Dark Omega

CHAPTER 33 - THE PERFECT MAN

Xerza found Maximilian floating face down in her aquarium—a massive salt-water tank filled with beautiful creatures of the sea—twenty or so meters from the beach. Xerza loved the sea, the sounds, the smells, the feeling of swimming through warm waters. Or she had been—until one of the Aaron clones had drowned himself. After that, the aquarium had felt rather more like a mausoleum.

This incarnation wasn't moving. Not one bit. Damnation. Xerza wasted no time. The cloak of shadows, she dismissed mid-stride, a moment later, she was sailing through the air—an impossible ten-meter leap, made possible by the preternatural powers she lurking inside her mind. Xerza hit the surface of the aquarium with the elegance of a diving bird. Lean muscles, aided by psychokinetic power, propelled her through the water, fast as a ray-shark rushing its prey.

Xerza broke the surface less than a meter from Maximilian's floating body. She looked straight into a pair of hazel eyes, Maximilian's eyes, very much alive, wise now beyond his years. He remembers. The thought sent jitters through her body. This is the most delicate time. I must guide him—or lose him.

"You conniving bitch!" he shouted at her, moving closer, his body poised for attack. They are always angry at the beginning. Xerza knew this from experience: of the ones that had come before Maximilian, one had drowned himself, another had attacked her, and had to be put down. She desperately needed for this one to be all right. "Couldn't you just have told me?" his voice was heavy with accusation.

Xerza trod water, her face calm, despite the storm of emotions raging inside. "It doesn't work like that, Maximilian." He didn't look like he believed her. "How much do you remember?" she hastened to add. That question always calms them down, makes them think.

"A lot," he replied resentfully. "Enough to know that I've lived before. Many times. But it's all jumbled together. There is so much!" his voice became frantic again.

Xerza inched closer to him, chanced a touch his cheek with her hand. He stiffened but didn't recoil. That's a good sign. He grabbed her hand with his own, pinning her flesh against his skin. It felt unbelievably good to be touched again, after so many years without. "But I remember you very clearly," Maximilian said. "You're always there, aren't you?" he seemed less agitated now, less angst-ridden. Keep him talking, keep him touching; I've never lost one that wanted to talk and cuddle.

"I am," she admitted. "I'm the one who keeps calling you back," she added equal parts regret and hope to her voice. "It is selfish, I know. But I cannot make it without you," she said, her voice laden with hurt and longing both. Playing this part isn't hard at all. It's the bloody truth.

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Maximilian continued to tread the water as he regarded Xerza. I want to trust you, but I can't. You've been playing me all this time. How can I ever trust you again?

"I remember Vern—Vernissimon de Veridia de Archangelos. I knew him, back at the beginning. He wasn't a madman then. He was part of the team. What happened? Why do you have him stashed downstairs? Why the fuck did you have me interrogate him?"

Xerza looked at him calmly. "You know the answer to that one."

"No, I don't," he looked right back at her. "Tell me."

It looked as if she might object, but the look he gave her must have changed her mind. "He was on the team. But something happened. It's not important what, but he's not entirely himself anymore. Whatever he was: he's a different person now, and a dangerous one at that. He is also, unfortunately, the only one who can awaken your past-lives memories. That's why I keep him downstairs. That's why I don't feed him to the fire."