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  “Some of us do know,” the man said. “Fiction abounds with references to such a race. Ask yourself why that might be.”

  Elijah let out a long slow breath. The man was bat-shit crazy—it was yet to be determined if he was also dangerous. Elijah didn’t want to find out by provoking him.

  “Because it is fiction,” he said, making an effort to keep his voice calm, his tone rational. “Not real life.”

  “That’s what they want us to believe.” When the man leaned forward, his hands outstretched, Elijah pulled himself backward out of reach.

  “Really, Mr. Denton? You can’t imagine I’d hurt you. You weren’t listening when I said we could help each other.” He waited until Elijah met his gaze. “I know you’re telekinetic. I also know the answers to the questions that have plagued you all your life.”

  Elijah drew a deep breath, then let it go again. The guy was small, old and injured. Elijah could throw him out any time he wanted to. He had found out about Elijah’s hidden ability. What would it hurt to let him explain? “Make it quick.”

  “What you are about to hear will sound incredible, but please try to keep an open mind. Only once you begin to accept the truth will I be able to offer you proof. This underground race, the Dvalinn, have the power to influence the human mind. They have used that power for centuries to hide their existence from us.” The man’s voice deepened, grew compelling. Elijah found himself drawn toward him, his body leaning forward, his eyes locked on the man’s faded blue gaze. “Only a few humans were ever able to resist this influence. Those who could—those who knew the truth—were charged with a sacred quest to protect the deluded multitudes. We few, called the Gatekeepers, have always kept the Dvalinn at bay.”

  “I don’t believe this.” Elijah shook his head and blinked.

  “You will. We are at war, Mr. Denton. I was a soldier.” He gestured to his face. “These are my battle scars.”

  He leaned back, his eyes bleak. “I survived by the merest good luck. The Gatekeepers who stood with me in that battle did not.”

  “Even if that were true,” Elijah said, although he didn’t for a minute believe it was anything other than the man’s delusion, “It has nothing to do with me.”

  “I have put years and more money than you can imagine into researching ways to fight these monsters.” The man’s fists clenched on the table in front of him. “I have the weapons. All I need is someone who can use them. I’ve searched a long time to find the right person. Some people have a degree of telekinesis, others claim to be empaths. Even more people have the physical fitness and stamina your genes and career have given you. Some have the altruism that fits you for service. But—and this is the key issue—you may be the one person on Earth who has the right combination of these qualities. You’re unique, Mr. Denton.”

  “You can forget my unique abilities,” Elijah snarled. “I’ll never use them, especially for something as crack-brained as this.” He stood. “You’ve wasted both our time. Leave.”

  The man pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll leave you to think about it.” He paused. “But while you’re thinking, consider this. I can show you how to rid yourself of what you see as an affliction.” He reached into his pocket. “Here is my card. Feel free to contact me at any time. If I have not heard from you within a week, I will return.” He held his hand up. “You want me to stay away from you. I know you believe that now, but once you have had time to think it over you will change your mind. I did not make an idle boast. If you cooperate with me, in return I can ensure you get what you most want. To be normal.”

  “You won’t be hearing from me. I don’t want you to come back,” Elijah said. “Stay away from me. Is that clear?”

  The man walked to the door. “Do not underestimate me. I know what it is you fear most. I can remove your fear. You will not be able to resist.” With that he let himself out of Elijah’s apartment.

  For long minutes Elijah stood there, the business card clutched in his hand. He intended to throw it unread into the trash, but at the last minute he turned it up to read what was inscribed on it. A name and a series of contact details. Elijah dropped the card onto the table. He hoped he never saw the guy again, but in case he was dangerous or posed some sort of threat Elijah needed to be better informed. He would go online—find out what sort of nut this Brian Hopewood was.

  * * * * *

  Elijah leaned back in his chair and dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, trying to relieve the fatigue. The quick internet search on Brian Hopewood had turned into a marathon session. At the end of it, Lije knew Hopewood was very, very rich. Page after page of results had shown up when Lije entered his name.

  He’d searched images to start with. At first he’d thought the search engine had thrown up the wrong person. The handsome, chiseled features captured in myriad photos had little in common with the ruined face of the man who had pressed his card into Lije’s hand. Only a careful examination allowed Lije to see the bone structure that underlay whatever catastrophe Hopewood had suffered.

  Articles abounded about Brian Hopewood, many sourced from the social pages of newspapers and magazines. He’d flown his private jet to parties, polo matches, air races, ski weeks at Aspen, Davos and St Moritz. But none of the stories were dated more recently than fifteen years ago. There was a brief note that he’d moved to Venice, but then Hopewood seemed to go off the radar.

  As far as Elijah was concerned he could stay there. Nothing he’d read referred in any way to Hopewood’s strange claims about an alien race living on Earth. No matter how rich the man was, or had been, there was something seriously wrong with him now. Elijah wanted nothing to do with him or anything he offered. He stood, stretched, then headed for his bed.

  He woke the next morning determined to get his life back to normal. As he strode to work he focused on his surroundings—all the ordinary, everyday things. People brushing past clutching cups of coffee, or heads down thinking about their own problems, horns blasting, a kid kicking along on his skateboard. The teenager weaved his way through the crowd of pedestrians on the pavement, the whoosh of nylon wheels on concrete barely giving warning of his approach. One woman, elderly and probably hard of hearing, stumbled as the skateboarder passed her. She lost her balance, falling toward the boy who, with an outstretched arm, pushed her away. She tumbled to her knees. The kid didn’t stop, just called out, “Stay outta my way, Gran.”

  “Hope you fall off and break your arm,” Elijah muttered as the kid zoomed on.

  The moment the words were out of Lije’s mouth the skateboarder toppled forward onto the pavement, the crack clearly audible as his forearm broke. Leaving the woman to be looked after by other bystanders, Elijah went to the boy’s aid. He concentrated on treating the injury, trying to ignore the preposterous idea that he might have caused the accident. He told himself he was no more responsible for the boy’s fate than any of the other onlookers who were exclaiming, “Serves him right.”

  When the ambulance arrived, Elijah left the boy to the care of the paramedics then continued to the fire station. Before he’d opened his locker, the other firefighters started in on him, as they had every day since the rescue of the boy had made him the town’s hero. “Hey, Lije. What does your woo-woo tell you is gonna happen today?”

  “Hey Lije, reckon you could use your Spidey senses to zap a couple of girls from outta the strip club for us?”

  “Hey Lije, maybe you’re not a normal human. Maybe you’re one of those super-heroes. All you need is a cape and a cool name. You can have your own comic book series—shit!”

  The last speaker broke off, his face scarlet, his hands frantically clutching at his pants, now inexplicably draped around his ankles revealing to everyone his unwise decision to go commando. Ribald comments flew from all directions. With attention and laughter diverted away from him, Elijah escaped. He pushed open the door of the bathroom. As soon as it swung shut again, he leaned his back against the wall and tried to subdue the blood that pou
nded through his veins.

  He was in deep trouble. The wall he’d built to keep his abilities hidden was crumbling and he couldn’t stop it. Making a man’s pants fall off didn’t matter much but that morning he’d caused a kid to break his arm. How long before he did something far worse? How long before his out-of-control mind killed someone?

  Brian Hopewood’s words played in the back of his mind. “I know what it is you fear most.”

  Lije pulled Hopewood’s card out of his pocket. Before he had time to decide what he intended to do with it, the alarm bell rang. All Elijah’s concentration went into getting into his turnout gear and taking his place in the team.

  His job had taught him self-discipline and focus. With them, he would beat the demons that ate at his soul. He had to.

  The call-out to a fire at a deserted warehouse was straightforward. No risk to life, no unexpected chemical waste to create explosions, just several hours of hard work that wore out Elijah physically but left him emotionally calm.

  At the end of his shift he went home, too tired to do more than tumble into bed and sleep. By three in the morning he was awake again, staring at the ceiling. No matter how much he tried to close his mind to it he could not shut off the image of the boy plummeting to the pavement or the memory of the sound of his bone snapping. In the end he got up and turned on the television to watch pseudo-celebrities trying to sell him products no one needed.

  He arrived at work the next morning, his eyes gritty, his mood dark and edgy. A call-out within minutes of his arrival did nothing to settle him. The fourth floor of an office block had caught fire, sending toxic smoke swirling through the building.

  The evacuation of workers from the upper levels went smoothly. Elijah heard the all-clear shout as he took his turn on the hoses. The ladder truck pulled out to allow more room for the pumps.

  A blast of fear hit him along with an image of two women trapped in a supply closet, hunched up against the back wall as smoke seeped under the door. Elijah sprinted for the ladder truck, yelling to the driver to stop and back up. By the time the ladder was fully extended, Lije was already climbing. He smashed his way in through a window, surged down the corridor, his feet leading him unerringly through the gloom to an unmarked door. He turned the knob but heat had warped the door, making it stick in its frame.

  With one blow of his axe, the door split. He reached inside. Two women huddled together, tears washing pale streaks through the black soot on their cheeks.

  He ushered them out, back down the hall to the ladder. Neither woman hesitated, scrambling down the swaying structure with as much speed as they could manage. On the ground, people gathered around them. “How did you know they were there?”

  The question came out of the crowd. Elijah felt sick. It was going to start all over again. He stared ahead, trying to think of something—anything to say to avert another disaster.

  “I had my phone with me. I called Jill,” one of the women said.

  “I told the fireman,” someone said. Elijah assumed it was Jill.

  “Good job, Elijah,” one of the other firefighters called out.

  Elijah’s shoulders slumped in relief. They thought she’d told him. He guessed they all looked the same in their gear. As long as the guy she had spoken to didn’t say anything, this would look like a routine rescue.

  He needed everyone to see it that way. He needed the guys to stop talking about his so-called woo-woo senses. Never mind that he couldn’t hear actual words, just sense emotions and images, if the press got hold of this they would tear him apart.

  He’d been building barriers piece by piece against his abilities since childhood. Today, his barriers weakened by fatigue and stress, he’d been blasted by the women’s deathly, mind-numbing fear. He could no longer deny it. This thing living inside him was growing, taking over.

  With the fire under control, Elijah returned to the station and signed out. He had four days rostered off. He would spend all four of them getting a handle on a way to control this thing. He refused to give in to it.

  He fell onto his bed and slept until the thudding of a fist against his door dragged him awake. The sun had not yet risen. Disoriented and sleep-dazed, he dragged his jeans up over his hips and staggered to open the door, pushing his hair up out of his eyes. When he saw Brian Hopewood standing there he winced and tried to slam it shut again, but Hopewood stuck one foot inside. Elijah glared at him but the man refused to back off.

  “I thought you were giving me a week,” Elijah snarled.

  “I intended to but I don’t think you’re going to last that long,” Hopewood said, pushing his way past Elijah into the apartment. “This ability you possess is growing faster than I expected. I can’t afford to risk it coming to the attention of…” He hesitated for a moment. When he went on, Elijah thought he’d altered what he had been going to say. “To the attention of the authorities. I’m sure neither of us wants you to be the subject of any more publicity.”

  “Damn you. You have no right to spy on me!” Elijah yelled.

  “Better me than somebody else. Odd coincidences tend to happen around you, Mr. Denton. To someone like me, the conclusions to be drawn are obvious. At least I mean you no harm”

  “So you say. Doesn’t mean I believe it,” Elijah said, but he followed Hopewood to the table. He was too tired to fight. Nothing he’d done so far had helped. Listening to Hopewood couldn’t make the situation any worse.

  Hopewood lifted his head. His gaze locked with Elijah’s. “I told you last time we met. Human beings are not the only sentient hominoid species on this planet. We are not alone. The others who share this planet are our implacable enemies.”

  Elijah’s shoulders slumped. The man was still crazy and wasting his time. “I don’t want to hear a load of crap about vampires, werewolves, ghosts or zombies.”

  “Nor shall you. Let me fill you in on a history few people know. The Dvalinn dwell underground,” Hopewood said, his voice hypnotic. “That is not their choice. In times before written history, humans and Dvalinn came into conflict. The Dvalinn lost and were driven into an underworld where, apart from brief excursions to the surface, they have remained.” His head swayed from side to side in a strange, bobbing motion. Elijah couldn’t look away.

  “They come to the surface? Then why hasn’t anyone ever seen them?”

  “Oh, they’ve been seen. The Dvalinn are humanlike in appearance. It takes a special ability to tell the difference between a Dvalinn and a human. I had such an ability.” He touched his damaged face. “Before my injury, but not now. I no longer have the skill or strength to defend the human race. You have both, Mr. Denton. You alone have the ability to save your people from destruction.”

  He leaned forward, his head still weaving in a strange dance. “The enemy wants to destroy the human race so they can once more take control of the surface world. From beneath the surface they use their psychokinetic powers to channel geothermal heat. They create hot spots under the oceans, change the pattern of sea currents. Climate change is real but it’s not a result of human activity. It’s a plot by the Dvalinn to destroy our biosphere. Only when the human race is extinct will they readjust the thermal currents and emerge to claim the surface world for themselves.” His voice dropped even lower. “This is the greatest threat mankind has ever faced. The Dvalinn must be stopped.”

  Elijah scrubbed his hands across his face, trying to get his thoughts straight. “Even if I believed you, how could I help with something of this magnitude? This is a job for the government or the military. If the threat is real, all the armies of the Earth ought to be united against it.”

  Hopewood nodded. “You’re right, they should. I have tried for years to alert those in authority but to no avail. My reception has been…” He paused and swallowed convulsively. “Let us say I have realized the utter futility of trying to convince those who should have the power to stop it that the danger is real. I have used a great deal of my resources—and I am a rich man—in an effor
t to save the human race.”

  He stopped. As soon as his voice died away, reason and common sense began to reassert themselves. Elijah knew that Hopewood believed what he was saying—he could read the message loud and clear—but Hopewood’s delusion didn’t make it true.

  “You’re telling me,” Lije said, trying to make sure he’d heard what he thought he had, “that a humanlike race called the Dvalinn are out to get us and no one is doing anything about it because they don’t believe these people—if they are people—exist in the first place. That about it?”

  “Your cynicism is obvious, Mr. Denton, but yes, that is indeed about it.”

  “What do you expect me to do?”

  “I expect you to take up the battle.” He rubbed his hands together. “You’ll be well trained and well rewarded.”

  “I haven’t agreed to anything,” Elijah interrupted. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

  “I told you before. I need your unique abilities to take the fight to the Dvalinn. To their world.”

  “Whoa. Wait a damn minute.” Elijah held up his hand, palm facing outward. “You want me to go underground and fight these people? Me and what army?”

  “No army. I said your abilities are unique. I meant it. You will go alone.”

  “Against an entire race? You have got to be kidding me.” Only when the words left his mouth did Elijah realize he was arguing not against the existence of an alien race of people but against the wisdom of Hopewood’s plan. Somewhere during this argument he’d subconsciously accepted what Hopewood had told him.

  “Stealth is essential to success,” Hopewood replied. “Your telekinetic ability can be developed. With sufficient training you’ll be able to teleport undetected into the Dvalinn realm.”

  Elijah felt the blood draining from his face. “You want to increase my powers?”

  “That will be necessary. Yes,” Hopewood agreed, his flat tone sending a cold shiver down Elijah’s spine.

  “I want to get rid of this shit. Not get more.”