to the end of his nose, and smiled when she blushed.
“I was watching Luke.” She whispered the admission, afraid of being overheard. Her face remained wreathed in a broad smile, and warmth filled the shadowed depths of her eyes. She spun about on her sandaled feet and crooked a beckoning finger at the men, before pointing at the head of NADGEL.
Lucien hadn’t moved. His face was raised to the sunlight streaming through the towering glass walls and a satisfied smile curved his lips. He appeared, oddly enough, pleased with the world.
“What about him?” Nikolai questioned, unable to distinguish any change in the man who led the hodgepodge team of misfits.
“He glows.” �
The comment's simplicity produced the desired effect, causing each member to look at her in disbelief. Pleased, she granted the men an immensely satisfied smile.
“Birdie,” Ethan huffed, folding his arms across his chest. “I don't understand this whole aura thing. What does he glows mean?” �
Deborah lifted her fingertips back to her mouth. She appeared to stifle the laugh threatening to burst free. It was obvious she was inordinately pleased by whatever Luke Angeles had accomplished.
“She means what she said. Our fearless leader is glowing. He’s come up with an aura.” Brice provided. He frowned and, for once, he didn't push his lenses back to the bridge of his nose.
“He has an aura?” �
Nikolai frowned as Deborah nodded vigorously, her body nearly bouncing with the action. A dawning sense of enlightenment flooded him and a wry grin creased his stern features.
“Luke possesses an aura.” He repeated dumbly.
“So?” Gil shrugged, wondering about the hushed excitement rippling through the group. Four sets of eyes turned toward him in marked censure. He frowned back, stubbornly refusing to see the earth shattering significance behind the woman's observation.
“You fool!” Ethan rasped, all sense of play vanishing. He scowled at his friend, his expression darkening.
“He's not a fool.” Deborah chastised, lifting a soothing hand. Her touch was light as she smoothed her fingers over the young man's troubled features, attempting to lighten the pain the words caused. “He’s not a fool. He just doesn't understand.” �
“I don't understand, Miss Deb.” Gil admitted pitifully.
“I’ve never seen an aura over Luke,” she supplied, her hands fluttering as she lowered them. “Today, after Eva left, I ran across him in the hall. He was so sad, and he didn't want her to leave.” �
She forced her hands to her sides, rocking side to side on sandaled feet as she recounted the events. She knew sorrow, having seen it in too many eyes on the street, but Luke’s sorrow was different. He gave the impression he was dreadfully alone in the world. Deborah understood heart-wrenching sadness, as well as she related to madness.
“When he saw me, Luke smiled. I didn't think much of it. He always smiles at me.” She rushed to interject. “It was then a white glow covered his entire body.” �
“He's rejoined the world of the living?” Gil questioned, a dawning comprehension invading him. His eyes widened and he stepped back from his co-workers, dazed.
“As well as he can, being what he is.” Nikolai supplied, his attention riveted to his employer. A knowing silence followed, only interrupted by Ethan's amused chuckle.
“I don't think he'll be too pleased.” �
“No, I don't.” ��
Deborah gasped as the lobby doors flew open with a great gust of wind. The blaring sound of car alarms sounded from the parking lot, triggered by the blast of air. The screeches and the howls echoed, mingling with the wind, drowning out all other noise. Vases shuddered on their pedestals, several falling in a great show of splintering glass. A brightly colored shower of flower petals lifted and rose, swirling about on unseen fingers before scattering wildly. The hotel patrons looked about in disbelief, and flinched with amazement.
The leader of NADGEL's response was far, far different.
To the critical and observant eyes of the people trained by him, Luke's feet rose off the marbled foyer floor. His reaction resembled a man subjected to the most debilitating of blows delivered to his mid-section, a great whoosh escaping him. His shoulders flew back, and the tails of his trench coat swirled about his legs.
Before their stunned eyes, he traveled backwards. His chin lifted and he struggled for breath, his sunglasses flying from his face. He gave the impression of being lifted by unseen hands, hovering scant inches above the floor. A long and agonized moan slipped from his pale lips, and he crumbled to the ground.
A cry of