shop keeper, Teppic returned to the palace. She was there, in his rooms. She had on only the sheerest of garments, of the type that he could not even afford. The dim light from the rushes accentuated her dark beauty.

He fell to his knees. "My love...please, get me some water. I must clean my wounds. I'll not get my blood on your fine clothing."

Not wishing to lose her young lover to a demon-sickness, she rushed off.

He had lit a torch and then collapsed. There was blood all over his body. His head was bleeding. She knew only one way save him. Gingerly, she approached him, and delicately bit him. There was so little blood left in his battered body that she did not have to gorge herself.

With Teppic's veins empty, she cut herself at the base of her neck. She placed his mouth over the wound. "Drink. Live forever with me. Drink."

Realization flickered into Teppic's mind. She was the one who had been killing the cattle. But the blood flowing into his mouth was being eagerly swallowed by his body, which did not seem to be ruled by his mind.

He forced himself to stop from drinking any further. The wound at the base of her throat was already sealing. His head felt light, his vision changed. There seemed to be more colors suddenly, and the scents in the night air became stronger.

Teppic shoved the woman away from him. The demoness had infected him.

Windchilde stirred underneath him. "Teppic?" she murmured.

**How?! She must have picked that up from me! She did draw blood.**

There was something trying to get inside the wards he had set upon the room. It didn't feel threatening, just...concerned. He wondered what it could be. It wasn't anything he had ever felt before.

:Catherine! Catherine! Wake up! I found out why I couldn't see what it was! Catherine, talk to me!:

Richard grimaced. Wouldn't these people ever learn that a little finesse was more appropriate than over-powering things? He'd gotten that through to Windchilde....

Richard let the wards down as Windchilde blearily rubbed her eyes. "Granther?" :Granther? What? I was just having the most interesting dream....:

:I found out what it was. He's a Vampire. That's why I can't see him. The dead can't see the dead, unless they make the effort to see and be seen.: Richard then made the effort to be seen. Tom sent a brief moment of surprise.

:Don't be foolish. Vampires don't...: she glanced over at Richard, who looked ashen. :exist?:

"Yes. They do. I am one. My born name is Teppic. I am over three-thousand years old. And it's not even my fault," he sighed.

"Sunlight can't kill me, and I don't think that anything else will do it. I've tried. With every broken heart, with every failed friendship, I've wanted to end. I can't find she-who-made-me. I don't even know her name. I never did, and I never cared. Not until it was too late."

He looked away from Windchilde. "I never told anyone that before. I never had the need to. But you. I didn't even know your true name until minutes ago. Catherine. It's a beautiful name. For a beautiful woman.

"And I am undone by a half trained psychic and a dead man." He shook his head, and released a harsh laugh. "I never guessed that telling anyone would be like this. It feels like I've just had a pyramid dropped on my head, and that I'm the idiot who put it there!"

Windchilde reached over and placed her hand on his. "Richard...."

He turned on her. "I've stolen from you, you know. I took of your blood. And you took of mine. I don't know what that is going to make you. Or if it will affect you at all. I suppose that time will tell."

:Well, I can still see you, Catherine, so you aren't dead yet. That's something. And you haven't dimmed any. I wouldn't worry.:

Richard stood, dragging the comforter with him. "Catherine, my Windchilde, we have shared blood. By some customs, that makes us one and the same, inseparable forever. Will you formalize that custom with me? Will you marry me?"

"Richard! You've barely known me for," she checked the clock at the bedside. Three-fifteen AM. "nine hours. And you want to marry me? I don't believe this!" She brushed her wild hair from her face.

:Catherine, grand-daughter, I think that you should marry the man. In my time, no girl from a good family would even think of spending time alone with a man, unless they were to be married. And I don't want any of my great-grandchildren being illegitimate.:

:Granther, Richard-er, Teppic-is illegitimate. Watch it.:

:Sir, I ask for your grand-daughter's hand in marriage. I promise to cherish her until the end of my days, and frankly, that looks like it's going to be one hell of a long time in coming. I'm your best bargain.:

For the first time since his death, Tom Lindsey truly smiled. It looked like his little Catherine had finally met her match in impulsiveness and humor. :Your birth was no fault of yours, son. And I think that it was long enough ago as to make no matter, anyway.:

"Richard, one thing: why are you so damned melodramatic?"

"I think it's all the opera, personally.

"Oh. That's not what I meant. And I will not marry you-"

"What?!"

:What?!:

"Until I know you better. And maybe not even then."

:Catherine, he's the perfect match for you. He's impulsive, he's got a sense of humor, he likes you, and he's not afraid to show any of it. Besides, he's be a wonderful provider. Just think about how long he's had to accumulate material wealth! I know that money means little to you, but....:

:But nothing Granther. I will not tie myself to a man I hardly know. Money or no money. It's not fair to either of us.:

From Richard, she was feeling waves of confusion, dejection, and surprisingly, humor. He wasn't projecting them. **The blood! Well, I suppose that I'll get to know him that much quicker. He'll be pleased...I think.**