Page 20 of Gates of Tartarus

“What, now?”

“In about,” he checks his watch, “five minutes.”

“OK?” Movement seems like an impossible dream just at the moment.

The door opens, and Jorge comes in with a fresh cup of coffee, which he sets down on the table before me. I can scent vanilla, so he must have added some syrup to the milky goodness. Bliss!

“Thank you!” I say delightedly.

He nods. “I’m going out for a walk.”

“We were just about to watch the rugby. Do you want to join us?” I ask timidly.

“Maybe later,” he shrugs again, face shuttered, turns, and leaves the room.

Bewildered, I look at Kavi and Emlyn. “Was I really that bad last night?”

“You were hilarious. Don’t worry; he’s just a bit grouchy,” Emlyn says easily.

“Jorge doesn’t do ‘grouchy’.” I bite my lip. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so much as frown.”

“Oh, he does,” Kavi assures me. “He’s just very good at controlling his emotions. I think he had to learn how as a teenager, and then working as a counselor will have reinforced it.”

“So he hides what he’s feeling? It’s all just a facade?” The thought makes me both sad and somehow betrayed, and my face falls.

“No, not really,” Kavi muses. “He just works hard at suppressing any negativity around other people. I think he feels responsible for making everyone happy; as if, because he can sense a little of what we’re feeling, he’s somehow invading our privacy and has a moral duty to make amends. But he’s only human. Every so often, he’ll get into a mood and then he likes to keep himself to himself.”

“But shouldn’t we go after him?” I start to unwrap the blanket, and Emlyn holds up a hand.

“He won’t welcome the company.”

“How do you know?” I’m not convinced; after all, Emlyn barely knows Jorge.

“Trust me. He won’t.” Emlyn looks serious for a moment, eyes slate-grey, then glances at his watch. “Right. Almost kick-off time. Shall we head up?” He holds out a hand, and, surprised, I take it and let him pull me to my feet. Vertical, I’m not sure I’m up to four flights of stairs, but watching rugby with the guys sounds like fun. I turn to Kavi. “Carry me?” I ask plaintively.

He grins, stooping and picking up my mug. “You can walk. Follow the coffee,” he coaxes, holding it out and backing away.

“Gah! Give it back!” I stumble after him. My precious! He’s taken my precious!

“Coffee, coffee, coffee,” he croons tunelessly. “All for meeeee!”

“Noooooo!” I follow him on colt’s legs up the stairs, like he’s the pied piper, only getting the mug back when we reach the lounge. Emlyn snorts when I gulp the coffee down.

Sports aren’t really my thing, but I curl up on the couch and try to pretend that I know what’s going on, an impression that lasts until my first question, two minutes in. The first is followed by another, and another, and another, and pointing at the screen with a “who’s he, again”, and “why’d he get a penalty”, and an “aaah – why isn’t he wearing a hat? His ears! His ears!”, and generally blocking the view at critical moments. From the increasingly exasperated looks I get, I can tell the guys are regretting inviting me to watch the match with them, so I try to settle down and be quiet. The trouble is, that gives me time to think, and I end up brooding on Jorge. Despite what the guys have said, I can’t help feeling that he’s angry with me in particular. God, I was such a lush last night! What possessed me? I know better! Why, oh why, oh why did I drink so much? Seef’s behavior is no excuse; Jorge deals with worse all the time, and he doesn’t let himself go. Maybe he was disgusted by my behavior. Maybe he looked at me and thought,what an immature, spoiled brat! I can’t believe I kissed her. Glad it never went further. On and on and on. It’s almost a relief when my phone rings with a call from my mother, and I can escape to my room to listen to her comforting chatter about the shop, and my dad’s latest DIY project, and how they went to Pier 39 and had chowder in sourdough bread bowls.

I find myself at a bit of a loose end and uncomfortably alone with my thoughts that afternoon. Emlyn’s gone into the office, which boggles my mind, but “the work of a nation” and all that; and Kavi’s gone to his room to call his family. I’ve read all of the books on my Kindle, so I decide to check out the selection in the library before downloading another. As I’m about to go in, though, I hear music coming from the drawing room. It’s low and darkly passionate, yearning, searching, plaintive, and pulls me irresistibly down the hall and to the door. I peep in as the music rises to a crescendo and see Jorge sitting in a chair playing flamenco guitar; his eyes are closed, and there’s a look of utter absorption on his face, as if he’s one with the music, his very soul given over to it. I’m riveted, listening to the sensual melody and gazing almost helplessly at his face: the long, dark lashes, the thick brows, the light stubble which has grown back in. His lips are fairy-tale pink, I decide, and my mind flashes back to our kiss, how our breaths mingled when he brushed his mouth softly over mine. I desperately want to repeat it but fear I’ve blown my chances with him. He could barely look at me this morning. And who could blame him? After a few moments, I creep away from the door and go to lie down on the library couch, heartsore, for a little cry.

???

Kavi’s alone in the kitchen when I come down the next morning. The police arrested one of Ratko’s gang in the early hours, and Emlyn and Jorge have gone to conduct the interrogation. It’s a good way for Jorge to start to build up his skills in reading suspects.

I’m relieved. While I’m feeling better after a good night’s sleep and can see, now that I’m not hungover, that I was perhaps overreacting, I’m still a little unsettled. Logically, I know that being empathic can’t be easy for Jorge and that he needs time to himself, every so often, to deal with the impact of a constant emotional bombardment, but niggling doubts remain. It’s been weeks, after all, since our one and only kiss. I need to be grown-up, to let him know that, if he just wants to be friends, that’s fine, no worries; but I need to be able to project that feeling, and I haven't figured out how. We all ended up eating at different times last night, which is just as well, or I might have embarrassed myself by blubbering over the soup.

Kavi, my gentle giant, is cheerful this morning and a balm to my psyche. He’s able to distract me from my worries over how to mask my feelings for Jorge, and why Seef has taken against me, and if I’ll be able to channel my ability and see Tennireef or the mysterious Rhea in addition to Magda. Kavi’s already thinking about how to design the wellness program for the agents and is excited by the challenge, jade eyes glowing as he tells me about his plans. At one point, he says, nonchalantly, that perhaps his parents will brag that their son works for British Intelligence. He can’t tell them about Babylon, of course, but Emlyn has cleared disclosure of the basics. Glancing at Kavi’s kind, smiling face, I’m furious at his parents. They should be proud of him, not broadcasting that they think he’s a failure for not following their dictates. It’s a good thing Jorge’s not here; otherwise, he might worry I’d give myself an apoplexy. Of course, if he were here, I’d probably keel over from the sheer effort of trying to appear easy-going. Perhaps Kavi has a touch of empathy himself, because our yoga and meditation sessions are focused on cultivating a tranquil mind.

Following a comforting lunch of peanut butter and grape-jelly sandwiches, which make Kavi gag and me giggle, I arrive at MI5 to learn thatI’m going to be meeting Elizabeth Cole, the head of the Gaia Foundation, tomorrow. It turns out that the clinical trial was run by the foundation, and the Americans have briefed her on my unusual reaction. The Babylon Project needs information, specifically on the compounds in the drug and what may have triggered clairvoyance. Seef and Emlyn also need to decide if it’s safe for me to take part in the phase-two trials. Would a booster enhance my new-found ability, or might another dose interfere with it?

Today, the vibrations come more easily, so I guess this morning’s practices worked, and I manage to step through and up and out. I can’t decide, though, whether I’m feeling relieved or not. Last time I saw Tennireef, he and his henchman were torturing a girl. I don’t want to tap into his dreams, let alone his reality; but Babylon is counting on me, so I fix his image clearly in my mind and go out searching. I walk and walk through an endless fog. Is he on drugs? I can sense he’s there, but I can’t “lock” onto him. Same thing with Magda. I swear I can almost hear her, and at one point I think she’s going to come into view, but she fades as I try to close in. I only succeed in giving myself a vicious headache. Afterwards, Emlyn and Seef engage in a low-voiced discussion while I sip my tea, exhausted. They seem to be leaning towards a booster shot but decide to speak with Elizabeth Cole before making a call. By the time Emlyn and I get back to the house, I’m feeling frustrated and anxious, all benefit from my training with Kavi gone. Why couldn’t I see Magda? Why? I’ve only really “seen” Tennireef once, when he was... dreaming? Maybe? Can I do that? But I’ve never had any trouble seeing Magda before. So what’s going on? It’s freaking me out.

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