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"Perhaps he is right. We are nothing more than tools created for his use, and another one simply used us in his stead," Asha said.

"No," I said.

"But," Asha continued, "there is only one way to know for certain."

"Find the mystery female," I said.

She gave a curt nod. "But even as we search for her, others may still look for us, others like Nevan who may wish us silent or dead."

I nodded. Especially if Agent Brickman decided to follow up on that little hint I'd given him. Then, of course, there were the marvelous DNA test results due back any day now. That might be enough to get the humans–it was still odd to think that way–to figure out that all was not as it appeared and do something to save themselves. If not, I'd have to step in to help, somehow. Though I was pretty sure the Observers, at least the Council, would do everything they could to stop that effort.

"We are not safe." Namere brushed her white blonde hair away from her eyes in a very human gesture.

"And neither are you," Thane said with his typical scowl. 247

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"So we are proposing a solution of mutual benefit. You are stronger with us and we are stronger with you," Namere said. I shook my head. "I can't go back with you to Wisconsin. I'm rebuilding the diner, and I'm not even allowed to leave town, let alone the state, without notifying about ten people."

"We will not return there," Asha said, her disgust at my stupidity evident in her tone. "Your government is waiting to seize anyone who enters there."

"We would stay here, near you," Namere offered. Her words took me aback for a second. "It might not be any safer for you here. There's still a great deal of attention on me and I'm not...accepted here so much any more."

"But here, we would simply be some of our kind who have chosen to reside in this area, not ones associated with you," Namere pointed out.

I shook my head. "It doesn't matter. People will jump to the same conclusion. They will be suspicious and hateful toward you even if you've done nothing to them." I knew that from experience.

"Then it is all the better that we are near," Thane said.

"I don't know where you're going to stay," I said. "There's some room at my house, but–"

"We have already procured a residence just outside the boundary of this town. We will contact you as needed." And with that, Asha turned on heel and headed off, all the others following her except Caelan. He had remained silent during those whole exchange, but I'd felt him watching me and now that the others were gone, I could return the favor.

"You're alive." I nearly choked on the words.

"It would seem so." The corner of his mouth flipped up in that familiar half smile. Just seeing it tore at my heart. I wiped at tears that I hadn't noticed starting. "How?" He gave a slight shrug. "Our connection ended before the last of my power was gone, leaving me with enough to survive and 248

Stacey Klemstein

enough to heal, though very slowly. But, clearly," he looked to where Jorge's truck had been, "some form of the connection must still exist."

Self-preservation. Nevan had been right about their programming. "I...I thought you were dead. Scott said someone else died..." I trailed off. "Slick died, didn't he? I killed him too." My stomach roiled at this latest realization, and I pulled my arms tighter around myself.

Caelan reached out, but hesitated before touching me.

"What are you afraid will happen?"

His eyes flicked to mine, so serious and all silver in the bright daylight. "Everything," he said quietly. "Again." I didn't know what to say. Touch me anyway, and damn the consequences? We'd both nearly died. Don't ever touch me again?

I knew what it was like to believe we would never again touch, and I thought it might be better to be dead than live with that grief again.

"What happens now?" I said, not sure what else to say.

"We wait, Asha plans and you continue to live your life as you would before," he hesitated, then continued, "as if you were a normal human."

I laughed, but it sounded wobbly and I couldn't seem to stop crying. "Normal? That doesn't exist for me anymore." He touched my cheek with the tip of his finger, stopping a tear in its tracks and wiping it away. I held my breath. Nothing happened, but the sheer release of tension at feeling his touch again.

I let out a shaky breath. "No mayhem, no death."

"Not yet."

I looked away. "You should go, catch up with the others." I tried to keep my voice steady. "It's better if you're not alone. Humans aren't as strong as you, but when we're determined, we can surprise you."

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"So I have seen," he said. Then with a whisper of a touch against my hair, so light I might have imagined it, he was gone. I didn't turn to watch him leave, afraid I would go after him or he would turn back. But he was alive and here, and that was more than I could have imagined an hour ago. It would have to be enough for now.

The End

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Stacey Klemstein

Eye of the Beholder

Book two

A Zara Mitchell Story

Coming Soon

from

Echelon Press Publishing

Turn the page for an excerpt

It all started with that damn website. If Caelan hadn't found it, none of this would have happened.

Actually, that's probably not true. I was caught between two worlds and living in neither–you can guess how well that was working. It was only a matter of time before everything boiled over. The website just happened to be the last bit of heat needed to send us all over the edge.

I was at the diner for the grand re-opening party on Sunday night. We'd been out of business for well over six months, and to jump-start demand at the new and improved Silver Spoon, I'd decided to throw a party…with free food. It was amazing what people would forgive for a little cake and punch. Citizens of Silver Springs who would have happily spit on me yesterday were enjoying a second round of appetizers tonight. All hail the healing power of pigs in a blanket.

But despite the obvious success of the party, I couldn't enjoy it. Just because people showed up for free food didn't mean they'd come back when they had to pay. And unbeknownst to my brother Scott, I'd used our last bit of money to pay for the spread tonight. So while I dashed to and from the kitchen, dodging the carefully timed elbow or sudden appearance of a size 11 foot in my path–evidently free food didn't make them
that
happy–my brain was pre-occupied with more mundane things. Like, how was I going to keep Scott from finding out that we were more than a month late on the house mortgage? How could I hire people when I had no money? And my personal favorite, exactly how much did it cost to declare personal bankruptcy? It actually costs money to declare that you have no money–did you know that?

All of this was perhaps why I missed the signal. I was bussing

a table in the far corner of the diner–my least favorite task. When I reached for the last coffee cup, it slipped away from my fingers. So caught up in my own thoughts and worries, I didn't even pause before trying to grab it again. After all, wet hands, slick ceramic surface–no mystery there.

Then the cup shot away from my grasp in a zig zag pattern across the table, accelerating until it hurled itself past me, leaping over the edge and smashing into the ground with a much louder than normal crash. My heart jumped into my throat. The party stopped for a second, everyone looking around for the source of the sudden noise.

I waved it off, plastering on a fake smile. "No problem. Just a little clumsy."

From across the room, I heard Sheriff Brigham's familiar snicker. "Probably thought it was one of them alien-possessed cups."

Oh, yes, the trauma of my life was one never-ending source of amusement for Brigham. Always glad to help. Though, this time, he might have been closer to the truth than he ever dreamed. My new powers tended to be a little out of control at times, but more often than not, they did what I wanted, just in excess. So, if I wanted the cup to be in my hand, it would have flung itself at me full-force, not run away. That meant someone else was here and, more likely than not, having a laugh at my expense. And now was so not the time.

As I set the gray plastic tub of dirty dishes on table and bent down to pick up the shattered ceramic pieces, I caught sight of Mrs. Sutton's pale face and wide-eyed stare.

"Did you see…that cup…it moved like it had a mind of its own. I never…" She raised a hand to the silk scarf at her throat, clearly unsettled by the whole unpleasant matter. I rolled my eyes. Of course, this little incident would have to happen in front of the biggest gossip in town. Mrs. Sutton owned

the women's boutique next door. She must have come from a rich family because otherwise I didn't see how she could stay in business in a town where sales on cowboy hats and coveralls at the feed store determined the new look for the season. During the slow hours for her store, pretty much from nine to five every day, Mrs. Sutton liked to pass the time with her nose pressed against the front window of her shop and the phone imbedded in her ear. I shrugged, pretending nonchalance. "Oh, you know, the table was wet and there was probably an air bubble trapped under the cup." Except the table was clearly bone-dry and the cup had been right-side up at the time. Oh, well.

Mrs. Sutton looked less than convinced, and who could blame her?

"Excuse me," I muttered. Standing up, I grabbed the tub of dirties and headed for the kitchen, cursing Namere under my breath. It had to be her. She'd probably flipped the locks on the back door in the kitchen to let herself in–being an alien-human hybrid with limited telekinesis did come in handy sometimes…

About the Author:

\

The daughter of a Lutheran minister and a teacher, Stacey never found any shortage of books in her house or people to read to her (though her mother swears she still has most of
Little House on the
Prairie
memorized from reading it aloud so often). Stacey created her first story before she could even write, dictating it to her mother, who jotted it down on a paper bag.

Her father introduced her to science fiction with
Star Wars
and seven episodes of the original
Star Trek
series on tapes that she watched over and over again. Always being the new kid in school helped, too. Stacey entertained herself by making up stories, mostly about being a princess from another planet hidden among the humans for her own safety. Even now, she still wonders about that!

Stacey graduated from Valparaiso University in 1997 with an English degree. She loves writing stories, and she is grateful to God every time she is given the opportunity to do so.

She currently lives in the Chicago suburbs with her husband, Greg, and two retired racing greyhounds, Snostorm and Joezooka. Visit her website at www.staceyklemstein.com to email her or to learn more about
The Silver Spoon
and her other works.