Bless the Child (58 page)

“Oh, shit!” she said, frustrated beyond endurance. “I don’t even know what I came here for . . .” She turned to go, but Devlin grabbed her arm and pulled her forcefully toward him. She started to protest, but then his mouth was on hers and one hand had tangled itself in her hair, and the other was holding her so tight she could barely breathe.

Maggie tried to wrench herself away, but he met her strength with strength of his own.

“Come with me!” he said, his face so close to hers she could feel him breathe. A demand, a request? To where? Come to where?

“Let me go!” she said, pushing his hand away. And then his arms were everywhere, and all the bottled-up emotion in her was there with them, too. The longing and the need. To love. To be loved. To explode outward and inward into someone who could receive the gift. She wrapped her arms around his body and buried the past in his kiss.

And then, they were on his bed; she had no idea how they’d gotten there. And there was flesh were there had been clothes and she suddenly knew the truth. That she
loved
this man. That she
wanted him
and had for a long time. Wanted him to touch and to probe and to love. Wanted to give back love, from the depths of her body and soul.

“Come with me!”
he said again urgently, and this time it had all the meaning in the world.

The cool air raised goosebumps on her body and tightened her nipples; or was it anticipation? She felt the creak of bedsprings as he straddled her, saw him smiling as he touched her breasts, roughly, gently, fervently, for the first time. And the other places. She felt the heat of his loins pressing down on her, bringing strength to her own. His manhood loomed above her, an object to be touched and loved and tantalized, just as his hands and mouth tantalized her.

And he was bending low over her, his mouth on her lips, her throat, her cheek, her ear. And he was speaking in a voice that was only for lovemaking, soft words, encouraging words. Feel . . . want . . . come with me . . . so good. So beautiful.

And then it was he on the bed, and he was lifting her willing hips to sit astride him. Liquid, wildly soaring body, feeling only at the center. Exquisite, urgent fire.

“No!”
she heard herself say, but she didn’t know what it was she feared. Not
Dev . . .

“Yes!” he said, suddenly thrusting into her, his whole body’s strength in the thrust. She screamed , startled by the wildness of feeling. Primitive, out of control. Beyond the rational.

“Yes!” he said, holding her hips to him so she couldn’t escape. The sudden thrust again, and again, like a stallion bucking. And she was lost, waves of pleasure spilling endlessly over each other. Lost in the undertow. She felt/heard/saw through the haze of drowning pleasure.

“No . . .” she heard herself gasp again through the distorted waves, a cry of negation to all the past that was set adrift by this act of love.

“Maggie!” he called out from afar, and she felt herself lifted again, all the strength of his body forcing its way into hers. Shattering, impossible thrust. Starburst. Madness. Life . . .

Hugging, holding, laughing perfection of love.

Maggie lay beside him on the bed, half covered by his body, every nerve, muscle fiber, bone, liquid from lovemaking. All urgency dissolved into languid completion. What had just happened between them? she wondered. Ecstasy, comfort, a coda to the past, an affirmation of life in a deadeningly difficult world. And, oh, so very much more than that . . .

He moved to take her in his arms again. To touch and probe, and fondle and soar and plummet, different from before. Gentler now, touching each other’s needs with tenderness and unhurried unity.

And then they were still; smiling into each other’s skin, tired and replete.

“That’s just the beginning for us, Maggie,” he said pulling her body in close against his own, proprietarily. “On your hundredth birthday, I’m planning a surprise.”

“Mmmmmm?” she murmured wonderingly, touched by his need to connect their futures.

“I’m saving the best for last,” he said sleepily. “I’ll call it the Doomsday Fuck.”

“That’s nice,” she answered, amused and filled to the brim. “It’ll give me something to look forward to.”

How sweet is laughter shared with one you love, she thought, suddenly, remembering that laughter is the last to die. There had been no sex for her and Jack for a very long time because of the illness. But every once in a while, something crazy would set off their laughter. And then the love would come flooding through. Washing over her in healing billows. Remembrance of the good times when there had been joy. And hope. And enough laughter to fill the galaxies.

“I love you, Maggie,” Dev said, sensing the sudden quiet that had overtaken her.

“I love you, too,” she answered, meaning it . . . wondering if there would be time for them to love. Glad for this one moment.

Both
slept for an hour or two before the rising sunlight beaming through the curtainless windows brought reality and the coming day.

“I want you to stay put, Maggie,” Dev said, as he stood naked in the bathroom, still wet from the shower.

She looked up at him, startled, her sweatpants pulled halfway up her legs.

“I told you, Dev,” she said evenly, “I have to go get Cody today.”

He looked as shocked as if she’d struck him.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked testily. “I thought we settled that last night.”

It was Maggie’s turn to look shocked. “You thought we
settled all that?”
she repeated incredulously. “How, Dev? By going to bed together? By making love? Oh, that’s really
great.
The little woman’s out of control here, maybe I’d better calm her down the old-fashioned way!”

Suddenly furious, and unutterably sad, she yanked her sweatshirt over her head and turned toward the door.

“The fact that I love you, Dev . . .
or made love to you,
doesn’t change a goddamned thing, here. I’m still me . . . and I still have to get Cody out of that house.”

She didn’t wait for a reply, but slammed the door behind her. Devlin stood, a towel wrapped around his waist, fists clenched in frustration and impotent anger. She was so fucking brave and so fucking stupid! But he’d been stupid, too, thinking sex could distract her.
What an asshole I am,
he thought, disgusted, throwing the towel on the floor and pulling on his shorts. He went to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee, took one sip, and threw the rest in the sink. If the department wouldn’t back him up, he’d just have to go do it himself.

Maggie
took inventory of her own condition after leaving Devlin; she regretted the way they’d parted, but there wasn’t any way to change that. She felt depleted on every level. By sorrow, by fear, even by love. By more emotions than she could catalog, never mind control. And, she was dog-tired; not in shape for the kind of fight that was ahead. She’d have to ask for help.

She stood on the street corner, trying to breathe in enough oxygen to feel restored, but her breathing was constricted; she couldn’t pull the breath down to her
dan tien,
as she’d been taught by Mr. Wong to do in times of great stress. And her eyesight was slightly blurry. A sure sign she’d drained her liver meridian with that burst of anger.

Sifu would know what to do, she thought, as she hurried in the direction of the apartment building where he lived. He wouldn’t let her collapse at the starting gate.

Mr. Wong let her into his home with a small pleasant smile on his face; his expression did not in the least betray the fact that he’d read the severity of her depletion, the moment he opened the door. Voice, face, body language, skin color—every nuance of her being spoke to him eloquently of her condition. He had known since the beginning that this moment would come.

He had cast her horoscope, when she’d first applied to him as a teacher, so he’d known from the start that she would be tested in the Great Crucible of the Gods. Destiny had sent her to him for instruction, so he had accepted the challenge of preparing her for a battle she did not yet know she would fight.

Her combat skills were minimal, as was the case with all who had not trained from childhood on—five years training with him, and one before him, was barely time to learn the magnitude of what was yet to be learned. But Destiny had decided the timetable, not Master Wong, so he accepted the added challenge without acrimony. She had courage and endurance. Her spirit was old in the ways of combat; if her mind no longer remembered, her body would, when threatened with annihilation.

“I must face a great battle, Sifu” she said, too tired for lengthy explanations, and knowing he did not require them. “I’ve come to ask your help.”

“It is difficult to ride the tiger, is it not?” he replied, with a gentle inflection she had seldom heard in his voice.

He nodded. This was to be expected. He gestured to the small couch on which he treated those privileged few who understood his mastery of traditional Chinese medicine.
Those who can kill must learn to heal,”
his own Master had told him, a lifetime ago.
“It is a matter of balance.”

He touched his fingers to her wrists with absolute concentration. The pulses beneath his knowing fingers told a complex, intelligent tale.

“Many channels are shut down,” he said simply. A strategy must be devised to restore the spirit, as well as the body.”

“I need to understand what you’ll do, Sifu,” she answered him.

“Fear has depleted the kidneys,” he said quietly. “Grief has attacked the lungs. Anger has drained the Liver channel. Gall Bladder and Small Intestines have been besieged by too many decisions, none with clear answers.

“The kidneys are the power source, Maggie. They must feed the whole. They have been ravaged by too many demands. The spirit has left, because the body cannot hold it.

“We must coax the physical, mental, and emotional energies back into the body, with great care. Only after that, can we coax the Spirit back.”

He named the points for her as he needled them.
“Taichong, the Great Surge point . . . Hegu, the Union Valley.
The names were so poetic, more philosophic than medical.
Shen Men, the Spirit Gate, Bai Hui, the Hundred Convergences, Shen ting, the Spirit Court . . .

“If the body is too weakened, Maggie,” he explained patiently, “the Spirit cannot remain there. Body and Spirit are magnetic forces, capable of attracting their polar complements—only once the body is able to hold it, can the Spirit return.”

He stepped back to observe the changes in Maggie’s condition. She knew he could see patterns of energy that were invisible to her, as could all Kung Fu Masters.