Maya's Aura: The Refining Page 10

  Emma watched the effect of the aura on Karen. With Maya's hand now pointed away from her, she felt none of it, though she was just six feet away. She pulled on her suit jacket to protect the modesty of the monk, though with Maya naked from the waist up, and Karen completely naked and writhing on her yoga mat with her knees clenched hard together, she wondered why she had even bothered.

  He admonished himself for watching the reflection of the writhing, naked actress. He felt crushed by his own shame, and hated the lust he was feeling. Without turning, he pulled his robes up, and then almost crawled to the staircase and down enough stairs so that he could not see them, nor they he. "That is wonderful, Maya," he called. "I felt no aura from your back. You are doing far better than I had hoped. Keep practicing. I, unfortunately, must leave you now." He ran for the downstairs powder room and some privacy.

  His thoughts were so unworthy. Why, oh why, had this white monk been reborn as a mere woman? Why has this curse landed on his shoulders? All those years of celibacy for what? To be undone by a chit of a girl? No, not just a girl. A girl in the company of women. He visualized the writhing actress while he relieved himself. That was also unworthy, but necessary if he was to go out in public.

  The flush of the toilet must have warned the women that he was still in the house, because a woman's voice called to him as he left the powder room. The actress was again wrapped in her coat, probably in only her coat, and was standing on the top step calling to him. "You know my password," she said, "ask my driver to take you to your next appointment."

  He closed his eyes and bowed humbly with thanks, and also so that he would not be tempted to peer up her coat. He turned and fled from the house and made for the limo.

  * * *

  Karen was waiting for the driver when he returned. After an extra half-hour of practicing with Maya, her face was glowing and she felt horny and full of life. She had been admiring herself in the hall mirror and hoped she could hold that look at least until she got back to the cameras. She felt right ready to kill some vampires. "The studio," she said softly to her driver as she waited for him to open the limo door for her. As soon as they were on the road she phoned the director's private blackberry to tell him to get the next three scenes set up and ready to shoot immediately.

  "Before I leave," said Emma closing the front door after making sure that her Jetta was no longer blocked into the driveway, "I want to tell you what has happened with the incident at the Wreck Beach trail." She followed Maya into the kitchen and watched her while she stacked the empty beer bottles.

  "It has been decided that the man died of natural causes. His DNA has been linked to two murders of women on the U.B.C. grounds. Again, I have made an enemy of some of the local police chiefs by crushing their hopes that he was the same man who has been preying on street walkers. Unfortunately, every strong but false trail is a setback for the main hunt, and it has been stalled yet again."

  "Any word on that farmer I pointed out?" Maya asked.

  "Nothing, at least nothing suspicious. He is on a back burner."

  "But the charred smell?"

  "Oh, right, you expect them to put aside investigative procedures and the rules of evidence just because you smelled toast. Yeah, right."

  "The guy on the trail," Maya asked, "did he suffer from toxoplasmosis?"

  "What?"

  "I think I have found a link between the charred smell and toxoplasmosis."

  Emma's voice went stiff and formal. "I am well-read in my profession, and yes, I know there are some new speculations about that disease, but they are speculations. Besides, the speculations are about schizophrenics, not psychopaths."

  "Is that a yes or a no?"

  Emma growled like an animal, and then stopped and smiled at Maya. "Okay, I will ask for permission to see his medical records. Don't hold your breath."

  "Is there a lab test you can do?"

  "I'll check, I'm not a vet you know. That is a cat disease. One of the dangers of keeping cats as pets." She was going to be late for a meeting, and wanted to leave, but Maya pulled her upstairs to the computer and pulled up an article for her to read. She skimmed it, made a note of the website, and then left and chirped her tires leaving the driveway.

  Maya went upstairs and sat in front of the mirror by the unused and dusty bowflex. She practiced her new moves in the mirror to see what they looked like. The lotus opening was aptly named. She hadn't been told the name of the other one, but if she made the pose in a hurry, it looked like she was cursing in Italian, so she called it 'pushing pizza'.

  She liked these new methods. Because of the focusing, just a little aura behaved like a strong one. Raising powerful auras took time and concentration, and left her emotionally and physically drained afterwards. Light auras she could raise quickly, even while she kept her eyes open. It meant that she could watch the effects and adjust the aura accordingly.

  She thought back on the practices with the two women. They had gone very well. Emma had asked for only one more turn, because she was booked into a gritty meeting this afternoon.

  Karen, on the other hand, shamelessly asked for more and more. More practices and more power. It was erotic just watching her. Maya giggled and looked in the mirror at the reflection of the yoga mats arranged on the floor. She stopped giggling and went and sat where the monk had been sitting. From that mat the mirror gave her a full view of where Karen had been doing her moves. She laughed aloud. That dirty old dog. You couldn't even trust a monk.

  That night she forgave the guys and eagerly showed them what she had learned. They, of course, wanted to try it all out, and to calibrate her range when pushing pizza. The monk had been right. Erik had a mathematical formula for it.

  When she told them the use that monks made of the crystals, Erik and Karl immediately wanted some. They used the web to find the closest shop that might sell crystals. The obvious two were both around Granville market, so she wrote the names down and figured out the route to get to there along the waterfront paths. Erik undid his belt and twisted it inside out and pulled open the zipper that was hidden there. Inside the belt were tightly rolled fifty-dollar bills. He gave her all of them, none of them having the slightest idea what such crystals would cost.

  When they finally went to bed, she crawled in between them, and then lay there hoping that at least one of them would spoon her and allow her to connect sexually. Neither did. It was as if they had some pact against it or something. Karl's admission that he loved her like a daughter kept creeping into her dreams all night long.

  * * *

  * * *

  MAYA'S AURA - the Refining by Skye Smith

  Chapter 8 - In present day San Francisco

  Karen and her mom and Maya were glued to the TV news all day. The Bay Bridge was closed in both directions. What the local TV announcers estimated as a thousand demonstrators were walking across the bridge in both directions, blocking traffic.

  They switched to CNN. They were saying five hundred demonstrators. They switched to the BBC. They were saying between ten and twenty thousand demonstrators, most of whom were walking into San Francisco to join the massive demonstrations down town.

  They switched to Fox News. Fox was ignoring San Francisco because they were covering the flash demonstrations that were happening in every city on the East Coast. One of the announcers was interviewing a White House spokesman who said, "No one could see this coming. These are flash mobs, organized out of the blue. We suspect foreign organizers are at work, perhaps even terrorist groups."

  "They just don't get the internet," said Maya. She clicked the touch pad on Karen’s laptop. The counter on Chuck's video was over sixty million, and obviously it was all young people watching it, because none of the aging politicians and bureaucrats that had been interviewed on the news had a clue what was triggering the demonstrations. "Duh, two young girls in sundresses being coated in pepper-spray by pigs."

  They went back to the local news. The announcer said, "And here in the square you
can see the long line of young veterans standing between the riot police and the demonstrators. They were standing at ease while their spokespersons were meeting with the chief of police, but now they are standing at attention. Look there, they are raising the nation's flag."

  Another announcer cut in. "The police are not happy with the presence of the veterans, Bill. For one thing, many of the police are veterans themselves. For another thing, some of the veterans are in bulky combat fatigues with military packs. There is no telling how many of them may be armed, or what they may be armed with."

  Another voice broke in. "We are just getting an update from our traffic chopper. Forget about using the Bay Bridge today, folks. There are more and more people pouring onto that bridge from both sides. The police are still telling us that the total number of demonstrators is less than a thousand, so we have to assume they are feeding us old information. Our own people estimate at least ten thousand and they are blocking both the on and off ramps on the San Francisco side. This city is quickly coming to a standstill because of the gridlock."

  The first announcer had more to say. "And more demonstrators arriving by the minute now that young people are getting off work and out of school. Is there any word on what is behind this demonstration, Bill?"

  There was a silence and some sounds of fumbling. "No official word yet, however we have had word that it may be related to the two young demonstrators who were hospitalized the other day after the square was cleared of a dangerous element by the police."

  "Oops," said Maya, "I have to get ready. The limo is coming at six. I hope it can get here."

  * * *

  Maya lifted her long skirt and used the driver's proffered hand to pull herself out of her rented limo. Two teenage thugs with the crotches dragging on the ground called out from where they were holding up a building. "Hey babe! You lookin' for us?"

  The driver growled at them, but she pulled his arm close and whispered, "They are harmless." Still, she tried not to make eye contact with them as she clicked her heels hurriedly past them. She did look good. Mary at the consignment store had told her that so long as it came back in the same condition, she would buy the outfit back from her, less a fifty-dollar commission. Not that she had much chance of selling it to anyone else. It had been in the window of the shop for three weeks tempting women's eyes, but no woman with the money was small enough to fit into it.

  Maya was still petite enough to compete with the neighborhood's Thai women for most of the consignment fashions, and even she had to take short breaths to wear this outfit. It was a formal gown from the 40's in a rich, light blue silk, with a matching stole. She had her hair up, and had borrowed a pair of Karen's high heeled, slingback, black come-fuck-me pumps. Her lipstick was a shade of red rarely seen outside of brothels. And that was about all she was wearing.

  The door to the Bayer Gallery was just three storefronts ahead. She perked up her courage, sucked in a breath as large as the over-tight bodice would allow, straightened her shoulders and strutted up to the door.

  The doorman was busy opening the rear door of another limo, but when he saw her waiting by the gallery door, he skipped across the pavement and opened the door for her. Her plan was working. She knew from the movie industry that if you looked expensive enough, no one asked to see your invitation. She was in.

  This was the opening of a collection of never-before seen photos of the plight of Dutch Jews in the Second World War. The pre-opening guest list was limited to rich and influential Jews. She should not be here. Her youth, never mind her long, naturally blonde hair, flagged her as not belonging. Now she simply had to hide until Gladys Muir arrived. 'The' Gladys Muir, the heiress, the dragon lady, the richest woman in town.

  Her plan was to meet her, and then to charm her, but first she had to look inconspicuous until Gladys arrived. That was the glaring flaw in her plan.

  To gain entrance without question, she had to look hot and expensive, which meant that she was now attracting the eye of every man in the gallery. The truly wealthy and important would admire her as a welcome view, but would not complicate their lives by doing more than stare.

  But then there were the others.... you know ... the posers. Those who were pretending to be more than they were. Walking the walk, talking the talk, dressing the part, and all on borrowed money. Well, actually, tonight she was a poser, too.

  She knew what to expect. A few of the male posers would be quick to see that she was attracting the attention of the truly important folk. They would also be quick to hook onto her arm, and be part of that attention.

  Two middle-aged men were crossing the room towards her. Expensive suits, balding heads, shiny shoes, Mercedes cufflinks. Lawyers on the make. She didn't want them anywhere near her, and yet, she couldn't stand here alone. She was too conspicuous.

  They reached her simultaneously. One of them smelled of that nasty cologne that they sell to college students with the promise that it will get them laid. He must have bathed in the stuff. The other's cologne was masked by another smell, but not a smell picked up by her conscious mind. A smell picked up by her subconscious.

  Maya knew the charred smell all too well. It was the smell of a psychopath. It was not a smell that anyone else in this room could pick up, because it wasn't a smell in the air. It was a warning from her aura. She shivered. She had a full body aversion to the closeness of psychopaths.

  There was a noticeable hush in the voices in the gallery for just a moment and she looked to see who had come through the door. It was Gladys, with Paul, whom Maya knew from a society column was her bodyguard-come-chauffer. She was being greeted at the door by the gallery owner and he was gushing over her and leading her to the champagne table. She was slow-moving and put a lot of weight on her cane.

  Maya turned back to the two lawyers. They were trying to be humorous, but she had never found put-down humor amusing unless the person was putting themselves down. Neither of these men would ever do that.

  She kept her eye on Gladys. The host was leaving her now, because there were other dignitaries at the door. Maya excused herself curtly from the company of the lawyers and clicked her heels over to stand beside Gladys.

  "Do you mind if I pretend to talk with you until those two lawyers find another woman to sniff?" she asked openly and immediately. She spoke in her deepest voice. All women were more susceptible to a deep voice than to high chatter. Maya could never understand why other women her age had adopted the irritating baby talk voice as their norm.

  Gladys looked around at her, eyed her from head to toe, and then made a discrete nod to Paul not to interfere. "For someone pretending to talk, you have a lovely speaking voice." She looked over at the two lawyers who were now walking towards her. Again she nodded towards Paul. He spun on a heel and sauntered on an intercept course towards the lawyers.

  "Oh dear," Maya said looking at the spread of canapés and sushi that artistically covered two tables. "The openings I usually attend are run sort of like pot lucks, and the special guests are expected to bring the treats that the starving artist can't afford to supply." She put the small box she had been carrying down onto the table, but did not pull at the ribbon bow that kept it closed. She sighed.

  "What did you bring?" asked Gladys. The woman was taking sips of her champagne that would make a humming bird look like a glutton.

  "Chocolates. I made them myself from a Mayan recipe." She smiled warmly at the older woman. "It's an inside joke. My mother named me Maya after the Indian goddess of the imagination. The other Indians, not the Mayans."

  "So what is so special about Mayan chocolate?"

  "Do you like spicy food?"

  "When my doctor allows it," Gladys put a hand on her tummy and sighed.

  "Oh, then try one and you tell me what is special." She undid the ribbon on her box and opened it wide. "The Mayan's invented chocolate. Cacao was their magic plant. They usually made it up as drinking chocolate, but these have the original taste." She presented the box to Gladys. "Tr
y one."

  Gladys looked into the box warily. The chocolates were small. She chose one and made as if to bite into it.

  "I make them bite-sized. Put the whole thing in your mouth and chew it and then stop chewing and taste it."

  Gladys did as she was instructed and then moaned. "Ohmigod. Oh my. Oh, how wonderful," she mumbled putting a finger to her mouth to stop any chocolate that might be trying to drip out.

  There it was. Maya found her aura. Ever so weak. With men she usually just had to show them some cleavage to find their aura, but with women it was more difficult because no woman was ever as slutty as a normal man. Chocolate affected women like cleavage affected men.

  Now she began the long processes of fractionation. She kept 'pinging' Gladys's aura to force it to build. Little by little, with every ping it became stronger. Finally it was strong enough that it no longer mattered if they were interrupted. Maya could keep working it, building it.

  "Are you feeling all right?" The words came to her through a fog. They brought her back to the gallery and back to focusing on the older woman's face. Gladys was giving her a worried look. She must have tranced out while she was pinging. "Here, take a sip of my champagne."

  She accepted some sips without taking the glass. It meant that the two women had to be very close together. She saw that Gladys had chocolate on her lips and she was licking them. The aura was now strong enough to work with. She joined her own aura to it and pushed them both through Gladys.

  She envied Gladys that first time. The first time was like a very subtle orgasm, because it was such a different feeling from anything else you had ever felt. Maya still remembered her own first time. She had been thinking about Erik a lot these days. "So you like my chocolate, then," she whispered.

  Gladys was swaying slightly and smiling. "Is that what it is? Would you walk me through the collection, my dear?" she said softly. "I am too vain to use my walker, and too unsteady to use my cane." The lovely young woman took her arm as if she was well experienced at walking the elderly. "Take your chocolates, dear. They are too good for the likes of those lawyers. Ooh, just one more before you close the box."