Teri Brown - Born of Deception

My breath hitches. I hope he kisses me.

It takes the better part of an hour for the sailors to finish mooring the Rex , and my toes and cheeks are numb by the time they’re done. Seasoned travelers, having waited for this moment in the warmth of the salon, join us as we make our long, slow way toward the gangway.

I finally step down onto solid ground and the world tilts just a bit. A sailor reaches out to catch my arm . “Easy now,” he says.

I smile absently, my eyes scanning the crowds waiting to receive us. Wisps of fog settle in, obscuring my view, and I follow the rest of the throng, hoping Cole will be able to find me. London is overwhelming in a way New York never was, and I’m not sure why. It’s not as if they don’t speak English, and yet all around me I hear a hodgepodge of languages, of which English is only one. Cranes tower overhead, waiting to unload the ship’s cargo, and the scent of tar, salt, and fish is heavy in the air. I stop, unsure of which way to go. Suddenly someone is by my side.

“If you’re looking for your party, miss, they may be waiting for you near the entrance of the quay.”

I turn and find myself staring into the blue, blue eyes of the young man I so stupidly ran from earlier. I clear my throat. “I’m not sure where that is,” I say, hoping to redeem myself and show him that I’m not entirely ridiculous. “This is my first time in London.”

He gives me another slow smile. “Mine, too. I asked someone where to get a taxicab and he told me how to get to the street. It’s right this way.” He points with his head, as both of his hands are holding cases.

He navigates the crowd as I fall in behind him. It strikes me that I probably shouldn’t be following a total stranger in such a foreign place, but there’s something about his open face that invites trust. I’m just about to see if I can feel his emotions, one of my psychic abilities, when I hear my name.

“Anna!”

I stop and my savior is swallowed up instantly in the crowd, but I forget that as I am suddenly enveloped in a warm hug that thrills me to the tips of my toes. Cole!

He holds me close for a moment and so many impressions flood my senses I can barely stand upright: the scratchiness of his wool overcoat against my cheek, the sound of my own heart beating in my ears, the warmth and depth of his love, and the excitement of his emotions as our unique psychic link is made. For years I thought I was alone in my abilities and at times I thought they would drive me mad. Then I met Cole and something fundamental inside me shifted.

I was no longer alone.

Now he’s here. His head is bent close to mine and I lift my face to stare into his dark, licorice-colored eyes. They glow at me with that special light they sometimes get, and I tilt my head back, sure he’s going to kiss me. Instead, he pulls back to look at me. My heart dips in disappointment even though I know he has never liked being overtly affectionate in public.

“I thought I would never find you in this crowd,” he says.

I remember the man who had tried to help me and look around to thank him, but he’s nowhere to be found. Then I have eyes for no one but Cole. I had forgotten how tall he is and how the intelligent planes of his face give him the look of a distinguished professor to match his accent.

“London is so big!”

“No bigger than New York,” he teases, and my happiness bubbles over like a glass of New Year’s Eve champagne. Cole turns to a young Indian man who stepped up next to him. The man is dressed in a suit and overcoat like Cole, but instead of sporting a bowler, there’s a white turban clipped together in the front with a gold pin. I look from him to Cole, confused.

“Anna, I would like you to meet Pratik Dahrma, a friend of mine. Pratik, this is my—” he hesitates only for a moment “—girl, Anna Van Housen. I’ve told you about her.”

The young Indian man gives a shy smile, showing teeth as glistening white as the turban on his head. “You have mentioned her much more than a time or two, my friend.” Pratik bows to me. “He has spoken of little else for the past week.”

Red stains Cole’s cheeks and warmth spreads over me. “It’s nice to meet you.” I hold my hand out, but Pratik just looks at it blankly before comprehension dawns and he awkwardly reaches out to shake it.

I feel it the moment our hands touch—that electric sensation I felt when I first met Cole. We both release our hands in a hurry, and I glance at Cole, my breath quickening. He nods, confirming what I already knew. Pratik is a Sensitive.

Pratik appears less than surprised, so obviously he knows about me. I’m not sure how I feel about Cole telling a total stranger a secret I’ve guarded so protectively my entire life. It feels just as odd as him bringing someone else to our reunion. What was he thinking?

He must sense my disappointment because he takes my satchel and tucks his arm into mine. “Pratik and I had a meeting this morning. He still gets lost in the city, so I told him I would drop him off at his flat. I did clarify that we needed to come here first. Nothing could make me late to meet you.”

I perceive the apology in his voice and in the connection running between us. In my head, I always envision it as a silver cord joining us and transmitting our emotions. Cole’s abilities are different from mine—his are limited to detecting the presence of other Sensitives and making their abilities stronger. But those differences don’t seem to affect our ability to communicate on a deeper level than just words. It’s one of the reasons why our relationship is so infinitely precious to me. I give him a reassuring nod. “Of course, I’m eager to meet your friends.”

We begin walking away from the ship and I look across him at Pratik. “Are you new to London, too, Mr. Dahrma?”

“Please call me Pratik,” he says. “And, yes. I have only been here in the city for a short time. Mr. Gamel found me in Bombay.”

He says it like I should know who Mr. Gamel is. I look at Cole, perplexed.

“She doesn’t know anyone in the Society yet,” he tells Pratik.

Pratik tilts his head in apology. “I am sorry. Cole has spoken of you so often, I forget that there is much you do not know. You will like Mr. Gamel. He is a strange man but a good one.”

“Mr. Gamel is the new board president,” Cole says, his voice suddenly tight. “Pratik has a far more charitable view of him than I do.”

“You would too, if he saved you as he saved me,” Pratik says simply.

I wonder what he means as we hurry off to claim my trunks. By the time we pack everything up, the moment to ask Pratik about it has passed and before long we’re riding in Cole’s luxurious motorcar. Being pressed so close to Cole’s side leaves me breathless with that buttery warmth his nearness always generates. It seems odd to be feeling this way with a complete stranger by my side, and an uncomfortable silence falls over us.

“I think you will like the Society, Anna,” Pratik says. “Everyone has been good to me.”

For the first time, I notice hesitation in his manner and I get a strong sense of vulnerability emanating from him. This is a young man who has been deeply hurt by someone or something. As someone who is also distrustful of strangers, that feeling puts me at ease.

“I hope so. I’m a little nervous, actually,” I tell him.

“It is always good to be cautious. Even now that I have been a member for several months, I am still wary. But then that is my nature. It is your nature too, isn’t it?”

Though his words are a question, the look in his eyes is certain, and I wonder suddenly exactly what his abilities are. For all I know, he could be reading my mind as we speak.